Page 140 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘Who’s five minutes away?’ asked Damien.

‘Well, I had a call this morning,’ Finnigan replied. ‘The office tried to contact you, but your mobile was switched off… I know I broke our agreement but…’

‘Yes… but what? Come on, Alan. Spit it out. Who’s the mystery man?’

‘It’s Marc Castle,’ Finnigan muttered.

‘What the hell!’ Damien thumped his head. ‘You’re kidding me! You know I can’t stand the man. He made a national fool of me.’

The audience had started to filter into the theatre.

‘So what could I do?’ Finnigan shrugged his shoulders. ‘He invited himself at the last minute. He’s just returned from shooting a film in Kenya. How could I say no to the director of the movie? We need the publicity. How do you think this place runs? Government funding only goes so far; we need our sponsors.’

‘Don’t give me that crap,’ Damien hissed. ‘You knew he was coming all along. Just didn’t want to tell me in case I stood you up.’

Castle arrived. Sauntered onto the stage all fancy dapper with his blue suede loafers and velvet jacket.

‘So sorry I’m late.’ He patted Alan’s shoulder. ‘My, you look red. Where’s your make-up girl?’

‘This is a lecture theatre not a film set,’ Finnigan said.

Damien flicked Castle an icy glance. He retaliated with asmug smile.

‘Actually, come to think of it, you could do with a bit of a touch-up too,’ he drawled.

Here we go, said the Voice.Mr Lah-di-dah is pitching for another scrap.

The two men had fallen out in a very public way and the war wasn’t over.

It was the preview ofWriting in the Sandthat had been a gut punch. Castle was known for encouraging improvisation. The actors had gone rogue, Damien’s words tossed aside in the climactic scene.

After the film, Damien had grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. It was all snapped by the paps; in the papers and online gossip blogs the next day.

Come on,Damien, let it go. It’s show time,said the Voice.

Finnigan stood up and addressed the auditorium. I hope you all enjoyed the film this evening. So now let’s kick off the Q&A. Please welcome our esteemed guest, the creator ofWriting in the Sand, author and screenplay writer, Damien Spur.’

The wave of applause gave him a rush of pleasure. ‘Thank you, Alan.’ He nodded at Finnigan and doffed an imaginary cap.

Okay, Damien, now keep it moving,said the Voice…and don’t dilly-dally on the way.

Damien paused. He always did before he spoke. Building the anticipation.

‘Netflix is the new novel,’ he began. ‘If you want to sell books and you’re not the master of style, my advice is to keep the sentences short and the plot tight. Truncate the wordy bits, get on with the action. Make it quick and snappy and you’ll keep them reading. So, will a book with a great story and shortcuts morph into a screenplay? Not necessarily.’

He looked at the sea of rapt faces. He was back on the throne again. Nobody held a stage like Damien Spur.

Yes, that’s it, said the Voice.Keep it coming.

‘But’ – Damien gave his cryptic smile – ‘that’s my general advice. There are always exceptions to the rule. Me, for instance, I take the long road. I like to describe the scenery, reveal private thoughts behind public faces. However, as I write my own screenplays, it’s easy for me to do a literary striptease and interpret my words into visuals.

‘It’s also the case that many writers, no matter how brilliant they are, just can’t grasp the visual shorthand of film. That’s when it’s best to give the baby up for adoption and leave it to a gifted screenwriter to turn the novel into a cinematic success.’

‘Thank you, Damien,’ Finnigan said. ‘So let’s have some questions from the audience.’

A man standing at the back of the room shot up his hand. He wore dark glasses and a Fedora. An assistant handed him a mike.

‘Just one question for Mr Castle. Have you and Mr Spur resolved the fracas that took place after the preview ofWriting in the Sand? It was reported that one of Mr Spur’s carefully crafted scenes was replaced by the actors’ improvised dialogue?’

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