It’s been a strange start to 2024, with a variety of issues culminating in so many brilliant people looking for work in scripted TV. I’m emailed daily from people wanting to introduce themselves, ask advice and enquire about opportunities.

A thread I posted on X offering some advice on networking received an overwhelming response (I mean, overwhelming for me), which clarified quite how difficult things are.

In an industry that can feel isolating and closed off at the best of times, building a network and making yourself visible is essential. Often it’s your one shot to make an impression and I remember walking away from meetings thinking I’d failed miserably. It took practice to work out how best to make the most of the conversations I had, and now, on the other side of the table, I’ve gained a bit of an insight into what might help you stand out in a crowded market.

1) Always remember it’s in the interest of the industry for us to meet new people.

The industry has grown significantly over the last decade and competition to win the shows is tougher than ever. Talented development people are golden and we all want the best to help us do it – to bring new relationships and a different perspective, to help identify talent and have the skills to nurture that into greenlights. The more people WE know in our networks, the more we can ensure we’re finding the right person when we need them. As an industry we often fall back on the people we know, which is great, but there are always more devils to know and we hate missing out on the best.

As one of the replies to the thread put it, ‘people buy people’. It’s easy to forget this as we try to find new work, prioritising fitting in over standing out. So don’t feel nervous about cold-emailing companies and people you want to connect with, but be aware...

2) You may not always get a reply.

Production and development can often be demanding. Weeks of writers' rooms or working on set mean emails are picked up at random times and we’re regularly responding to the urgent demands of the projects we’re working on with all the best intentions to circle back to the requests to connect later on.

If you don’t get a reply to your attempt to connect, wait six weeks or so and try again. Don’t sound put-out or accusatory, just check to see if they’d received your initial approach and ask if there’s anyone in the team it might be better to coordinate with. When I’m up against it, often there’s a colleague who might be better placed who can be a brilliant ally. Still no reply? Move on with grace.

But back to that first email...

3) Make an effort.

Be polite. Direct the email specifically to the person and production company you want to connect with, and please only email one person from the company at a time. Reference shows they make and have worked on, and why you like their content. There really is nothing worse than an impersonal mail merge or a cut and paste job. You’re asking people to give up their time to connect, so show you’ve done the same in return.

4) Be clear what you’re looking to gain.

You may only get one shot with this. Are you looking for advice about the industry and breaking in, or to introduce yourself for future work and opportunities? These are two different conversations and it’s hard to do both in one.

5) You want advice to break in or on the industry?

Think about who would be best to have this conversation with. Introduce yourself and what you do. Share your CV and be prepared with the questions you’d like to ask as a starting point for any meeting. In advance, if you already work in a different industry, think about how your skills can transfer and why you want to work in TV development.

6) You want to introduce yourself for future opportunities?

Make sure you make an impression. Attach your CV and be clear about where you are in your career and what you’re looking for in terms of your next steps. Name the last show you worked on or the companies you’ve been working with.

Are you interested in development or looking for a production role? It’s easy and understandable (especially in today’s market) to say ‘anything!’. I know I did for a long time, but try and work to your strengths and what you can offer. Be realistic if you’re looking for a step up – make sure you are able to articulate why and what your contribution has been to the projects you’ve worked on. Titles are free, so take a look at the roles at the companies you’re approaching and the experience/credits of those with similar titles to check you’re being realistic.

7) Ensure your CV reflects what you want.

I could write a whole blog on CVs. It’s understandable to want to outline all your experience, but in a world of talented multi-hyphenates and hustle, a CV can often feel confusing and do you a disservice if it doesn’t give a strong indication of who you are. You want the reader to get a clear and confident sense of where you sit in the industry and the path you’re on. Tailor your CV to the role you’re looking to achieve and focus on the relevant experience and transferable skills that speak to that.

So you’ve got the meeting...

8) Make an impression.

You want the person you’re meeting to get a sense of who you are, where your strengths lie and what gap you could potentially fill in a team.

I’ll be honest, I’ve come away from generals without a real sense of the taste and editorial judgment of the person I’m meeting which makes it hard to consider them properly when we do have an opportunity. If it’s on zoom or teams, meetings often blur into one rectangular shaped box, so impressions become even more important to distinguish yourself.

Can I judge how your taste will fit into our team? Can I tell which shows on my slate you’ll be a natural fit for? Tell me what you like and why. We don’t have to agree – I can pinpoint two roles I’ve been offered in my career that were down to respectfully NOT agreeing!

Be humble. Don’t inflate your role. Being part of a team is essential. We all know telly is made by a whole team of countless skilled people collaborating, and that’s how we like it. How did you play a part in that, what worked well and what do you think might’ve gone better?

9) Have an opinion.

That’s what we’re paid for, so give us a glimpse of that. It can be controversial, it can be niche, but let us know you think deeper and wider and can analyse content. We all loved Fleabag/Breaking Bad/Happy Valley – so tell me something I might not have considered about them before.

You’re obsessed with sci-fi? Tell me your thoughts on the ones that work and the ones that don’t. You did your dissertation on Austen? What underrated classic do you think is ripe for adaptation next?

Tell us what you’re watching and be ready to chat about them, but don’t list endless US shows. They’re brilliant, I love them too, but sadly we have neither the run lengths nor the budgets, and our audiences are very different.

10) Have an awareness of the industry.

We all love great writing, but the best people also realise we’re a business. Try and express an opinion on that - who’s watching what, what are the trends you’ve noticed, where has a particular streamer/broadcaster got it right or wrong in their commissioning. And the million-dollar question: what’s next?

It’s hard to be across everyone making waves in the writing world. Bonus points if you can tell me about someone I might not have heard of and what you’ve identified about them. Who have you been tracking? A voice in theatre you think we need to see in TV? A writer you’ve worked with or read you think is on a path to properly breaking through?

11) How you express that opinion is EVERYTHING.

Opinions are our currency, but delivering them is how we develop and thrive in the industry. Creative relationships can be lifelong and how we flexibly resolve editorial differences and give notes are our bread and butter. Be humble, our world is built on collaboration and development is about facilitating the creative vision of a writer. Make sure you show us some of that.

It should feel like a conversation, a joyful fun one that builds and develops. We love to encourage an inquisitive team and are interested in how you can contribute to that. Absolutely be controversial, but a red flag rises quickly if it’s delivered in a way that feels inflexible or over-confident. Interpersonal skills are an essential part of the industry but as I was gently reminded a few days ago, these skills don’t always come easily and as an industry we’re on a path to recognise that we have a whole host of differently wired brains that go to support our creativity. If that resonates with you, there are brilliant organisations that can support you in building a network, check out and .

The industry is changing, seen recently with the 2022 launch of , an alliance of ten of the UK’s biggest broadcasters and streamers who have pledged to work together to ensure access provision for Disabled talent.

12) Follow up!

They’ve given up their time, so thank them! Perhaps reflect on an area of the conversation - expand on a thought you’d had, send a link to the article you mentioned or the name of the writer you’d loved. This will help cement you in their mind.

They have a sci-fi greenlit? They’ll remember your opinion on the genre. They’re keen to find IP to adapt? Your obsession with classic literature is about to pay off.

13) Connect with your peers.

Of course, you want to connect with people making hiring decisions, but don’t overlook your peers! Development assistants and coordinators, Assistant Script Editor’s and Script/Development Editor’s know EVERYTHING. They have the inside scoop on who, what, and where. They have a much better sense of the best and current ways into the industry as well as the issues. They know where the jobs are, when they’re coming up and the best places to find a home.

Email them, have coffee with them. If it’s advice you’re looking for, they’ve got it. Best case scenario, you’ve found a friend and they’ll facilitate a meeting with someone else where you can use their advice and make that impression I’ve been banging on about.

Forget HODs and Exec Prods - your peers and those a role ahead of you are the people you need in your tribe. Nurture that and you’ll be flying...

14) No meeting is wasted.

There may not always be a job available but every connection will expand your network. Person by person you’ll build a richer picture of the industry and how it works. You’ll leave with a sense of the company and whether it might be the right fit for you. You’ll pick up an insight into the industry that can help form a theory of your own and, if you’re lucky, there’s a brilliant bit of insider knowledge to be had. If you’ve made an impression, one day, I promise it’ll pay off.

15) BE KIND

Make the best tea, be an ear, be humble, roll your sleeves up and get stuck in and be the person everyone wants in the office. Scripted development and production can be stressful and demanding, and frankly, so it should be; we’re in a privileged position and there are big budgets at stake. Being trusted to always work with kindness and respect will take you a long way – it’s not always been prioritised in TV, but slowly and surely, we’ll get there. Absolutely know your worth but be willing to learn, as we all do every day...

1) CULTIVATE YOUR KNOWLEDGE

You want to be developing a deep love and understanding of story, and this means watching loads of TV, and devouring books, plays, and films.

Watch the great classic TV shows and movies from the past as well as the present, so that you can understand where the language of TV has come from. This is especially important if you want to work with writers, who are often voracious readers, and fans of films and TV.

If you can afford it, go to the theatre, especially theatres that showcase lots of new writing. To work in TV development, you will need to start thinking about the writers whose work you love and admire, and who are the new, exciting writers coming up. TV is different from film, in that we are ALL about the writer.

2) MAKE CONNECTIONS

This probably feels like the trickiest part. If you can, you should attend any networking events that you can manage. Ask people already working in the industry if they would be kind enough to have a coffee and a chat with you. (They should be kind enough incidentally, as we all had people help us too when we were new!)

Look people up who have the kind of career you might be interested in, and when you write to them, use their first name, rather than anything more formal. We’re pretty informal as an industry.

You want to start building a network of contacts, over time.

3) WHEN YOU MEET PEOPLE, DO YOUR HOMEWORK

If you have a meeting with someone, it’s always wise to look them up, and find out what they personally have worked on, and what their production company has made. Remember that it’s a small industry, and lots of people know each other, so if you’ve impressed one person, they’re likely to mention you to other people they know, and to recommend you for opportunities.

4) FIND YOUR TRIBE

Potential mentors are great, but so too are your peers – it’s a brilliant idea to start cultivating a network of people who are also starting out, because you will come up in the industry together, provide invaluable support to each other, and often become great friends.

5) GET ON SOCIAL MEDIA

There are quite a few Facebook groups advertising TV jobs, and it’s definitely useful to see what the community is discussing on sites like X, Threads, and Bluesky. Jobs are mentioned on these sites too. It’s also helpful to look at trends, and what’s happening in the States, as the USA and UK are closely linked when it comes to television. One recent example is the Writer's Guild of America writers’ strike in the USA, which had a big impact over here too.

You should create a LinkedIn profile for yourself and start adding connections as you make them.

There are great resources for those looking for entry-level jobs, such as , Creative Access, apprenticeships with , and of course the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ’s early career schemes like . Look for schemes, and also check out organisations championing greater diversity in TV, like (the Disabled Artists Networking Community).

6) BE PERSISTENT AND TENACIOUS

You might find it takes a while to find your way in, and that is completely normal. The big thing is to be persistent and keep trying.

7)    ACQUIRE PRACTICAL, HANDS-ON SKILLS

As a new entrant to the industry, you can best recommend yourself to potential employers with a great attitude and an eagerness to learn. You also want to start gaining skills as soon as possible – creative skills like understanding how to read and analyse a script, practical skills like how to use Final Draft, and how to take great notes in meetings, and administrative and organisational skills like how to manage a diary. Be prepared to work very hard!

8) GET YOUR HEAD AROUND ENTRY-LEVEL JOBS

Your first step in an editorial career in TV drama might be in one of the following roles:

• As a runner in-house at a production company.
• As a freelance reader of scripts for a company or a broadcaster.
• As an assistant at a production company (a Team Assistant, Development Assistant, or a Personal Assistant).
• An assistant at a Literary Agency (e.g somewhere like or ).
• As a runner or Production Assistant on a show.
• As a researcher, although these roles are few and far between.
• As a Trainee, when this kind of role is offered by a TV company.

9)    START UNDERSTANDING THE MORE SENIOR CREATIVE ROLES, AND THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DEVELOPMENT AND PRODUCTION 

When you’re building an editorial career in TV drama, it’s critical to understand the more senior roles, how you fit into the company structure, and the kinds of jobs you might be aiming for in time. 

A great start is understanding the difference between development and production. 

Development is when you’re pitching projects to broadcasters, networks and streamers, when you’re storylining and developing scripts, and very often, when you’re working in-house at a company. 

Production is when the project is actually getting made. Production work is often freelance, or PAYE on fixed-term contracts. 

IN DEVELOPMENT: 

In-house at a company, the most senior jobs are usually Head of Drama, Creative Director, Executive Producer, and Director of Development. These people set the creative direction of the company, run the development slate, pitch to broadcasters, and usually Executive Produce shows. There are also Development Producers, another senior role, where people work directly with writers to progress projects, and might manage their own slate. 

Mid-weight roles include the role of Development Executive, whose responsibilities include looking for new talent and developing projects with writers. 

Junior roles include the roles of Development Assistant and Development Coordinator. 

IN PRODUCTION: 

On a show, the Executive Producer is the person ultimately responsible for overseeing and delivering the show. (N.B there are often multiple Exec Producers). The Producer is the person responsible for the show’s day-to-day management, and for managing the budget, alongside the Line Producer.   

There will be a script team, led by the Story Producer, who manages the creative process, and who will work closely with the Showrunner and other writers to deliver the scripts. There is usually a Script Editor, who manages the technical side of the scripts (what we call the ‘amends’, i.e live changes to the script that are made throughout the shoot), and may also give notes to the writers (more on this below!), as well as liaising closely with other departments in Production, for example, the Art Department. You can also be a Script Executive – similar to a Script Editor, but more senior. 

Sometimes there will be an Assistant Script Editor too; this is great entry-level creative role in Production. 

The script team are the guardians of the story and are responsible for the integrity and good health of the story and the scripts. 

In time, you’ll need to start understanding how the work of the script department dovetails into the wider production process on a show. As a creative, you should definitely aim to get as much production experience as possible, because this will enable you to come up with brilliant story solutions in high-pressure situations.

10) WORKING WITH WRITERS AND SCRIPT NOTES

Working with writers to develop stories and scripts is a huge part of any creative role in TV drama. This includes giving script notes, which means feedback on the latest outline, treatment, or script draft the writer has been working on.

My advice on notes:

• Tell the truth, but be positive, and always say what you like, and what you think is working, as well as the things that need sorting out.
• Understand that it’s a process, and that it takes time to arrive at a finished script. Most scripts go through multiple rewrites.
• Developing a relationship with a writer is also a process. It takes time to develop the trust that is at the heart of a writer/script person bond, and it’s normal to experience some resistance from writers when you’re first getting to know them!
• Notes form part of a conversation in a wider collaborative process between you, the writer, and often many other people, such as studio execs, commissioners, etc. Notes are for another human being, so they should not be your lit crit essay on the script, or your musings on the state of the universe. Great notes are respectful, actionable, and specific. You are there to champion the writer, and to help them realise what they are seeking to accomplish creatively.

And with all of this in mind…

11) BRUSH UP ON YOUR PEOPLE SKILLS, TACT AND DIPLOMACY

You will need these skills to pursue a creative career in TV drama, and they will help you to create fantastic, long-lasting professional relationships, and to diffuse tensions with difficult personalities.

12) BE A GOOD HUMAN

It’s no secret to say that TV hasn’t always been the easiest industry to work in. I’m so encouraged to see how many of the young people coming into our industry exemplify the kinds of values we need more of - integrity, generosity, and kindness.

Alexis Hood is an experienced story producer, who has headed script teams on award-winning projects for traditional broadcasters and streamers, and who has worked in development and production for numerous companies. Her most recent credit is A GENTLEMAN IN MOSCOW for Paramount Plus and Showtime, starring Ewan McGregor.

Some people have addictions that are pernicious, eroding, even life threatening. So let’s be clear, in November 2022 my addiction to screenwriting podcasts was none of these things. But neither was it moving my craft forward as I’d hoped. The idea was to blanket myself in the musings of all these ‘successful’ writers until enough of their craft seeped into me that I too would become ‘successful’.

Some screenwriting podcasts often explore how difficult it is to write anything. At all. And these are 9 to 5 full time writers. [Strong L.A accent] ‘Last week I was feeling overwhelmed by which nutritional supplement I should be taking, so I didn’t do any writing… I just focussed on self-care and spent the week in Malibu sitting inside my fear and allowing my juju to re-establish.’ Hmm. Are podcasts just self-help books in audio form? There is a very ironic reason that self-help books are a ten billion dollar industry.

Maybe podcasts aren’t the answer. How about screenwriting books? Well, I had tried but after 11 hours at my desk each day (3 writing/8 day job) I could barely read the instructions on a tin of beans let alone a book on story structure. I have a dozen screenwriting books sat 10% finished on my bookshelf.

An email pings into my phone…

‘We are delighted to invite you to an informal zoom interview to be considered for a place on the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom Voices 2023 programme beginning in January…’

Holy sh*t.

The pre-interview nerves start five days before. I need to get up to speed with Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ output so I hit the iPlayer. Shall I watch every Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ drama ever made? Or just the ones made in the last 30 years? I grab my pad and pen.

Five days later, I click Join Meeting with slightly trembling hands but with a forensic knowledge of ’s internal obstacles, Fleabag’s external ones, and many things in between. Turns out I didn’t need to know any of it. They were interested in me, not shows the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ made decades ago. But the interview went well. I was in!

So how do I get to the next level?

I wasn’t doing terribly as it was. I had placed in the and won a screenplay award at a small festival. However, quoting these ‘achievements’ in query emails was not getting me anywhere. No two ways about it. As a screenwriter, I was treading water.

I was aware of Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Open Call. In terms of places to submit your script, it stands above all contests and festivals due to what happens if you are successful. You don’t just win three hundred quid and a 30 minute zoom call with some disinterested producer in a basement in Los Angeles… You get onto an actual writing programme where you spend months learning from the people who are writing and producing the TV that we all love.

I’d submitted for the last couple of years and not succeeded. Maybe Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Open Call was a step too far for a valleys lad in the back of beyond, writing about ex-mining communities and scheming politicians. Nevertheless, I submitted again and promptly forgot about it.

Day one of the Voices course was in the majestic new Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ building in Cardiff. I had googled ‘What to wear on the first day of an emerging writers programme’ until my fingertips were sore, and somehow ended up in a pair of skin tight chequered trousers and brown tank top. As the other ‘Voices’ rolled in looking smart, confident and stylish, I waddled in cursing Google under my breath.

They’d sent out everyone’s bio beforehand, and all the others sounded dynamic, competent and lovely. So I was devastated to find that they were indeed dynamic, competent and lovely. But despite this early setback, it was a fantastic afternoon, and a lovely sense of ‘this is so cool and we’re all in it together’ started to develop within the group.

Incidentally, as well as lovely food, the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ put on free coffee urns. I LOVE free coffee urns, but had previous here. When my employers had marked the end of lockdown by dragging us to an all-day bash in a hotel, they’d put huge free coffee urns on for us. By the time I walked home, I was convinced the planet was about to be destroyed by a meteor. I went to bed at 5:45pm and spent 14 hours staring at the ceiling as the caffeine fear drained away.

So I stayed away from the free coffee as we chatted. First we met the wonderful Elise, who was to become utterly pivotal to our existence over the next six months, and then Ros, who outlined what was to come and infused us with a sense of calm and excitement. To round the day off, we met the writer of brilliant Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Drama The Left Behind, Alan Harris. Alan, an alumni of Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writers, was very cool and we grilled him on how on earth you get into the industry, and what in Dickens name you are supposed to do when you get there.

After the open day, the learning really kicked in with a series of Wednesday lunchtime Zoom masterclasses, often with the full UK cohort of 72 Voices. Ten minutes into the excellent first session, with from , I had three notes which contain more clarity than I could get from twenty podcasts…

• What is a simple thing that I want to say?
• Share a secret and a truth with the audience.
• What’s the truth you know that other people don’t?

The next masterclass is from , whose passion for story and structure beams out like lasers and there are pretty much 72 smiles on the Zoom screen throughout the sessions. Incidentally, they always give us a Q&A at the end, but as a bit of a social anxiety sufferer, asking a question in front of 75 people is very nerve wracking to me. Some weeks I put myself outside my comfort zone and ask a question. My preparation for this simple task is long and arduous. While I am waiting for my turn, I am (behind a muted mic), giving it the full Am-Dram class warm up to try and open my terrified throat. LA LA LAAAA!! I AM TALKING NORMALLY… ONE TWO, ONE TWO… (repeat unbroken for 5 minutes). If I successfully ask the question, the relief is so immense that their answer is just a blur and I have to check the recording later to see what they said.

The course bounds along. Story Producer shows us how to create compelling characters, how to give them agency and utilise conflict and sub-plot to enrich them. Jess Loveland takes us through the myriad types of development docs, something peculiarly ungoogle-able and therefore priceless.

I start to really see the talent in my fellow Welsh Voices now too. I am fortunate to read Melodie’s play about wellness scammers and Emma’s play about catfishing and lost innocence. Both plays utterly blow my mind. I think back to the mess I was in my twenties and early thirties and am incredulous at the talented, imaginative people in this group. On masterclass Wednesdays, our Whatsapp group essentially becomes an immersive, multi-media comedy performance that any San Francisco improv troupe would be proud of.

Our personal project during this course is to come up with a series outline for a TV show. The feedback we receive at every step is incredibly insightful. Ros, and then Celi, laser in on more key questions and ideas in one hour than I could in a month. We’re working with professionals here. By the end of the course I’ve outlined a four part supernatural thriller set in the Rhondda between the 1960’s and the 1980’s. I cannot wait to carry on developing it.

We end the course with three priceless sessions. In consecutive weeks, we meet a group of literary agents, the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Wales commissioning team, and a group of TV production bosses. Beforehand, rather than see these sessions as an opportunity to further my knowledge, I see them as an opportunity to mark myself out as an idiot to the very people I may need to connect with in future. But the Writersroom team have created an environment so safe and encouraging that this anxiety disappears and we all bombard them with questions, receiving mountains of insightful advice you just wouldn’t get anywhere else.

The course ends with a glitzy bash in , and we get to meet lots of industry executives who are just as friendly and normal as the master-class guru’s we’ve been learning from. I walk away from the bash, and therefore the Voices programme, feeling sad. But I also feel like twice the screenwriter I was before I started, and have lots of new friends and contacts on the same journey.

In the same way that being told stories as a kid can take you to a magical place, writing stories can take you to a magical place too. Admittedly, as a screenwriter the stories you are involved with may have fewer enchanted forests and more drug fuelled assaults… but the act of creating a story can still take you to a special, vivid place when the words are tumbling over each other to get out.

And with 6 months of Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writers tucked safely under my belt, I feel far better equipped to translate that special vividness to readers and, maybe one day… viewers.

Oh, that’s weird. I haven’t been near a screenwriting podcast since starting Voices, let’s tune back in… [Strong L.A accent] ‘Last week I was feeling overwhelmed by the political situation in Guam, so I didn’t do any writing… I just focussed on self-care and spent the week by the pool sitting inside my fear and giving my chakra permission to weep…’

Ah, that’s nice.

What encouraged you to apply for the Fellowship? How did you find the application process? What idea did you submit for your application?

When I saw that and were partnering up for a , I knew that I had to apply. Leeds is my local producing theatre, and Kay Mellor had been such an influence in all the TV I watched growing up. She represented that female working class voice that so many of my stories are about. I remember watching and thinking there was nothing else like it on the screen.

There were a few stages to the application process, even at the interview stage, I learnt so much. I walked away with ideas and a plan of how to develop my idea further, and then later got the phone call – I felt like my insides had turned outsides, I was that excited.

I submitted my sample script which was a play called £1 THURSDAYS and a pitch for an idea about women who worked in adult services. It explored the nature of exploitation both in the arts industry and in online sex work.

What stood out to you during your time on the Fellowship? Was there anything that surprised you?

What surprised me most during the Fellowship was getting to peek behind the curtain at the day to day running of a big regional theatre and a TV production company. Getting to sit in on meetings and see how decisions get made, how development actually works. I had all these pre-conceptions about what the conversations in decision making rooms were like and it wasn’t at all as I imagined. That insider insight for TV and theatre is invaluable. It helped me to understand how rejection is more than likely not personal or about the idea but about lots of other moving parts and metrics that need to be aligned across a slate of work.

Did you discover/learn anything new during the experience?

Something that I learnt during the fellowship was how different writing for TV and theatre is and how to really lean into what is special about each medium. In the theatre you have the audience’s attention, and they are present in the space with the actors for a LIVE experience. What opportunities does this present? Then with TV, the audience have a hundred other distractions, so how can you draw them in, hold their attention, keep them glued to their screens. And then what is similar with both mediums – character, emotional heart.

I learnt a lot about what sort of writer I want to be. I’m still learning this, but a full year to really refine and focus my voice, helped to define the stories I was wanting to tell next.

How did you find working with Kay Mellor?

Working with Kay was incredible. Something I’ll cherish forever. Her feedback was blunt and to the point. I loved that. No messing about, she’d say, "but nothing happens, you have to make something happen!". She was gifted at story engine and seeing story potential in everything. How can we make things worse for our characters? She had brilliant anecdotes from her vast experience that always made me laugh. One thing that struck me was how much she supported new writers, not just myself. She would attend awards ceremonies and events and say people’s names. She would mention my name to people. I will never forget that. It’s so important to pay it forward and SAY A NAME whenever we can.

What work did you create as a result of the Fellowship?

During the fellowship, I developed a TV pitch – WHIPPED and a play CHEAP AS CHIPS. From the same seed of an idea – the women in adult services. The TV pitch introduced me and my voice to commissioners for the first time. The play is currently under commission with . As I worked on the ideas, they became very different on a surface/plot level but they both had the same beating heart, themes, and knotty central argument.

What advice would you give to anyone who is hoping to apply/be selected for the ?

If you’re thinking about applying, really consider what story YOU WANT TO TELL. Kay always spoke about how she loved fusing real life experience with fictional stories. So, think about a feeling or situation that feels true and relatable to you and then start spinning that story web and branching out from there. Be ready to learn, absorb everything, make mistakes, and really commit to the opportunity. opened so many doors for me. It was basically a fire-lighter for my career. And with the additional team-up this year with Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom Voices, it’s basically the hottest ticket in town for a new writer. Embrace it.

Kay was and is an inspiration. She put Northern voices on the stage and screen and let down the ladder to support and nurture so many new writers. I’m proud to be a tiny part of her legacy, and thrilled that this scheme is continuing so go for it, grab the bull by the horns and apply. Kay paved the way, now it’s on us to keep those warm, complex, Northern characters coming down the pipeline.

The Kay Mellor Fellowship is a year-long paid opportunity for a writer based in Yorkshire and the Humber to develop their writing for stage and screen. Applications are open until Tuesday 29th August 2023, 10am.

Some careers go off like fireworks. Mine was more like a fire lit with damp logs. To torture the metaphor a bit more, Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom was a vital squirt of kerosene that kept my fire burning right when it could’ve gone out. Let me explain.

I grew up in Australia an Anglophile, suckled on the best of British TV; Doctor Who, , The Young Ones, , . I moved in 2004. I didn’t really know anyone, or much about the industry, but I knew I wanted to write. I found a home in Manchester working in the story office, and then script edited and wrote on Casualty. Continuing Dramas (CDS) get a bad rap (unfairly so), but I learned so much writing craft and, more importantly, I started finding my people. What do I mean by that? If you meet someone who shares your taste, who’s excited by your work, hold onto them tight. They’re your people.

One of the hardest jumps in our industry is going from writing CDS to original or more ‘authored’ work. In some ways this is pure snobbery on the part of development execs and commissioners, an example of how CDS can brand a writer – but there can be some substance to it. While there’s often a great deal of creativity and innovation involved in writing a CDS script, you’re working within a house style. What happens when you take those guardrails away?

That’s where I was at when I applied to the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom scheme that is now called Pilot. I’d just moved to Belfast, and I was feeling very far from the centre of the industry. I’d had a few original things optioned by that point, but they were withering on the vine. I was making the vast majority of my income working on continuing drama but it all felt pretty parlous, like I was surviving script by script. So just as I was mulling the seed of an idea – literally just a paragraph about a lonely young boy writing a letter to a Mars-bound astronaut – I spotted this Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom deadline and thought, what’s the worst that can happen?

Spoiler alert: the script that resulted from this idea – Sunny – never got made, but I can honestly say that the Pilot process kicked my career to a new level. I was paired with , and ran several outlines and drafts with their brilliant development team. Along with that, I and the other Pilot writers did a series of masterclasses with legends of the industry; , , . There was advice I’ve kept as part of my process to this day: Jed Mercurio talked about looking for the “lock in”, the moment in your pilot script that locks your hero into the key action of the series. But the best part of it was forming friendships with the other Pilot writers. Sharing knowledge; good indies to work for, bad indies to avoid, weird stuff in contracts, significant life announcements. It all comes back to finding your people, and I found a bunch through the Pilot scheme.

It took a few more years, and a lot more pushing, before came about. I’d formed a writing partnership with , the very first writer I edited on Casualty (find your people!) and we’d just had an agonising near miss with a thriller script that we both still use as a sample. Our exec on that piece, , encouraged us to contact her with any other ideas we might have. Dana had just watched an incredibly unconventional Israeli black comedy about two lonely misanthropes who’ve hit rock bottom (sounds great right?) and suggested it could work as an adaptation. I watched it and agreed. Two years and one pandemic later, Significant Other broadcast on in June 2023. I’m incredibly proud of the show we made, no matter what one reviewer from The Guardian might think.

So while I would’ve loved to ‘make it’ (whatever that really means) much sooner, I like to think that the time it took, and the relationships I formed along the way, has made my career a wee bit more sustainable. That’s why I’d say, if you’re thinking about applying for the Pilot programme, if you’re wanting to make the jump to writing and selling your own original work, do it. Definitely.

This year you’re going to need to send in a TV spec as a sample. So what should you send? The cliché goes that you should write something only you can write. I’d add to that; what is the unique thing your script does that no other script can do? No other show but had that dramatic crucible of Don or Peggy making an ad pitch – only Fleabag broke the fourth wall in that exact way – only Significant Other has its main characters meeting while one has a heart attack and the other takes an overdose of pills (sorry, couldn’t resist). Because it’s all about bringing something new into the world, right? I wish you the best of luck, and I can’t wait to see your work on the air.

Applications to Pilot 2024 are open from Tuesday 5th September 2023 at 10am to 12 noon on Tuesday 26th September 2023 for credited and/or agented writers. Visit the Pilot page to find out more about the opportunity and entry criteria

Please Note: This is a separate scheme from our open submission Open Call, with more restricted entry criteria. 

The next Open Call submission window will be open between 12 noon on Tuesday 7th November 2023 and 12 noon on Tuesday 5th December 2023. Visit the Open Call webpage to find out more about that opportunity

Writers have never had it so bad. And that's after 100 years of having to fight for protections, compensation and credit that should've been given in the first place.

Think about it: the was formed in 1920 to Hollywood was still in its infancy and already writers were getting screwed. Writers were forced to raise their collective voices before you could even hear people talk on screen.

You know the but he's still standing there, unharmed? Think of that as a metaphor for the writer in Hollywood who has union protection. Except that every block the writer walks, there's another facade falling. On every sidewalk.

Which brings us to the WGA strike of 2023.

The sidewalks now have 11,500 WGA writers joined by the 160,000 actors in , marching, carrying signs and pushing the occasional striking baby and/or dog in a pram (Obviously, not every member is out picketing every day, but look at the photos outside studios, corporate headquarters and filming locations in LA and NY, it's a massive turnout and growing each day. )

Writers and actors have a lot of complaints in common, as do many Americans and people around the world who are feeling the horrible squeeze of the Gig Economy and the general unpleasantness wrought by the Silicon Valley way of thinking (Remember when we were all inspired by it?)

When began about 15 years ago, we were optimistic. The promises of creative freedom and additional venues for creativity felt real. But like any new technology that requires a pipeline of art (and craft) to supply it, the people creating that flow needed to be paid and protected. Hence, the last , which was largely about making sure we got residuals and minimums from those nascent streaming services, just like we earned from the networks in the .

Writing a script is the same amount of hard work whether it's for a network or a streaming service. Yet, a script for a streamer earns a fraction of the residuals the same script would earn for a network or even basic cable. That needs to change.

Scripts and writers are the foundation shows and films are built upon - and are often the creative spark that brings it to life and keeps it alive - and writers should be rewarded in success. BTW, residuals are but a tiny percentage of the zillions a company earns from any successful project. In fact, if the WGA got everything we're asking for, it would only cost the studios/streamers 2% of the profits they make off our writing and work ().

In the past, if you worked hard - and had some luck and a good spec script - you could actually get hired on a staff and have a nice middle class life as a writer in LA or NY. In the 90's, I remember how if you got a writing job on a TV show, there were certain things you could count on: you would be on staff for the life of the show and because of that, not only would you be getting a regular salary, you'd have the opportunities to learn everything you needed to know about making a show and maybe even someday running one; if the show went to multiple seasons, you'd get promoted each year, all the while gaining more responsibility and more valuable skills; Writing a script - and rewriting it as a group - was just one part of a rewarding TV writing career. And you'd get decent residuals for the episodes you wrote.

Now much of that has been taken away, especially the word "career".

Gradually but radically the studio system has been reframed into a gig economy where job security is never guaranteed. Where instead of being on a show for its entire run, you're lucky if you get hired for a 10 week mini-room where the studio insists you work out the entire season in those short weeks then boom, you're kicked out, time to find another job. Oftentimes, the showrunner is left to make the show with either a fraction of the writing staff or no staff at all. The idea of being able to rewrite an episode with a staff of writers during production? When you actually see a scene on its feet with real actors and realize changes need to be made right then? A proven way that worked well since, well, pretty much the beginning of television? Forget it. (The show is a good example of the rare show that was able to fight this - creator and showrunner insisted he have his staff for the entire production and you can see the difference that made.)

And speaking of Succession, this is all happening at a time when there has never been more great television and the community of television writers has never been more wonderfully diverse. This should be an era that feels incredibly promising, where all sorts of tired creative boundaries are being broken and the fusion of art and commerce is working symbiotically to improve everyone's lives and everyone wins.

But - cue hacky 80's RECORD SCRATCH - along comes corporate greed, whispering in CEOs' ears. Psst, if you kill a show after its successful third season, not only can you save a ton of money, those annoying actors can't renegotiate for higher salaries. And if you pull it entirely from your service, you won't have to pay them or those pesky writers ANY residuals. And that movie or TV series you sunk millions into? Well, pull it before it's even released and take a big tax write off. It's the short term bottom line that matters.

(Sorry about the attempt at satire here. It could use a rewrite but I'm on strike so that's all you're getting in terms of entertainment. I'll try to toss in some Simpsons references later.)

What's particularly scary about all these useful things being taken away - just to satisfy the short term bottom line - is it hits younger writers - those just starting out in the profession - the hardest. They're the future of this industry but the CEO's and their lawyers and accountants don't seem to care. I have a feeling a lot of mid-level executives care but they're increasingly powerless. More and more people in Hollywood are powerless and the frustration is beginning to bubble over.

There are now endless levels of approval, an infinite series of hoops writers must jump through before they ever get paid. Even Buster Keaton would get exhausted by this and jump on the first train out of here. Well, the very front of the first train out of here, .

That's another complaint - it used to be (and I'm talking about the early 2000's, not the 1900's) you could have an idea, flesh it out in a month, go in to a network, pitch it and they might actually buy it in the room. Or you'd pitch it to a studio, they'd buy it and pay you to develop it. Now you have to spend a year developing it, find actors/studios/whatever to attach to it, go through endless rounds of notes from the studio that is supposedly there to "help" you before you can even pitch it. And all FOR FREE. And don't get me started on Pitch Decks, which no one seemed to need for, oh, let's say the entire first 100 years of the entertainment industry.

The idea that writers must do so much for free while the people they're doing it for are getting paid is, to put it mildly, extremely infuriating. Meanwhile, the writers who are getting paid to be on staff find their salaries getting stretched thinner and thinner. How can this all be happening in a prosperous time for the industry, one with "peak TV"? I won't go into the complexities of "Span Protection" but it's another incredibly important issue. I'll just tell you the following sobering fact: Ten years ago, 33% of working TV writers were earning WGA minimum. That's what you're supposed to get when you're starting out. Now that number has ballooned up to 49%, including many showrunners (). Not much incentive in that. And for film writers, it's even worse. Their median pay hasn't increased since 2018 and they, too, are facing increased demands to do free work. And comedy variety writers? They don't even have a minimum if they're writing for a streaming service.

Well, Buster Keaton didn't let buildings fall on him for free and neither do I.

If you think I'm bringing up the past so much, there's a reason (and not just 'cause I'm a former Simpsons writer who loves oldtimeyness. ) The CEO's and the  (Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers) are acting like oldtime movie villains. And not the sophisticated-though-flawed type CEO. I'm talking the old moustache twirling, tie-you-to-the-railroad-tracks villain. If you wrote the villainy that's taking place in Hollywood today into a script, it would be rightfully noted as too over-the-top and contrived. Yet here we are. But this time, thanks to the very internet I decry, the whole world is on to their shortsighted, unmotivated, out-of-touch, laughable-if-it-weren't-hurting-so-many-people cruelty. When a CEO made nearly half a billion dollars over four years yet a writer for the hit show, The Bear, couldn't even afford to pay their rent, there's something horribly wrong.

So there you have it. As the world of streaming expanded, the life - and quality of life - of the working writer in Hollywood contracted drastically. To the point where many writers literally cannot make a living writing or even dare dream of it.

And if there aren't real people writing those words to give us hope, to make us laugh, to make us cry, to make us jump out of our seats with a really brilliant fright - if it's only AI generating those scripts and faces on screen, well, then, we've lost two important things. The Entertainment Business. And our Humanity.

That's why we're striking. And that's why so many hard working people from other professions - the Teamsters, the hotel workers and more - are joining our pickets and we, theirs. Everyone's feeling the pinch. It's time to pinch back.

So until it's resolved, I'll be picketing at the Fox lot, by the Galaxy Gate, where I used to drive in when I worked on the Simpsons and seemed like just a funny cartoon character.

There's your Simpsons reference.

For more background to the 2023 WGA writers' strike visit the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ News website:

Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ News - 2nd May 2023 

Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ News - 2nd May 2023

Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ News - 3rd May 2023

Read more Hollywood news stories on the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ News website

- including details of the writing process and his reaction to the strike

- read his blog post

Watch an interview with Josh Weinstein on the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom website 

From as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to write for TV. I was one of those nerdy kids who would watch the credits at the end of programmes. I began to notice which writers I particularly liked, writers whose work spoke to me. I was in awe of the fact that everything I’d watched had come out of one person’s head. But I couldn’t help but notice that it was rare to see a character who was disabled, and even rarer to see a character with cerebral palsy like me. I decided long ago that this was something I could help change.

So I was proud to finally have my first original pilot produced and broadcast last year. It was a long slog. I’d been writing TV pitches and scripts for the previous 13 years. I’d practically become an expert at getting rejected. I remember vividly going for a meeting with some Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ TV producers in 2009 about my first attempt at a comedy pilot script. They told me that, if you took away the fact that my main character was disabled, then the script didn’t have a USP. I asked why on earth would you want to take that away? Surely making the character disabled gave him a different home life situation and lived experience that would be unique and engaging to audiences? But at the time they did not agree.

Now I’m not for one minute claiming that first script was perfect, far from it in fact, which is somewhat ironic given that I gave it the title Perfect! Between then and finally getting produced, there have been a string of other failed pilots, script notes, mentoring schemes and training courses. I learnt that the only way to really get better at screenwriting is to pick yourself up after a rejection, dust yourself down, learn from your mistakes and have another go. As Jack Thorne once told me, 95% of this job is being told where you’ve gone wrong!

But also a lot has changed in terms of the screen industry’s attitude towards including disabled, deaf and neurodivergent people over the past few years, although undoubtedly there’s further to go. Significantly, there is a growing recognition that there are only a certain number of stories to tell, therefore a way of making those stories new, interesting and exciting is to include characters from a range of diverse backgrounds, drawing on lived experience. For example, a thriller about a single mum suddenly gets an added dimension if we make that character a wheelchair user who as to navigate all of the various attitudes, barriers and systems that come with that situation.

I’ve noticed, particularly in continuing drama, it feels like there’s a tendency to have disabled characters because they know they ought to, but the writers don’t really know what to do with them. So, these characters are present on screen but don’t get any of the juicy storylines. I put this down to two factors: a fear amongst non-disabled writers of getting it wrong; combined with a lack of disabled, deaf and neurodivergent writers up until now. Certainly, whenever I’ve done writers’ rooms, I’ve always put myself forward to write for the disabled characters, not least because it’s easier as I can draw upon my lived experience.

This is why it’s so important that Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom are currently recruiting another cohort of disabled, deaf and neurodivergent writers for their Writers’ Access Group. As someone who did it last time, I can vouch for the fact that it gave me the knowledge and skills I needed to start earning a living from screenwriting. The more screenwriters like myself we have working in the industry, the more authentic, nuanced portrayals informed by lived experience we'll see on our screens.

And what did I call my pilot which was broadcast last year? Why what else but… Perfect! It was a completely different script to the one that was rejected in 2009, because I’m now a better writer, but it had the exact same themes. It just wasn’t dismissed as lacking a USP as the industry has moved on and learnt to value lived experience. And I figure, if you are going to plagiarise, probably best to plagiarise yourself!

Applications are currently open for the Writers' Access Group training programme for deaf, disabled and/or neurodivergent writers.

What stood out for you about Jennifer Coolidge’s win at the Golden Globes in The White Lotus. What was it about that role and performance that stimulated you to tweet?

I think that she’s an incredible performer and the role and the show () are brilliant, and I love it, but what really made it stand out for me was her acceptance speech. It really hit home because we have times in our career, I think, as women of a certain age, that we remember as fruitful. There are times that are fruitful and there are times which aren’t, and I loved the way she spoke about that. To employ a woman who has been in the industry for an awfully long time and at times has been more successful than at others, and to get to a stage where she’s standing in front of the whole Hollywood Foreign Press (and the world in a way) and for her to be able to say that there were times when work was thin on the ground, that really resonated.

She spoke about how that one man, (The White Lotus creator and writer), took what was, in her head, a chance on her. But to me it doesn’t look like taking a chance. She seemed so humble and so grateful in her speech, but she did such an amazing job in the series that if I was a Producer or Commissioner or running a channel then I’d think that she was a safe bet.

It seems like Mike White was a bit of a guardian angel for her, and we all need those at times, someone who champions you. I’ve had a few people like that in my life.

Why do you think her speech had such a big response?

Her speech in general smacked of someone who had lived a life but wasn’t done yet. Who felt not just that she was being appreciated again in her 60s but felt “I’m doing a bang-up job of being a woman in my 60s in this industry”. Jennifer Coolidge showed us that it isn’t just about making a living. The passion and the gratitude that she showed for her career is also very deep inside me. I still feel that one day I’ll be ‘found out’ – the imposter syndrome.

When you look at you don’t think of an old woman. She was flying the flag for all of us over 50s, even late 40s women who have moved out of the ‘juve’ lead. Who are reading scripts where the role is the Mum or the Gran – sometimes I’m even a Nan now – It struck a chord not just with me, but there are an awful lot of brilliant actors out there who I think have been side-lined when they get to a certain age. I suppose what we should be asking ourselves is “instead of a 40-year-old man playing that role, could a 50-year-old woman?”

It’s amazing that one win and one speech can start such a movement for women who feel the same.

From your experience how have the scripts and roles you are offered evolved during your career?

It’s a first for me to seem like a champion for older women in this industry, because I’ve never been this age before! This is a first for me to get to being 50 years old and suddenly the roles aren’t there. They are a lot thinner on the ground. When you’re reading something, the parts are smaller. But watching the shows that I like to watch and the ones that have had such a massive impact recently – Happy Valley, The White Lotus – they have older women in lead roles. If they are so successful and so needed and so championed, then why do we not have more? We could do with a few more women like Happy Valley's  and at the forefront of Drama and Comedy.

I’ve worked a lot with who has written a few things with me in mind but the responses that we have had from the industry have often been along the lines of “it’s not our demographic”. Most people seem to be chasing after the 15–25-year-old demographic, but that age group are not watching television. I’m in that audience who still sit and put on Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ One, ITV, Channel 4, and I feel like we’re not seeing ourselves very much, but when we are then it’s lauded and celebrated.

Women are not seeing ourselves on TV as we really are. The women that I know who are over 50 are funny and sexy and interesting and clever and bright and sparky. They don’t take any sh*t! They are very interesting to watch. I loved Alma’s Not Normal, it’s all women, crazy personalities, it was so refreshing to watch. But there are very minimal projects either for us to audition for, meet for or read but also for us to watch. For a woman who still feels like she’s in her 30s it feels like we’re not really done yet, we’re not ready to be shelved at a certain age just because you’re not the juvenile lead. There are interesting, funny characters to be written, watched, and played by women of an older age.

To be fair I feel very lucky to have made a living and had a range of diverse jobs across theatre, TV and film but I don’t feel ‘done’. The stuff I’m reading now is mainly much smaller roles, which I’m fine with if it’s an interesting role. To give an example, I’m in the next series of ITV's  and I’m very proud of it. It’s quite harrowing, it’s right up my street really. I play the Nan. That works because of the nature of the role you believe that she would have had her kids young, but I suppose that is now the area I’m going into. But I had my actual kids ‘late’, I was 37 and 41, so I’ve still got a 10-year-old. I also have a 32-year-old man, so of course I still feel in my 30s, but the reality of it is that I don’t really see that on the screen. We’ve made great moves forward in other areas, but I don’t think that’s necessarily true of ageism. And I’m not unusual now to have young kids at my age.

You don’t see female characters over 50 running around like a 30-year-old unless they’re some kind of ‘cougar’. I’m looking for older women’s roles which are written in a beautiful, rounded way where there are loads of different characteristics you can tap into, not just a broad brushstroke of ‘She’s a Nan’ or ‘She’s a cougar’. But why does it still feel so unusual for the women to be older and the men to be younger? It doesn’t have to come under the umbrella of a ‘cougar’ show or a teacher/student relationship that shouldn’t have happened. It never seems to be two people happy in love. I read things and think ‘Why is he 50 and she’s 30?’, and that seems to come right down from Hollywood.

Do you think the problem lies with writers not creating these fully rounded and nuanced roles for more mature women? Or does it lie elsewhere in the industry?

I don’t think the problem is the writing, there is a flow of creativity coming from writers that seems to be three dimensional and rich and colourful. I’ve had many writers get in touch with me since the tweet and say “That’s all I write, I’ve got four projects, I only write for mature women”. But if the feedback from industry is “that’s not our demographic” then there’s nothing writers can do – except for get it made yourself - but that’s easier said than done.

Where are the people who are making programmes for my demographic? I think the plays, the TV scripts and film scripts are out there. Maybe Jennifer Coolidge has just made it a bit ‘cooler’ and things will change?

How important do you think it is that writers have the same life experience as the characters they write?

I don’t think writers need to have the same experience, but they do need to have an understanding. They need an understanding of the human psyche and where that person might be in their life.

What would be your advice to budding writers who want to include more mature female roles in their work even if they are not from that demographic themself?

Maybe younger writers could spend some time with some women over 50. Whether that means going and having a drink, shadowing them. I’m not trying to sound patronising, but I think with much younger writers they need to be reminded of how youthful a 50-year-old woman is now. We are not in a rocking chair and knitting! With how people live much longer and healthier lives now on the whole the narrative of what a woman over 50 is like feels like it needs rewriting.

And once we hit 50 women don’t all fall into one category (although I do think that more mature women tend to have developed greater emotional intelligence). There’s still a massive, colourful range of women who are completely different from one another and they’re desperate to see themselves on telly. I would sit down and watch most things that have women in who are over the age of 45 and all of my friends feel the same. I also think writers don’t need to shy away from tough subject matter when writing mature female roles.

When these characters are given a chance - we see that in the writing of Sally Wainwright, Sharon Horgan, the late Kay Mellor - their shows are brilliant. But there are more than just ten great writers for women. The main thing is that women are shown authentically, that’s what we’re all striving for.

In the end this isn’t a gripe, it’s just an observation. If Jennifer Coolidge can create such massive waves with a character that’s drawn beautifully then think how women would feel represented if there was one character like that in every programme?

Listen to Friends will be Friends featuring Tamzin Outhwaite and best friend and fellow actor Julie Graham on Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Sounds

Watch Freeze the Fear with Wim Hof on Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ iPlayer featuring Tamzin and fellow celebrities

Follow Tamzin on and

(Editor's note: The title has been updated to WRITING TODAY - Please write more great characters for women over 50 to more accurately reflect the content of the interview.)

What’s your favourite montage of a writer at their desk overcoming writer’s block and turning out pages? (as ) in  thoughtfully debating the pros/cons of coffee and a muffin as instigator for writing or reward for writing. Barton Fink slowly losing his mind in, well . gleefully typing away, remorselessly turning her hometown’s most recent murder into her next bestseller. Part of you is saying No Jessica, the body is still warm - it’s not right! Another part of you grudgingly admires, she’ll have a chapter done by lunch at that rate.

It’s a trope and not even a good one. The writer rubs their face, mutters different opening lines to themselves, paper is rolled up and thrown into an already overflowing bin. What these scenes generally have in common is that they are set in large well lit rooms, with a mahogany desk, bookshelves everywhere. Autumnal light spills in the bay window. These writers also have a sickeningly endless amount of time to complete their magnum opus. The demands of rent, social obligations and time lost to their own inherent vices do not enter the story logic. Mahogany desk, autumnal light…this is not what my writing space looks like. I doubt yours does either.

I’m a glutton for writer interviews. Process, regime, technique. Apparently commits to writing a novel with the intensity of an ultra marathon runner. Life is reduced to a cycle of writing/exercise/sleep until the work is done. It’s genuinely impressive. However my own regime is more akin to a malfunctioning couch to 5k app, where life is reduced to an endless cycle of writing/job 1/family commitments/job 2/relationship maintenance/dog walking/gentle weeping and not enough sleep.

Some writers set internet restriction apps, to prevent them from doom scrolling the news when they should be following their muse. Maybe I was lucky that the first desk where I ever took my own writing seriously was where the only thing that could distract me was the Rorschach test nature of the rising damp in the wall. Hmm, that mould looks a bit like - maybe this script needs a car chase?

My problems were never about distractions when I got to the desk (in reality a breakfast bar in a shared house) but getting to the desk at all. Good news - I now have a desk where I don’t have to scrape my housemates' encrusted cornflakes off before I start. Plot twist - that alone has not improved my writing.

My first ever submission to a Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom open call was a TV pilot that I wrote in 6 woozy nights after I clocked off from my bar job. To call it a first draft would likely see first drafts everywhere, unionise and counterclaim. It was gibberish. I was so tired/elated when I finished it, I decided at the last minute to change the title to size 45 IMPACT FONT so it would really land home with its first reader what a seminal work they held in their hands. Unsurprisingly I did not make any form of long, short or middling list. More surprising was that I did not end up on any government watch lists (that I know of). Whatever it was (it shall remain nameless) it was closer to Outsider art than Spec script. But I had finished something.

And then I started thinking about how it might be much less demented to think ahead with realistic specific goals, rather than put in for each approaching deadline, like a stray dog running after every passing car, barking wildly at the tail lights. And so work life/writerly aspirational life imbalance properly began, as I know it has for many others. My partner is likewise blessed/cursed with the compulsion to write. Like me, works in the hours and minutes that can be poached from doing all the things you do to keep the wolf from the door. Or at least not fully inside the house. We daydream about having enough time to really write. These musings tend to inevitably (and unimaginatively) drift towards reveries about rural cottages, near a flowing river. Well-lit rooms, mahogany desks and bookshelves tend to feature heavily ... alas our reality is much closer to a poorly furnished Escape Room during the cleaner’s week off.

But yet we both still (strive to) write for TV. Not always when we want. Rarely where we want to. Sometimes even (oh the inhumanity! oh the irony!) at the cost of actually watching TV. I now find myself unable to watch . Not because it terrifies me. It doesn’t anymore. Now I can only feel anger at not using his boundless freedom to write a bit more efficiently (and ideally less murderously). No talking to the ghosts until you hit your word count, Jack, I’m thinking. I’ll let you into room 237 Mr Torrance, my brain reasons, when I see chapter two!

I try not to let the fantasy of endless writing time become my own Overlook Hotel. I accept the reality that I have to write when and where I can. And try not to find myself reading listicles at 4am about which famous writers only wrote standing up/sitting down/after a long walk/or in a bath eating apples. Would having a writing space torn from the pages of a broadsheet’s Sunday supplement lifestyle section be nice? I’m going to guess yes. Would having what felt like enough time to write, help? Almost certainly. Is breaking into professional writing a level playing field? Not even close.

But most open calls worth entering (like Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom) are read blind. Your submission’s first reader won’t know (or care) if you wrote it in a townhouse or a treehouse. Under the warm hue of autumnal light or the dull flickering of a broken streetlight. The only thing they’ll care about, is the only thing you’ll have any control over - do they want to keep reading? Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Writersroom schemes helped me stop seeing writing as a montage where inspiration strikes.

My first ever script editor Hamish taught me to fight for every percent your script can improve. It’s not very cinematic but it works. Recently, for the first time in my life I now have both a desk of my own and enough time to focus solely on writing (for a month or two anyway). I suppose it’s time to find out if I’m Jack Torrance or Jessica Fletcher.

I really hope it’s the latter.

I was recently having a conversation with one of my friends about diversity in TV when she asked me… “When was the last authored drama by a British South Asian writer?” and I’ll be honest my mind drew a complete blank…

So, I took to Google and asked colleagues (just in case my love for television had let me down), and found that I wasn’t the only one at a loss. Even in scripted comedy I can only think of one recent show that is written entirely by a South Asian writer.

Of course, it’s not as though this is news to me. I’ve been working in TV for over a decade, and I am aware that there are so few people who look like me when I walk into meetings or rooms. It’s something that I am vocal about, but for a long time - and to be frank - because of my own insecurities, it didn’t feel like I could talk about these issues openly. I didn’t want it to seem as if I sounded bitter. But there’s also a moment when you just feel like saying sod it - this isn’t good enough.

Often Twitter is where I voice these thoughts and sometimes (read; often) this gets me into trouble from trolls. Contrary to what my friends think, I have started to spend less time on there as a result. Now I’ll pop on to say something I find funny and try to channel this energy into my work rather than the bird site.

This is for a couple of reasons really; being the angry Muslim man on Twitter can often bleed into real life, and your reputation can precede you before you go into meetings. It creates a culture of fear. Like you’re a troublemaker, or that you’ve upset someone by stating what is quite simply the truth. If I’m honest, it’s a concern I had before I started writing this blog, but such is the life of a freelancer.

I was also hoping that by getting to a place where I could begin to “let down the ladder” after me, I could encourage and champion the work of brown creatives who are missing from the television landscape. I feel like I am getting there with the latter and that’s because I am incredibly fortunate to be working on shows that have allowed me to tell stories as a Brown writer.

Our stories are needed. I started as a trainee on a scheme at Coronation Street. It was an invaluable training ground for me because I read everything that I could but I was well aware that in a huge machine that my voice could get lost. I began to write scripts that reflected my way of life. A working class, northerner, Muslim with immigrant parents. These may seem like mere labels but they make up the foundation of every story we tell. It was with this conviction I entered the Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ’s Alfred Bradley Award to tell stories about brown people even if it was on the radio. It has pushed me to write spec scripts that have opened doors for me so now I can voice my opinions on an equal footing. I can’t say I kept that conviction in all my writing but what I can say is that you always come back to it. It helps you and it has helped me and shaped me as a writer and individual.

I can only speak for my experience though, that to get to that point has been an uphill battle which (like for all writers), was littered with rejection. But like Tinder we must make the yesses count.

Brown writers are often made to feel like there is only enough space for one minority at the table, or that our stories must be bigger and more extreme. For us to get a script away it has to be about an extreme issue and why is that? Why can’t we tell quiet and beautiful stories, its as though heartbreak in film and television is reserved for those who live in the wealthy parts of London. Isn’t one of the joys of storytelling to unite people through universal themes? Yet it seems like this is something that just isn’t available to us, and I want to know why.

Everyone has different facets to their identities, but being brown is something that I’ve been aware of before I learned anything else about myself. For many British Asians it takes a while to fall in love with your identity. It hasn’t always been “cool” and a lot of that has been reinforced by stereotypes we see on TV. That needs to change. Allowing us the space to portray ourselves authentically on screen will be life changing for so many people who can pinpoint the first time they saw someone who even just looked like them on TV. South Asians should be shown as multifaceted and wide ranging on screen as they are in real life. And it’s possible as we see from the success of shows in America such as “Never Have I Ever” and “Master of None” but it’s time we had that here in the UK.

We must keep pushing our stories. We must keep hustling. We must keep lifting each other up. So that the powers that be are constantly reminded that there are no excuses. The talent is available and there are brilliant creatives of colour just waiting for the opportunity.

There’s a push to be more “British” when it comes to TV but what does that even mean? Who are the gatekeepers of “Britishness”? It’s important to remember that we are part of the fabric that make this country.

We are behind in this country when it comes to South Asian representation, and we have to do more and that begins with commissioning writers of colour so that in the next couple of years people aren’t struggling to think of shows by brown writers and that’s the only way our stories become part of the mainstream.

And to the writers of colour who might be reading this; keep going.