Mea Culpa or What The Fuck Happened?

This is my first post to this blog in a long time. Too long.

Why?

I haven’t been writing.

I’ve been finding ways to avoid writing.

Too tired.

Too busy at work.

Too much theatre.

Uninspired.

Unmotivated.

Unhealthy.

Undead.

One of these may be an exaggeration.

Oh, I’ve been ‘writing’. Writing reviews. Writing critiques. Writing status updates. Writing tweets. Writing lists. Writing about not writi—ahem.

It’s a terrible thing to call yourself a writer and not write.

Even worse when you’re half decent at it. I mean, anyone who’s crap at writing can not write with a guilt free conscience.  

But mine has finally gotten the better of me.

(Using ‘gotten’ in a sentence for a start stings).

A quick recap.

The feature script based on a true life story set just after the Great War fell through. Couldn’t agree to terms with the businessman/producer. Great story. Hope it sees the light of day.

The first two episodes of the web series Boondock Alley have been shot. I don’t know how the shoot went or how it will turn out. I haven’t had anything to do with the project after blowing a gasket when I wasn’t invited to the table read with the full cast during pre-production. I also haven’t written any of the supporting material used on the website or on various social media platforms. Nevermind. Hope it goes well. I thought it was a pretty good idea for a series.

The feature script Turbulence. Ah, yes, Turbulence. I sat and re-read the partially rewritten seventh draft at work today during lunch.

Then I wanted to stick an ice-pick in my brain.

Why?

It’s pretty good. Leastways it’s getting there. I am mad at myself for not getting on with it. I don’t know why. It pisses me off.

So things have to change.

I’m getting frustrated and angry at myself. I have been sucked back into corporate servitude. Yes, the money is good. Who am I kidding? It’s fucking glorious! I’ll end up going to Sydney twice this year as well as my annual Melbourne musical theatre jaunt because I can afford such extravagances. And I’m good at it. Work that is. Hell, I might even occasionally admit to liking it from time to time though I have become prone to stress lately which is unlike me.

Yes, I love the theatre. If I didn’t I would be monumentally screwed. I saw 138 shows last year. 71 so far this year and checking my diary I’m currently on pace for 131 by year’s end. Total, absolute, marvellous craziness of a magnitude I couldn’t even begin to fathom a few years ago.

I will honour my commitments as an adjudicator and reviewer but my pre-eminent thought and task has to be writing again. I want to finish Turbulence. It will make a great little thriller. I want to start something new. I have no idea what that might be. I don’t care. I just need to write.

My unit has been renovated and now I have a nice space I can write in. I don’t need the excuse of cafes or distraction free zones somewhere, anywhere else. I just need some goddamn fucking discipline.

I’m getting ranty.

I’m sorry.

For not knuckling down and getting on with it. 

For procrastinating. 

For letting setbacks and disappointments cripple me.

That all changes now.

But, didn’t you use to be a screenwriter?

I know what you’re thinking – “Richard, what’s with all the theatre reviews on your blog lately… didn’t you use to be a screenwriter?”

Richard enters stage left and peers out at the audience. Adopts an aggressive stance.

Richard: That’s absurd; of course I’m still a screenwriter.

Audience member: Prove it then!

Richard squints into the lights trying to identify the wag.

Richard: Reveal yourself, Sir/Madam/[insert correct gender salutation for a small child or possibly a verbose animal of some description].

The challenge is met with a slow handclap. Only a few people at first… then dozens of hands in unison. The sound builds in intensity until Richard is brought to his knees, hands clasped to his ears.

Richard: Alright, alright. I confess. I have been tempted by the sins of theatrical endeavour; swayed by the spontaneity of live performance; awed by the camaraderie and passion found in every independent troupe of players. Dazzled by –

Audience: Get off!

Richard is pelted with rotten fruit, robust vegetables, and random pieces of furniture. He beats a hasty retreat to –

FADE IN:

INT. CAFÉ – NIGHT

Richard sits in his favourite writing haunt and laments the fact that the inability to format blogger correctly for the difference between stage and screen directions dilutes the visual effect intended for this convoluted introduction… 

Yes! I AM still writing!!! Spasmodically. Imprecisely. Incrementally.

The fifth draft of Turbulence was delivered to the director a little while ago and I have read his summary of what needs to be addressed in the next draft. I should, at this very moment, be reading his detailed notes embedded in the pdf version of the script but, of course, I forgot to bring the flash drive with me (Richard pelts himself with rotten fruit). In short, the next pass will be a character one. Progress has indeed been made - the comments count has gone from 83 to 43… or maybe I just fixed all the typos. Anyone who was at the PAC Script Lab reading a year ago would certainly recognise the story but there have been a lot of changes, especially in the second half of the script. Now we dig further and keep evolving and improving our characters.

I also finished the fourth episode of Boondock Alley, the web series set in a doctors’ surgery for the Undead. It was the hardest episode to write to date… and the darkest but the actors have responded with unanimous praise. This is flattering but also makes me a little nervous as I know it requires work. I suspect I need a critical eye to push me like Tim (director) does with Turbulence. However, it looks like we’re positioning for a tilt at ScreenWest’s newly announced Elevate funding scheme. So there will be a renewed focus on all the elements though I’m more than happy with progress to date. Ah yes, the joys of funding applications - writer’s notes!

Working fulltime has largely cut me off from the creative zeitgeist as I no longer have time to laze about on weekdays talking scripts, films and the like. It was a great pleasure then to go to the premiere of SeventhContinent Productions’ short film Rat Tale last week. Not only was it a terrific film but I caught up with many filmmaking colleagues I had not seen in a long time.

Yes, I am going to a fair amount of theatre and have even become a Friend of the Academy (WAAPA). Sometimes this is for sheer stress relief as my corporate job has burst into glorious chaos the last month. But mostly it is to experience the wonderful talent we have in Perth. I enjoy writing reviews and I figure that’s no big ask given the quality of shows I regularly encounter at a usually inexpensive cost. This year I’ve set myself to write something about every production I attend. In the past I tended to only write reviews for the shows I enjoyed. It’s time to man up and cast a critical yet constructive (hopefully) eye over every production.

But rest assured I’m still tapping away at the keyboard working on my own creative endeavours!

The stage curtains open. Richard bows deeply to rapturous applause… spots a half-eaten apple near the footlights, mid bow. Reaches for it… begins to topple… the crowd laugh. The curtains close. Thud. 

Screenwriting and the Sounds of Silence

There I was sitting in a café having a late night meeting about two months ago - option agreement, lawyer’s advice, a little haggling, a lot of momentum, a sense of excitement. In principle agreement is reached between me, my director and the two producers we’re meeting with. Plans made, actions assigned, market to attend.

Word finally filters back that there’s interest in the project – potential sales agents on two continents. Fantastic! Further details to follow. “Full steam ahead”, I think to myself.

Since then the following has happened:

Well…

Um…

There was that… oh, no, that was for something else…

We had a great meeti—hmmmm, nup, that was for the other thing…

*thinking*

Oh, I know!!!

No, no, don’t tell me…

It’ll come to me…

That’s right!

There was a change of government in Australia!

Think of something really quiet then attach a silencer to it then put it in a padded chest in a soundproof room with extra sound dampeners and maybe some hi-tech gear not yet invented that enhances noiselessness and that would be the extent of what I’ve heard from my producers. Well, I think they are. I’m not sure anymore.

Yep, not even crickets. I’m talking NOTHING. Not a call, “how’s it going?” Not an email to finalise the option paperwork. Not a meeting to discuss the next draft.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Stuff all.

DEAD. FUCKING. SILENCE.

My director assures me this is standard practice.

This strikes me as beyond odd.

Momentum. Interest. Excitement… Silence.

An odd sequence.

So what’s a writer to do?

Well, it’s my fucking baby so in the absence of any direction or guidance I’ll raise the damn thing how I see fit.

I have been working spasmodically on the draft, more regularly recently. And you know what? I like it. It’s got promise. It makes me excited. I’m changing things. I’m omitting a ton of scenes and really making it tighter. I’m adding stuff that addresses character issues and story points from the reading and my subsequent discussions with the director. I like delving back into the script. I’m in a writing mood.

I have absolutely no idea what the situation is with the option, the supposed market interest or what the producers are doing. Right now, I couldn’t care less. I’m simply going to write. This version of the script only exists in my head and on my netbook. You want it you have to chase me. I’m done chasing people who can afford to invent hi-tech, anti-noise technology from the future.

Silence.

As a writer I hate fucking silence.

No, not the serene, peaceful, productive kind; the “why the fuck aren’t you talking to me, I thought we were a creative team on this together” kind.

I feel better now.

I’ll go work on the script some more... in silence…

The good kind.