You can only write so much before wondering why you’re devoting so much of your time and attention to a pursuit that pays off for such a small number of its practitioners. It’s something I’ve been thinking through again lately, having decided that I won’t be putting in an entry for this year’s Red Planet competition.

Why not? After all, it’s a brilliant showcase for writers, with unsurpassed prizes. True, true. But in terms of where I am and where I want to be, I don’t currently have a new pilot script in me that’ll be sufficiently distinct from the one I entered last year, set in the world of drugs work. Sure, I could write something, but the only new project that’s close to me writing it is one that’s not too far away in subject matter.

Why is that important? Because I feel I’m at an interesting stage with my writing, with a strong pilot script for the drug worker series that’s already attracted professional interest, and which I want to circulate further around the industry. And when I do, it’ll be accompanied by a feature script that I’m happy with.

So, how come it’s taken so long to get these scripts sorted out? Well, I’ve written all kinds of work over the years, some of it commissioned and paid for. But somewhere along the line I got sidetracked by my relationship with a particular filmmaker. We made a short together that got to tour internationally with the support of the British Council, and he turned up on a regular basis with other opportunities following that initial success. Which was great. I developed any number of treatments for shorts and features alongside him, and learned a lot in the process. Great to a point, except you can only work on projects for no money for so long before weariness starts to set in. And the projects being dangled were further and further away from my true interests.

Things came to a head when I was coaxed into writing a treatment set in the world of American cage fighting. It was reasonable enough, a perfectly professional piece of work that would have made a solid film of its sort. Only, my heart wasn’t in it. Even less so when a meeting was arranged in America at which the story was pitched (thankfully not by me) to Jean Claude Van Damme. At which point I realised that I was participating in some kind of cheesefest that didn’t represent me in any way.

Since then, I’ve taken a different tack. It took a while to sort out exactly where it was taking me, but what matters is that I can honestly say every project I’ve been involved with since those days has been one I’m fully engaged with and committed to. Yes, I can turn round a competent and well executed story of various sorts - but for me, with my background in advertising, that’s really just a demonstration of copywriting skills. And I’d still be working in advertising if that’s all I aspired to.

Instead, I’m finding that I’ve regained the enthusiasm for writing I had in my early days, before I knew quite what I was doing. Some of the sample scripts on this site come from that period; the play Breaking In for instance. God only knows what the structure of that play is, but it’s not one you’d find recommended in any book on writing for theatre. But it doesn’t matter. It’s a story about two people in a relationship that seems to be doomed, but where there’s the hint of light if they can only stop for a moment and see what they’re doing to themselves and each other. Simple as that. And funny, too. The core is what matters, and that’s what I’ve realised anew in the range of stories I’ve been developing in recent years.

The seed for the stories I’m interested in can be all kinds of things. It can come from knowing drugs workers and being fascinated by how they keep going in the face of overwhelming odds. From wanting to tell a modern day fable with a talented illustrator. From finding an original way to tell what might otherwise be an imagination-free genre tale. Whatever it is, there’s got to be a kernel there, a challenge I’ve not taken on before that can inspire me to keep working, whatever else is happening. And if that challenge is there, and I can meet it, then I can honestly say I’m doing the best I can at writing what matters to me. And believe me, that feels a lot better than knowing your cage fighting yarn is being discussed by the Muscles from Brussels.