Homeless - I lost the keys to the cottage...

... somewhere, somehow, somewhen... out of the pocket of a big coat borrowed
by two people and finally found (sans keys) in a neighbours house.

A locksmith is required - one who doesn't mind climbing the last mile to the
door.

Greetings from Long Haugh Shiels on the shortest day of the year

 

Tanya x

Plot point solved

The real breakthrough was recognising the problem in the first point - for
which I have to thank Scrivener, which I only installed a few weeks ago.
Being able to break the outline down into smaller and smaller units without
having to juggle dozens of new documents was the key to identifying the lack
of jeopardy in the third act, and start the process of finding a solution.

And as is almost always the case, solution is to be found somewhere in the
very first drafts of the story ...

In other news - the office Intern had the classic office party experience. He
can't actually remember exactly what happened, but it involved the MDs PA,
being delivered home at 1am in a bicycle rickshaw, and waking face down in the
hallway to find his girl friend stepping over him with her suitcase packed
after waiting for him to come home for dinner since 6pm the previous day.

I've made him tea.

I'm making Aubrey/Maturin Christmas Tree

I've been quietly collecting 18th Sailing Navy related Christmas decorations
for what almost 10 years, and never had the chance to pull them out - until
today.

So far I have

2 dashing captains in dress uniform (they are actually nelsons)
3 gold frigates
1 ship of the line
a silver nutmeg of consolation
6 small terrestrial globes
10 drums (to beat to quarters, obviously)
bags of coins as prize money
lots of sugar rats

Any other suggestions?

I'll try to make little signal flags, and some sealed orders, and bake ships
biscuits in the slow oven overnight.

Now I'm on the look out for ship's lanterns, weevils (lesser and greater), a
debauched sloth, some duff (double-shotted), tortoises (Testudo Aubreii,
natch) and, of course, some boobies.

There is a sort of connection to the stone caravan; although the valley is
landlocked great parcels of bleak fell and bog were gifted at some point
Greenwich Hospital, who, with the peace of 1814, thought it would be an
excellent idea to recycle their surplus of naval chaplains in the local
livings.

The poor sots were translated from the warm intensely crowded debauched fug of
the wardroom into isolated hamlets 30-40 miles ride from the nearest town,
where their entire congregation would consist of nine shepherds and their
dogs, and where months might pass without a single visitor. Most - already
accustomed to drinking a pint of grog a day - turned to drink and went mad.

And to complete the "misery"...

... moths have munched their way through my new (second hand) cashmere
sweater, which I was relying on to keep me warm over Christmas, while it was
in the ironing basket.

And the knitted donkey made for my first ever Christmas.

On a tangent, I'm reading Ellroy's alternative American history, "The Cold Six
Thousand" - which opens seconds after JFK assassination, and therefore shortly
before the first ever episode of Doctor Who was broadcast, and therefore
minutes before my mum went into labour...

Here it last is the bone of the problem with my story, the hard rotten core in
which I keep chipping my teeth.

In the first working draft "Paul" was smuggling political dissidents and
refuges out of the city in the expectation of a government crackdown.

The stakes were therefore exceptionally high; if "Lily" inadvertently revealed
during interrogation information that led back to "Paul", he would lose not
only his freedom, his career, possibly his life, but also his ability to
protect his family.

So he mistranslated her confession to deflect attention away from his
involvement.

Alas, further research, plus condensing the material so that it would cohere
as cinema made "Paul the people-smuggler" a non-starter. Not so much because
he couldn't or wouldn't have got involved, but because I couldn't see how
"Lily the forger" could have knowledge of it.

And the 3rd Act no longer worked, because everyone was behaving badly without
sufficient motive. The stakes were just not that high for Paul any more, and
he came across as a neurotic shit.

Every thing I have tried to invoke to replicate that original jeopardy -
without making the story over-complex* - has failed.

(*Good film is simple, not simplistic. The emotional journey can be complex,
the obstacles can be complex, but the hook for the story is simple.)

I'm feeling very Yul-ish

I seem to have come over all innocently ridiculously Christmassy this year.

I find myself this morning sneaking into the office at 7.30am to heap
chocolates and clementines on the desk of my German colleague. (I couldn't
find his spare shoes)

And I have an audio version of A Christmas Carol on my MP3 and took it to
enliven the walk to (and queue for) the Post Office yesterday.

Oh, well, I'm sure it will wear off and normal grinchy-ness will resume before
the end of the week.

The Woodburner, Electricity and the loo will have to wait

All trumped by the need for transport.

Since the family moved over the river the cottage is one to one-and-a-half
walk from the bus
stop/shop/shower/baby-sitting/nice-cup-of-tea-and-recharge-the-laptop-while-sending-email.

And the landrover I borrow from time to time is heading west.

So - the next BIG expense is a road-legal quad bike.

Which (let's face it) is MUCH MORE FUN!

Dear Family: I love you, but...

... if you call me at 7.05am on a monday morning for a "chat", and don't pick
up the "It's lovely but it's not a good time..." hint, while I try to wrangle
my knickers on onehanded, well, then:

I DON'T get to dry my hair - I DO get to travel to work, in November, with wet
hair and the start of a chill headache;

I DON'T get a seat on the 7.15 train - I DO get to stand on the 7.55 train
with my nose in someones armpit;

I DON'T get an hour of writing done before work - I DO get to rush into work 5
minutes late (and with wet hair);

I DON'T get to check my bag before I run out of the house - I DO manage to
leave without my purse, and therefore without breakfast*. Or Lunch. Or Tea.
Or, even (as the fridge is empty after my weekend away) Dinner.

It's my fault. We should talk more often.
I must arrange proper call times for catch up chats.
But not at 7.05am on a Monday morning.
Please.

(Thank you the lovely man in the new coffee shop made me cappuccino anyway. I
love you and I will buy coffee from you every monday for at least a year)

Upgrading the Writers' Cottage

Having finally solved the damp, with the combination of the solar dehumidifier
(still going strong) and an annual ditch clearing party with beer and BBQ (a
new addition to the social whirl that is Easter) it's time to move on to the
next BIG improvement to the cottage.

At the moment it is my (almost) ideal writing spot. No neighbours, no
internet, no 21st century chores. Just a warm bed, a big chair, a small fire
and a pot of coffee sitting on the hearth.

But it is a bit tough on visitors, and almost impossible to imagine lending to
other writers, even those who want to try a "Walden Pond" experience for a
short while.

The biggest issues are-

Electricity: I don't need it for lights, or refrigeration, or entertainment.
But I do need to juggle the laptop batteries,and even then have to take a
recharging break every 2 days. I rely on neighbours who don't mind that I
plug-in while babysitting or drinking tea, but that's not really an option for
the average writer with the average battery time plus mobile phone, etc.

Heat: I have a small open fire, built into the redundant hulk of the 1859
kitchen range, supplemented in the winter but two calor-gar heaters. Most of
the heat generated goes straight up the chimney, and the fire is too small to
heat the whole building or to keep a fire "in" overnight or while taking a
walk. It's an inefficient use of fuel (wood - bought and collected), and I
spend most of the winter with my toes on the grate, wrapped in a shawl.

Plumbing: There is none. I have a spring fed cold water tap in the
larder/scullery. Hot water means a kettle. That I can live with. But the loo
is an issue. If I am in the cottage for less than 24 hours - I dig a hole in
the woods. Longer than that, and I set up the folding composting loo, which
works well, and is perfectly hygienic, but is aesthetically challenging.

So, these are my choices for the next upgrade.

My choices are:

a.) a wind turbine - cost about £400
I've seen a turbine that works like one of those whirling signs you see
outside newsagents - it's compact and can be folded away if the noise is
excessive. I'd need to get cabling, a deep cycle battery and an inverter as
well, and experiment with the best way to set it up - but I confess, the
pleasure of trolling up for a weekend and knowing I'll have always have enough
juice stored up to run the laptop/phone/DVD/radio/charge the LED lights would
be, well, game-changing.

b.) a woodburning stove - cost around £1000
I'm thinking of installing this in the alcove next to the fire (currently a
cupboard with a stone floor) and running a flue up through the bedroom and out
of the roof, rather than trying to squeeze a small stove into the existing
tiny fire space. That way I can have the advantage of economic heat in both
rooms and the option of an occasional small fire for cooking, making toast and
indulging my pyromania from time to time.

c.) a composting loo
This is the big spend: I know the lo-tech version of the "seperett" system
works; as the name suggests it eaily and hygienically separates the, umm,
products, into wet and dry, and then composts them using different methods,
well out of sight. It is easy to use, easy to clean, and while the camping
version is a bit challenging for the casual visitor, the upgraded version,
powered by a solar panel, looks and feels, to all intents and purposes, like a
conventional plumbed in loo.
The loo itself is only £500 - but there is no point in upgrading without
replacing (repairing) the combined outhouse/porch in which it would be
installed, as the original structure is on the point of falling down. And as
the cottage is some distance from the road, that means co-ordinating
materials, builder and transport, in the summer, when the ground is dry enough
to bring up a 4 wheel drive.
And then it would make sense to also upgrade to a tiled floor, and to put in a
small cold water sink.
But that feels like a HUGE undertaking right now.

--
Tanya Lees
Holdfastfilms

--
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Ha! On my way to my sister's for my birthday and she's (sort of) forgotten I'm coming!

Actually she forgot that she arranged to take the family out all day, so she's
left a key and instructions to buy a chicken.

So - no excuse for not writing this afternoon!

Procrastinatin' in Caffe Nero....

It's not as if I have a script to write or anyfink like that, is it? Oh,
wait....

I'll stick it out for a while longer, then go an procrastinate at home. It's
warmer there.

Despicable me and Berlin

I just love being mean to my poor characters.

I just sat down for an hour in Somerset House - skaters zooming past the
window - and brainstormed another 50 things that could go wrong for my lead.

Before I even started he was orphaned, impoverished, exiled, alone and hanging
from his fingertips over a snake-infested haunted listening to the lions roar
in the desert.

And then I made it even worse for the poor sod. Fifty thing, including
Typhoid and/or the day of Judgement and all the fire of hell.

Job well done.

Now I have start concentrating on accreditation for the Berlin Film Festival.
Confession: I've never actually bothered to accredit before, just turned up
and blagged my way into parties. There is public access to so much of the
festival, to the shuttles, to the hotels, to the screenings, to the QandAs, to
the bars. Only the market building itself is off limits, and that has limited
appeal anyway, as long as you have contacts inside to score the party tickets.

Ugly writing is a beautiful thing

I've just spent the afternoon powering through the 2nd Act of the script in as
deliberately ugly and awkward a way as possible, in preparation for a 4th
draft

The temptation to write beautifully is a terrible curse. You get instant
acclaim, and it certainly helps to sell an idea,but its all to easy use the
elegant handwaving to obscure grotty holes in the structure.

It reminds me of the life-classes I did in the art room at school; I always
got high marks despite appalling draftsmanship because I polished the product
up so nicely that who cared the models elbow was in the wrong place.

Now I am resisting all my instincts to make the prose I am writing atractive.
It's just bits of old words flung together and held up with string and gaffer
tape. Without the glamour and the polish and the handwaving only one thing
will make the story still stay up.

The truth.

If it's true, then it will still be standing tomorrow.

If not - well, I just have to pull it apart and stick it together again, until
it does stand up.

And that will, belatedly, be far more satisfying.

+++++

In other news - I just slid past the bread department at Waitrose and scored
£13.00 worth of poilane for - wait for it - £1.16.

Sourdough, walnut, rye - It will all go in the freezer and come out a slice at
a time for toasting.

I love Sunday nights at Waitrose.

Woah!

How did I get to 7pm in one fell swoop!

That day just zippppppppppped past.

S by S East

Europe - 1955

Harry Martin has been set up.

An innocent aboard, a loud, but charming American tourist, is approached in a restaurant by a young woman in distress. By dawn he is on the run, carrying a package of nuclear secrets that at least five different people wish to kill him for.

But Harry is not quite what he seems: to survive he is forced to draw on memories of past he hoped he had escaped for ever - as a teenage grifter and runner for the mob. The hard won skills of his childhood - and an unlikely alliance with a KGB assassin - are the only things keeping him alive.

Drama - 90 minutes.

At BAFTA last night to see a screening of As If I am Not Here followed by Q&A with director Juanita Wilson

Screening half full, which surprised me. The subject matter is harrowing (the film is a dramtisation of Slavenka Drakulic's novel set in a women's prison camp in Bosnia in 1992) but the film itself is both beautiful and terrible (in the original sense of the word), without a single duff choice in script, casting or direction.

It was good to be reminded that there is nothing so horrific in human experience that we can not look at it, if - and it is a big 'if@ - we are guided to the right vantage point.

Wilson's achievement is all the greater in that she was working in Macedonia, with Macedonian crew and extras and Serbian and Bosnian leads, with very little in the way of shared language.

As If I Am Not Here already has a slew of well-deserved awards, and will undoubtedly collect more in the months to come.

T'sion

 

T'sion - the Ark of the Covenant, palpable evidence of a God's promise to Man - and gift to Ethiopia.

In Berlin, 1947, Mikael Desta, an African war hero, battles the ingrained racism of his European allies to win the extradition of Paul Arendt, who seven years earlier, in occupied Ethiopia, tortured and killed Mikael's lover. 

His goal is not only justice for the murdered woman, but the possession of evidence which he hopes will document other fascist atrocities in his home land.

The unexpected reappearance of a woman claiming to be Paul's victim, Lily, throws an uncomfortable new light on events in Ethiopia in 1939-40 and Mikael's own complicity in the massacre which brought these three individuals together and led to Lily's disappearance from History..

"When I was cast in the pit I pondered over the folly of the Kings of the World, and I asked, ,in what doth the greatness of kings consist? Is it in the multitude of soldiers, or in the splendour of worldly possessions, or in extent of rule over cities and towns? 

In development with Corazon Films UK and 27 Films, Berlin

For more information: tanya.lees@holdfastfilms.com

Tanya Lees - writer

I wrote my first book when I was two and a half.
I have since mislaid it, but I seem to remember that it was a single sheet of paper, folded and carefully filled with random letters in imitation of the mysterious and wonderful volumes around me, like so:

ETRCOS JASDYLAKYF JXFLIUSADFU G AJKUE SAHDKJHEF JSHDKJHE
DFKJAHDF ASDG DKJDHF SDJAKD BSD SIENNSBSDE SDEDA JASWEJU


Luckily I learned to read soon after and my own readability statistics improved.

Now, more than 30 years later, I am writing professionally, as a copywriter for American Express Business Travel, and as a screenwriter, with the generous support of Screen West Midlands, who are sponsoring my feature film script Translations, and my mentor and producer Anita Lewton who is still patiently badgering me to improve seven years after I first walked into her screenwriting class.

Selected Credits include:

2008    Everyday Heroes     short film                 Writer/Director          London, Mexico

2007    Catas-trophe            short film                 Writer/Director          London, New York, Beijing

2001    No Way Out             theatre                     Director                      UK tour

2000    Gaveston                  multi-media             Director                      London

1999    Frankenstein            multi-media             Writer/Director          London

1997    Dracula                     theatre                     Director                      London

1995    The Changeling        theatre                     Director                      London

1995    Ines de Castro          theatre                     Director                      London

1994    La Gioconda             theatre                     Writer/Director          London, Edinburgh

1992    Eaten                        multi-media             Writer/Director          Leeds

1992    La Gioconda             short film                 Writer/Director          London, New York

1991    This Way Up             theatre                     Writer/Director          Leeds

1990    Leonce und Lena      theatre                     Director                      Leeds