Wow, it's over two years since I last had a crack at writing something for TV. My last script "Absolutely Scrabulous" (a sit-com about a Scrabble club) got as far as that awful, impossible situation where actors are paid to read it out in front of stern faced TV executives in a board room with strip lighting (and in that case no windows). It did not get picked up for a series by the BBC, who instead elected to make "Big Top" and "The Persuasionists". Which can only mean that my script was worse than both of those. It is a frustrating business. I think my main strength is my script writing and yet since the end of "Time Gentlemen Please" (which failed to pique the interest of journalists or award committees, but which I still think is a very decent little show), I have only had one of my scripts make it to air. That was "You Can Choose Your Friends" of course, which divided the critics, getting some pretty decent reviews, but essentially being called the worst programme ever by The Evening Standard. Which I would say was harsh. But there we go. Just before finishing "Absolutely Scrabulous" I had had a crack at writing a sitcom using the same characters as YCCYF, but ITV did not want to go ahead with it. I had a read of it tonight and was quite impressed with myself. It whizzes along, reintroduces 10 or so major characters in just 25 minutes and has a reasonable plot and lots of jokes. The comedy drama version was deliberately slow-paced and uneventful, in an attempt to not only demonstrate how real life actually is, but to parody TV drama's reliance on ridiculous cliff-hangers and incredible events (and take a look at Madmen if you want to see that the out of the ordinary events are much more effective if they come out of nowhere - the lawnmower episode is etched into my brain forever I think, but was only so effective because it came in a series which doesn't go for explosions and surprises, but slow burning tension). The sit-com version I read tonight is full of incident and fast cutting scenes. I like both approaches. And whilst it is possible that I am wrong and my own abilities are limited (and they certainly feel like it when I watch something like Madmen, which makes me think it's not even worth trying to be a writer when such brilliance exists), my biggest regret for my thirties is that I didn't get a chance to make more TV shows when I was bristling with ideas. Yet with hindsight I know that I have to take a fair amount of responsibility for that failure. Even if, in my opinion, both those last two writing projects were deserving of production, especially when compared to many of the shows that successfully made it to the air in their place.
I was thinking about all this and prompted to re-read those scripts because I had been out for a meeting with some people from a top production company who were looking for new ideas. Both of them had worked to some extent on YCCYF and had enjoyed it and understood it in a way that the guy from the Evening Standard had not and wondered if I had anything else up my sleeve. Such meetings come up every now and again and more often than not lead to nothing, or occasionally lead to a script being commissioned, then sometimes to a second draft, then to that fateful reading in front of execs and then very occasionally a bit further. I have no real reason to expect that today's meeting will be any different, although it helps that the people I was meeting were aware of and fans of my work.
And I have got to a point where I am very keen to have another crack at jumping on to this bucking broncho and seeing if I can hold on this time. It would be cool to get something produced and even cooler if it could be perceived as a success, which, in actual fact, beyond the cult followers, none of my TV work has yet been. Or failing that if I could write something that the Evening Standard would think was even worse than YCCYF.
Because although one can bitch and moan about bad luck and your failures being anyone's fault but your won, I think I do have to blame myself for not making more of the opportunities I was given. You have to put so much into writing a script and it is crushing when it doesn't get anywhere and I feel that with many of the chances I had in my 30s I protected myself from the rejection by not working hard enough. It all coincided with a time when I was adrift and unsure of where I was going (and I think where I was worried about people seeing me only as a writer and not a performer) and I dragged my heels and wasted chances. A lot of this I can understand. It really is a struggle to create a new drama or sitcom from scratch and they end up feeling like they are your babies, so it's hard to cope when someone with no idea about anything stamps on them and in some ways easier to just take your foot off the gas and control your own failure. You Can Choose Your Friends got to the screen despite some terrible procrastinating by myself. I missed loads of deadlines and then finally just completed a terrible draft so that I could get paid. The executives were such idiots that they believed this version was good enough to deserve a second draft, which I did a bit better with, but then that got turned down after one of the dreaded readings. Only to be picked up by ITV and turned into a comedy drama rather than a sitcom. At the same time I was writing a drama about a double act and had someone very interested in it at Channel 4. But I missed deadlines before finally delivering an OK script. He wanted to see another one, which I did a bit quicker, but not quick enough. By the time I had delivered it the man who had commissioned it had moved on. And so that was dead in the water too.
Had I been more committed and focused and less afraid of the sting of rejection much more might have come of these scripts.
So I have to take responsibility. Even if I think I delivered the goods on the last two scripts I wrote, only to be stymied by others. It's a frighteningly random and unfair process and I have been very fortunate to have the access I have had.
Which hopefully I will do if I get another bite at the cherry. So I won't have regrets about my rapidly disappearing 40s in the same way as I do about my 30s. The difference is not just in attitude and increased aptitude (I hope), but also now, unlike eight years ago, the time left to me to be creative seems finite. It will hopefully be another twenty years at least, but I am aware now that I can't go on forever and that things will become more difficult and ideas more precious (though on the plus side, so few of my previous ideas have got anywhere, so I can at least reuse them all).
At the worst I can write a drama about the alternate universe where all these shows got made. And then act it out with puppets to myself.
In a profession with so much competition and so many hurdles to overcome (with so many self-imposed) I am indeed blessed to be at the level I am at and to still have some hope that one of these days some of my shit will hit the wall and stick. And this nearly eight year old diary has taken you (if you've read it all) through this period of disillusionment and struggle, with a slow pace that even the writers of Madmen would not dare toy with. Today's meeting may be pivotal in the story, or it might be another dead end, but what had changed for me is that my intent is different. I am prepared to give all this another go. To trudge through the unpleasant writing process regardless of success or failure.
I have the persistence of a herring. A phrase, I note, that like most of my writing work, has failed to catch on. But for some reason today I feel like a candle has been lit. It's in a room that I can't see at the moment and it might be a long way down the corridor, in a different house or town or country and it might be snuffed out before I can find it. But somewhere right on the periphery of my imagination I can feel its faint warmth.
I am game for one more throw of the dice, I think. Let's see where we are in eight year's time.
And two London gigs coming up over next few days which deserve more people at them than they currently have.
Lyric Hammersmith Comedy on Sunday with Baddiel, Jupp, Doody and Delaney. And
Collings & Herrin live on Monday at the Bloomsbury - if we're going to make the live ones a regular feature then we need to get in more than are coming at the mo. So support us if you can.
