Rachael Eyre's Blog, page 10

Studying Creative Writing

Creative writing courses are the subject of intense debate among authors. Some say they helped enormously in terms of confidence and style; others make the excellent point that Dickens and the Brontes never went to a creative writing class. So I thought I'd share my experiences.

Upping sticks to Lancaster to study creative writing was the riskiest thing I'd done. The year was 2004; I'd achieved four good A-Levels (along with a belated GCSE Maths), and four of my chosen unis had made offers. There was only one serious contender: Lancaster, the one with a creative writing program. Yoink.

Cue commentary from concerned family and friends. "English Language sounds boring. Don't you want to do Lit instead?" "Why study at some arts college nobody's heard of?" "That's not a real degree!"

I won't say I didn't have reservations. The memory of my two rejected manuscripts was still fresh. Writing was my first love - what if I didn't have any talent? Could you be drummed off the course for being bad?

For the first few years the course was divided into two. You'd attend lectures about the tricks of the trade, given by various members of the department. These were optional but I went religiously. Then there was the real meat of the degree: the seminar, generally first thing on a Wednesday. You were expected to write a new work each week and submit it for your peers to critique. If it was a short piece you had to read it aloud. This done, your tutor weighed in with questions and suggestions.

I can still remember the first piece I submitted. Darling Loeb, a poem about the Chicago thrill killers Leopold and Loeb. I was so carried away by writing it, I never once considered how my colleagues might react. They didn't know me from Adam and I was writing about toxic gay relationships and murder! They were polite but obviously thought I was unhinged. Z (the tutor) said it reminded me of The Secret History, my then favourite book. I could've kissed her.

Z was a legend. She was intimidating to begin with - rusty voice, Gorgon stare - but her criticisms were always fair and pushed you to your limits. I couldn't have had a better first year tutor. Her speciality was plays and scripts - she'd written for Holby City - and she knew what worked, and what would sell.

Outsiders may dismiss creative writing as a soft option, but it's incredibly high maintenance. You're passing your innermost thoughts to strangers for judgement. If you've grilled them previously, don't expect them to go lightly on you. You could tell which students had taken it as an extra and which ones wanted to be writers; the former mostly dropped it by the end of the year. Or you had students like the guy we dubbed "Mozart", who wanted the cachet of being an artist without doing any of the work. He eviscerated other people's writing but refused to read or discuss his own. He didn't last a term.

I must have submitted dozens of pieces over the years, many of which were the germs for later projects. There was Daughters of Lilith, the dystopia I intend to finish someday; poems about mythological or literary characters; the Raven Street Diaries (forerunners to my blogs); miscellaneous stories, one of which starred a fiendish cat who wanted to kill her owner's girlfriend ... all of varying lengths and quality. As G (my wise and wicked third year tutor) used to say: "Your writing may be your baby, but someone has to tell you when your baby is ugly."

The classes established habits I have to this day. A first draft is never enough. Cut 10% - lots of prose is pointless background chatter. And, of course, the creative writing motto, "Show, don't tell." Don't underestimate your readers' intelligence, but don't assume they have the same esoteric tastes as you either. Always ask for a second opinion; it could be that the scene you think is innocuous is grossly offensive from another point of view, or your genius idea is a doppelgänger of a story that already exists.

When I was younger I wondered if the course was worth it. It didn't earn me a publishing deal or put me in touch with any big shots. I was also irritated by the snobbery of some of the people I met - they referred to "genre fiction" as though it was frivolous dreck, but it sold more copies than all their worthy literary tomes. Yes, I want to write the best fiction I possibly can, but I wouldn't mind making some money as well, however vulgar that may sound.

Now I'm the wrong side of thirty, I understand the lesson they were trying to impart. Writing isn't about instant gratification, it's about graft, rejection and tenacity. It's about believing in what you have to sell even when you're told to shut up and go away. Unless you're some kind of whizzkid, you won't be published at eighteen or even twenty one. You need to have training and experience before you can produce something worth reading.

The Post Book Slump

You've finished your latest book. It's suited and booted on the website of your choice, the triumphant result of years of toil. Come on, you've scaled Everest! There should be ticker tape, singing ewoks and the rest!

So why do you feel like a burst crisp packet?

Welcome to the phenomenon known as the Post Book Slump. You're delighted that your book is out, you enjoy promoting it ... but.

You've spent so long polishing this plot, hanging out with these characters, that you can't help but feel a void. It sounds precious but the nearest analogy I can think of is an amicable breakup. Although you knew it was time for the relationship to end, you're still wistful and recalling the highlights. You should be moving on but part of you wants to wallow and eat chocolate by the kilo.

Some writers charge headlong into a new project. Though everyone's different, this approach didn't work for me. After finishing Rose Grubb I launched straight into another story, convinced I was on a winning streak. Four chapters later I was forced to admit that it wasn't inspiration but a need to write something, anything. I was writing on the rebound!

Your best bet is to take a few months off to recover. If a new story occurs to you, great, but don't go further than planning just yet. If it's a genuinely good idea it'll still be waiting after your sabbatical. Lose yourself in other media - read and watch with your inner critic switched off. Of course you'll be expected to market and discuss your book, but don't prolong it as an excuse to cling on. One of the undeniable perks of being an indie author is you can set your own deadlines; if you want to spend the next few months lindy hopping or taking photos of post boxes, that's your business.

Though the Post Book Slump can be a drag, it serves two valuable purposes. Not only does it act as a kind of exorcism, clearing the way for your next book, but it reminds you how much you love writing in the first place. You can't miss something you've never experienced, after all.

My First Interview!

A chat with Justin Bienvenue from Indie Author Tactics about Love and Robotics, research and writers' block.

http://beta.thenovels.net/groups/iat-...

Why Do Writers Write About Writers?

It must be one of the most maligned literary tropes going: writing about a writer. "Boring!" audiences declare. "Author avatar!" But is it always an exercise in navel gazing?

Writing about writers has a long and varied history. After his famous friend buys his practice, Dr Watson makes his living from writing up their cases. Conan Doyle evidently liked this conceit: Ned Malone from The Lost World represents the press during the sojourn in Maple White Land. And of what of Tintin, who must have had the most tolerant editor in literature? The writers of yesteryear were adventurous souls, going where the story took them.

Something you can't help but notice: the overwhelming majority of these characters are men. Female authors are few and far between - the only ones to be encountered in classic children's fiction are Jo March and Anne of Green Gables. While Anne's dreams are a girlish fancy, soon outgrown, Jo enjoys a small degree of success. It doesn't matter that she's her author's self portrait - most writers would identify with her absorption in her work and self deprecation. And who can condemn her fury when Amy burns her manuscript?

Considering the time of publication, Jo's arc is surprisingly progressive. Her successors tend to have their ambitions squelched by men, whether chauvinistic employers, relatives or partners. Frost in May's Nanda / Clara has her first attempt at a novel denounced as "vulgar and disgusting filth" by her father; then, when she tries to write copy after her marriage, her slimy editor advises her to stick to homemaking. Sometimes they fail through sheer bad luck. When The Bell Jar's Esther Greenwood misses out on a place on a creative writing course, she has a nervous breakdown. Before this is dismissed as hyperbole, it's explicitly identified as the trigger: 'She thinks she will never write again.'

Over time intrepid journos and dogged female wannabes gave way to the writer as laughing stock. It's unclear whether these authors were poking fun at themselves or their rivals, but there was a decided trend for depicting writers as permanently blocked (Mortmain in I Capture the Castle), impossible egomaniacs (Mr Bagthorpe in The Bagthorpe Saga) or shameless self plagiarists (Mary Fisher in The Life and Loves of a She Devil). All these characters share an invincible belief in their own genius and use it to excuse appalling behaviour, be it terrorising their spouses or pinching other people's. Nor is this angle dead. Little Britain's Dame Sally Markham churns out any old tosh - song lyrics, the Bible - knowing her fans will lap it up. It's no accident she resembles Barbara Cartland, one of the most derided romance authors of recent times.

The richest source of comedy has to be the terrible unpublished writer. Adrian Mole is probably the best known modern example. Whether composing odes to his muse Pandora or updating his work in progress Lo! The Flat Hills of My Homeland, his writing is unbelievably, hilariously bad. This isn't restricted to so called novelists; Mr G, the inane, preening drama teacher in Summer Heights High, writes plays of astonishing crassness and banality.

Nowadays a fictional writer's profession is incidental. It may give them a special insight into a rash of murders (Jessica Fletcher)* or allow them to engage in rampant casual sex (Carrie Bradshaw), but it's rarely shown as a worthy career path. It seems to be the middle class male (!) equivalent of moving to the big city to become an actress. Considering your typical author only makes £11,000 per annum, perhaps this is the most realistic view.

It's too easy to dismiss these characters as lazy guest cameos or wish fulfilment fantasies. You might ask why non writers would be interested in such a niche subject. How does writing compare against "real" fields like medicine or law? Isn't a book a frivolous way to pass the time?

I'd argue we need these characters to prove writing is more than a cushy hobby. It takes ingenuity, grit and perseverance. People only cry cliche at the stock figure of the posh white guy typing up his mid life crisis in his shed. We need diverse fictional writers - why not create working class, ethnic minority or LGBT characters? What about jobbing authors who aren't contemptible hacks? This could demolish the myth that writing is a cosy gentlemen's club and let ordinary folk see there's a place in it for them. And it'd stop writers from kvetching, which can only be a good thing.

* Either that or she's television's most prolific serial killer. The jury is out.

It's Not the End of the World

If a passion for writing is the entrance criterion for the author's club, having a manuscript rejected is surely the ordeal by fire. It's no exaggeration to say that every major author writing today has had a book turned down. The example of JK Rowling is often evoked - how could all those publishers have been so blind, the slighted writer might ask? It's tempting to believe that they might be similarly mistaken about your magnum opus.

Not long ago I submitted my MS to a reputable publishing house. They had an open submissions period but I only discovered this on the day of the deadline. I threw together a synopsis, hastily formatted the first few chapters and banged out an enquiry email. For the next few months I waited anxiously for a response. That, understandably, was a standard rejection with my name and the book's title cut and pasted in.

I was upset, but, on reflection, not surprised. The speed of the submission meant I hadn't done a workmanlike job. The formatting was off, there was a typo on one of the early pages and I'd admitted that the book was incomplete, with a predicted 250,000 words. This would have seemed unprofessional even if they had liked the story. I'll never know their exact reasons - the volume of submissions meant they were unable to provide detailed critiques - but my slapdash approach can't have helped.

I returned to the manuscript with a fresh pair of eyes. Now I could see that the formatting was abominable - fixed. I eliminated any parts that didn't make sense or move the plot along. I zapped every typo I came across, clarified who was speaking when. Already it was leaner, tighter, better.

Now I thought about it, why was I stalling? I'd been in the 'nearly done' phase for a year and a half. When I tell you that I received the rejection on November 2nd and completed the novel on November 10th, that should give an idea of how it motivated me. Yes, Publisher X might've spurned it, but that was when it was shonkily formatted and incomplete. I had faith in my creation and wanted to do it justice.

Rejection will always be as welcome as a bouquet of slugs. It's always going to hurt. But if you're able to salvage something from the wreckage and act upon their feedback, it can only benefit you and your writing. Whatever happens, don't give up.

Love and Robotics: Future Imperfect - or creating a dystopia

Early on I realised that the world of Love and Robotics would not only need to be an alternate universe but a dystopia. I knew then I would have to tread very, very carefully.

Dystopia must be one of the hardest genres to get right. Many, even the greats, are so busy detailing the horror of the world, the story itself is an afterthought. YA novels are especially prone to this. Although I've enjoyed stories such as The Hunger Games and Only Ever Yours, I was never wholly convinced by the settings. Twenty four children are sacrificed annually - okaaay. Women are no longer born naturally and burnt on pyres when they reach their forties - say what?! Since the unwritten rule is that the society always wins, you tend to be stuck with the kind of apathetic lead nobody wants to read about.

Bearing this in mind, the best dystopias are those where the protagonist is aware life used to be different. Take Offred from The Handmaid's Tale: she was an educated woman with a husband and daughter, living in the US in the late Eighties. One military takeover later, she's forced either to bear children for infertile high status couples or be exiled to die of radiation poisoning. The book is powerful precisely because it shows how easily such a coup might be accomplished and how ordinary women could lose their basic rights, even down to control of their own bodies.

An interesting variation is when, to all intents and purposes, the world should be a paradise. Perhaps the most famous example is Brave New World. Now that the population are mass produced test tube babies, concepts such as "mother" and "father" are obscene (a character is publicly humiliated when he's revealed to have made a woman pregnant). Thanks to being conditioned from an early age and drugged up to the eyeballs with soma pills, the citizens believe they're truly happy. It takes an outsider, John the Savage, to recognise it for the shallow, loveless nightmare it is.

I wanted to create a society that is superficially similar to ours, even an improvement in some areas, but far from ideal when you scratch the surface. For instance, they are much more technologically advanced, with hyperrealistic robots and flying cars, but this is at the expense of history and conservation. The fight for equal rights is reversed, with men regarded as the weaker sex. Rather than being some idyllic Lady Land, men face the same degrading battles and assumptions women do in our reality. Even their language reflects this. You wouldn't believe how time consuming and difficult it is to erase the biased and/or sexist phrases we all use without thinking. Their church persecutes robot/human relationships with single minded vitriol, though they still condemn gay ones.

Alfred and Josh bond because they can see the flaws in their world: Alfred because he remembers a better time; Josh because he's innocent and hasn't grown up with centuries of psychic baggage. To paraphrase George Bernard Shaw, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.

Love and Robotics: Taboo Busting - and what people think when you say "a love story with robots"

For the record: I never set out to bust taboos. I created the characters, then wove a story around them. I honestly believed that in a time of purported equality, a romance between a man and a male identified robot wouldn't be controversial.

I soon learned otherwise. Practically the first thing people say to me, after hearing a thrifty synopsis, is: "Wouldn't it work better as a straight couple?" When I ask them to justify this dubious piece of reasoning, they duck behind phrases such as 'mainstream' and 'commercial'. Few are willing to admit to their own homophobia.

Another quibble is that Alfred would have made a brilliant 'strong woman' character. Although I understand why they might think this, he sauntered into my head as a man, and I don't see why I should overhaul him to fill a quota. My stories are chocka with tough women already.

As previously mentioned, I always saw the anti robot lobby as analogous to the anti gay lobby. They make the same hysterical assertions and use religion to back their arguments - generally a sign that somebody's losing. Since equal marriage seemed impossibly remote in 2011, I wanted to put a gay relationship front and centre. There is no gay equivalent to Jane and Rochester, Meggie and Ralph, even Bella and Edward. To further underline the point, the beta couple are Alfred's niece Gwyn and her on-off girlfriend Pip.

As far as I'm concerned, any romance worthy of the name should feature a healthy sprinkling of sex. The days of a coy 'dot dot dot' are long gone; you need to prove your lovers are compatible, and where is that better demonstrated than the bedroom? My aim was to create love scenes that not only illustrate the connection between the couple, but - hopefully - make the reader hot and bothered as well.

Problem is, put the word 'love' anywhere near 'robots' and you're in for a world of nudge nudge, snicker snicker. One colleague had a Gay Robot routine he'd wheel out, complete with staccato voice. It seems that while people have no trouble imagining red hot sex with angels, demons and aliens, they struggle to do so with a robot. Even when I insisted that Josh resembles an incredibly beautiful man, they still pictured a dodgy Transformers slash fic. Another chum used the phrase "living dildo" - thanks for that.

It can be seen that I had two assumptions to overcome. Firstly, the idea that a gay relationship is somehow less relatable. Everybody's been in love with someone 'unsuitable', whether it's a bad boy or someone of the same sex. Second, that a love story with robots is automatically an unmitigated sex fest. Yes, there are love scenes, but they're born out of a genuine emotional attachment and never mere filler.

Next time: further imperfect, or creating a dystopia.

Writing Love and Robotics: Inspirations and Influences

(Incidentally this was written in the middle of the Lancaster blackout. We were using tea lights in our Georgian attic room and the air ambulance kept zipping overhead - talk about post apocalyptic).

As previously discussed, it took a while for the main elements of Love and Robotics to fall into place. Even once I'd decided upon characters, plot and intentions, there was a significant hurdle: I wasn't familiar with the genre. At all.

There are two main strands of robot fiction. There's the notion that robots possess a cold, infinitely superior intellect, and understandably wish to conquer their human overlords. The second, more fruitful strand is that whatever their beginnings, robots can break their programming and experience emotions. Although Love and Robotics clearly belongs to the second category, I drew upon the ideas of the first, such as Asimov's oft quoted Laws. In the world of the story, artificials have to obey the Robotics Code. Every time Josh breaks one it's a conscious effort, and he awaits punishment.

I'm ashamed to say that when I started writing I hadn't seen either of the Terminator films, and reasoned this was as valid an excuse as any. Though you're unlikely to find a more pessimistic view of robotic capabilities, the first film is a fantastic blend of genres: sci fi meets thriller meets action. The obligatory romance doesn't feel as shoehorned as usual as it serves a crucial purpose: Kyle Reese needs to go back in time to father John Connor. The second film introduces the concept of a "good" Terminator and achieves moments of real pathos.

During my research I learned that Karel Capek had coined the word 'robot', or mechanical slave, for his play RUR (Rossum's Universal Robots); where better to look? Though stilted and undeniably dated, the play has several points of interest. The characters aren't robots as you or I know them, but organic, highly convincing humanoids. A maniacal robot with a vision overthrows the humans - trope 1. Two of the robots fall in love, fostering hope for the future - trope 2.

My next goal was to find a story with a proper romance between a human and a robot. A novel with great ideas but squandered potential is The Stone Gods by Jeanette Winterson, one of my main inspirations. The first section - cranky lesbian Billie falls for gorgeous robot Spike - is funny, insightful and moving. Unfortunately the rest fails to live up to this promise.

A certain sci fi award winner, which shall remain nameless, had been touted as a triumph, a relationship between a human and a robot being one of its components. Unfortunately it was an unpalatable mix of rape fantasy and racism, and I abandoned it in disgust. I tried again, with a recently published YA offering, but found I couldn't believe in the central romance or the dystopia it depicted. The protagonist was a whiny, passive dead weight and I didn't care what happened to her.

I was beginning to grow disillusioned. Had I chosen the wrong genre? If the book focused too much on science, the love story was lost; if I disregarded the science and flung myself into the romance, it'd read like chick lit. Did I even have the credentials to write this book? My more technically minded friends were adamant that whatever a deluded human might project, no robot could form a genuine emotional attachment. I was ready to jack it in when I encountered Tanith Lee's The Silver Metal Lover.

I shan't claim it's a work of genius, because it's not. The tale of a shy young debutante who risks everything to run away with a robot, it had two vital ingredients: in Silver, the eponymous robot, a hero you could conceivably fall in love with, and a relationship you rooted for. It made me see that believable human/robot romance was possible and what I might achieve with my more ambitious project.

Next time I'll look at taboo busting and what everyone imagines when you use the phrase "a love story with robots".

Writing Love and Robotics: The Genesis

Writing Love and Robotics has arguably been the most complicated, exhausting and rewarding process of my life. Nothing has been simple or conventional - apt, really, for a story about a love affair between a washed up gentleman adventurer and an android sex symbol.

After completing The Revenge of Rose Grubb, I wanted to mix it up yet again and write a lesbian time travel romance. While I still think it has a decent plot and characters, and may well return to it at a later date, the time wasn't right (no pun intended). You know if a story's working, even in the early stages, and this was failing to come to life. I shelved it and started to sketch out other ideas.

One of them was about a paranormal investigator who got herself into all kinds of hi jinks. Again, it was a serviceable idea, but I couldn't get excited about it. Her girlfriend acted as a butler cum chauffeur for her uncle, an eccentric retired explorer. In one of the subplots he would be blackmailed for his relationship with a younger man.

At some point I realised I was more interested in the secondary characters and their forbidden affair, and made them my focus. I've always loved adventure stories based on quasi romantic friendships between men, and found their tacked on marriages to women we hardly see insulting. I'm not suggesting that devoted male duos like Holmes and Watson are couples, but wouldn't it make a great story if they were? I thought I would tackle such a relationship but make the subtext text. I could even bring in the apparent purple wedding and have one of them forced to marry.

I freely admit that when I first imagined Josh, he wasn't a robot, but a vague immortal. The more I mulled it over, I saw this wasn't good enough. Thanks to Twilight and its imitators, love and sex with vampires, werewolves and other creatures of the night are no longer taboo. I briefly considered making him an angel, but thankfully discarded this hideous idea. It was only when I noticed the public debate about advances in robotics - and moral guardians' morbid prurience whenever the subject is raised - that I found my theme. If Josh was a robot, that could prompt fascinating questions about love and identity.

Equal marriage still hadn't been legalised when I started writing; I won't deny that it coloured the narrative, not least the upsetting insistence from various authorities that my nine year relationship was unnatural and unreal. This is why I've resisted attempts to turn it into a straight romance - there are enough of those in the world already.

The original starting point was surely the trials of Oscar Wilde. I discovered him as an outed, self loathing teen; the thought that somebody could be imprisoned for his sexuality was barbaric. What bothered me most was the awfulness of his boyfriend Bosie - if you're going to be sacrificed on the altar of love, it should at least be worth it.

Next time I'll look at influences and inspirations. Exploring a brand new genre has proved quite the eye opener!

The Wonder of Web Series

When people think "YouTube", they think of two things. The first is tracking down music videos from their childhood - is Lionel Richie's Hello as cheesily sinister as they remember? (It is). The second is the myriad clips of cats being cute or goofy. The Ancient Egyptians can't have worshipped felines as assiduously as us.

This formula seriously underestimates what the Net has to offer. During a long year of procrastination, I've discovered numerous gems; here are four of the best. For ease of reference I've put them in the order they were created.

The Guild (2007 - 2013)

The Guild was one of the earliest web series but it still holds its own. Its star Felicia Day reasoned that if there weren't any good roles for women, she had to write them herself. She approached several networks with the premise - a comedy about gamers - but when nobody picked it up, put it online. The first series was almost entirely crowd funded.

Nice but neurotic Codex is addicted to The Game, a World of Warcraft type MMORPG. She's a member of a "guild" of gamers, the Knights of Good. She's been flirting with Zaboo, one of her fellow guildies, but only in fun; she's aghast when the socially inept, totally obsessed Zaboo arrives at her house. Since this coincides with another guild member playing up, she asks if the Knights of Good can meet in the real world. Cue the inevitable complications when people who don't excel at human interaction meet ...

The Guild was one of the first breakout hits and you can see why. It would have been all too easy to portray the guildies as laughable losers; as a real life gamer with an ear for comedy, Day avoids that trap. It has terrific characters: Vork the leader, a hopeless misanthrope with countless neuroses; Bladezz the teenage troll; Clara the ditzy drunken mum; Tink the pretty, manipulative sociopath. As well as the main series they've produced music videos (the best known, Do You Wanna Date My Avatar, was number one on ITunes) and shorts. If you want to give a web series a go, I suggest this is where you start.

Doctor Horrible's Sing Along Blog (2008)

This is the big one. Thanks to the church of Joss Whedon, even people who wouldn't ordinarily touch online content have seen it. The first web series to win an Emmy, it proved that a show didn't need to be on a major network to be a critical and commercial success.

Daft title aside, the series is magical. Billy (Neil Patrick Harris) is a shy, awkward guy with a secret: he's villainous mastermind Doctor Horrible. Desperate to join the Evil League of Evil, he files an application. It doesn't help he has an enormous crush on Penny (Felicia Day again), a lovely do gooder down his laundromat. Or that his nemesis, egotistical lunkhead Captain Hammer (Nathan Fillion) keeps foiling his schemes ...

Put like that, it sounds like the stuff of Saturday morning cartoons. I wish I could convey how brilliant it is. The songs, the music, the writing ... brr. I'm not keen on NPH and actively allergic to Fillion, so it speaks volumes when I say they're both fantastic. If you've never seen a Whedon show, this is the best possible introduction. If you want a three act tragedy with insanely catchy tunes, you can't go wrong with Doctor Horrible.

Cracked: After Hours (2010 - present)

Sitting in a diner and chatting about life is a sitcom staple, so a quartet of Cracked's leading writers have taken that to its logical conclusion. What lifts it above the mundane is the nutty topics they discuss: the horrifying truth behind beloved franchises, which Ninja Turtle they are, whether Princess Peach would be better off with Bowser. (She would). It's like hanging out with your mates down the pub, and after a few viewings, the gang do feel like your friends.

There's hapless, lovable Dan, armed with a card for every occasion. There's smart, fiery Katie, generally more knowledgable than the boys. There's gorgeous, effortlessly cool Soren, honouring them with his presence. Lastly there's Michael, an opinionated, obnoxious loudmouth who never lets Katie forget they once had a 'thing'. Their leaps of thought are accompanied by animated sequences, leading to some unforgettable images.

The best thing about the series is indisputably the writing. The cast never let their personas (heightened versions of themselves) slip. The script always reflects what they're talking about: after outing Principal Belding as a creepy stalker, they realise one of the extras has been following them from diner to diner. If you want a fun, pop culture crammed way to spend an evening, watch a few After Hours.

Twisted by Team Starkid (2013)

Starkid first came to prominence with their series of Harry Potter parodies starring Darren Criss. Though hugely popular, the shows are hit and miss - the songs and jokes don't always work. This can't be said for Twisted, their Wicked style take on Aladdin in particular, Disney's movie musicals in general. As a parody it's top notch, but it's genuinely funny and moving in its own right.

Jafar is an honest, hardworking politician who can't catch a break. Years ago his adored wife was stolen by the Sultan; his life since has been hell. When the flighty Princess insults Prince Achmed, ruler of the kingdom of Pi'xar, it's up to him to prevent war. Unfortunately the Princess runs away, falling under the spell of a sleazy ne'er do well called Aladdin ...

Wicked had to jump through considerable hoops to make their "true version" fit the Oz narrative. Twisted shows the events of the Disney film, flipped. Original Aladdin is a pathological liar - this one's even worse, and a sex pest to boot. The Princess is naive and self centred - again, only an exaggeration of her personality in the film. May I add that if you want a good night's sleep, don't look too hard at Monkey. That puppet is terrifying.

There's so much to love. The title number, where the other Disney villains turn up to share their true histories and lend Jafar support. The opening song, parodying the beginning of Beauty and the Beast (Jafar collides with Belle while they're both engrossed in books). And then there's my personal favourite, No One Remembers Achmed, where the petulant prince bemoans his fate as a "throwaway joke." Don't take my word for it, check it out for yourself!