Hi folks,

Well, certainly there was no better time to be off Twitter than this last week. When I go back I look forward to picking through the notifications, but the intensity of reaction to Fugitive of the Judoon reached me despite my attempts to stay away. I have to say that, combined with the jet lag from my New Zealand trip, it's spun me out a little, and made this week a bit of a write off (apologies to everyone I owe work to). I tell myself every time it will be different but I'm always wrong. Need to either get better at getting my head down or better at creating space around TX dates. In fact, you're getting this newsletter early as an attempt by me to shake some anxiety and get back to work.

I'm aware that there are some Doctor Who fans who subscribe to this newsletter so I just want to say that if you liked it, then I'm delighted for you! If you didn't, that's alright, I absolutely understand. That critique comes from a place of love for the show and differing taste. You'll never find a writer who's 100% happy with that they've done either. I'll probably dig into some of those twitter/video/podcast explorations some day down the line when it's not so fresh and/or I'm feeling masochistic. I'll probably agree with much of it!

And finally, if you felt like it was - I dunno - symbolic of the culture wars and it made you so mad that you're wishing pain/misery on people doing their jobs, well...I'm thrilled you have a hobby that energises you so completely. With just a little more effort, flapping hands can be turned into jumping jacks and you've got a solid foundation for an exercise routine.

(Genuinely though - I can't remember if I've extolled the virtues of jumping jacks before, but they are a top writing break exercise. Get on that, if you can, even if it's just the arm movements. Wakes you right up.)

Either way, Pete is up this Sunday and he's followed by fellow playwright Charlene James. Wonderful humans, wonderful writers. Don't miss out.

THE WHOPPER

Since I've nothing much else to share for this week, I decided to look into my drafts folder to see if there's any writing related ideas in there worth expanding on. I found one called "the whopper" which I couldn't even remember so I must've written it ages ago and this is how Past Vinay (but is he a pre-Hartnell Vinay ok I'll stop now) articulated it:

"Whenever you deliver a set of ideas, be it through a pitch, or a script or an outline, there will always be at least one which will be an absolute whopper and you won’t spot it. Not just a bad idea - catastrophic."

Ah yes! OK, I think I might have oversold this a little to myself but it is something that seems to consistently happen to me and I find it comical that, after all these years, I can't spot it. I think it happens because you find you best ideas when you're up to your arms in the work. It's that third, fourth, fifth layer down. What it means though is that there will be plenty of bad ideas you go through first. 

This speaks to a wider dynamic in the (my?) process. Writing is a constant act of zooming in and zooming out. When you're writing at speed and really thick into it, you can't really zoom way, way out and take stock. The whoppers that are hardest to spot are ones that give you lots of juice in that moment by moment. You rush ahead, bed it in and only find out when you get a baffled note that it totally doesn't work. And you resist that note because it's brilliant and you're a genius. Then a week later, you realise they're absolutely right.

That's why, to me, being a decent writer isn't really about having a constant slew of great ideas (although those people do exist and they are wonderful bastard), it's being able to look at all your ideas and knowing which one is right for what you're trying to do. That's also why a whopper isn't always inherently bad...it might be absolutely brilliant for something else.

KITTY KORNER

These cats are getting old. The skin under their bellies swings like a hammock in the breeze as they scamper. Their shoulders sit proud as you stroke them. It's weird to think of them as thirteen year olds. That's a proper age! Where you have proper feelings and memories. Like, I remember being thirteen, I was an introverted, little prick. Obviously anthropomorphising makes little sense, especially when their life cycles are so different, but I sit here thinking how they're experiencing old age with the same amount of time elapsed that I had when I was at the end of my childhood and it boggles my mind a little.

Which is probably no better proof that I'm procrastinating. Back to work.

Five more weekly Patelograms to go. It'll take me up to the week before my 34th birthday. Definitely a proper age, that.

Vin x

P.S. I went to the dental hygienist this week and I just want to call you all out for not warning me that it's like going through a first-person horror movie.

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If you're an old hand, thanks as ever for taking the time.