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.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 29, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, October 26, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
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!!!”).
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!!!”).
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 22, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)