Confessions on a dunce-floor

Traineeship week 9. This is the last week of the script year, and was looking like my last week too. I found out yesterday they want me back for another month next year, a last chance to prove what I’m capable of. This is a good thing. I’m well aware I haven’t found my voice, both in the story room and in terms of my writing, I can think of a dozen reasons why, and I can address them all over the break. This chance is all I need.

Things got tough in my weeks of no-blogging,. I trusted my abilities, but I knew I was becoming more shy and reserved than I’d ever imagined possible. Whatever energy I had to approach people back on day one had dissipated, and I could barely muster the odd hello. I was all introvert – helpful with some aspects of the writing process, but not a place that engenders confidence. I got heavier and slower, sliding deeper into a morass of fear and denial. Abandoning this blog was part of the descent.

So now I’m back. Block by block, piece by piece, rebuilding, restoring, reawakening. Please allow me to introduce myself ...

No dancing, no ceilings

Been a while, hasn’t it? Ten days. Good grief.

Thinking about it, I’ve been decidedly average the whole time. Maybe the blogging was keeping my brain churning over. Is that possible? Do I need to blog every day just to have my wits about me? Hmmmm. Big long walk into the house of mirrors coming up.

And in news from the breach:
* Election – ha ha ha! Did anyone dare dream a political humiliation so utter and complete?
* Feel like spending over $300 for the complete DVD boxed set of Get Smart? No, me neither, sadly. Ciao, Time/Life.
* How did we live before sushi?
* Seahawks win again, sweeping the hated St.Louis Rams. Such immense glories doth the Lord Sport provide his humble followers.
* Half the population of the world has a mobile phone. Not bad work for just twenty-five years. Possibly the greatest meme since the wheel, maybe?
* Neighbours is going to be really good next year. Really good. I shit you not.
* Harry Redknapp is innocent. I JUST KNOW IT. The rest of the Premier League is totally jealous.
* Whoever thought to divert some of a lawn mower’s power to its wheels was a genius!
* Was there a bit of a breakthrough in the Writers’ Strike this afternoon? Or more bluff? So hard to know. Searching for more info, I came across a poster for a new movie called ‘Timber Falls’. The poster is a terrified woman facing a man armed with a sickle he’s about to rape/kill her with. PLEASE REMIND WHICH WRITERS I’M SUPPOSED TO ROOTING FOR. TA.
* Michael Firrito gets Glenn Archer’s ‘11’ jersey. Good choice, although I could’ve seen it retired like they do in the NFL.
* It’s a good time to succumb to the magnificence of Siouxsie Sioux. Did you all know Jeff Buckley did a cover of Siouxsie’s ‘Killing Time’? I only just found out today.
* GM crops are simply evil, you stupid State Government.
* Battlestar Galactica season 3 is out on DVD ... happy evenings underway.
* Please, don’t anyone talk to me about Lionel fucking Richie. The number of times I have to bite my tongue during the day ...

Yummy gold

One of the nice things about the Neighbours story room is the endless supply of nibbles. Chocolate bars, chip packets, biscuits and yes, even fruit. It’s snackland – which, unsurprisingly, it needs to be. Even bad ideas require a vast amount of energy. And those brilliant ideas ... eeek, pump in the sugar, nurse.

Today had some brilliant moments, both in the room and in the stories we plotted. There’s nothing like disparate story threads suddenly tying themselves together into a coherant and inspired plot. Our word du jour for success is ‘gold’, which perfectly describes what a sublime inspiration is worth in the room.

Sadly, I was off-form until about 3pm. All my ideas were crap, not the point or utterly misguided. In my first week I would’ve died after the first talk-turkey, but these days I feel better about forging forward. It’s humbling to watch your plausible idea get rejected then see the replacement become utterly brilliant. You have to just jump off your train of thought and hop everyone else’s carriage. Then, once you’re firmly on board, start again with the big visions. Much easier said than done, but that was how it played out this afternoon, culminating in another storyliner and I fighting for a scene which turned out to be brilliant. Yay. Relief.

Engraved in history

Okay, it’s been a while. I can explain.

Last Thursday I got to stay home and write half of the fifth. By the ‘fifth’ I mean the Friday episode for the week we were plotting. If you watch Neighbours on Friday, 28 May 2008 that first half of the episode is mine. By that, I mean half the action. None of the dialogue. Or the directing. Or the acting. But all the things that happen are mine. Except for the bits that’ll inevitably get changed. YAY I’M FAMOUS!!

Writing out half an episode should take about half-a-day to a day, tops - but it was my first time, and my son’s birthday, and I live in fucking pollenland, so it took until 2am Friday morning and again from 6:30am to 2:30pm Friday morning. I got a bit exhausted.

But now it’s Monday again, time to write another whole week’s worth of stories. This morning began with my usual two hours of commuting, where I tried to brainstorm ideas for the week ahead. To get my brain to a more creative place I pulled up some Brian Eno. Neighbours and Brian Eno – not an obvious coupling, but there is a link. If you’ve ever seen Richard Lowenstein’s Dogs In Space you might recall the scene where the happily drugged-out kiddies root to Eno’s Sky Saw. Well, Dogs In Space was set in Richmond, and the house used in the film is write around the corner from where we write Neighbours. Therefore neighbours = Richmond = rooting kiddies = Dogs In Space = Brian Eno. Simple! And yes, Michael Hutchence would also do the trick. I really don’t think anything says young love better than INXS’ Never Tear Us Apart, anyway.

OMFG

We got yelled at today! I haven’t been yelled at in years! Hang on, let me qualify that. I haven’t been yelled at by professionals in years. No no, that’s not it. I mean I haven’t been yelled at by professionals who I respect in years. That’s it.

It was weird. Totally weird! I’m no spring chicken, I get the need to lay down some law. But ouch, in a group context it’s so hard to know what to take personally. If I had more experience in team sports I might be able to process this better. “You were all total shit today!” means that most of you underperformed, some of you were okay and a couple of you just played your last match. “But which bits were me!”

I felt that a lot of today’s criticism was aimed at me, but in a group setting I couldn’t talk it through. That killed me! There was no excuses for our transgression (inappropriate silence, if you must know), but there were extenuating circumstances that haven’t changed. So I can’t see how I can guarantee non-naughtiness in future. Argh. Grrr.

In better news, we’re storylining really great stuff. Watch Neighbours. In May 2008. Or now, if you want. You could do worse. Like watching a CSI.

And the Seahawks won 24-0 over the rather inept San Francisco 49ers. YAY! And I got to watch some of it in our tearoom, live from Seattle. Seattle to Richmond, the USA into Neighbours. It felt good in my soul.

Leaping lizards

Today was the last day of my first three weeks, meaning probation period #1 is over. I’m back for another four weeks - yay and hooray.

Have I mentioned I like it? That there’s nothing better in the whole freakin’ world than getting paid to do what you love? And to be challenged to get better and better at what you love ... totally golden.

I know it’s not easy. It took me until I was 37 to realise I had to do something, and that was only because I felt tortured by the parts of the world I hated. I was almost 39 when I defined my goal and took the leap of faith to grab it. I don’t know how to make it easy for you. It’s probably the same process as finding a lover – get out, meet lots and lots of people, and feel a lot of love in your heart.

I might sound naïve to mention ‘love’, but without it you’re fucked. Or, if you’re looking for a lover, not fucked, if you’ll pardon the vulgarity. Love – openness, optimism, faith, belief ... you’ve got to find something.

All about air

Great, but late, day of storylining. I left home at 6:15am and got home at 9:05pm. Just a little fucking mental.

It’s dawning on me I’ve been ill virtually the whole time I’ve been on the show – stupid hayfever, stupid blocked nose! I’m at a stage now where I can feel my brain cloud-up as the oxygen flow to my brain decreases. I have to keep remembering to breathe, I kid you not. There’s times when I find myself being vague or argumentative and I realise I’m barely breathing at all. You need air to live, kids! Just in case you weren’t sure.

And got to see my name in print for the first time today! I’m right there on the coversheet of Neighbours Scene Breakdown Block No. 1091 ... Trainee Storyliners: Trent Griffiths and Mark Dickenson. In case I haven’t mentioned it, Trent is also from my RMIT Professional Screenwriting course. Three months ago we were sitting in the same ‘Writing for TV’ class. Now we’re plotting the fate of Ramsay St. World = wonderful.

Joss Whedon fans please note the great man has blogged twice in the last two days about the Writers Guild strike. Check out Whedonesque and follow the appropriate headlines. Ah, the strike. Every great writer in Hollywood is on the pickets. How I wish I was there ... it’s the social gathering of the millenium! And the actors too, good grief. Joss bumped into Alyson Hannigan and Alexis Denisof in the street handing out donuts. FEED ME DONUTS, WILLOW! *SOB*

Choose your handicap

Melbourne Cup Day is not a holiday in Erinsborough. Another day, another forty scenes - it’s an amazing process. Today was a plotting out another first and second (ie. Monday and Tuesday episodes). I haven’t been assigned an episode write-up yet, which is fine – my attempt last week was so lame I can’t bring myself to hand it over. Crazy, I know, but the more I look at it the less I know how to improve it. What kind of cruel phenomenon is that?

Aside from Pakistan devolving into anti-chaos, the planet’s big news for me at the moment is the Writers Guild of America strike. I don’t get to see TV news very often so I don’t know how (or even if) it’s being reported. Is it being reported? In general, it’s a great and noble struggle against the shallowest greediest heart of darkness in corporate America. I’m hugely proud of everything these writers are doing. If you have a few moments, maybe check out the blogs of people like Alex Epstein, Brian K Vaughn, John Rogers and the usual suspects (Ken, Jane, Tim, anyone). I hear the best overview is at United Hollywood, but I haven’t seen for myself yet.

At this point it’d probably be appropriate to add a plug for our own Australian Writers Guild, a similarly fine and worthy organisation ... However, I’m not too thrilled with their decision to put an evil misogynistic scumbag on the cover of their latest mag, so fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em and the horses they rode in on.

Happy Cup Day!

Blah blah look at me look at me blah blah

So Week 3 begins. I did another unnecessarily long pitch to the room this afternoon, but that seems to be unavoidable now. I tried to be brief, and I was a nightmare. At least I don’t stammer or drone any more.

Amusingly, Ken Levine’s blog last Friday had a list of all things you can say when your pitch to a room full of writers falls flat. Damn me for not printing it out and taping it in my folder.

The big news at the moment is the birth of a new Joss Whedon TV series. If you don’t know about The Dollhouse, get reading. The love is pure.

You've been poked? Really?

It seems people in TV use FaceBook. Writer, producers, executive producers ... what does it all mean? Layer after layer, I find myself slipping into this new world.

Today was wonderful. Frenetic disagreement over story that remained respectful and constructive. This is heaven.

Recommended: go buy 'Preparations' by Prefuse 73.

Yeah, I'm cool ... totally cool

I enjoyed today. I did a lot of talking and I think most of it was useful. I’m feeling ill (sore throat and general fuckedupedness), so I can’t be 100% sure I’m reading the situation right. But in the universe inside my brain it was all good. Yay inside universe.

Back when I was a Team Leader in the finance industry (1,000 years ago), sometimes my new staff would furtively inquire how I thought they were going. Most times I blurted out “You’re going great!” which they were, and “I’d let you know if you weren’t” which I would’ve. But I remember being puzzled that they were so worried. That joke’s on me now. What I’d give for a rating from ten every time I open my mouth. It turns out I’m the neediest fucking trainee in the world. I hope the irony amuses some of you.

Aside from this characteristic self-consciousness (OMFG, no-one laughed at that magnificent witticism – I am a TOTL LOSR!), I think I’m also in a weird situation professionally. There are currently four jobs and four people happily doing those four jobs. There are also three of us trainees. TRAINEES FOR WHAT? you might ask. This is what I’m asking. In my inside universe. Yay inside universe. I like your answers.

And sorry about the split infinitives. Stupid writing.

From on high

I had my first major experience of network interference today. One of our clever and intriguing a-strands (major plotline) got completely rearranged after a brief call from the PTB. It hurt a little, considering the love we put into it.

I think the most interesting thing was that we all regrouped with the new story and made it work. For the first few moments I thought we were facing a disaster, but we talked it around and made something equally good. These are invaluable writing lessons.

On the bummer side, I’ve stayed back so late the last two nights I’ve gotten home at 9:15pm. Assuming I’m on time tomorrow, I’ll have gone 72 hours without a face-to-face chat with my son. Oh, and he’s ill at the moment. Great dad, eh? Meanwhile my mum’s driving for 30 minutes each night to pick me up. Maybe I’ll get to repay the lad when he’s 39.

Aum and be happy

Further to my comments on Friday, there’s quite a lot to be said about the art of contributing to a group brainstorm. Let’s call the process ‘pitching’. When pitching, there’s one mistake the novice team-member can make which is critical: interrupting someone who knows what they’re talking about. I call the mistake ‘critical’ because I seriously believe it would cost you your job. And it SHOULD, good grief. This is not a mistake many people make.

Assuming you can avoid the critical faux pas, there are two inescapable errors. The first is saying nothing. Damn, it’s easy to say nothing, especially when everyone who knows a lot is on a roll. The second is hogging the mic when you get your moment in the sun. Guess where I’m at.

You might’ve thought that saying stupid things was a problem. Surprisingly, that’s not so bad. So long as you’re in the right ballpark (ie. you know the characters) anyone’s free to blurt anything. Thank goodness! Just pray for silence and everything’s okay, like I said.

Today was a usual Monday; planning for the week ahead and assessing the storyline write-ups from last week. We also had a special treat, watching 5 straight future episodes over lunch. You might think I’m fucking with your head by calling that a treat, but no, they were fun. These characters are alive for me now and seeing their representation on the scene is bizarrely entrancing. Look, look, it’s like they’re real!

We also discovered we’re on the cover of the latest TV Week. The cries of victory echoed throughout our HQ all afternoon. We rock! WE ROCK!! EAT THAT, HOME AND AWAY!!

Special note: a great lecturer from my distant past opened a new art installation tonight. Dr Darren Tofts taught me literature at Swinburne late last century. Ironically, his exhibition is in the RMIT building where I was just studying screenwriting - too weird! Actually, the whole story is even weirder than that but that’ll do you for now. The name of the installation is ZOSO. See here for details. And that address should be 23-27 Cardigan St, not 23027. Go, kiddies of Melbourne, get your minds all twisted and free.

In the beginning was the no-word

I thought this week would never end. Now, to my amazement, it seems like the quickest five days of my life. I can’t believe I don’t have to go back tomorrow.

Y’know, my favorite part of the storyline-brainstorming process is when someone (usually me) makes a comment and it gets totally ignored. Comment ... silent beat ... next idea appears from someone else. It’s an amazing feeling! Sure, there’s a degree of rejection, but more than that is the realisation that no-one has the time or energy to tell you why we can all do better. Reality clicks into focus and you’re slapped by an awareness that the task is huge and your ego is microscopic. All you can do is send your ego out for coffee and start worshipping at the fount of your storytelling inspiration, praying for celestial nectar to flow through you and into everyone’s notebooks.

Interestingly, after you get ignored a few times you start to dread feedback. If you need to be told why your idea doesn’t fit you’ve obviously not meant to be here.

Silence is respect! I love this job.

First, Last and Always

At 5:15pm this afternoon I left the offices of FremantleMedia without shame. A major breakthrough! Thursdays are feeling great already.

How can this be?, you ask. Let me explain. On Mondays we brainstorm the story arcs for the whole week (the week in question being over six months ahead of what you saw on TV tonight). Then comes the scene-by-scene plotting of the episodes. On Tuesdays we plot Monday’s and Tuesday’s episodes (the First and Second). On Wednesday we plot Wednesday’s and Thursday’s (the Third and Fourth), and on Thursday we wrap up the Fifth. Thursday is, therefore, a half-day in the office.

A weird part of the process is that every time an episode is plotted someone is sent away to write it. On Tuesday morning there are seven or eight people plotting the First. This morning there were three of us left in the room building the Fifth. I only stayed in the office all week because I was given a task on the Fifth. When I’m given a task on the First, I’ll be free to go home on lunchtime Tuesday.

The upshot of all this is DAMN, I wish I’d known! I can easily stay back late if I know it’s not going to be EVERY night. The clouds have parted and glorious sunshine is warming the cockles of my dark, clumsy heart.

And now, back to my trainee-quality attempts at storylining (“argh, it smells!!!”).

Details, details.

I’m in this awkward situation where there’s only one train I can catch which gets me all the way home (via a bus connection). If I miss the 5:49pm out of Southern Cross Station, I currently have to ... *sigh* ... get my mother to drive for 35 minutes to collect me from the middle of nowhere. Would you like that? No, you wouldn’t. And I bet you’re not 39, either.

Furthermore, if I miss that train I also get home too late to put my 3-year-old son to bed. It means I don’t see him at all that day. Missing a train by 1 minute (as I did on Monday) means there’s a 48 hour break from one ‘Hi, lad’ to the next. And that’s assuming I catch the train the next day.

To get the 5:49pm I need to leave Neighbours around 5:15pm. And therein lies the problem: the Neighbours day doesn’t end at 5:15pm. For the third consecutive day I’ve had to slink out of a wild and wonderful script meeting with my tail between my legs. Nothing could be more fucked. Tonight I got called on it: “This can’t keep happening.”

I know that. I totally know that. And it won’t keep happening. I’ll buy a second car, and I won’t need the bus connection at all.

And I won’t see my son all week.

I have to face the fact I’ve never suffered for my art. It was going to happen sooner or later.

Sworded

I get the impression that yesterday was a weird day for everyone. Today, despite the work running late, everything felt kinda wonderful and alive.

You deserve to know a little about the process. In general, the early days of the week are about brainstorming the events that’ll happen on the show. This is the fun bit, the bit everyone wants to do (and yes, I mean you). It’s broad and funny, and even the frustrating mental gymnastics are tempered by the realisation that making up stuff is fucking cool. I think I’m doing this part of the process okay. I haven’t completely made an idiot of myself yet. At least to my knowledge.

The rest of the week, the other half of the job, is transforming the brainstorming into precise and immutable story notes, suitable for network executives and scriptwriters alike. This is the bit I’m worried about. Without immense talent at this bit, there’s no future for me here. My doubts about my prose skills hang over me Sword of Damocles-like.

Strangely, I walked from the building today with a glimmer of hope that I can get good at the whole process. It’s a good glimmer.

Storylining #1

Pensive Mark taps away at his laptop, wondering about the mental state of the woman sitting in front of him. Is such an interest in Prince William really suitable at her age? ‘Exit Music’ by Radiohead thunders in his ears as he stands and cries out that life just isn’t fair, or maybe it’s too fair, or something like that, or maybe just nothing like that. Appalled commuters throw cans and offal as he sheepishly cowers in his seat, desperate for a fiery tunnel to Hell to provide an escape route, or at least for his station to appear. Angry Prince William Fan yells that royalty are people too, and reminds him he’s meant to be one of the good guys. Before he can reply, the guy behind him, who’s been reading over his shoulder the whole time, presses the emergency stop button and everyone is catapulted into the front two metres of the carriage. Extracting someone’s toes from his nose, beleaguered Mark asks for a few moments to address his insecurities. Aren’t we all royalty, in our own way? Out on Mark's reluctance to face the reality that no we're not.

Day one of the rest of my whatever

Today was my first day in the little god room that tells the people of Erinsborough what to do. No-one else blogs about their experiences in the TV office, and tempted as I am I’m not going to be the first. There’s better forms of suicide.

In truth, I’m still not entirely sure what happened.

It started well. I got there early, after catching the last quarter of the Seahawks win over the Rams at a Swan St Kinkos. I even got my palpitations under control.

It ended badly, running out of a meeting at 5:20pm and missing my train home. Running out of a meeting meant I looked like an unprofessional idiot. Missing my train meant that my poor mother had to drive for an hour to pick me up. The worst of both worlds. Done and done.

In between these extremes there was a bunch of stuff, some of it real, much of it imagined.

I’m very tired and missing a key adjective – the one that’d let you know how I feel. I’ll keep looking. I might even find it tomorrow.

Tomorrow ...

Okay, I start at Neighbours tomorrow. My vital signs are oscillating at twenty times their usual hyperactivity. By this evening I should get around to breathing.

Lara, one of the Story Producers, has sent me their New Storyliners manual. Aside from its relevance, it's a great read - a quick guide to the reality of writing TV. I'm planning to get sections tattooed inside my eyelids.

No sleep 'til Erinsborough.

Doorstepping

When I revisited this blog back in August I had grandiose visions of regular postings. I should've known better. I was going to monitor my attempts at entering the film and television industry in the wake of quitting my job in finance. In retrospect, it would've been worth the effort.

I finished at Aviva Australia on September 7th, leaving with a whimper not a bang despite a fine afternoon with some of my wonderful colleagues. I had secret hopes for dancing girls and a street parade - yes, I'm an idiot.

The subsequent weeks, jobless but continuing my two classes at RMIT, felt ... well, fantastic! Woo-hoo, no office, life with wife & kid, sleeping in, time to potter around the house and focus on schoolwork. It was sweet.

And then I got an interview for a 'Script Co-ordinator' job at Neighbours. I'd been studying Neighbours for the previous few months, just in case something came up. And I don't use the word 'studying' lightly - after 20 years of five episodes a night it's a whole universe of facts and faces.

The interview goes great. Standing in the offices of FremantleMedia I feel surges of wonder and awe - maybe how a young footballer feels running onto the MCG for the first time. Idiot, as I mentioned.

Anyway, the upshot is that I start at Neighbours on Monday as a trainee storyliner. Now, if anything, this blog might just be about life as a writer. Good grief, have I died and actually gone somewhere?

There are a couple of great writer blogs out there (probably a zillion, but at least a couple). I highly recommend Ken Levine and Jane Espenson. Yes, I aspire to all that. Idiot.

Step 1: Wake up

Okay, let’s forget all that other shit from 2006. This is the briefing to get you up to speed:
1. I’ve started the Professional Screenwriting course at RMIT. I’d been scribbling notes in the void too long, thinking I was writing when all I was doing was ageing. It finally struck me last September that I have to seriously step into the industry, at whatever level, like or not. I’m studying part-time as I still have my ... no, hang on ...
2. I’ve just quit my job! After seven and a half years in the world of insurance and investment I’ve said ‘nyet’ and pulled up my stumps. September 7 will be my last day, and then employment oblivion. Which is a little scary because –
3. We’re pregnant! In January Keaton gets a passenger on his train-ride through childhood. Toot toot!

So why am I blogging again? Because now things get interesting. I have to actually do things, like face my fears and be in the moment. I imagine that’ll be fun to share. I might be wrong of course, but, you know, the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single violent whack to the genitals.

HELLO ... hello ... hello ...

Hey, does this still work?