Splendid: The Screening

Hello! How lovely to see you. Have you lost a bit of weight?

We recently showed the pilot of our TV sketch show Splendid to a select audience. The evening represented a real milestone after the best part of a year's work.

It all happened in London's Soho, on July 10. Yep, Soho. Yep, July 10. Yep, the day of the fire. Here's how it all went. Cue potentially jarring switch into the present tense... hold on tight...

3pm: Reports start filtering in about a Dean Steet blaze. Twitter immediately proves its power by feeding me minute-by-minute, second-by-second accounts of what's going on - even if some of it's ill-informed or tasteless (given that we don't yet know whether anyone's been hurt). Splendid supremo Dan Turner seems admirably unconcerned, given that our Splendid screening at Wardour Street's Moving Picture Company is merely a stroll away from the apparent inferno. I spend the next hour forwarding him links to pictures like the one to the right, determined to frighten the Christ out of him. Eventually, he concedes, "Oh fuck, that's massive. But will hopefully clear in a couple of hours." It will indeed. But right now, stories circulate of businesses being evacuated, parts of Soho shut off, blackened people diving screaming into sewers to avoid the ravaging plumes of flame...

5pm: Dan, production manager Johnny 'Caution' Harrison and I meet in Soho, to prepare for the screening. By this point, the fire looks more like this:


As you can see, Soho's drinkers are terrified. They can barely hold their foaming ales steady, as the plucky fireman on a cherry-picker sprays high-powered water into a nearby building. Only one end of Dean Street's been shut off, and Soho is going about its business as usual. Between now and our 8pm door-opening time, however, we all receive understandably concerned messages from guests: 'Have you all been burnt to ash?', 'Has Soho been destroyed?' and so on.

5.30pm: Dan, Caution and I sensibly remember to eat, before dropping the Splendid pilot off at MPC, having a mini test screening, then heading along the road to buy a load of booze for our guests. MPC is a nice venue - you might remember from the picture above that Dan and I held the screening for our short film Look At Me here. For that screening, we went all-out and invited Everyone In The Known World, attracting about 140-odd guests and forcing us to screen the film twice in MPC's 74-capacity room. This time, though, the screening needed to fulfil two roles: to show our amazing cast 'n' crew the joys of what they'd achieved, and to introduce Splendid to a load of completely unconnected, oblivious folk, in order to get their feedback and spread ground-level buzz. Seventy-odd guests would cover all of this nicely, and we could have just the one cosy, unified screening.

6.45pm: Dan and I meet up with Richard Glover in a nearby pub. A wonderful man, Richard co-created the show with Dan. Weirdly, none of us are nervous, although we have the vague feeling that we should be. Regardless, a pint of organic lager will soon shave off any nascent nerves.

7.30pm: Another Splendid cast member turns up: the truly remarkable Stephen Evans. Having been unable to attend any of the filming, I'm meeting him for the first time. What an honour. He's a Doctor Who fan, too. Hooray. Then another of our fine actors, Eric Lampaert arrives with friends. Double hooray with fries. We spare many a thought, throughout the evening for our fellow writer Piers Beckley, who is foolishly in Spain running with bulls.

7.50pm: Realising that our screening opens its doors quite shortly, we hurriedly down drinking-tools and ramble back over to MPC. Nerves are beginning to kick in now, as I remember that a comedy screening differs from a drama screening in many key respects. Perhaps most importantly, an audience's appreciation of a comedy screening is far more instantly quantifiable - they laugh, or they don't. Sure, some people appreciate comedy without laughing out loud, but let's be honest: you want the laughs.

8pm: A fair number of guests are already here, including Splendid writer Sarah Morgan and our remaining cast, Hayley Jayne Standing and Andrea Donovan! There's also a fine representation of the blogosphere. Look at these three madmen for starters: William Gallagher, Stuart Perry (New Hair Exclusive: You Saw It Here First) and Phill Barron! Just out of shot: Michelle Lipton and the lovely Vicky!


The next hour is all about being delighted to see people (I am), trying not to spill wine over myself (I do) and trying not to act like a cock (I inevitably do, as this is my default setting).


Time for a few rapid-fire pics of this 8pm-9pm shindig. Here are three Splendid men: Glover, Lampaert and Evans...


And three splendid people of assorted genders: storyboard-art guru Rachel Garlick, writer/blogger Helen Smith and writer/blogger David Lemon.


Me, clearly discussing Very Serious Things with Eric, then Stephen (to my right in that picture is Mr Rich Swingle, our genius DOP, who helped make Splendid look so bloody lovely, along with remarkable production designer Jamie Bishop).




9pm: Screening time! People start filtering into the plushly-seated room, and nerves give way to (a) red wine; and (b) excitement. We've been working on Splendid for quite some a while, and now people are going to see it for the very first time! Dan and Richard Glover admirably stride onstage to give the audience a little back-story on the project, while making them laugh and warming them up a tad. In a nutshell, they tell people how we wanted to create something different. And silly.

9.10pm: The screening begins. Inevitably, you wait for that first laugh. And oh, how you want it. If, at this point, a demon popped up and asked if you'd like to trade one of your little fingers for that first laugh, you might give the offer a few seconds of thought. Thankfully - especially as my sketch, Explorers, is the opener - the first laugh doesn't take long to arrive. After that, the sketches steam by in a glorious flurry (few of them are both two minutes in length) eliciting much laughter and smiley faces. You can tell that people are enjoying Splendid, and this feels key. Sure, people inevitably don't always laugh when you expect them to, and laugh at somewhat unexpected things, but there's definitely a very good feeling in the room. Despite often being dark and twisted-as-all-hell, Splendid exudes an upbeat warmth which hopefully can't fail to bleed from the screen.

It's only when watching Splendid with others, that it strikes you how very mental it is. In a good way, naturellement. Perhaps the most surreal moment comes while watching another sketch of mine, Pilots. It's truly bizarre to sit in a screening room full of people, watching what these two pilots (superbly acted by Glover and Evans) end up doing. I'm loving the experience, and feeling so very proud of Dan, cast and crew. Really wish Piers was here, though, to see how well his marvellously preposterous Weapon Shop sketch goes down.

9.30pm: Twenty-five minutes later, the pilot ends, to rapturous applause. We all file back out into what you might well call The Drinking Area. Dan has wisely created a pile of feedback forms, which every attendee dutifully, and anonymously, fills out. It asks for things like people's favourite sketch, their least favourite... what kind of comedy they normally enjoy... Stuff like that. While it's brilliant when so many people congratulate us on a funny and great-looking show, you know for sure that they're going to be 100% honest on an anonymous feedback form. Joyously, these forms turn out to be just as enthusiastic as people's reactions were in person. They will definitely help inform us how to hone our pilot and make it even stronger. Obviously, you have be just a little bullish with comedy, and sticking to your guns, but there's harm in being aware of consensus.

From here on, events become understandably blurry. I remember people smiling a lot, being congratulatory, and generally relieved that Splendid didn't turn out to be a bunch of bell-ends in someone's living room with a camcorder. There is talk of quality and professionalism and channels which Splendid would suit.

Midnight (maybe): Post-MPC, a group of Splendid types and friends wander the streets of Soho for a while, before settling on Brewer Street's lovely Enclave bar. Stephen Evans is delighted to learn that they have cocktails with Doctor Who themed names, although Paradise Towers and Green Death are the only ones I can remember right now. Clearly hyper-conscious that this is a gay-oriented establishment, Richard and Stephen butch it the hell up:


As do Richard and I.


Mmmm, I tell you, you haven't lived until you've experienced the Glover Love. No Glove, no love, that's my new and hastily-assembled motto. Yes.

3am: Things get blurrier still. I'm sitting on a pavement outside the Cro-Bar with Helen Smith, foolishly smoking Cafe Creme cigars and mixing drinks with the kind of fury which I will so regret tomorrow.

The pain will be worth it, though. Tonight was completely and utterly Splendid.

SPLENDID LINKS:

Phill Barron's account of the Splendid screening, including the words "It’s very, very funny and should be picked up for broadcast immediately".

Helen Smith's account of the Splendid screening, including the words "made to broadcast standard".

Dan Turner's account of the Splendid screening, including the words "Those two boys really do see the benefit of mind-stretching word games".

John 'Caution' Harrison's account of the Splendid screening, including the words "as I walked out at the end I know I had a silly beam on my face".

My March 2009 post about the cast, and Splendid in general.

My December 2008 post about the writing process.

Splendid's Facebook group. Join us!

Scribomeet This Week!

It's been a while since there was a proper get-together of scribblers. Thankfully, the unstoppable Piers Beckley and Sara Baroni have stepped up to the plate and organised one.

Shrieks Piers, dressed as the Devil: "It's in the Knights Templar pub in London on Thursday 16th July from 7pm till closing! In this pub at this time we will be drinking beer, and talking about the UK screenwriting industry!"

Sounds great to me. See you there.

And coming very soon, like some kind of crazy Trident missile: a full and frank report from the London screening of our sketch show Splendid. For attendee Phill Barron's delightful account of the evening, click here, why don'tcha? UPDATE: Splendid co-creator Dan 'Mr Daniel' Turner has just posted a post too!

CBBC Writersroom Session: Redirect Your Browser

Went to the Writersroom's CBBC session this afternoon/evening - a splendidly informative affair, which both reminded us of what CBBC are up to these days, and imparted some handy tips for writing kids' TV. Especially useful, since the Write For CBBC competition deadline looms: July 1.

Right now, I'm somewhat pressed for time. Knowing that a few writers will hunger for event-info, I thought I'd direct you to a fellow attendee with faster fingers than me: Mr Simon Guerrier, who has written up a few of those handy tips. When I have more time to blog, I'll try and write up anything else which ended up in my notepad.

Love you. We should hang out more.

UPDATE: There's further reportage on Lord Jez of Freedman's blog.

The Story Engine: Lisa Holdsworth On Pitch Docs

Lisa Holdsworth knows what she’s talking about. Her TV writing career, which you can see in full on her agency-biog page here, kicked off with an episode of Fat Friends in 2002, then snowballed through the likes of Emmerdale, New Tricks, Blue Murder, Waterloo Road (for which she notably wrote the excellent book-ending instalments of the show’s recent Series Four) and Robin Hood (she has an episode on this very evening - 6.45pm on BBC One). She has a Twitter page here.

The Story Engine event (see general report in my previous post) saw the lovely, funny Lisa giving a top-notch class on pitch documents – those mysterious beasts which most screenwriters would appreciate being given a step-by-step guide to. So here it is: pitch-docs, the Holdsworth way.

“Sell the sizzle not the steak,” said Lisa in her opening, meaning that you’re pushing the core concept, not the minutiae. “You’re also selling yourself. You’re saying, ‘Look how exciting my writing can be. Look how original I am’.”

DON’T…

• … tell the story in minute detail. If you’ve written over two pages, you’re telling too much story.
  
• … tell us about every character. And try to avoid character clichés: the geeky-but-cool character, or the feisty single mum. Find something interesting and unusual about your characters.
  
• … tell us the intended TV slot.
  
• … tell us how it’ll be shot. “If you say it’ll be shot ‘a bit like The Wire’,” says Lisa, “That makes you sound a bit like an arse”.
  
• … tell us who you intend to cast… unless an actor is attached. Even imagining an actor can limit you, when writing the character.
  
• … include comparisons to existing characters or other dramas (although Lisa admits this is more her preference, noting, “Do what feels right for your project”.

DO…

• … communicate excitement. Too may pitch docs are too professional and dry. Without actually saying, “You’ll cry! You’ll laugh”, get that across. Be conversational.
  
• … explain why this needs to be brought to the screen, right now! Because that’s the first question someone like Channel 4 will ask you. Maybe you’ve got an idea for a period costume drama, but it says something about where we are now.
  
• … make us love/hate the main characters. Even if they’re flawed, are we going to really enjoy spending time with them?
  
• … tell us why people will watch your show. Here, Lisa added a related point: “If you don’t watch telly, I don’t know why you’re writing it”.
  
• … pack a punch. You want the reader to be exhausted by the end. Every paragraph needs to finish with “BANG!”. Not literally, of course.
  
• … leave them wanting more. This is difficult to do without being too obvious. You want to convey the sense that you’re just giving them a taste. Without actually saying it, you’re saying, “Bring me in for a meeting and you’ll get so much more”. Pitch docs tend not to tell them the end. Says Lisa: “I’ve never worked on a programme where the end didn’t change”. If you’re pitching a film, people need to know it rounds off quite well. Whereas, with a returning series, it’s best to leave it open. Americans are very good at making you wonder how they could do a second series of this.

THE STRUCTURE OF A PITCH (THE HOLDSWORTH WAY)

• A grabbing title. Heroes, Buffy, Demons (which was originally called The Last Van Helsing, until makers Shine realised that this title suggested a weight of history which wasn’t reflected by the execution). Firefly, reckons Lisa, was a great series with a terrible title.
  
• A logline to create intrigue. This is usually the last thing you put in.
  
• A summary paragraph that sells the central premise of the show. If your project is an adaptation then here’s the place to mention it, up front, noting that it’s about time this was brought to the screen.
  
• One-to-five pages of blistering prose that sets up the story, the main characters and the style/tone. Lisa usually writes three pages, then edits it down.
  
• A final paragraph that explains why this is the show your telly was made for. You’re basically saying, “If you buy this, you’re buying a fantastic piece of TV”. Take your self-deprecating hat off. Don’t be Simon Cowell, but say you believe in this.
  
• Write nothing about your credits or who you are – it detracts from the flow of the pitch. If you’re sending it ‘cold’, attach your CV as well.

CLOSING THOUGHTS FROM LISA:

• ”Remember – they’re always looking for a reason to say no. Don’t give them one. Don’t mention the scene in which a load of penguins get machine-gunned”.
  
• ”You won’t be held to the pitch doc, if you get to the next stage. People in the meeting will want to change aspects of it”.
  
• ”Once in meetings, pick your battles. Don’t argue over the colour of a secondary character’s socks. If someone’s suggestions piss you off, then go away, have a rant, have a cup of tea, then come back and think about it objectively”.
  
• ”Even if you end up writing seven drafts of a pilot script and it comes to nothing, your final draft will make a great calling card script”.

For my General Report on The Story Engine event... scroll down the page.

The Story Engine: General Report

The Story Engine, held over two days at Darlington Arts Centre back in late February, was a tremendously enjoyable and worthwhile event. While smaller than the awesome Screenwriters’ Festival, it nevertheless makes an absolute virtue of its more modest scale, with relatively intimate workshop sessions, fine Q&As, speed-pitching sessions and an excellent line-up of writer-guests including Simon Beaufoy (Slumdog Millionaire, in picture to the left of organiser Ian Fenton, below), Lisa Holdsworth (Waterloo Road, New Tricks), James Moran (Doctor Who, Torchwood), David Lemon (Faintheart, Doctors), James Harris (self-starting comedy writer – see website), playwright David Edgar and film-maker Tina Gharavi (Ali In Wonderland, also a film-maker) plus the Writersroom North’s project manager Katherine Beacon, splendidly-named development consultant Ludo Smolski and many more.

Like the best writers’ events, The Story Engine offered plenty of opportunity to network, mingle and meet new people, as well as catch up with familiar faces (like Gavin Williams, Lara Greenway and Chris Parr). The Arts Centre is a really nice venue for an event like this, with plenty of rooms of differing sizes and, of course, the all-important bar. While being a tremendous laugh, of course, it also delivered a whole host of information. An info-buffet, if you will. Particularly evident throughout was organizer Ian’s passion and drive – as a writer himself, Ian has a lot to say, and an event for writers assembled by a writer can only be a good thing. You could tell that Ian was determined not to rest until each and every attendee had value-for-money spewing out of their ears.

TV's James Moran gave a splendid live audio commentary for his Torchwood episode Sleeper (see him in the midst of doing it, right, while engaging in a good old chin-stroke), as well as taking part in a whole slew of other sessions, including Working With An Agent, which also featured Curtis Brown's Amanda Davis, New Writing North director Claire Malcolm and Lisa Holdsworth). The Moranster ended up with vocal cords torn to shreds in a manner which only booze could rescue. During this event, our hotel bar saw the birth of the "unlaugh", which is a terrible intake of ghastly air, inspired by something deeply unamusing. Here's a delightful picture of me, Uncle Jimbo, the gorgeous Dan Turner and a bowl of salad on a shelf, which was vigorously tossed in three different ways, shortly after this snap was captured:


And for those of you understandably craving a look at that salad from a different angle, with bonus grinning bell-ends in the foreground:



Here's a simply divine photograph of David Lemon, who also got stuck into the event, appearing on various panels like New Horizons ("How is the internet changing the way we consume drama?") and My First Feature Film (about writing Faintheart, which was screened during the event, along with Slumdog Millionaire).

The Story Engine, then: a right royal blast. I fully suggest you attend the next one: I'll certainly be there. The next post, up soon, will be my one full report of a Story Engine workshop: Lisa Holdsworth's session on pitch documents. Tremendous!

So Here's What Happened...

Following on from yesterday's post which, obviously, left you on absolute tenterhooks and no mistake, here's how my birthday evening went...

It started off touchingly, when the heat team gave me a surprise card and gift, even though I don't work on the staff any more. Very cool indeed. Then came steak and wine, before it became time to head over to The Drill Hall, where the Laurence & Gus try-out evening was held. It happened downstairs in a small-ish and very hot room, before an audience who were constantly on the verge of wilting. Nevertheless, it was a good session, with some hilarious new stuff. And I had a sketch in! Thankfully, it went down pretty well, with laughs and everything - despite coming straight after the evening's finest gut-buster of a sketch, about a gingerbread house. And I'm taking Gus saying "What an odd sketch" afterwards as a compliment. Yes.

Also discovered that L&G want me to rewrite one of my other submissions, so need to get to work on that before Friday, when the final recording session takes place. Exciting.

So that sounds like a pretty good birthday, right? Could have gone home and been quite content, right? Oh no, there was more. And I'm about to sound somewhat like Patrick Nice, from The Fast Show.

So there I was in a Camden boozer, when I happened to see a Time Lord, sitting across the room. Specifically, Matt Smith, who will be the next Doctor Who, come 2010. Mad. He caught me recognising him, and it struck me that his life must be a bit like Tyler Durden's right now - full of people who know who he is, giving him secret nods and smiles across crowded rooms. Thankfully, I resisted persistent Tweet-demands from TV's James Moran to kiss Mr Smith ("Do it now!" he shrieked, while repeatedly stabbing himself in the leg with a toasting fork). However, I was just drunk enough to strike up a conversation with him and quickly ascertain that he is a ridiculously nice man. How. Mad. The universe might often seem random and cruel, but every once in a while, it relents and throws you a bone.

Combine all that with the confirmation of a Ridiculously Exciting Journalistic Job, and you had just about the best birthday ever.

Which was nice.

Happy Birthday To Me & The Radio Hit-Rate

A certain number of years ago, on this very day, I was inflicted upon the Earth. Yes, yes, thank you very much, you're all too kind (oh, and it's fellow blogger Rob Stickler's birthday too, except he isn't shouting about it like me, demanding attention and gold ingots). The picture to the left of these here words, was created by my friend Ray Zell and craftily incorporated into the design of a shop-bought Doctor Who/TARDIS card. He's a clever one, that Zell.

Tonight, I'm going to a try-out/read-through session for the next run of Radio 4's fine sketch-show Laurence & Gus: Hearts & Minds. No idea if any of my material will be road-tested during this event, but I know it'll be a hoot, regardless. Obviously, having stuff performed would be just peachy, but we'll see. Having made a little headway into the world of radio-sketchwriting since December, I've come to realise just how many sketches you need to run up a flagpole before the producer and/or talent salutes it. Which is only natural and right.

There are, after all, various reasons why things might not make it in. Firstly, of course, it could be rubbish. Let's not discount that possibility. Or it could be good, but just not right for the show, tonally - getting the tone right takes a while. Or they might already have a sketch about a clockwork walrus which masturbates every day at 4.22pm. Or it could be 80 or 90 per cent there, but there's simply no time to conduct a rewrite, or even get you to conduct one. Radio moves surprisingly fast, and producers work blisteringly hard - to the extent that, unless you attend the recordings, you might not know your material has been accepted and performed until listening to the broadcast. It's certainly not the done thing to pester them, asking for updates and reasons why your stuff didn't make the cut. I like that speed, though, including the rush of a producer sending an e-mail asking for sketches by a certain deadline, usually in a few days' time. Time to get that thinking cap on and make with the funny.

Back in December, when I attended a writers' meeting for Recorded For Training Purposes, it was sobering to hear the three script editors of that show say that their own hit-rate for getting sketches into RFTP was one in six. Jesus! That shows how tough it is - and why, as the BBC's comedy guru Micheal Jacobs freely admits, radio sketchwriting (or, I'd imagine, even TV sketchwriting) ain't ever going to pay the lion's share of your mortgage. Better, I'd say, to think of it as a lovely handful of hundreds 'n' thousands on top of whatever your preferred cake happens to be. Mine's drama, which will remain my priority - especially now with Red Planet Pictures developments presenting such opportunities. But there's no doubt that radio has presented lots of fun so far, along with a challenge to relish -and over in the world of TV sketchwriting, the Splendid project becomes more incredibly exciting by the day.

I submitted five or six sketches to Recorded For Training Purposes and got one into a broadcast episode. Out of 12 sketches I submitted to Laurence & Gus, one has been performed and recorded (which isn't the same as actually making the show, as they record six hours of material for a three-hour series!). I've submitted a further six to them, plus another dozen to another radio sketch show, and a couple to a recent, sudden opportunity, so we'll see how those pan out.

It was a joy, a few weeks back, to see Laurence Howarth and Gus Brown, along with voice-god collaborator Duncan Wisby, performing that sketch of mine live at the BBC Radio Theatre. I'd become nigh-on obsessed with getting something into that show, mainly because the duo are just so darn funny and their standards are high, with a really clever, cerebral approach, as well as some utterly abstract silliness. Typically, I'd written the chosen sketch merely two days before, in a last-minute mad rush to make a deadline. Compared to other material which I'd painstakingly honed, peer-feedbacked and all the rest of it, it was raw. Once again, you just never know what reaction comedy is going to provoke. To a large extent, it's easier to cite specific reasons why drama doesn't work, but comedy feels more nebulous and far more dependent on the gut reaction.

As I think I wrote in a previous post, though, watching one of your own sketches being performed in front of an audience is a simultaneously triumphant and terrifying affair. I think I finally have a suitable simile for hot it feels. Yes: it's like being in a space suit which is slowly being deprived of oxygen. Every time the audience laughs, oxygen gets pumped into the suit. If they don't, oxygen continues to vanish and you internally start flapping about like a fish out of water. As it was, my sketch went down okay, with some good hoots. As ever, though, there's stuff you expect to get big laughs that doesn't, and stuff you didn't even realise was funny that elicits a positive response - often down to the performers approaching it in a certain way.

Wish me luck for tonight, in a room which holds a maximum of 50 people. With beer. Oh yes, there will and must be beer.

Tempting Fates: Casting Call

So you can act? Or know someone who can? Then you or they may be interested in a part in Eye Film & TV's online drama Tempting Fates, which I'm writing for and shoots this Summer. Head over to the Facebook group and indeed join it. While the casting-call deadline is listed as being today, as with the majority of casting-calls the deadline has been extended a tad. So when you see 'May 23', think 'May 29'.

Hope you're having a tremendous weekend. Good day to you.

Tony Jordan's Red Planet Workshop

"You're all here because you can write."

After that opening gambit from Tony Jordan, his annual Red Planet Workshop threatened to become a rather emotional blur. Regular readers of this blog will know that I hold the man in the very highest regard. So if there was one thing I wanted from the Red Planet Prize competition, it was for Tony Jordan to know I can write. And now he did. That felt like the very tectonic plates beneath me were sliding and realigning. It felt like one of the very best moments of my life.

I can't tell you a great deal about the two-hour afternoon session which I attended, along with (in clockwise order around the table) Sally, Liz, Dave, Mike, Craig, Kevin, Sean, David (Bishop) and Tim (Atack). Red Planet Prize creator Danny Stack and RP's Head Of Development Simon Winstone were also present, flanking Tony like The Apprentice's Nick and Margaret (both just as sage, considerably younger and, er, blokes). So why I can't tell you too much? Because unlike, say, a more public appearance by Tony at an event like The Screenwriters' Festival, he was talking in a boardroom, often about Red Planet's plans and schedule, occasionally being wonderfully indiscreet about other people and generally saying stuff not intended to then be broadcast on the net. He also used the word "cunt" quite a lot, and I know you don't want to see that.

What I can tell you, are three Main Points he wanted to get across: his views on Writing Pitfalls To Avoid:

(1) Don't fall into the trap of thinking corporately. No point in scouring Broadcast magazine each week for supposed scoops on how ITV1, say, is looking for a 4 X 60' medieval prime-time drama. Such announcements only provoke the kind of feeding frenzies which you'd do well to stay away from, and work on something unique that you care passionately about.

(2) Don't get sucked in by the idea of craft, and the industry which poses as gatekeeper to some Great Big Secret Of Successful Writing. Tony's never pretended to be Robert McKee's greatest advocate. He illustrated just how simple storytelling is, by putting two tea cups a fair distance apart on the table, representing Your Character and Their Dramatic Goal. He then put a few random objects between them - including a cafetiere and a sugar bowl, fact fans - representing Obstacles. He picked up the first Obstacle and allowed, "You can call this the Inciting Incident, if it makes you feel happy and all warm inside!". Whatever works. But in a nutshell, that line-up of objects encapsulated Storytelling: The Tony Jordan Method. Wouldn't make much of a book, or even fill out a pamphlet, but it's all you need.

(3) Everyone's on their way somewhere. Be nice to the young script editor whose notes you hate and make you want to strangle them. A script editor you'll deal with in the next six months will one day rule the world and hold your future in their hands.

In closing, Tony told us that we were now part of the Red Planet family, which felt much like being 'made'. The next 12 months, though, is up to us: we're free to pitch ideas, develop them and generally enjoy the hell out of stuff. There's a big open road ahead, and we're being encouraged to come up with brand new projects to develop with Red Planet. It really doesn't get much better than that.

A few of us clambered aboard the train to London St Pancras, in a daze, then spent several hours in a Kings Cross pub, boozing it up, eating chips and unashamedly reminding each other at regular intervals that Tony Jordan said we could write. I woke at 3.30am with my head such a blizzard of thought that I didn't sleep again for three hours. Slept through the alarm and woke up when I was supposed to be working on heat magazine's TV desk. Finally got there a good hour late.

That Tony Jordan? He's got a lot to answer for. Still, he'll be saving me a lot of money on coffee for the next month or so. Can't see this buzz dying any time soon.

Slightly Smaller Mistake

Big Mistake, the short which I script-edited and Dan Turner wrote and directed, is now even shorter. In order to qualify for the Virgin Media Shorts website, it's had a nifty new edit, clocking in at two minutes and 19 seconds. I like the new cut: moves like a rocket, hopefully without feeling too rushed. Why not take a look, and rate it, hmmm? Hmmmmmm? Yes?