Return to Normality

And finally... After the making of such Christmas fayre (horrible word) as Jerusalem artichoke soup with scallops, rabbit and crayfish pie (known as pest pie in our house - it's really good), white chocolate mousse with raspberry and lemon thyme jelly; and the New Year lacquered quails I can resume my writing.
This years big resolution is to get the revised treatment of Granny's Little Helper to the German agent who sounded interested; chase up the short script another producer took during the London Screen Writers Festival and start my scriptwriting course on Tuesday. I wonder what everyone will be like there?

At Last!!

Finally, the school holidays have arrived. Massive relief to the croaky, cranky staff and equally fractious kids. It snowed on the last day so we staggered in to reduced classes and spent the day in meaningful teaching activities - like showing DVD's.
Now I have a chance to return to writing following a hectic social whirl. It's strange, but after even a brief layoff I feel slightly afraid to start again. I'm not sure why - everytime I return I manage something, but the anticipation...
To give myself a boost in the new year I am trying to sign up for a screenwriting next steps course in Liverpool. My writing group in Wirral is lovely but I think I need even more encouragement and very specific advice to keep the momentum going.

Corpses and Donkeys

I have been ripping the front out of the script for Granny's Little Helper. Hopefully the character exposition is vastly improved. As a result two new characters have sprung to life. One is Zak, Alex's best friend and fellow zombie killer, the other is his Aunt Sasha. She will become more integral to the plot as she is the reason Mum and Dad go on a long cruise without Alex and leave him to look after his demented Gran. This should prevent his parents from becoming cruel stereotypes who abandon their child for a glamorous holiday. Sadly though I have decided Sasha must die. It was a painful decision, I don't kill lightly, but she will not be returning to British waters.
I also have to write a little Christmas something for the writers group on Friday. Maybe some poetry - likely to be shockingly bad, I haven't written a poem since school. In those days I was pretty good at it. Wonder if it's still there. I was going to pen a few cynical lines about overeating and shopping at Amazon (guilty!). But the word donkey keeps intruding on my thoughts.

Why I Feel Like William Tell's Apple.

I love writing, it has become a real way of life for me. If you asked me I would say I really love my teaching too - until the introduction of the Fischer Fantasy Targets. Our kids are school are sweet (mostly) so we work hard to get them the best grades we can. Some of our successes have been notable - a student of mine got the highest chemistry mark in the UK for his A levels. Now, in the quest for a higher position in the league tables, the FFTs have been wheeled out. They set an exam target for each student based on KS2 and KS3 score, do they get school dinners, eat white or brown bread at home, have a sibling named Dwayne etc. Every factor you can imagine is taken into account to label the kids. The FFTs know everything about kids in general and nothing about each individual child.
An FFT can't tell you if the child's parents are in a poisonous marriage, if one of their siblings is much brighter so they feel inadequate or if they have friends who lead them astray. Apparently this doesn't matter. We get on well with our students and accept that most will be on target, some may underachieve and others will overachieve. Often we actually speak to them like humans and give a toss how they are. We accept that there are some students we can help and a few we really can't for whatever reason. However if you are an FFT believer all you want is a student on target. Undertarget is unacceptable and worthy of investigation. Strangely being overtarget is unworthy of comment. No wonder we all feel like the apple sitting on a little boy's head.

How far can my sledge travel?

After the screenwriters festival my sledge of scripts was happily barreling along with great momentum. Back in the real world of stressing about kids exams, parent's evenings and general knackerness I feel I have hit the up slope. The amount of work I need to do has hit me. How long will it be before I can completely rewrite Granny's Little Helper? I have started but it is a huge job. And what about the other things I want to write? At the moment I am twittering a story about the Bedbugs of New York on Vacation and this is terrific fun. There is SO much I can do with that concept. Perhaps I need to find a script developmentncourse where I can take my script. Or should I just book more snow to glide on?

Chicken Pies and Bug Eyes

I found another excuse not to write on Saturday. This time it was cooking for friends. I decided to make a Chicken and Sumac pie - a gorgeous dish from Lebanon I've made before. Sumac, a sour tasting spice was no problem - but filo pastry was. Tesco in Heswall has an infuriating habit of never having supplies of anything slightly exotic when you need it. They often run out of coconut milk for heaven's sake. So I was forced far and wide (well, Sainsburys) to feed my mates. It was worth it though. The filling is very simple; chicken, onions, sumac, cardamon, cinnamon - but it is divine.
On the shopping front for writers I checked out Final Draft, nearly fainted at the price, and downloaded Celtx for free instead. At least formatting screenplays doens't have to drive me insane anymore. To whit I have worked out a new way of introducing my character Alex and his family in Granny's Little Helper. I like this family. Infact if they weren't imaginary I would invite them round for some pie too.

Opera meets the Orange Lodge?

One of the guys I met at the LSF sent an e-mail round (thanks Mike) about a Channel 4 script competition. I need a major rewrite but I am tempted by it, despite the short deadline.

But I took a night off to go and watch the Magic Flute at the Liverpool Empire with my friend Di. You could describe the Magic Flute as a savage custody battle with some musical instruments thrown in. The set was really imaginative - a room where the walls are painted with cloudy blue skies and contain numerous doors. Most entertaining though were the other members of the Temple of Wisdom dressed heat to foot in orange suits and bowler hats. Does this make Sarastro an operatic Uncle Billy? Is the Queen of the Night of the opposite persuasion (stunning singing by her)? Who knows. It did have that wonderful pantomime quality that all good Magic Flutes should have.