One Way To Break Into Radio Comedy

Hot on the heels of my last post about having a sketch broadcast on this week's episode of Laurence & Gus: Hearts & Minds, I've had more good news confirmed. I'm going to be on the commissioned writing team for the next series of Radio 4's comedy sketch-show Recorded For Training Purposes. Very excited about this, as it's a fine show, broadly employing the themes of modern technology and communication.

If you've been reading this blog since the beginning of last year, you may vaguely remember the path that's led me here. But maybe you've only just landed, having typed "writing for comedy sketch shows" or "oiled-up lesbians" into the Google machine. And besides, why should you have to recall stuff? You're my guest here, so sit back with a cup of tea and a macaroon and I'll do the legwork. Here's a recap, for those who are interested in writing for radio comedy, probably with some new details if I remember them:

DECEMBER 2008: Recorded For Training Purposes issues an open call for sketches, asking for a maximum of three. I send in two and hear good things back from producer Ed Morrish, who invites me to a "non-com" writers meeting, attended by 15 writers out of the original 1500 applicants. "Non-com" refers to non-commissioned writers, ie writers who are not guaranteed any airtime unless they produce sketches which make people's jawbones fall off with mad laughter.

LATER IN DECEMBER: The meeting happens, in which Ed and RFTP's three script editors dispense fine sketch-writing advice.

JANUARY 5, 2009: One of the two sketches I originally sent Ed, System Of The Damned, is performed and recorded at the BBC Radio Theatre. I blog about this here, as well as tardily listing some of the aforementioned sketch-writing advice.

JANUARY 22: The episode of RFTP featuring System Of The Damned goes out on Radio 4. Champagne corks strike ceilings, chez Arnopp.

MARCH 9: It becomes pleasingly clear that there is actually a system in place in the BBC Comedy department, regarding writers. And no, not the big bad system that some folks like to imagine is conspiring to keep them out, but a system in which producers develop writers. Today, I attend a BBC radio sketchwriting workshop and blog about it here. It ends with a live comedy evening at The Albany pub, where all of the workshop attendees see sketches they've written during the day performed onstage. Nerve-wracking - especially as David Mitchell's in the audience - but great fun and vital experience. I specifically blog about that evening session here.

MARCH 13: Further evidence of a system being in place, as Ed recommends me to Colin Anderson, producer of Laurence & Gus: Hearts & Minds. I'm among the writers called in for a meeting with Colin and cast, then sent away to fashion our most side-splitting treasures. The next couple of months are all about delivering the best stuff you have within your funny-bones, then attending try-out nights and recording sessions to see if you've got anything into the show. Luckily, I really like the show, so am guaranteed a good, ticklesome time whether I have material in or not. I write about this whole process here.

AUGUST 4: Success! A sketch in tonight's episode of Laurence & Gus. By this point, I also know I'm going to be on the RFTP writing team, but can't yet make that public. Lots of internal hoorays going on.

So what does it mean to be on the writing team of a radio comedy show? Basically, it means I'm commissioned to write a minimum amount of air time, attend meetings and work more directly with Ed and the script editors. Beyond that, who knows? I'll find out next month when the meetings kick off.

Hopefully, though, this post offers hope that there absolutely is a way in, and people who care about, and have a vested interest in, developing scribblers. Like most mediums, radio is hungry for the right writers. So make sure you're the right writer in terms of skill and attitude. Keep your eyes peeled in handy places like the Writersroom's Opportunities page, scanning for open calls which will allow you to prove yourself.

For a splendid piece on the Radio 4 Commissioning Process, enjoy a good soak in Michelle Lipton's torrent of insight and advice here.
And dear lord, she's just posted a new fountain of truth, in the shape of a piece about the practicalities of writing for radio, here.

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.

Sketch Show: The Aftermath

Following on from my last post, I'm now back from the Albany pub, where a sketch of mine was performed among numerous others, for a small-but-appreciate audience...

... including David Mitchell. Yes, Peep Show's David Mitchell. Sweet Jesus.

Don't know if anyone needed medical attention after my sketch, exactly, but there was definite laughter. Happy with that, given that (a) it was created in around two hours; (b) it enjoyed a mere two drafts; and (c) it was a bit weird, like a lot of my sketches. And David Mitchell chuckled. There was no mistaking it - his face contorted, betraying the fact that amusement had registered in his brain. Phew.

It was nice that our sketch showcase was part of a multi-faceted comedy evening, compered by the excellent Justin Edwards and also featuring a showcase from female sketch-duo Two Left Hands.

Mad props and kudos to Recorded For Training Purposes producer Ed Morrish, who spearheaded the workshop today, and my mentors Miles Jupp and Danielle Ward (who also formed half of the sketch-performance team, showing remarkable multi-tasking skills and are poorly served by my rubbish photo above, which looks like they're about to die of radiation sickness), plus everyone else who put it together. And of course the other writers, who included Dubliner/blogger Gerry Hayes (read his report on the day here) and Splendid's own Sarah Morgan.

Schemes like this are another reminder that we writers are categorically not facing an impenetrable wall. Unless, of course, it's of our own design.

All The News, As It Happens

Blimey, how's this for a bit of guerrilla reporting? I'm in a central London pub, abusing their wi-fi. All day, I've been at a BBC radio sketchwriting workshop, as a result of having contributed material to Radio 4's Recorded For Training Purposes, early this year. Great to see that the BBC's radio comedy department genuinely seem committed to involving and recognising new writers. From 8pm onwards, a sketch which I've created today will be performed live as part of a show at The Albany pub on Great Portland Street. Mad, yes?

It's been a fun day. We (me and roughly 17 others) got there at 11am, and were given 15 minutes to think of a couple of sketch ideas. We pitched both of these to assigned mentors, who then suggested which one to develop, without being overly prescriptive. Then we scuttled away and wrote the first draft of the sketch on our laptops.

First drafts achieved, we were rewarded with a group talk from Gareth Edwards, Head Of Radio Comedy. He played us a few of his favourite Mitchell & Webb sketches, before telling us why he especially liked each, before chatting about sketches in a more general fashion. One of his big pointers, when it came to sketches, was to establish a situation, then shift the ground under the audience's feet. In an amusing fashion, obviously. He also advised: "Don't just write what you think a show wants, if you don't find it funny", and stressed the benefits of radio, in that the writer is in complete control of what information they reveal, and when.

After lunch, we individually reconvened with our mentors, who by this time had read our first drafts, and offered us some feedback. My mentor, Miles, had some really clear-headed, sensible suggestions, as you'd expect. It meant a slightly bigger rewrite than I immediately expected, but I got the job done, goddamit.

After that, we were visited by the supernaturally calm Micheal Jacob, Head Of BBC Comedy College, who seemed happy to chat in a laidback fashion and answer all manner of questions. The general picture of BBC radio comedy was of a pretty open camp, in which you simply have to find a producer (there are nine or ten in the radio comedy department, which provides most of the comedy shows aired on Radio 4 and BBC Radio 7) who likes - or, ideally, loves your work. You then need to prove to them that this wasn't just a one-off stroke of genius, and that you're reliable. He stressed selling yourself all the time, as producers are unlikely to have too much time recommending your work to other producers... although referrals do happen. He was also honest enough to admit that radio-writing is unlikely to "ever really be a living" in itself.

The BBC Comedy College was launched last year, and Micheal wants to do another, using what he learnt from the first - and inevitably given the economic landscape, a lower budget. In terms of script dislikes, he said, "The worst scripts I read are by people who set out to write a sitcom. Everything's cardboard, there's no character depth and people don't talk like real people. Write about what you care about, and keep it real in terms of emotion." On that note, he recommended a book about character psychology: Games People Play, by Dr Eric Berne.

Right. Time to head over to the Albany. Is my sketch funny enough? Only one way to find out. And clearly, it's the hard way.

Watching My Radio Sketch Being Recorded

Yes, last night I was in the audience at BBC Broadcasting House, as one of my sketches was performed and recorded for Radio 4 comedy show Recorded For Training Purposes.

When I arrived, I had no idea whether I'd have a sketch performed or not. The team move fast, and quite understandably don't have time to contact each writer individually and say, "Hello sir/madam, we're performing one of your sketches tonight." Besides, there's the matter of the pre-show afternoon read, in which the show's six fine performers plough through the night's material. During that process, it could well become apparent that stuff doesn't work when acted out loud.

So my main priority was to see the show recorded; get a feel for the performers, the style, the audience, what worked, what didn't. It was very good to meet one of the show's core writers, John Dorney, in the queue into Broadcasting House - he's a fellow Doctor Who fan, who has also written for the officially-licensed audio play company, Big Finish.

Christ, have you been to Broadcasting House lately? It's literally like airport security. Everything goes through an X-Ray machine. Belts off, the lot. Reassuring to know, though, that we're not about to be blown up while having a good laugh. That'd be a terrible business all 'round.

Passing through into the cafe, I'm relieved to see that alcohol's on sale, as it might promote extra chuckles from the audience. We're soon ushered into the theatre, which as tousle-haired producer Ed Morrish points out onstage, is one of the BBC's most expensive assets. Microphones dangle from the ceiling to record mirth (can you tell I've never been to a radio recording session before?).

The show's in two 45-minute halves, Ed explains, with an interval in between. The show begins. I'm laughing along with everyone else, while finding myself unable to stop wondering if my sketch System Of The Damned (about hospital appointment lines, and involving geese) will appear.

Then it does, about four sketches in. And let me tell you, you find yourself praying for that first laugh. Interestingly, it comes on an early line which I didn't think of as a funny line at all - but it's funny now, thanks to the performer's delivery. A bit later, a line which I thought was funny barely gets a chuckle. Thankfully, though, there are laughs where I hoped there'd be, which is a thrilling relief (my favourite kind of relief).

It's educational - as is the entire show. You realise things, pretty quickly. If there's a Good Laugh, for instance, with Something Else Funny straight afterwards, chances are that the Something Else Funny will be lost in the Good Laugh's wake. Plenty of mental notes to self about pacing are made.

System goes down well, I'd say. At the end of the first half, Morrish leads the performers through some "repeat takes", repeating certain moments or segments for various reasons. Two lines of System are performed again, which seems to be a good sign, in terms of the sketch actually being broadcast on the show.

It starts soon - this Thursday, in fact, on Radio 4. Hooray. If my sketch is broadcast, it won't be in this opening episode, but I'll keep you posted. I also have four other sketches currently being considered, so hopefully another may make the performance grade.

Now, while I remember, here are a few boiled-down sketch pointers which the RFTP team gave us assembled new scribes during that pre-Christmas meeting. All simple enough, yet vital:

• Don't over-explain a joke, or you might actually piss the audience off.
  
• In real-life, people tend to say one sentence at a time, before the other person speaks.
  
• No-one's ever said, "That sketch was too short".
  
• Keep a sketch about one thing.
  
• Get into the sketch late. Don't start with the characters' births!
  
• Get your best, original idea upfront.
  
• Confusion is your enemy. Be clear.
  
• Tell the audience where they are (ie tobacconists, glacial icy wastes).
  

Good day to you.