i should clarify that i’m not talking about writing partners – i mean the other kind – those poor sods who, through often no fault of their own, find themselves in the role of a screenwriter’s significant other

let’s call them Partners of Writers, or POWs

a POW’s role is dull, complicated and awkward – and they don’t get near enough the amount of thanks they deserve

below are some examples of the shit POWs have to put up with:

TWO JOBS

this applies to those of us who are wannabe screenwriters – but then, i’m pretty sure no full-time screenwriters will be reading this

when we announce to our partners that we’re going to try and become a screenwriter, most soon-to-be POWS simply give a half-bemused smile and say something vaguely encouraging ... little do they know what trials await them

but they soon begin to suspect

the first clue is when, what they’d naively assumed was an idle daydream, metamorphises into A SECOND JOB! – a job that does not pay, but can, from time to time, cost actual money

sure, we may pretend to ourselves that it’s “just a hobby” – we may even tell our POWs the same thing – but our POWs soon learn this is a pathetic lie – how? – because they know us

they’ve seen us deal with our day jobs and so, when they see us responding in much the same way to our so-called hobby, they know something more sinister is going on – the familiar pattern of ups and downs they’ve seen us experience re our day jobs are repeated – but now they are intensified – the ups soar high into the cosmos, while the downs crash deep into the darkest nether regions of Tartarus

our POWs understand that no mere hobby, or at least, no healthy hobby should create such dissonant reactions

and yet we unwittingly expect our POWs to simply sit back and extend the same consideration to our new screenwriting job as they do to our real job – y’know, the one that actually helps keep the roof over the table where the food is meant to go

of course, we don’t ASK our POWs to do this – we’re not that self-absorbed (no, really!) – but we don’t have to – and so our POWs support us in our second job, all the while wondering if us learning the bagpipes would not have been a better alternative

NOT ALL THERE

you may be familiar with the expression, “golf widow” – there have been articles written about this affliction, but the pain and suffering these “widows” endure are nothing compared to that of POWs

because even when we are there, physically in the same space as our POWs, our minds are often elsewhere – sometimes it’s triggered by something someone says, or something we see, but more often than not, it’s just the random firing of neurones and then, without even being aware of it, we’re off, working at our second job

and so there we are, our brain busily working away, until suddenly, we feel it – the air around us chills … we look around and find our POW eyeing us with a weary expression that says: oh, great, you’re back ... how much did you miss?

IT’S JUST LIKE

now there are some screenwriters who can wax lyrical on a wide range of subjects – drawing upon examples and parallels from the vast swathe of human experience and knowledge (including their own vivid lives) … and then there are the rest of us, who automatically use movie and show references to “illuminate” our discussions

discussions that often have absolutely nothing to do with movies or shows [2]

these discussions (i’m told) can be just as profound and technical and personal as conversations about movies and shows, but, for some reason, dropping in an insightful reference from (say) The Golden Girls or Hereditary, can completely derail the conversation and cause the other participants to look at us as if we had just farted

eyes will move from us, to our POW – unasked questions hanging in the air: what the fuck does that have to do with anything? followed by: is your partner okay? and are they always like this?

our POW will then, depending on the room and just how crazy we’ve been driving them lately, either – heroically try and restart the conversation as if nothing unseemly had just happened – or simply be honest and say something like: ignore it, they think everything is related movies and shows … which, while factually true, is delivered in the tone of someone explaining their toddler’s recent fixation with the cat’s anus

TO READ, OR NOT TO READ

some POWs read their partner’s work and some don’t – i’m not sure who has the easier time of it – but a decision needs to be made, and whatever the choice, it will be incorrect – our POWs cannot win

by deciding to not read our pilot for Space Court, our POWs will worry that we will think that they don’t care about our dreams – that they don’t take our screenwriting job seriously – and, that they think we are delusional

of course we don’t think that – it’s perfectly fine for our POWs to not be into screenwriting – i’ve been told that very few people are – plus, our POWs have got their own shit going on – it’s not like our POWs worry about our lack of enthusiasm for their deep fascination with … with … something to do with pressed tin toys? … or was it permaculture?

so let’s assume our POWs inform us they have decided that reading our pilot is not their bag – it still doesn’t entirely let them off the hook – because a part of them will wonder if they may be missing out on part of who we truly are (not necessarily a bad thing) – or that they are sort of being unfaithful

this is where we must reassure, nay, convince! our POWs that their decision not to read is both appropriate and right – thus freeing them of all responsibility ... and ensuring they never become aware of the fact that the slime creature from Kritar VI coincidentally shares a number of characteristics with their close friend from high school

but what if our POWs do choose to read?

whatever their thoughts at the time, our POWs will soon realise their mistake when we present them with our pilot for Space Court and eagerly begin explaining screenplay formatting to them

but talk of sluglines and parentheticals will seem simple and quaint when our POWs finally realise what we are really asking of them – we’re asking them to be read our Space Court pilot and give us their honest opinion – our POWs are usually not writers and some may not even be regular readers, but now they have agreed to sit in judgment of our feeble, little Brain Baby

and so they read, while we pretend to move on to other things – and then, what feels like months later, our POWs quietly announce they have finished reading

we struggle against the impulse to immediately shine a bright light in their face and interrogate them – instead we adopt an offhand attitude: oh, cool, what did you think?

well aware of their lack of expertise, our POWs gently detail their impressions – what they liked, what they didn’t – where they were caught up in the story and where they were confused, or worse, bored ... plus (of course) a listing all the typos they stumbled across

we put on a brave face – we tell our POWs that if they didn’t get something, it’s not their fault, but ours – but sometimes they don’t fully believe us, thinking, if they had only “read it better” then the problems wouldn’t be there

and this is when our POWs are reading a genre they usually enjoy

it is even worse for our POWs when they are forced to confess that, actually, they are not fans of sci-fi ... or courtroom dramas ... or parodies – and so, try as they might, they really couldn’t get into Space Court … but it seemed fine

we get it – we sympathise – we tell them we understand that “it was not for them” – once gain, they may not fully believe us as we hug them, thank them for their time ... and their list of typos

STREAM SOMETHING! ANYTHING!

what to watch, what to watch, what to watch – why is it that while we are being swamped by a tsunami of quality choices, we spend hours shuffling through options, only to flick over to YouTube to watch an essay on the evolution of forks?

we find it annoying – but we can only imagine how fingernails-down-the-blackboard irritating it must be for our POWs, as we scroll and flip through the screens in our fruitless search – wasting our time and theirs

and it is time that is the issue – we have our day jobs, our screenwriting job and all the other shit that’s going on in our lives, so finding the time can be difficult – and so once we’ve carved out a slice out of our day, that time is precious … particularly if we’re choosing to spend that time with our POWs

so what to watch? do our POWs like the same genres we do? – they do? cool! problem solved ... except they suggest a show that goes for nine, 12-episode seasons and we really can’t make that sort of commitment

okay, our POWs say, how about this movie? – terrific! ... except the movie is a little too close to what we’re currently writing and we don’t want our characters being influenced (tainted) by those in the movie

and so it goes – we bounce around searching for something (as our POWs idly surf the socials) until, in desperation, we end up on YouTube and our POWs look up for a moment and say: that documentary on forks looks interesting

IT COULD BE WORSE

i mean – it’s not like we’re experimenting with amateur taxidermy in tiny apartment with poor ventilation (well, not yet) – but it doesn’t mean living with someone with borderline monomania is a picnic – the constant (puerile) focus on movies and shows, the mood swings, the mental absences … it can’t be fun

and so, on behalf of all screenwriters with a long-suffering POW, i’d like to thank them for their perseverance, patience and support – sometimes it may seem that our entire world is all about screenwriting, but be assured that you, our dearest POWs, are the centre of our universe

and if, one day, dear POWs, you do snap and become (the gender appropriate version of a) nympho-lesbo-killer-whore, know that we will still love you

… now, having said all that, we have this draft for a Space Court spin-off we’ve been working on – it’s called Undercover Slime Monster and we were wondering if you’d be interested in reading it?

[1] i’ve often wondered about the trike parked beneath the window – does it belong to one of their kids? – my first reaction on seeing it was that they were renting a holiday house while Gus completed his opus, and so the trike belonged to the owners of the house – but Ethel’s monologue strongly suggests that this is their home and not some temporary arrangement

but then, Ethel makes no mention of any other souls sharing their ^domestic bliss^ … I mean, in her scenario, who’s going to look after the kids when she’s out busy being an NLKW? – not Gus (assuming he’s still alive), he can’t even make himself a sandwich! – imagine him trying to deal with the kids’ dietary demands!

of course, I may be reading way too much into this, maybe Mr Booth just felt he needed to fill the space – but why a tricycle? – look at the details, the choices he made in this panel – the vintage typewriter table, the toothpick with olive (or possibly a pearl onion) skewered into the sandwich, Gus’s slouched pose and frustrated expression, Ethel’s deadpan delivery – this doesn’t suggest someone who just slaps a trike into a drawing for the heck of it … no, there’s more to this

[2] i know, it’s hard to believe, but conversations that do not revolve around movies and shows do exist – in fact, i’ve heard tell that there are people (living today!) that can go for weeks without once referring to movie or a show – it makes one shudder to think of it!

comments? questions?