signs

Apologies to anyone who still expects posts about scriptwriting (ha!) but now is think-time until the weekend pow wow when everything gets thrashed out and I stop faffing..

Meanwhile noticed a few strange little signs from the universe - all occurring in a short space of time..

Firstly, this morning at around 5 am I looked out of the window to see a young woman (outside the house across the road) skipping or rather jumping on the spot with a skipping rope. Unusual at that time, (in the half light) but nothing too out of the ordinary. Exercise.

Then about half an hour later, my daughter came running up to tell me that she could see a man lying asleep outside our house, on the stoep. I must have missed him before - but indeed there he was - fast asleep outside. 'Moving people on' is hub's job - so he did that and the man went away. No fuss. All the while, the girl across the road continued to skip.

Then as we all left the house for the school run, my daughter pointed out a loopy 'm' (or 'w' depending where you stood or maybe it was even a number '3' on its side) drawn in yellow chalk on the ground outside, directly opposite the front door. She hadn't drawn it so I guess the man who'd been asleep outside did.

Hmmm.....

Imitation of life

Imagine a scene where two Moslem women with Down's syndrome, (separately) walk through a busy market place full of animals and people and announce that they have birds to sell. Then they stop and throw open their burqas - the signal for remote controlled bombs, hidden under their garments to be detonated. Afterwards, 93 people (including the women themselves) lie dead.

Shocking bloody and nasty and most of all real.

As I watched the news yesterday, my conflicting thoughts (as a scriptwriter) were 'wow that's cinematic!' and (as a parent) 'f*** how callous'.

I suppose this dual response typifies one of the most difficult tasks in scriptwriting: - provoking an emotional reaction through visuals.

In fact yesterday's news from Baghdad seemed almost like a re-working of that nail-biting scene from Gillo Pontecorvo's classic 'Battle of Algiers' where the 3 Algerian women shed their burqas and smuggle bombs out of the Casbah to explode in the French quarter...

**

Anyway what else? This year is off to a good start. Have been working gently on a treatment for a TV thing. For some reason I started doing it all on A5 to make it read like a little book - do you ever do weird things like that? (No - I won't send it off like that!- I just like the size for now.) plus the other project seems to be zooming along quite nicely.

So here's to February . Slurp!

report

Last year was a mixed bag. Started off well with our company's first children's educational series commission broadcast here weekly from Jan - March (this after a demoralising re-edit in Jo'burg). The feedback was good. Then came a meeting about the re-commission of a storytelling series with another prodco. Things didn't turn out well and I followed my instincts and ended up stepping off.
I turned my attentions away from local production towards international markets and stories that could travel. A couple of new drama outlines received positive feedback. There were other minor writing successes, but mostly I spent my time honing and rewriting.
Later on, I successfully pitched for a large (non-film related) writing project - the contract for which should now be coming through early this year (those distant shores are still beckoning...) A hefty portion of the year was spent writing a brand new spec which I am now touting (can't say too much - but it does have legs). Towards the end of the year, I dragged my heels over other 'slow' projects - either due to the lack of funds or the protracted negotiations. Had a small boost at the end of the year with a promo commission. And that was about it..

I'm not one for making writing resolutions but I do feel very optimistic about 2008. Maybe it's all these fabulous horoscopes I keep reading.

Later

thatandthis

Quick early blog this one. Yesterday watched all-singing, all-dancing pigs in a shopping centre foyer and ate in Woolworth's cafe. Here Woolworths is in fact Marks and Spencers - the local version. Unbelievable but true - same chain but with local versions of products and SA stuff like water brussels etc. Clothes, layout all almost identical. Maybe inverted snobbery makes Brits reluctant to believe this until they step inside the store and feel instantly at home. Come Christmas you can even find butter basted turkeys with the M & S labels on them.

In other news the old lady next door is in hospital unable to walk - but did she fall or was she pushed? Hub inquired about her health (from her adopted daughter) over the garden wall and was told it was a broken hip. Straight after their conversation, the adopted daughter wrote a letter to the neighbour opposite accusing her of gossiping saying that her husband was very sorry for what he had done. Neighbour opposite brought the letter over to us. Hmm.

Am waiting for notes on a treatment before embarking on the first draft of a new script. The SA producer (who went to Cannes) sent an encouraging email outlining various ways forward - even mentioning money - but all very much on the back burner there yet. Still waiting to hear back on various projects including a SHORT outstanding since January. I put that in bold capitals so that blog karma will bring about an immediate response now. Usually works and better to hear something than not hear anything at all huh? This break from writing has enabled me to rethink strategies and paths and all that stuff. After the scripting 'hiccough' earlier in the year, I'd been turning my attentions to overseas - since writing for local production tends to be rather creatively 'encumbered'. But maybe it is time to put aside such thoughts and leaf through the RFP booklet once again - there's still some August deadlines approaching...

A big question mark this year is Sithengi whose future will be decided at the end of the month by the board of directors. It's unlikely that the international film and TV market will continue in its present form, or even run this year since it is now a bit late in the day to set it up. Sithengi has been an important feature of SA's film and TV industry for the last 11 years. My first time there I landed a meaty writing job - unfortunately the company liquidated 4 months into development. But Sithengi provides a chance for everyone to catch up. I've met some great people there. One key advantage is that it is small and intimate - more like Dinard than Cannes. Plus there's always a writer's forum, chance to meet international commissioners and often a couple of new writing schemes or competitions launched. It'll be a pity if it doesn't continue. Let's see.

Superstition

One inspiring book which I picked up on the Charing Cross Road in 1989 and return to time and again is 'The Fragrance of Guava' ( Plinio Apuleyo Mendoza in conversation with Gabriel Garcia Marquez.) My copy has two Freetown addresses scribbled in the back so I must have taken it to Sierra Leone. Anyway it's basically one long conversation with Marquez organised into short chapters. There's one each on his two most famous novels, then one on Origins, Family, His Craft, Education, Readings and Influences, Work, Waiting, Now, Politics, Women, Superstitions Mania and Tastes and (lastly!) Fame and the Famous. It is thought provoking and I took it out again yesterday when I started thinking about superstition.

I'm not that superstitious though I detest Friday 13th. Early this year it fell in the middle of holiday school so I kept my daughter home. In a month there's another - in holiday school again so I'll do the same. That's one of my few concessions. My mother holds this 'reverse superstition' thing where she almost goes out of her way to disprove it. She wore green when she married for the 2nd time on Friday 13th (and no - it didn't last).

Everyone seems superstitious here, in one way or another. One of my hub's female relatives will get up in the middle of the night during an electrical storm to cover all the mirrors with a sheet to prevent bad luck.

© F Jason
In this photo a sangoma (witch doctor) is interviewed by a journalist. Her beliefs don't allow her to look in the face of a white man. Instead he must direct his question to the small circular mirror she is holding.

Last year was sent The Travelers - a book of photographs by Elizabeth Heyert taken at a Harlem undertaker. Macabre and fascinating - it is a series of huge colour photographs of dead black Americans of varying ages - dressed up in their Sunday best for their journey to heaven.
Anyoldhow sometime ago, this book was lying on the sofa when the 'light bulb people' came round. (South Africa is becoming more eco-friendly and so light bulb people were despatched to every house in the land to exchange the old light bulbs for the new two-prong low energy ones - bulb for bulb - totally free. While hub was up the ladder unscrewing bulbs all over the house, the Xhosa light bulb official started looking through this book with great interest. Then she took out a notebook and started writing things down. Of course being a nosy writer, I had to ask what she was writing. She said 'the birth dates and death dates of the people in the photos - to use to play the Lotto!

Dead people have great powers...

Later

Strike

There's a strike on - an on-going strike by public servants across South Africa that's expected to peak today when solidarity action from other unions kicks in. Teachers (and other professionals) here are badly paid and are holding out for a 10% pay increase across the board

So daughter is at home - therefore not much writing today. The school is actually open, but yesterday she brought home a letter containing this worrying sentence:

"If it should happen that protesters gain access during class time then we should sound the alarm intermittently and teachers will lock the children and themselves into their classrooms."

A day in the life of a scriptwriter

The day starts early - very early - my daughter is up at 5.30 without fail - rain or shine, so it's a bit hard to stay in bed much later than 6am. Early morning is spent getting her ready for school then hub drops her off just after 7.30. Then 'Eyes' arrives around 8 o clock.

Normally I've made a list - the evening before - of things I still need to do the next day. Right now I have all these edit scripts outstanding from the children's TV series. Doing them should have been a piece of cake - tweaking the shooting scripts here and there - but due to the extensive re-edit, not so. I have to view and transcribe it word for word. Laborious. This all needs to be typed and submitted along with the final accounts (grrr) and other paperwork in order to get the last chunk of funds from the broadcaster. I keep putting it off.

Unless there's a deadline, the daily routine is fairly fluid. The script log book gets checked through to see how long things have been out. Then I skip around the internet around to see what's happening everywhere. Plus I read the local and international trades online and the papers. Today I check the bank - wooee been paid for the first jazz article! Then look for stuff for my daughter's 5th birthday party (month end). Then notice the desk has half an inch of dust all over it - so take everything off and do a major polish.

But if I have a deadline - then it's straight to work - I can do an 8 hour writing day, more or less, before my daughter's back at 3. There's usually Sky news burbling away in the background unless hub is in, then it's the new Russian news channel or Al Jazeera or something that's not quite so preoccupied with the current movements of Paris Hilton.

That's about it.

shower

I did promise a post-a-day in June. No writing today or even any thoughts to offer about writing or screenwriting.

Went on a family trip out to Hout Bay for fish and chips and to watch the seals in the bay. I thought I saw a crocodile - but they're freshwater aren't they - not salt water?

Then it was off to a 'baby shower' in Gugulethu for my (wait a minute I have such an extended family here - it gets a bit confusing sometimes) husband's youngest sister's youngest daughter's baby which is due next week. She (J) has had the most vibrant and (outwardly) healthy pregnancy I've ever witnessed. Today at the shower - only a week away from giving birth, she looked stunning in pink furry top and blue contact lenses bomping down on the dancefloor. The average age of the mainly females guests was 22 - so all the oldies gave the speeches - in Xhosa. So of course I had to come up with something off the top of my head - in English - about how we're all looking forward to this baby and how every child is welcome into this family.
Hmmm - maybe this is what growing up is all about - I never once thought when I was younger, that I'd ever be doing this.

Then the DJ turned the music up. Food and beers came out. More folk poured in. I stomped around to the heavy, heavy dub dub kwaito sound until a one-eyed man started to lurch around rather erratically, then I knew it was time for us all to go home.

Laters

net

The nearest internet cafe (if you can call it that) from here is a 2-boother inside a grocery kiosk, the other side of the taxi rank - about a 7 minute walk towards the mountain. I decide to try this first.

Taxis (minibuses) are still the most popular form of public transport in South Africa. The local rank is still divided up (a throwback) - on one side, taxis service the black townships of Khayelitsha, Nyanga, Maccassar, Philippi and Gugulethu. Over the railway bridge, taxis run to the so called coloured areas of Bonteheuvel, Mannenberg, Athlone and Heideveld.

The small internet booth is run by a woman from the DRC who informs me that she doesn't know anything about the computers so not to bother asking. I pay my 5 Rands (about 35p) for half an hour to find that the dial-up is slow and pages take ages to load. After about 10 minutes (of my half hour) the owner tells me that she needs to close up. She waves her hand impatiently - telling me that I can come back later and finish. I make a mental note not to return.

Next I try the internet cafe owned by 3 Nigerian brothers further up towards the main road. Sandwiched in between 2 of the 50 or so local hairdressing salons, this 15 booth joint is packed and noisy. Across the road, kwaito booms out of speakers set either side of the doorway of a plastics store. Outside, taxi drivers shriek at passers-by; 'Wynberg, Claremont, Claremont Wynberg!' I pay my 5 Rands and take a seat in between a student surfing Oprah's site and a Ghanaian woman who joggles her young son on her knee while speaking to relatives in Accra via video messaging. (If you want to road-test the most ingenious uses of new technology - try any big city in Africa). There are now 47 unopened messages in my inbox but the server is slow and it is hard to concentrate. There's a message from the producer in Cannes but I can't open it. On the PC screen of the adjoining booth, is a jerky 'frame grab' video image of the Ghanaian woman who sobs into webcam, 'We both miss you so much.'
I make a mental note to come back only if I have to.

I practically sprint the two miles along the main road to a state-of-the-art internet cafe in a copy shop. Here everything is broadband and flat screened. The sofas are bright and colourful. I zap through my emails in 8 minutes. The meetings in Cannes sound positive. My half hour costs R4.

I make a mental note to come back (that's when I have to).

Fat 100

Yes the 100th blog post today! Wooee!

Give yourself a pat on the back,
pat on the back,
pat on the back,
give yourself a pat on the back
100 posts today
far away!

Seems to be that quiet time of year when script somebodies are not at their desk or they're at Cannes or not at Cannes or on their way or pretending to be.

Now is probably a good time to take stock of what's happened so far this year. I've submitted scripts and synopses left, right and centre that I've yet to hear about. I did a crash course in Xhosa (although far from fluent, I did gain an 'overview'.) I stepped off a lucrative scriptwriting job (for jolly good reason) and won 2nd prize in a script competition that no one has ever heard of. I had 2 rejections from Beeb drama that were so fabulously positive they could be mistaken for acceptances - almost (ha!). I wrote and submitted a short I haven't heard about yet, reworked a feature drama into a radio play for a comp and found a UK producer for another feature drama submission. Also did plenty of honing, tweaking, refining and re-writing and am now working on these jazz stories. Plus an SA producer is in Cannes with my 'hot' project - let's see.

Distant shores beckon perhaps.

(any other Shiny Show fans out there?)

Taboo

I do love a bit of taboo. Every so often I read a news story that, in my opinion would make a fantastic film and which I'd love to write the screenplay for. So in a first for this blog, I've decided to declare my interest in this news item - "75 year old Granny & her 25 year old Gambian lover" here .

I know that there are all kinds of legal issues with scripting a real story (about real people.) But aside from this and in the unlikely event that anyone has managed to snap up the film rights from this duo, I'm your writer.

How I'd love to get right inside their heads. She - sedate, reserved, well travelled and now 'livid' with her granddaughter's betrayal in a revelatory article in the Guardian earlier this week. He - the softly spoken black outsider, forced to smoke out of a bedroom window and with no one else to talk to.

It's not just the obvious age and cultural differences that attract me but the whole idea of 'impropriety' in middle England and the subtly embedded prejudices at play within and outside the family. I know this 'type' of story pops up fairly frequently but this particular tale resonates with me.

The 'family values' sub text of the Daily Mail's story here focuses on why a gentile, respectable elderly lady of means from the 'picturesque village of Buriton' should embark on such an 'unsuitable' and (probably) doomed relationship. No one seems too interested in imagining what the young man may be thinking.

Yes there have been other films about supposedly 'mis-matched romance' notably The Mother brilliantly scripted by Hanif Kureishi and Vers le Sud (Heading South) with Charlotte Rampling and my all time favourite: Harold and Maude but this story seems to offer even more fascinating possibilities.

What do you think? And have you come across a news story you'd love to script?

woo hoo!

It may sound like I'm making this up but……

Yesterday the phone rang. It was long distance and quite a bad crackly line and a woman with a West African accent asked to speak to Barbee*. Now Barbee is my Sierra Leonean middle name which I never use and so in two minds I answered hesitantly 'Yes...speaking?'. Then the lady asked me to hold because she was putting a call through from Lagos School of Studies*. I waited for 20 seconds while the line crackled, then suddenly imagining that either this was a new type of 491 spam telephone scam or that I'd somehow agreed to accept a reverse charge call from someone I didn't know in Nigeria, I slammed down the phone. Yes - a bit unfriendly I know but I'm from the yookay.

The minute I slammed down the phone I had a blinding realisation. You see I'd thought the only people who ever call me by my African middle name are some or all of my eleven half brothers and sisters from Sierra Leone (not that I'd slam down the phone on any of them I must point out). EXCEPT I suddenly remembered that nearly 2 years ago I had gone in for some poorly advertised 'panafrican' scriptwriting competition and had posted my entry to - wait for it - an address in Lagos. In an Afro moment I had decided to use my middle name on my entry because it seemed appropriate for this contest. Though I must point out that I have never done this before. Anyoldhow the closing date passed, no winners were announced and the original competition details and website disappeared off the face of the web within 6 months. So I thought 'Ahh well' crossed it out of my script log book and carried on with my life.

Recalling this, I rushed eagerly to the PC, googled here and there and lo and behold! there was evidence of the long forgotten script competition and unbelievably - the winners were due to be announced at a ceremony THIS FRIDAY in Lagos!!
Of course my mind started whirring like a frantic thing and spinning all sorts of delicious outcomes in my head. I immediately rattled off a polite but cautious email noting that from my perusals of the web, the results of the 'panafrican' script competition seemed imminent, and would they please keep me informed etc. since I had in fact received a call from Lagos that very afternoon but unfortunately the line had become disconnected. (Ahem ahem) and signed off with first name, MIDDLE NAME last name - just in case there was any confusion.

First thing this morning I received a response informing me that the competition assistant 'Begonia* will respond shortly' Hmmm.

Later on this afternoon I received an email saying that they had tried to contact me over a month ago and "Please note that the jury has long concluded on the selection process and the first five scripts will be recognized during this April 27th conference. I am not very sure you will be able to attend and I am glad to inform you that your script took the second position. It would have nice to have you present during the award presentation. All the same, if you have someone in Nigeria whom you think could act as a proxy that will be honoured."

Woo hoo perhaps or woo who? Maybe there's a small amount of money involved or maybe not - (there's supposed to be). 2nd prize. That is affirmation of sorts isn't it? I don't think I'll be getting on a plane to Lagos though.

Watch this space.

* All names have been changed to protect the innocent

Ow

The post below was a little dark - so now for something lighter (see it's all about pace and tempo...)

My mum, who has been told many a time that she looks like one of the Golden Girls (remember them?) - the one with a deep voice - even though she actually has quite a high pitched voice, loves entering competitions - sudoku, crosswords, everything and anything. So she wins things all the time which can come in quite handy. Anyway once upon a time she won 280 pounds worth of 'Instant Weave' hair from the Voice newspaper. Conceding that her grey bob was unlikely to be enhanced by a woolly weave-on, she sent me to receive it in her stead. So off I went, with a mate to the 'Afro Hair and Beauty Show' which at that time - took place inside an airport hangar off the north circular.

I had to sit, perched in the middle of a podium while four women with frighteningly curly fingernails pulled at my roots and cackled at the state of my dandrufty-tufty afro while attacking my head with a frenzy of clips and twists. '100% pure Chinese hair' they kept telling me. In big helpings - with gold safety pin things attached to the ends. It took hours and hours. My friend kept wandering off to have a look around at the wigs, gels, conditioners, straighteners, tongs and other delights. And each time she returned to check progress, she crumpled up on the floor in hysterics.

The crowd that gathered provided an unflattering commentary. Someone shouted out 'Poodle head'. Finally, transformed into an incarnation of Diana Ross (at her most hairy), I was set free.

I tried to stand up but the sheer weight of the new head of hair yanked me back down. I felt as though I was in drag. I understood why long-haired rocker blokes bob their heads in that jerky way - as they walk along. It was like having a curtain sewn on to my head.

I kept it in for 2 days and then pulled it all out.

older

Tomorrow I'll be one year older, again.
My present to myself; Half a Yellow Sun.

Laters.

In between

Yeah well for a little while longer we're still between eclipses and no doubt everything will calm down and go back to normal after Sunday's (which is about beginnings). The last one March 3rd was about endings - resoundingly so (work-wise) for me it turned out - doors slamming shut.. But scriptwriters are the authors of our own fate are we not?

Spent much of today hiding from the phone. Avoidance. I'm really not that interested in burns or God. Sorry..

Then the lady next door (aged 82) came round this afternoon to yak mainly about the woman opposite and how she's coping after burying her husband on Tuesday and how it'll all hit her hard in a week or two and how - isn't it odd that - all of a sudden - only one of the two creeping purple blooms in her front garden is flowering now?

I look across and it's true.

So yes I suppose it is.

Chit chat

I came across an intriguing article here all about trends in cell phone (mobile) use across Africa - where often one phone is shared (and passed around) by a whole family - and usually carried by the person expecting an 'important' call.

Here in SA there is widespread use of a 'please call me' free text system (a bit like reverse charge calls). The caller sends a free SMS request to be called back - I'm sure there's probably an equivalent in the UK or elsewhere..

Apparently in Mozambique, phone customers have been taking full advantage of free 2 second calls (available with one particular cell operator) and developed a way of communicating in 2 second bursts of chat, then hanging up and calling back.

Sounds a bit mad but then again, I bet it cuts out waffle. I'm sure most messages could be conveyed in 2 seconds...

Later

24 little hours

Strange day today. Mid morning I'm on my way to the pool to have a swim - but it turns out there's this school swimming gala on and the pool is closed until 2 o' clock so have to go back and wait.

On the way back, there's a small boy carrying a packet of biscuits walking just ahead with a man who is lurching all over the pavement. Then the man crumples up on the ground - blood streaming from his head. The boy sobs. I run over. So do guys from the pool. It turns out the 'man' is actually the boy's mum - very drunk. The 4 year old is the chaperone. The swimming pool guys pull the mum under the shade of a tree, plonk her teary-eyed son next to her and try to sober her up by throwing water all over her.
I'm tempted to take the boy home.

Back home, there's lots of cars parked outside. My neighbour (right side) comes to tell me that the man (opposite) died all of a sudden this morning. Yesterday he was out there gardening with his wife. They have all kinds of plants and mysterious aloes and what have you - he didn't seem ill at all.
Just before Christmas, a pipe burst in our roof and water started coming through the ceiling. At 9 o clock on a Sunday night, when not even the emergency plumber would come, he came across and told us exactly what to do to avoid disaster. Nice bloke - would have been married 50 years next January..

So went back to swim at 2 o clock in a free for all - widthers battling it out against lengthers. Snicker snack.

As you can tell - not much paperwork done today - am starting to think 'what the heck'. Life is too short.

Maybe I'll phone the accountant.

Laters