OUCH!

Even though I expected it the rejection of my script by the agent still hurt more than sitting through six hours with a tattooist.

As my other half tortured himself in the name of art, I sulked for about half a day and then started to think about my next move which is to send the script out again to the next agent on the list. My tutor assures me it's good or she wouldn't have given it a First so I'm thinking it was probably not this particular agent's cup of tea.

I need to read through it again because I think time away from it will allow me to see any faults more clearly, and I need more feedback. One or two people have offered to read it and that will help.

Meanwhile, I've also been thinking that I've barely written any fiction since leaving the course. That's mostly because of work, partly because of blogging and time leeching diversions such as Facebook.

I'd been thinking that I'd start to to write the novel after my current work contract ends but that is still not in sight. It could be quite a while yet. I've got to be stricter and more disciplined in the use of my time and it's going to take a lot of it to place this script with either another agent or a TV company.

My other half heard an interview on the radio the other day of a recently published author who had 37 rejections before her work was accepted. That's my target before I think of giving up.

I've decided that while I wait for the script to do the rounds I'll start writing a novel adaptation of it. That will keep my fiction skills challenged, take my mind off waiting for the script to come back, and give me something else to market when it's finished.

Meanwhile, I will have to find the time somewhere to fit in an extra 2000 words of writing every day. Ouch!

TV WRITER'S DAY

I had a cracking time at the TV Writer's Day at De Montford University on Saturday. There were some great speakers and as the theme was comedy writing, it's fair to say it was all good fun.

One of the most entertaining guests was Laurence Marks who along with Maurice Gran wrote such comedy classics as Goodnight Sweetheart, Birds of a Feather and Harvey Moon.

He was discussing where he got the idea for his new stage play The Watch. Apparently, he bought a watch in LA back in the 80s but a few years ago, at home in London, he had to take it to the jewellers to be repaired.

The jeweller rang and said Marks should go along to the shop because the man had found something that the comedian should see.

The watch turned out to have a Nazi symbol inside and the initials of Josef Von Ribbontrop who had received it as a gift from Hitler. Marks, a Jew, was amused that it should end up in his hands. He rang the local synagogue, after hearing it needed a new roof at a cost of £18,000, and the Rabbi was overwhelmed with Marks's offer to write a cheque ... until he learned where the money came from. Then he hung up and Marks said he never heard from him again but he got a great idea for his script.

Other speakers included Mark Evans, who now writes for That Mitchell an Webb Show, Julian Friedmann, MD, of Blake Friedmann Literary Agency, Neil Mossey, whose credits include My Parents Are Aliens, and Justin Sbresni, who wrote, produced and directed the BAFTA nominated The Worst Week Of My Life with partner Mark Bussell.

It was a shame that I couldn't stay for the evening reception but I had to get my train. I was a little early and advised to get an earlier connection from Leicester to Nottingham because there was a problem with the later train. As it happens, I ended up sharing Nottingham Railway Station platform with a few lager louts who were getting angry and a bit scary when the train was delayed by an hour. They had a right go at the poor station bloke when he had to deliver the bad news to waiting passengers that actually the train was now cancelled but there would be another in another hour.

When that finally arrived, the train didn't move for 20 minutes and there was obviously a problem. The yobs, looking for someone to blame, shouted that it was because an immigrant was driving! Passengers were then informed the train just wasn't functional. Another was put on, we all hoofed it across the bridge to the other side, the yobs were spoken to by British Transport Police and finally almost five hours after I left Leicester, I got home.