Good morning from my bed.

It's Saturday and I'm technically late with this newsletter again but I'm wondering if there's a benefit to writing these on a lazy weekend morning than seeing it in my weekday work schedule and freaking out about it. I'd say it might allow me more time for reflection and a greater clarity of vision to write on a Saturday morning instead, but I've just accidentally kicked my cat off the bed because I didn't see him which doesn't feel like a good omen...

Last week's newsletter was long so I'll try to keep this one on the shorter side so you can enjoy the limited sun the English summer affords us. There wasn't all that much writing this week, mainly meetings and reading series bibles from TV shows as I develop my own science-fiction show. I've created versions of these documents for basically every project I've ever done, but creating an official one feels quite daunting and involves a different type of creative thinking. If you don't know what a bible is, it's basically an expanded pitch document in which you're looking to explain the parameters of the world, the people in it and their journeys with the utmost clarity so that you could hand it over to another person (and in particular another writer) and they will be able to instantly go "I get it!". Some of the bibles I've studied are functional documents, written with what is obvious reluctance. Others are almost works of art in themselves.

The bible for the 2000s remake of Battlestar Galactica is particularly wonderful. Huge, sweeping declarations of intent ("Our goal is nothing less than the reinvention of the science fiction television series") married with forensic detail. It gives you a real confidence that the makers of this show aren't f*cking about and have thought a lot about how the show will sustain itself although let's not talk about those later series, I'm not ready yet.

Seeing how the bibles deviate from the shows that end up being made is a fun game. Seeing where they're totally lying as a way of getting it commissioned is even more so.

Away from work, I had a rare occurrence this week in that I saw three plays, Jellyfish at the National Theatre, ​Summer Rolls at the Park and seven methods of killing kyle jenner at the Royal Court and I loved all of them. All completely different in subject and tone, but all dealing with characters trying to cope with the fluctuations between their own power and their own vulnerability which is very much my bag.

They also all presented unapologetic, unmodulated viewpoints which I found inspiring. Very often I'm tempted to begin my process by considering the expected audience and modulating my work accordingly. If you're hoping to change minds, it feels like a sensible tact to take. Yet I think it's very easy to go too far in that direction, particular when targeting television audiences (lots of people I know have been disappointed by ITV's Beecham House which I think probably has a bit of that consideration in it) and in doing so you lose a sense of your voice as an artist.

I never thought that would really matter to me all that much. I do, in fact, remember sending Jack Thorne a pleading e-mail when I started on Murdered By My Father asking how to deliberately strip my voice out of it in order to make my writing service the subject matter more fully (for what it's worth - he answered incredibly fast and was hugely generous. I wish I was that on it). I guess I was thinking of voice primarily as expressed through dialogue and character, and humbling myself before that topic felt important. The thing is though, you will never be able to remove your voice because even the PoV you take and other invisible, structural elements are part of your expression. 

So yes! A relatively relaxed few days, but one that brought some useful introspection. Also, it looks like I may have a couple of play ideas commissioned (fingers crossed) and I come away from this week seeking to make those works as me as possible.

With that, it's time for me to leap out of bed, throw open the curtains and apologise to the cat. But pants first, Vinay. Always pants first.

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