Scriptwriter
I’d forgotten about that interview they stitched seamlessly into an intro. I sound reasonably coherent – score!
Some link-love for the masochists amongst you —
— and in downloadable format:
I believe the links self-destruct a fortnight from today so, y’know, no rush or anything.
In the meantime, I’m wondering if this other story I’m working on might make for good radio drama….
In December 2010 I went down to my oul’ home toon to sit in on the recording of a radio drama I wrote. I bragged about it, of course. Now it’s about to hit the airwaves.
SKYBLUE will be broadcast on SUNDAY 13 MAY 2012 at 3:05pm (New Zealand time) on National Radio.
Getting stuff out is a collaborative effort so even though I wrote it, other people made it a reality. Big ups to —
— the actors: Tess Jamieson, Jamie McCaskill, Nigel Collins, Mick Rose, Nick Dunbar, Asalemo Tofete, Amy Tarlton, Phil Grieve, Tina Cook, Rob Lloyd, Duncan Smith, and Prue Langbein;
— engineer Phil Benge; and
— producer Jason Te Kare.
I know, I know: twelve bleedin’ speaking parts (Jason was very, very tactful in pointing this out to me).
And thanks also to the reality-checkers: Dr Christina Birkin and Dr Melanie Woodfield for reading various drafts, and helping shape sensationally-dramatic-but-irresponsibly-unethical-and-inaccurate scenes into equally-grippingly-dramatic-but-more-butt-clenchingly-realistic ones.
For some reason – and it’s not just my usual laziness – the idea of revision has, of late, been quite a mountain to climb. As if it wasn’t bad enough circling a blank screen, approaching a draft with revisory intent always makes me think of that saying about dogs and their vomit.
A script doesn’t get better on itself, but.
So. I took the notes I was given from the read-through, some more from the director hisself, and some of my own, and tried to integrate those that were most applicable (ie., felt right) into the next iteration of the draft.
If nothing else, it’s making more sense. It’s jumped from 33 pages to 37 pages but that’s okay. The director is not afraid to cut lines and stuff whether I’m in the room sobbing or not.
I used to wonder what a “revised first draft” meant. I used to think it was virtually identical to the first draft – it just had all the typos ironed out. As far as feature scripts were concerned, the definition could vary, depending on the producer.
But with this project, my wearing the writer and co-producer hats means that a revised first draft is whatever I damned well say it is.
You want names? They’re right here and here. … Um, yeah: more to follow, obviously.
So, yesterday was the read-through and…. Read-through’s are always an heady, anxious, butterflies-in-the-bowels kind of experience. You’ve just emerged into the light with a draft that you think/hope/pray hits the mark. You anticipate the joy of hearing your dialogue sing and await the inevitable praise to be heaped upon you from your readers.
This read-through was no different.
The actors reading their lines sounded nothing like the voices I’d heard when writing the script. (Disclosure: this was a cold read.) Holes that I thought I’d papered over sufficiently stuck out like… holes don’t stick out, really, do they? The dialogue did not sing. Arcs I thought I’d artfully sketched turned out to be just sketches waiting some proper writing to define them.
Praise was not inevitable. Warm supportive noises were welcomed. Carefully phrased criticism was taken on board. No tears were shed. No pride was swallowed.
With an open reading less than a fortnight away, it’s about tightening and bridging and articulating and… writing.
Development continues apace.
INT. PRODUCER’S OFFICE – DAY
TIGHT ON WRITER, lower lip trembling.
WRITER
You’re what?
PRODUCER
Oh don’t be a sookie –
WRITER
You’re swanning off to who-knows-where so I have to deal directly with the director –
PRODUCER
Shut up and have a Chupachup.
The Writer crosses his arms. Looks meaningfully at a corner of the Producer’s desk.
The Producer follows the Writer’s eyes.
Beat lengthens.
PRODUCER
If I have to reach into that drawer, you better drop the tears and trembly lips.
The Writer’s lips tighten, then tremble again. They tighten.
The Producer opens the DRAWER – we see only a faint glow from its contents – as --
PRODUCER
(as if to a dog)
Who’s a good boy?
OUT ON WRITER.
Recap:
– a 23-page working first draft of the script was submitted on Sunday (15 April);
– on Wednesday (18 April) an actual, like, complete first draft of the script was demanded by the coming Saturday (21 April);
– Thursday was day-job day, and was full-on, maaan;
– Thursday was so full-on that it spilled into Friday, duuude;
– Friday was further made exciting by having to wake up at 0430 to ensure The Goddess caught an 0640 flight, and lengthened by having to stay awake to collect Her at 2400 later that day.
Friday, I must say, for all its excitement and marathon-like/-lite duration, was a little frustrating.
Oh, and then I was reminded that:
– Saturday we were expecting seldom-seen relatives.
Forcing condensing three potential writing days into five hours can be an exhilarating experience. I love it. After the fact.
Experiencing it is another matter as the knot in the stomach gnaws and gnaws, your fingers won’t type fast enough – and they keep inserting typos! – and a headache tries to distract you with variations of “How you like me now?”-type pain.
But it’s not all bad. Honest. There’s the actual exhilaration – the fevered and/or inspired connection and transformation of notes-to-self into a story, the page count in the bottom corner of the screen clicking over and reinforcing the sense of hard work in progress, and the process of writing, throwing shit down, cursing as you delete, mentally high-five-ing as it just flows. Five minutes to the contracted deadline, and you’re done.
One thinks, Gaw, that weren’t so bad!
Oh how quickly one forgets.
(Final page count: 33 pages.)
15.
A measly three pages since yesterday.
But I did spend an hour negotiating a formal agreement that reasonably I’m happy with. There were moments that gave me some ‘Nam-style flashbacks but everyone’s still alive and still talking.
It’s late afternoon now and we’re entertaining in the banquet hall so there’ll be no more writing today.
Three pages is always better than no pages.
INT. KEEP, FORTRESS MAMEA – NIGHT
Our WRITER hunches over his desk, fingers flying over his KEYBOARD, head bopping to Charlie Parker. A particularly intense buzz of typing and he squints at his MONITOR --
ON MONITOR where a page count shows “12”.
WRITER
Yeah, baby!
His CELLPHONE vibrates.
ON CELLPHONE which shows “New txt from Producer”.
He snatches up his cell.
ON CELLPHONE – “You have a Director.”
Our Writer’s brow furrows as --
CUT TO:
FLASHBACK – INT. PRODUCER’S OFFICE – DAY
-- our Writer squirms on his KINDERGARTEN STOOL, eyes barely clearing the top of the PRODUCER’S DESK.
PRODUCER
Do you want to direct?
WRITER
Hell, no.
PRODUCER
Shut -, uh. Good.
ON WRITER as he stares at the Producer, a bead of sweat tracking down his forehead as we --
CUT BACK TO:
INT. KEEP, FORTRESS MAMEA – NIGHT
-- and the Writer’s thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button --
ON CELLPHONE – “Wow. Without a script, too.”
-- then he thumbs the ‘Cancel’ button, before trying another answer --
ON CELLPHONE – “You are so O for AWESOME.”
-- then he cancels that reply – a DROP OF SWEAT splashes the cellphone and he blinks and remembers to breathe – then types in --
ON CELLPHONE – “Thank you.”
