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Archives for January 2009

Cheap and chirpy

Micheal Jacob|14:54 UK time, Friday, 30 January 2009

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It has been a while since my last post, which is largely because I haven't had anything much to say. However, earlier this week I was invited to give a couple of talks to a Comedy North/Writersroom North writing workshop taking place in Ted Hughes's old house near Hebden Bridge (he had a good eye for a view, did Ted), with a particular focus on low cost comedy.

Low cost is a phrase which has gained massive currency over the past year or so as budgets are being reduced, so it might be helpful to pass on some thoughts. While high end comedy will continue, it needs to be balanced with cheaper shows within the overall comedy budget.

So what is low cost or, indeed, high cost?

The BBC currently has three comedy tariffs. The most expensive is £250,000 to £300,000 per half hour. Mid-range is £170,000 to £250,000, and the lowest tariff is £50,000 to £170,000.

Low cost, therefore, equates to a maximum of £170,000, and while it can just be possible to make an audience sitcom for the top end of that range, low cost effectively means single camera.

In essence, money buys time, people and facilities. Audience sitcom works on a weekly schedule in a pattern which hasn't changed for over 50 years. The production week begins by reading the episode, continues with rehearsals in a rehearsal room over three days, then moves to the studio for camera and dress rehearsals, culminating in the show being recorded in front of the audience. Very occasionally British sitcom operates on the American model in which a studio is booked for the entire run, and rehearsals take place in the sets, but that's the very top end.

It's a pattern which allows time for actors to learn the lines, and a director to block the actors' movements, develop their performances and visualise his shots. It's difficult to see how things might work differently, given that acting, moving and capturing are all essential, as are the people who do necessary jobs in a studio.

Also, and most important, it allows a writer to hear a script and amend it over the week to make it funnier, better for the actors, and the right length.

But if you're planning a low cost audience show, my advice would be to have a core cast of no more than five, contain it to three sets and don't expect star names.

Equally, if it's a low cost single camera project, the same applies - a contained environment, a core cast of no more than five, and a straightforward narrative style.

By a contained environment, I don't mean a single set, thought that's feasible if possibly claustrophobic. I mean two or at the most three regular and recurring sets or locations, which doesn't rule out going elsewhere occasionally, but going elsewhere has to be significant.

Since single camera shooting is like making a film. A contained approach makes it possible to shoot all the scenes which take place in one location or set, and then move on to another.

The two things which take up most time on location shoots are first moving from location to location, involving de-rigging, packing up, driving, and setting up; and second, lighting the new location. So the more that can be done in one place, the more effective the use of time.

A core cast of no more than five should offer enough permutations for story-telling and attitude. That's not to say there would be five leads - that could be a bit unwieldy. Many successful shows have been based on two leads, surrounded by subsidiary characters. In Two Pints, until Ralf Little left, the show was based on two pairs with one additional main character in Louise. My Family was based on two parents and three children when it began. Father Ted was effectively a pair, with two subsidiary 'main' characters, as was Fawlty Towers. So five as a maximum number, with odd guest parts, feels manageable and sensible in sitcom, and many sketch slash entertainment shows have been based on duos - Mitchell and Webb, Armstrong and Miller, Harry and Paul, Vic and Bob, the Boosh, and so on.

And finally, straightforward story-telling is important. By straightforward I mean no flashbacks and no montages. Both flashbacks and montages call for set-ups separate to the main narrative, needing costume, make-up and lighting changes. They add to time and thus to cost. Achieving cheapness means telling a story moving forward.

Casualty Scripts and Interview

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Piers Beckley|17:47 UK time, Thursday, 29 January 2009

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Ever wondered about the process of writing for Casualty works?

Wonder no more, for script producer Bianca Rodway talks us through the process.

Not only that, but we've got two scripts from the last series for your delight and education.

A House Divided by Daisy Coulam is the one in which a meth addict causes a house to fall on top of himself and his family, and in which Toby has a dreadful time. It's an excellent example of a "standard" Casualty episode - notice how the theme echoes between the guest stories and the regulars.

Sex and Death was written by lead writer Mark Catley. This one's a format-breaker in which we flash back through Ruth's life at Holby City, and see the reasons why she was driven to try to take her own life.

Writers Academy 4

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Ceri Meyrick|16:28 UK time, Thursday, 29 January 2009

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A Reader Speaks

OK - this week I thought I'd hand over the blog to David Roden. He works with me as part of the Academy team, and his job is mostly to read scripts that are sent to us. I asked him what he thought... he did this:

"I read scripts.

I read a lot of scripts.

I can't tell you how many scripts I've read this year because I've lost count.

I get asked on a reasonably regular basis "what makes a script stand out?"

I read so many of them, and have read so many over the years, I can tell very quickly what I've got in store for me as I pass from page two to page three and onwards.

Most days I'm never wrong, but some days ... and, god I love those days ... some days I couldn't be more wrong about what a script holds in store for me. Some brilliant soul out there has told me a story that completely knocks me for six.

That's why I am passionate about the job I do. There are a lot of brilliant writers out there ... and also some good writers... some competent but dull writers... writers who are technically not brilliant but have something really exciting to say... and some very deluded people who think they can write... and I read scripts from all of them on a daily basis. Not all writers are the same.

But every single time, I will pick the "technically not very accomplished but got a spark of something really special" script over the "technically hugely accomplished but got no life or heart at all" script. I promise you. Structure can be taught. Heart, passion, and soul can't.

A trial script for a TV soap... I will scream if I get sent another bloody one of these. I want original scripts - something a writer is passionate about. Not some half-arsed attempt at a soap you barely watch.

Cop Shows full of clichés - such as: a rogue detective with psychic powers; good cop / bad cop routine with dialogue ripped off from Quentin Tarantino's back catalogue of films; cop with a self-destructive vice because they've lost their partner in a failed bank robbery; high flier with a dark secret goes back to seaside fishing village where they were born; blah, blah, blah.

Short Film Scripts - a completely different medium and style and format. Don't ... just, don't.

Angels and Demons - science-fiction scripts that feature an age old battle between heaven and hell in a post-apocalyptic city that are pitched at a Saturday tea time slot - and, one of the main characters has died and is trapped in this limbo, and to find a way out they have to solve the mystery of how and why they died. You might think I'm joking, but I get at least two versions of this story a week. Every week. Please don't be derivative of your favourite shows - be unique and bold and brilliant. Make me sit up and say, I wish I'd thought of that.

Starting with a voice over or a monologue - just because the brilliant 'American Beauty' did it, doesn't mean every script should start that way. More often than not, it's a lazy way of imparting information.

Directing in the Stage Directions - 'whip pan to', or 'crash zoom', or 'crane up to ...' Stop it! Stop it now! You are telling me a story, not telling me how you would direct it. Your stage directions should be brilliant prose. They should read like a novel - an un-put-down-able novel. They should be sparse, exciting, precise, punchy, create an atmosphere, make me laugh, draw me in ... but NEVER tell me how it should be directed, because I'll assume that you'd rather be a director instead. Read a Russell T Davies script - he is the master of genius stage directions.

Irrelevant Stage Directions ...please don't give me too many stage directions that tell me information about characters' family trees or feelings... a note I often give is 'can we try to find a way of dramatizing the stage directions'... if you can't dramatize it, cut it out, it isn't necessary. And, don't break up a wonderful, passionate piece of dialogue to say something bland like: 'She sits down slowly' or 'She nervously fiddles with the toggle on her parka' ...

Irrelevant Time Jumps - Unnecessary flashbacks, or flash forwards, or flash forwards within flashbacks ... you get my point!

Spelling - I shouldn't even have to say this, and yet ..."



Writers Academy 3

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Ceri Meyrick|15:07 UK time, Thursday, 22 January 2009

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Do I qualify to enter?

A few thoughts this week on what kind of writing experience will qualify you for the course...

You are able to apply for the Writers Academy if you can prove you have a "professional drama commission". In other words we want you to show us that you have been paid to write drama. It does not have to be for television - film, radio, theatre would all qualify.

The reasons for this are two-fold. Firstly, it keeps application numbers down to a manageable level. If we got several thousand scripts, instead of several hundred, we would not have enough people to read them and make a meaningful selection. But secondly, and more importantly, it shows us that you have had some experience of a collaborative production process. This is crucial, as television writing is all about working with others, and if you are unhappy writing to a brief, taking notes from others, or writing several drafts of your script, you are unlikely to thrive on or enjoy the course, and ultimately, the process of writing for television.

Here a list of examples of what I mean. I'm sure it's not exhaustive, and I'm always happy to consider others on a case by case basis:

Things that will qualify you to enter...

- A professional drama script commission in television, radio, theatre or film.

(This includes comedy, sit com, dramedy, comedy drama, drama with laughs etc...)

- Payment for a rehearsed reading of a drama script.

- A profit-share from a theatre production of your work.

Things that will not qualify you to enter...



- Completing a screenwriting course.

- Work done as part of an unpaid student film or theatre production.

- A commission in anything other than drama, e.g. a novel, article, factual programme, poetry.



What is "proof of commission"?

- Anything that shows that you were paid to write a piece of drama.

Examples: Writer's Contract, Letter from your agent, Letter from a production company or theatre company.



Any questions?

The Perfect 10

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Paul Ashton|12:16 UK time, Monday, 19 January 2009

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So, instalment 6:

Surprise!

It's a pretty obvious thing to say, but cliche and predictability kills story. That doesn't mean to say that you shouldn't be seeding anticipation and expectation of what might happen - and for them to make coherent sense. But if what happens feels consistently and thoroughly obvious, expected and anticipated, then there's little to keep the audience hooked.

What do I mean by surprise? Well, I don't really mean axe-wielding maniacs jumping out from the shadows - though if you are writing horror, then this is the kind of thing the genre and audience will expect you to do (albeit without it being totally predictable exactly when/where it's going to happen). What I do mean is for you the writer to do something surprising with your idea, story, characters, scenes - and for your characters to surprise the audience, and to surprise themselves.

There's probably a finite number of story archetypes , although opinion will differ about exactly how many and what we might call them. Things like tragedy, comedy, history, love story, rite-of-passage, epic/journey, which form the fundament of what stories tend to ultimately, essentially be. From there, the big question is - what do you do with an archetype? What is your particular setting/context? What is your fresh take on it? What is your unique perspective? What is your original touch that will set this apart, even though the archetype stills sits at the heart of it?

A favourite example of mine is the film O Brother Where Art Thou? by the Coen brothers. On one level, it is a relatively straight forward version of Homer's Odyssey, which is itself an archetypal epic journey - it has an Odysseus figure, it has Penelope and her suitor, it has the physical journey, the sirens, the cyclops and so on. On another level, it places them within the specific context of the American deep south in the early 20th century, with Blue Grass music and an expanse of land to traverse rather than an ocean of sea (though there is a deluge of water at the end). On another, crazier level, it turns Odysseus into the Three Stooges, and makes them comic prison escapees rather than victorious warrior heroes. And all because the Coen brothers thought the story was "funny". No-one but them could possibly have read, understood and reimagined the archetype in this way. It drips with their idiosyncracies and unique take on the world.

So. Have you seen your basic idea before? What's different and surprising about your version? What will you do to make the archetype your own? Surprising an audience (and reader) is crucial at this fundamental level.

Your characters must surprise the audience. By this, I don't mean suddenly change (do something wholly out of character), or throw in something crucial about themselves that we didn't know (reveal a big secret half way through), or have something crucial thrown at them from nowhere (aliens suddenly kidnap them half way through what has previously been a naturalistic rite-of passage tale). These kinds of things are when the story fails - when you are coming up with a shock for the sake of it, rather than generating a surprise out of the richness of the world and conflicts you have created. Some of the best surprises are when the character surprises themselves - by facing a demon or achieving a goal or resisting a temptation or sticking to their guns when they never really truly believed they could do so. Surprise should make sense in your story - not work against it.

Surprise is also about staying ahead of the audience. Audiences are very sophisticated in their understanding of genre, formats and structure. So there's an art to staying ahead of the game. At the heart of this is anticipating what they might expect, and rather than turning that entirely on its head, to tweak it so that perhaps just one element or detail is unexpected. All the better if that detail is something connected to or driven by the character, that develops our relationship with the character, rather than just a play on the plot/structure.

To take a very famous scene towards the end of Chinatown, where Evelyn's deep dark secret is revealed: at this point, Jake has had enough of Evelyn's duplicity, he's ready to hand her over to the police, he's made his mind up, he just wants to know the truth. But when the truth comes it is a shock to him. The surprise in this scene isn't just the 'reveal', but it is Jake's reaction - to instantly, instinctively help Evelyn and her daughter escape, even though it can hardly do him any good (and, tragically, it doesn't). He does it simply because it is the right thing to do. For a man who has preferred to take the easy route, to do simple PI jobs rather than police Chinatown, to do things because they are the right thing for him, this impulse is a huge step forward and a true, character revealing surprise. For Jake in the scene, this is a moment where he truly surprises himself. For us watching, it is not what we expected going into the scene. That's why it's a great surprise, in a great story.

Writers Academy 2

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Ceri Meyrick|15:15 UK time, Thursday, 15 January 2009

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What script should I send in?

Thought I'd spend some time this week talking about the kind of sample script you should send in with your applications to the Writers Academy.

Your sample script is the most important part of your application. You need to send us your absolute best work, and the piece that says the most about you as a writer. It does not need to be a television script, but it does need to be a drama. Radio, theatre and film scripts are all fine. We don't have a minimum, or maximum length, though, from experience, short film scripts don't usually give us enough to go on, and, as discussed in the comments last week, overly long scripts are a bit off-putting. It also needs to be an original piece of work, rather than an episode of an existing series or a trial script.

When the applications come in, we (our team, plus some Writersroom readers) shut ourselves away for several days and read the first ten pages of every script. If we want to keep reading a script, we then pass it on to the next stage. This cuts down the number of scripts from about 500 to around 200. These are then circulated amongst the Script Editors across the Drama Department and each script gets two full reads from two different people. I try and read as many of these as is humanly possible! We then short-list down to around 30 writers who are invited to the workshop days. We then select about half of these to come to a final interview. The whole process takes around two months. If your script gets you through to the final interview, I worked out that it will have been read by at least 10 different people. Hence the long selection process!

So, the first ten pages of your script is crucially important. Look at Paul Ashton's fab blog on "The Perfect Ten" for some tips on this.

What are we looking for?

- To want to keep reading after 10 pages

- Great dialogue

- Characters that we care about

- Stories that hook us

- The ability to put emotion on the page

It's also important to point out that your submitted script does not have to be the same script that qualifies you to apply for the course - which you may not feel is your best work.

I was going to talk about what we accept as a professional qualification this week, but I've had a few questions on this, so I think I'll deal with this in more detail in my next blog... so any more questions on that, sling them my way...

Surf's Up

Abi|13:31 UK time, Tuesday, 13 January 2009

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The year isn't quite so new now is it? But Happy New Year nevertheless and it's great to see Ceri at Writers Academy blogging here this year!

The tail end of 2008 had me battling with my ISP, I was reduced to a dial up internet connection for almost 6 weeks with only intermittent broadband. This made sending and receiving files like some sort of covert spooks operation - my editor would txt me to say she's pinging something across, I would plug in the laptop and dial up then wait half an hour for the doc to land in my in box. Surfing became impossible - it all felt quite weird, like living in a sort of vacuum that I felt aught to be filled with book reading, outings, crafting more stuff. Lord knows there's always stuff to do instead of searching for 'Tretchikoff Style Kitsch Lamp' on eBay.

It's all sorted now. New ISP, fully connected with a new Mac to boot.

My Xmas Casualty came and went - the Narcolepsy storyline plus the incident with the golf club and the missing teeth. For the first time ever, I wasn't at home watching when the episode was broadcast, I'd got a prior engagement - it being the Christmas season. I left my family dutifully poised in front of the TV to watch the drama unfold, whilst I went out dancing. It was a bittersweet experience, not unlike standing up a good friend.

At 8.05pm I felt incredibly twitchy and narked at all the people I was with - why weren't they at home watching my Casualty? I got a raft of texts from family and friends 50 minutes later, 'Well done' etc. The episode had been watched, been and gone - I could finally relax.

I have just submitted some Guest Pitches for my next Holby. These story ideas will have to 'signed off' in the next couple of days by the Series Producer, assuming they are original enough to be rubber stamped. The stories/characters I'm pitching may be too similar to other recent storylines, not 'medical enough' or simply not right for the show. This is a frustrating time because although my head says "wait" the writer in me has already moved these characters in, lock stock and barrel. I tried to avoid thinking about 'lad with Narcolepsy' before the story pitch was signed off for Casualty, but dammit I already knew his name and what he'd eat for breakfast most days - I was fleshing him out.

Narcolepsy boy was allowed to live, but the petty thief with one leg I'd dreamt up for one Holby episode had to put into the deep freeze - maybe I'll be able thaw him out for some other story.

As a writer on Continuing Drama, the ability to get the regular characters' voices right is often touted as the Holy Grail. Your own characters will naturally live and breathe your words, but the knack of knowing Elliot, Connie or Donna and understanding how each would react in any given situation is fundamental. This of course has to do with familiarity and knowing the shows. Fortunately I am a sponge. I am a 'good listener'. I am the quiet observer.

Thinking about how best to encourage this familiarity fell into place when I read about 'Thin Slicing' in Malcolm Gladwell's book "Blink" a year or so ago (you'll have to read it, far too much to go into for this little blog).

As an Academy graduate I was awed by the amount of backstory I imagined I would have to get under my belt in order to write for these shows. But as Gladwell expounds - a little bit of knowledge goes a long way. As does observation and trusting your instincts.

So I am instinctively writing the treatment for my next Holby episode. I have my 'mood board' of images for the story on the wall - it is broadcast in August, a nice summer story. I have my writing music of choice for this ep on the turntable - "Meet you at the Moon" by Imelda May. And I have my character cards lined up on the windowsill behind of my laptop.

Onward...

London and Belfast Roadshows

Piers Beckley|17:01 UK time, Monday, 12 January 2009

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Just a quick note to say that the BBC writersroom roadshow will be travelling to Belfast on 29 January 2009.

There are also still places available for the London roadshow on the 15 January 2009. So if you're in either of those places, bring your script along and save yourself a couple of quid on the postage.

Oh, yes, and there'll be an explanation of what we do and some good advice on writing too, as well as the opportunity to ask us any questions you might have.

More details and how to book.

Writers Academy 1

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Ceri Meyrick|14:01 UK time, Friday, 9 January 2009

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Hi, I'm Ceri Meyrick, Development Producer, New Talent in the BBC Drama Department. For the last three years, I've been running and co-tutoring the Writers Academy with John Yorke. We've just come up for air after the 2008 course finished before Christmas, so I thought it might be useful to start a regular blog here to talk about the Academy and answer some frequently asked questions for writers. Do ask me if there's anything you want to know. I'll also be getting some Writers Academy graduates, plus other members of our team to contribute.

The 2009 Academy will be taking applications in mid-April, so if you are thinking of entering, now is the time to start polishing up your original scripts for submission.

There's more detail about the Academy Course itself elsewhere on this website (see our regular page), but I just wanted to start by talking about who the Academy is for.

The course was started four years ago by John Yorke, Controller of Drama, who also tutors on the course. It is specifically designed to train writers in writing for the Continuing Drama shows produced by the BBC - EastEnders, Casualty, Holby City and Doctors. What it doesn't do is teach writing - we choose people who can already do that very well. What it does do is give writers a grounding in the structural principles of story-telling, an insight in the format and production processes of those four shows, and most crucially, it gives them a safe place to grow and develop their own original voice. Contrary to what some people might believe, Continuing Drama only thrives when it allows the writer's voice to shine through.

It's thirteen weeks hard work initially and you have to be based in Elstree (we do pay expenses for those who have to relocate). After that, you start a round of commissions across all four programmes. All in all it's about 13 or 14 months work. It's not for everyone - it's a big commitment, and I believe you can only do it if you really love and want to work on those shows. Remember - you also get paid!

To enter you need to have had at least one professional drama commission - either in television, radio, film or theatre. This may seem unfair to those of you who don't have this, but we've found it really is an essential qualification. The first part of the course is pretty full on, and it isn't the time to find out that you really don't enjoy the collaborative process that writing for television entails. You need to be able to respond to notes and rewrite quickly, just as you would on the real thing.

The writers who come on the course vary enormously in background, experience and age. Typically the age spread in a group is from early twenties to late forties. Not all have previous experience writing for television - some have written only for theatre or radio, for instance.



The Perfect 10

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Paul Ashton|10:53 UK time, Tuesday, 6 January 2009

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Happy New Year!

And swiftly on to instalment 5:

Emotion

In Character is Everything, I talked about engaging with characters on an emotional level. But I think emotion is worth a discussion all to itself, because it is the thing that makes great stories resonate with us for years to come, and it is the thing that can be lacking at times in a lot of the scripts we read.

The strength of your characters, and our emotional engagement with them, will make an idea stand or fall. Without this glue of empathy between character and audience, you ultimately have very little. You might have form and content, but you won't have something meaningful. And this is still true for the craziest of comedies as it is for the deepest of tragedies - if we don't feel emotion, then we don't feel anything.

A mistake often made is that writers have a big idea, a concept, a conceit, a world/universe they want to explore. They then set about creating suitable characters through which they can do this. But given the power of genre and archetypes in storytelling, it's very very rare that a writer will come up with a wholly original concept or conceit that has in no way been shown or explored before. And unfortunately, it's very very common for writers to come up with stereotypical, two-dimensional characters that fill out an idea. If you want to explore a concept, you need to do it through the strength of your characters and our emotional connection with them, otherwise what you will have is a cold, cerebral, intellectual conceit that has no emotional impact, and therefore no real impact at all. Memento is a complex and sophisticated essay on memory, time, and the meaning of action within a temporal vacuum. But really, it is the tale of one man trying to work out how to live his life day to day, moment to moment, with a unique condition that appears to take him further and further away from what he has lost in his life, while never allowing him to forget the pain of it. The first is a concept. The second is a story with emotional impact.

Great stories, and great scripts, should always aspire to have a real, physical, emotional effect on an audience. It's what I've seen/heard referred to as the 'squelch principle'. Put another way, and depending on what kind of story you are telling, it should be so poignant it makes us cry real tears, so funny it makes us laugh so hard we develop a painful stitch, so scary it makes us nearly wet ourselves, so excruciating it makes us sweat, so embarrassing it makes us want to shrivel up, so thrilling it makes our heart beat at twice it's usual speed. It should be so effective that it makes us feel real, powerful emotions - so good it makes us 'squelch'.

And why is all of this true? Because great stories, whatever the genre and tone, matter on a human level. Stories are about people; people need stories. Humanity developed the storytelling gene so that it could laugh, cry, love, fear, hate and hope for characters, and, by extension, humanity itself. Your script needs to make us laugh, cry, love, fear, hate and hope.

Happy New Year!

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Piers Beckley|17:49 UK time, Monday, 5 January 2009

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Hope you all had a lovely Christmas break.

I'm back in the office now, and sorting through some of the interviews done before the holiday break in order to decide what to type up first.

In the meantime, though, here's the script for The 39 Steps, as adapted by Lizzie Mickery.

Other than that, we've just managed to lock down the date for the BBC writersroom unsolicited roadshow in London, which will be on Thursday 15 January.

There are still a few places left for the Hull Roadshow on the 7 January as well, available from the same link - but not many, so apply quickly if you'd like to go to that.

Finally, as some of you may be aware already, the BBC writersroom now has a facebook group, so if you use facebook, feel free to pop in and say hi on the wall or discussion board.