Stopping to Smell the Flowers - by Ciaran Murtagh

One of the things about being a freelancer is the constant pressure to provide. You're never 100% sure where the next cheque is coming from so you say yes to everything. 

For me, this started young. I had my first child while I was at school and so my entire working life I've always had to have one eye on the bank balance. 

It's all well and good choosing to live a precarious freelance existence - certainly in the creative industries -  but it's quite another to bring a baby along for the ride. It meant I said yes to just about everything, regardless of whether it was a good career move or something I necessarily wanted to do. If it paid, I did it. 

That baby is now approaching 27, but my approach to work hasn't mellowed much. 

When the pandemic struck I felt the fear just about everyone in the country felt. However, for the freelancer it was tinged with the regular worry of - what if I never work again? I threw myself into work, saying yes to just about anything, and I am only now coming out of that frantic period. 

Last year I head wrote, with my writing partner, five new series of television. That's about 200 episodes - I was responsible for delivering and writing. I also wrote on other people's shows. Totting it all up Andrew and I wrote or were responsible for about 225 episodes of TV. One a day. 

I also had three books out last month and another one out next, so I was doing that too. 

This month things have calmed down a bit, after the year or two I've had, it feels like I've gone from 90 miles an hour to a more sedate 45. I can take time to smell the flowers. 

However, it doesn't stop me feeling like I should be working harder. It's hard to adjust to a new pace like that. It feels like someone has literally pulled the handbrake. Now the logical part of me is telling me it's healthy, you can't work at that rate forever, you'll burn out.  But that nagging irrational bit of my brain is worrying again - what if the phone never rings, what if this is it, better get hustling Ciaran. 

For now I'm doing my best to ignore it, and to be honest that voice can be a useful thing, it stops me sitting on my arse for extended periods, but the truth is it'd be nice to turn it off completely every once in a while. I'd like to enjoy a guilt free holiday without wondering what I'm missing, I'd like to sit and look out the window without beating myself up over the book I'm not writing or the idea I'm not developing. 

I'm not sure that's ever going to happen, I'm the wrong sort of person in the wrong type of industry to allow that to happen, but strategies to dampen it down would be useful. 

So come on creative freelancers -  how do you deal with the guilt of not creating every moment of the day and stopping to smell the flowers?

In other news, I am taking part in Book Jive Live this month - it's a great opportunity to hear new voices and also ask me any questions you may have about any of the creative industries I participate in. Even better - all profits go to the Booktrust. Get your tickets here:

https://www.wegottickets.com/event/532457

Funny's Funny - Ciaran Murtagh

Last year I spent a good few months writing an unashamedly British TV show - Danny and Mick. It's currently going out on CBBC and will be on the iplayer forever. I wrote ten episodes and script edited ten more and it makes a virtue of it's constraints in a way that you don't see too often.

Usually, in kids TV, we are being asked to write for the widest possible market. PJ Masks has to play as well in Doha as it does in Dudley. The budgets and costs reflect that, but so too do the editorial and creative choices. Danny and Mick is a live action TV show, so the costs are less. It's also been designed to do one thing and one thing only - make children from the UK laugh. That means, for the first time in quite some time, I was free to focus on one audience.

Danny and Mick shares a great debt to classic British kids TV staples - gunge, slapstick, pantomime. But it had two great assets in it's stars. Danny and Mick really are brothers and they have spent a life time in the circus. Their Dad is Clive Webb - formerly of Tiswas -  and they know what makes kids roar with laughter. They also had buckets of routines they could pull out to enhance any script.

With live action TV the thing that usually gets squeezed is rehearsal time. It means that there isn't time to work out a complicated sequence and often you have to cheat it when it comes to filming. These guys had classic routines in their DNA. Watching them work was like watching a ballet or a wrestling match, they knew how to respond to each other's movements to build something special. It was who they were and was something they've been doing all their lives.

Sometimes we would ask what routines or props they had lying around and build a story around that set piece. Sometimes we would script an idea and they would suggest a routine they knew would work. It's rare for scripting to be so symbiotic, but we all knew we only had one thing to do - make kids laugh.

Take a look at the show, and if you get the chance to see them live then grab it. I'm moving onto write Crackerjack with Sam and Mark next. It seems like great British humour is making a come back, and this Irishman couldn't be happier!

The work of reading – Lily Hyde

Recently I’ve been attending play readings for a small theatre company, where actors together with the director and producer read through plays to judge if they might be suitable for production.

Since most of the actors are coming to the plays ‘blind’, feeling their way into the roles as they go along without any idea how their character or the story will turn out, they are a bit like novel readers turning the pages to see what happens next. It’s really interesting – and awe-inspiring – to see how they manage to inhabit their parts with no preparation whatsoever.

What really strikes me, though, is the attitude of actor, director and producer alike to the text. It is one of appropriation. They are all thinking: what can I do with this? How can I bring it to life? Can I make it rewarding for me to engage with, and for an audience to watch?

The script is treated as a dynamic thing, a map from which the theatre company will create their own journey. The director tells me her first action when she’s interested in a play is to cross out all the stage directions. She and the actors look at the words of the script, of course, but just as much they look at the gaps between the words, and explore how they can fill them.

Can and should readers apply the same process to novels? These days everything is supposed to be participatory, and so novels come with author interviews, notes for book groups and lesson plans. Readers engage with the text through personal contact with the writer, through reviewing, writing fanfiction, dressing up as the characters…

Ever since Roland Barthes, we have known that the author is dead, and that every written story is created anew in the mind of every reader. But I sometimes feel that while we as writers are supposed to be engaging with our readers more than ever, opportunities for those readers to really interact with a text are often being limited.

How many of you writers out there have been told to remove words that readers might not know, spell out every step of the plot, simplify your sentences, explain in exhaustive detail your characters’ motives and internal thoughts? I know that the editorial or publishing motive behind this is to make books accessible to a wide audience, and reading in general terms more participatory. That’s an important motive. But I feel that by not demanding real input from our readers, we also deny them any power, and half the enjoyment.

I love books that make me do the work of an actor or a director. It’s a question of trust. Every playwright must start from a position of trust, that actors and directors are able and willing to take the words and make them into something – running the risk of course that the ensuing production will be awful, but isn’t risk inherent in any meaningful relationship? As a reader I want to be trusted to fill in gaps between the words, take the implications and run with them, guess, infer, appropriate: bring the story to life. As a novelist I want to trust my readers the same way.

The word ‘work’ makes this sound pretty unappealing (see Nicola Morgan’s recent post on ‘readaxation’ for contrast). But everyone really has a lot of fun at those play readings. Even the simplest, least demanding book requires work from the reader, to transform black-and-white symbols on a page into places, situations, people and ideas in the imagination. That work of transformation is the magic of reading. It’s how a book becomes a part of you.

It’s a truism that the more you put into something, the more you get out. From a reader’s point of view, I think its a truism worth repeating. What do you think, writers and readers?  

www.lilyhyde.com