SOAP TO NUTS

How the eff did Shakespeare do it? Doth he scribe on spec?

It's the question I ask myself as I sit here trying to write the first draft of my sauna script. It's based on real stories about girls who give soapy wanks - and more - in skanky Edinburgh dives, the kind of places run by the less successful brothers-in-law of restauranteurs and pub owners.

That's not the point. The sex is the sizzle. The meat's what the story's really about. It would be easy to write a po-faced, finger-pointing script. Nobody would buy it. And if I went the other way - a comedy-farce with tarts with hearts? Nobody would buy it.

So I'm still thinking about it.

It's every writer's dilemma. How do you ever know what a producer or a TV company is looking for? You don't. Because they don't know either. But if they had paid for it upfront, they might love it to bits - and they'd still want changes. It's the soapy wank. The customer's always right. Faster, slower, a bit more attention round the balls.

Which is fine by me if they pay upfront.

But that's the trouble. With scripts they don't. This leaves struggling young (even old) writers in a bad place because their only option is to write 'on spec'. But in Scotland that route's even more of a dead end. I doubt there's a single independent producer capable of paying for a script even if they loved it. It's not their fault. How can they have money if they don't make anything? If they work in telly they're on a slave wage that barely covers their mortgage and if they're an indie they're broke anyway because they love making shit so much they do it for free.

So instead of feeling sorry for writers I should feel sorry for producers. Writing's fun and you always learn something when you do it. It's not boring. Unlike producers, who do the same thing day in, day out - waiting on the phone to ring and when it does, having to talk to idiots to get a meeting. Sounds pretty much like the soapy wank business. Only it's the poor old producer who does the wanking and gets hee-haw for their effort. I'll bear this in mind next time I meet one.

Forsooth I'll enscribe the myth wherein mine weary state resides, warts, wanks, willies, wet-wipes and all...