Always Freewriting

If I had to pin down exactly what I want a reader to gain from one of my stories or plays or the-film-that-is-causing-me-nightmares I would say it is to be eneveloped in a story completely and utterly. Phil Spector's Wall of Sound but for words and stories and moving pictures that grab your heart and brain in unison and shake them until you forget, just for a 10 second panic, who you actually are. Charlie Brooker recently had a three part TV mini-series on Channel 4, Black mirror, and one of the episodes ( 15 Million Merits ) had a song playing throughout it.  Irma Thomas's 'Anyone who Knows What Love Is' is apparently a little known track from an album in 1963 and it does exactly what I want my work to do to someone...  From the opening burst of backing vocals to the strange twist on a note at the end of the chorus (I'm so technical it's untrue).  It has you hooked.

Occasionally it can feel as though the World is against you.  That last email you got was possibly most likely a vaguely concealed masterpiece in sarcasm and hatred. That phone call you took, the one an hour ago, seemed to end abruptly and you could've sworn you heard someone whisper scandalous lies about you from ten metres down the street. And when all this creeping paranoia grips you by the ankles and tickles your left leg until you shake, it's time to be realistic and look at the World with rational eyes. Noone else cares about your struggle.  Noone else has time to stop thinking about themselves to start fretting about you.  So swallow the worry, pour a nice hot cup of Rosie Lee and ignore the gremlins that lurk just outside your bedroom door.

This morning I've been freewriting – a method I was taught at uni and one that seems to be a random process but has always worked for me.  You basically sit and write.  No punctuation or spelling issues.  Even gibberish is better than stopping and though I used to get cramp and stop for a break I can now get through it.  I think when you’re typing and slightly in pain the interesting stuff comes out.  The little finger on my right hand clicks out of joint when I’m writing something good. But it hasnt clicked out in a while and I’m trying to create a bigger project than I’m used to.  Short stories, short plays and even blogs all restrict you to a minimal amount of ideas, shorter communication and I’ve finished sooner than I’ve started. So to freewrite you need a pen, pencil, crayon or keyboard and a new page to unleash all over.  Just start writing.  Absolutely anything.  When you get stuck start repeating’ my name is [insert...

Good afternoon.  The weekend is in reach and I can't wait.  I can't wait for the lack of an alarm clock ringing at 06:00.  I can't wait for a cup of tea brought to me by my gorgeous husband.  I can't wait for the discussion we have most Saturday mornings about all the things we want to do.  That's shortly followed by the slightly more responsible chat of what we can realistically do. This weekend I would like to go to Hastings, set up our little tent on the campsite above the bay and stoke up the tiny stove to make bacon butties and cups of cocoa.  It would be even better if we could bring the cat with us.  Hoping everyone has a great weekend. x

The city lies dormant below the 86 th floor observatory deck.  Laid out, split open and ready for inspection.  Crowds jostle over centimetres of camera space.  Winds tear up the building, round the tourists and back down to the street happy to escape the madness of the crush.  The quietest spot is where the wind dances in a corner by itself.  My hands only just grip my camera steady and teeth start to chatter from the harsh chill.  Mini yellow cabs jostle on the street far below me and ant people parade up and down pavement after pavement.  The city lies dormant and is peaceful from this rooftop scene. I could reach out and touch Central Park.  Pluck a squirrel right out of its tree.  I could reach out and poke the Statue of Liberty.  Create my own mini snow globe by shaking it all about.  Tourists track me down in my quiet corner and brave the violent wind to take shaky photos to show loved ones back home....

I've been working towards a Masters in Screenwriting for a little over a year and one of the hardest tasks I've found is how to be as economical as possible with each word, sentence, title, log line, synopsis etc We started with 1 line log lines.  Then a 1 page synopsis which led to a 6 page synopsis.  On Monday's session someone whispered the torture of a 25 word synopsis. That's half the size of the text above this new line.  Yikes. With the exception of one play, everything I've written has been short.  Short stories, flash fiction, short plays.  But now that I actually have to make something short I'm struggling.  I sit staring out of the window desperately trying to condense 110 minutes of action into 25 words of complete and profound meaning. I'm about 15 words off right now and beating myself up over every single key stroke.  

It took me 3 hours to get into work this morning.  It normally takes me an hour – about as long as it takes for me to wake up and accept the fact that I’m on the train going to That Place again.  Are you sitting comfortably?  I wasn’t… 07:30 Sat down 07:50 Looked up from Metro and we hadn’t moved yet - Something was wrong 08:00 Tuned into train announcements and listened to flustered Mr Driver blathering about a fire in London, red lights, dawn of the Apocolypse, his wife has left him, blah blah freaking blah 08:05 Train lurched towards London 08:05:36 Train ground to screeching halt in tunnel 08:06 Common people around me started to get irritated 08:20 Arrived at Tonbridge and chuckled at the lame Nemi cartoon on Page 30 something of the paper 08:50 iPod jammed - Suddenly listening to gentle babbling stream of verbal worry that is Mr Driver giving us blow by blow account of his professional breakdown  09:...

It's Wednesday.  One minute past five in the afternoon on a Wednesday to be more precise.  A lot of advice I've been getting recently is that I need to be an online presence.  Get yourself out there.  Be in their face.  Ram it down their throats. I'm still not sure who 'they' are...these sinister beings collected in front of the screen of infinite wisdom. Well, here I am.  Read me.