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American Me

My blog is a little late this week as I’m in the process of finishing the edits to my novel, Black Violet. The novel is a thriller about a pickpocket from San Francisco named Michael Violet, who uses his talents as a thief to pursue the guys responsible for the death of his journalist brother – and finds himself forced into the role of hero whether he likes it or not. I came up with the story while I was working in America, and although I didn’t start writing it until I was back in London, I decided to keep the character as an American. Having written for US TV networks for a number of years, it wasn’t too hard to do – plus, writing it that way took me back to my youth.

I grew up in London on a diet of 1970s American TV – Starsky and Hutch, and The Six Million Dollar Man. I swear, up until the age of eight, I thought ‘let’s-get-the-hell-outta-here’ was one seven syllable verb that meant ‘to go’. American culture was something that happened on TV in my parents’ house in the evenings. I loved Shakespeare, but after a day at school analysing Richard III, a semi-robotic spaceman was a much needed addition to the House of York. Richard III may have had the poetry, the depth and the demons, but Steve Austin could run at 60mph. You can’t compete with that.

It wasn’t the smartest television, but it was hugely entertaining. Plus there was something honest about it – it was pretentious-free television. Is it fun? Is it exciting? Then, fuck it, let’s make it.
Not that that criteria should be all there is to TV production. If American networks tried making Shakespeare now, they’d probably screw it up – certainly under Donald Trump. They’d no doubt stick the words, ‘World’s Most Amazing’ at the beginning of every play title to make them more appealing. ‘World’s Most Amazing Midsummer Night’s Dreams. ‘When Venetian Merchants Go Bad.’ I can almost hear some network producer telling his writers that, ‘We need a better question than To be or not not to be. It’s multiple-choice, for Christ’s sake! Hamlet’s got a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right even if he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.’

But for the most part I found American TV a valuable education. Not just in terms of language, but in terms of story telling. American TV series had huge numbers of episodes that ran for years without getting boring. But the stories were pretty much the same. The episodes may have twisted and turned in different ways, but those turns invariably ended up with the same result – the hero saving the day – wow, huge surprise. So what was I actually watching? I was watching a character. I know it sounds obvious, but to a ten-year-old it was a revelation – that the path isn’t nearly as interesting as the person walking it.

So I’m editing my novel – it’s a great story with a compelling character, and I thank American TV for that. Shakespeare was a genius, but don’t underestimate the Glen Larsons and Quinn Martins of the world. Their output may have bordered on the cartoonish at times, so what? The Simpsons are yellow – the President is orange. To quote George Washington, ‘It is in truth and with heavy heart that I tell you I hates that rabbit.’