This week Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, my hospital-based horror medical drama set in pre-apocalyptic Romford, debuts on Channel 4. "Garth Marenghi," a lone voice cries, "who be he be?" "Fool!" the crowd retorts. "Why, he's the chillmaster célèbre, whose extensive cannon o' chillers include The Ooze (can water die?), The Ague (dare you sneeze?) and Afterbirth (a placenta wants payback)." Still, a woman, eyes bedewed with tears, laments: "Hast then our humble fabulist deserted his loyal readerhood [50 million sales worldwide and counting] in favour of televisual terrors [scary TV]?"
Fear not, friends. This scribe ain't about to hang up his nib. In fact my new novel Return of the Coil, in which a woman circumnavigates hell via a cursed contraceptive device, hits the shelves in mid-Feb (Asda do a three quid off deal, but if you order it direct from my website, the first 30 punters get a complimentary egg cup in the shape of a skeleton head). For despite the universal acclaim accorded to Darkplace, and even though it renders all future and previous television redundant, I hereby vow never to work in the medium again. Let me hit you with some whys and wherefores.
Darkplace was a project conceived, written and filmed in the 1980s. My aim was a simple one: to change the evolutionary course of Man over a series of half-hour episodes. I would write, direct and star. My publisher Dean Learner would produce. I would exec produce. I set about composing my visionary scripts. Blessed with innate foresight from birth (one of my first words was "sooth"), I've always been a portender, having the knack of knowing what road mankind is heading down and, more important, whether or not there's a services on the way (often there's not - so evacuate what needs evacuating before setting off).
My first imaginings, however, were simply unfilmable given the available budget, which was largely being raised in Egypt and New Mexico. This meant no massive sets of the inside of my head, no surface-to-air missiles and only three extras, which wiped out four episodes right off the bat. A rethink was in order. But out of these restrictions grew wondrous poetry. Two days later I'd written the most vital work of my career. Sixty-three terrifying teleplays that breathed hope into the dramatic arts. Over the next two months we would manage to film only 50.
On the first day the stage manager was found shot dead in his flat, with the now blooded and practically unusable scripts clutched in his hands. Luckily, his widow was a typist and owed me a favour, but the whole incident left a bad taste in my mouth. We turned up at the studio to find the place being picketed by priests begging us to stop. I refused, assuring them that I'd answer to God personally. A week later four crew members died from inhaling fumes when a seven-foot high model of my writing hand caught fire. Plus it was July, and I find it hard to be polite or understanding when I'm hot. As a result, the remainder of the people working on the project walked out (though not before soiling my dressing room and car with what smelt like human waste). Then the final nail in the coffin of this curse: government intervention.
The fact that Darkplace has not aired till now is a testament to its radicality. MI8, which is the one three levels above MI6 pulled the plug. Simple as. They were scared of what it would have done to people's minds. I have never forgiven those so-called government authorities for suppressing the truth I sought to express, and I'll be damned if it's gonna happen again. So, to avoid future great Art being thus shackled, I present unto you my Top Tips for Writing Terrifying Telly and Not Getting Gypped.
1. Work to your own limitations. Don't try and be as good as me. It ain't gonna happen. I was born like this.
2. If inspiration flags, try copying the work of dead authors on whose work the copyright has lapsed. Shakespeare was a decent little writer, but if there had been plagiarism laws back then, anyone pre-17th century who owned a quill could have had the Bard's arse in a sling. So steal.
3. Be humble. Listen to your muse. If she tells you to write a scene about an attack of killer prawns, follow her lead. Don't impede your imagination. Then think about how you're going to make that prawn attack convincing. Get some books on prawns. Research is the key to exciting writing.
4. Never re-draft. I never re-draft my novels, and I certainly wouldn't re-draft a teleplay. Don't dull your words by constant revising.
5. There's no such thing as writer's block. (But NEVER write anything until you've got the cash in your hand. I cannot stress this enough.)
6. Put yourself into the characters shoes. See how they feel. Take a walk in them. But don't put on a character's shoes when you're already wearing the shoes of another character. They won't fit, and you can't produce truly scary, visionary work when your feet hurt. This is why I wear loose-fitting cowboy boots or leather slip-ons.
7. Don't employ actors. They cost money. Use friends or tradesmen.
8. If the pace is dragging, try gutting one of your characters.
9. Look to future possibilitiés. Back in 1976 I invented the internet with my short story Mindgrid, and in Black Fang I predicted that if pollution increased at its current rate, by 2008 rats would be driving buses. Last week I observed a fat mouse sniffing round a skateboard. Are we so far from my apocalyptic vision? I fear not. Perhaps it's the role of Darkplace to be a critique sociale to this broken age, rather than the presaging of futurity. Whatever: it belongs to its audience now.
I can do no better than close on the words that my publisher and co-star of Darkplace, Mr Dean Learner, told one young writer by the name of Garth Marenghi not so very long ago.
1. Keep it short
2. Keep it scary
3. Keep in touch
I'd like you to do these simple things for me. Apart from the part about keeping in touch. I don't need penpals.
Salutations.
· © Garth Marenghi.
