wotiwrote

The story continues (still!): (the previous part is here)

This is in danger of becoming a mini-series, for which I apologise. This will definitely be the last part if the story. Thanks for sticking with it.


WARNING: Possible self-pity ahead.

With my first script accepted I then paid a visit to Rachel at the studio to discuss my next set of ideas. She had some news. The new exec producer, in consultation with advertisers and his employers, had made the decision that the 30-minute episodes would be canned in the next few weeks and all future 'Bills' would be 60 minutes. With the number of accepted 30 minute scripts already more than was needed for the remaining slots it meant 'Smack' was unlikely to emerge from the drawer in which it now sat.

Oh, I thought. That's a shame. (My memory is suspect so the words may have been slightly different.)

But wait! Rachel had more news. The need for 60 minute scripts meant the production team thought that only experienced writers would be able to handle it. They were ending the use of 'new' writers.

Oh, I said. That's a shame. (Again, memory..... etc)

In a way, if things had all ended there, I could have nursed a self-lacerating bitterness until I was driven to fire-bomb the studios and then spent years in some secure institution, pinning visitors to the wall and telling them how I could have been a contender. Well, I would have had plenty time to think up a better word than 'contender' and master my Brando impression.

Things didn't end there, though.

I was offered a short contract with Reuters in New York and, weighing up the riches I'd amassed in my time with The Bill against the money on offer from the contract, I was soon on a flight to JFK.

About a week into the contract I got a call from Rachel. She had two bits of news; one of the producers liked my script and was going to use it as one of the last 30 minute pieces; and I was one of a small number of 'new' writers who were to be kept on when the move to 60 minute episodes went through.

Oh, I said. That's good. (You know.....)

This was when the gods really started to toy with me. To appreciate the full irony of the next part of the tale you should know that at this point I was about three years into a period of alcohol abstention. Sobriety, it is called in some circles. To be honest, but for sobriety, there would have been little or no chance of me producing one draft, let alone seven, of 'Smack'.

'Smack' had been written as a showcase for a particular character - Tosh Lines - who was, in the series, looking to move from his current post to something different. The episode showed Tosh in his best light.

The next phone call I received from Rachel was to tell me that Tosh/Kevin was away sick and that shooting was delayed. You know what I said.

A few days later she called again to tell me that Tosh was back and that the script was being 'packed' (ready for shooting). It finally seemed that I would have my first TV drama filmed.

Rachel called about two hours later. Kevin had arrived drunk for the shoot and had been fired.

At this point I decided that I was not meant to write TV scripts.

Put in perspective, the failure to get my script filmed is nothing compared to the death of Kevin and the pain his illness caused his family. Given the circumstances, I can still manage a wry grin at the sheer unlikeliness of it all. What might have been, eh?

Coda: Mu contract in New York allowed me to spend time back in the UK every month so I was able to continue trying my hand with The Bill. Unfortunately, Rachel left to become a producer on the BBC series 'Casualty' and I was passed on to a new script editor with whom I just did not get on. After about three weeks of trying to wok on some ideas with me she called me and told me she was letting me go. Bye bye scriptwriting, I thought.

And it was.