Another Million Dollar Dream by cmlang


									by: sam nikolas

When the itch of literature comes upon a man, the only thing that will relieve it is the scratching
of a pen.

A Victorian vicar wrote that and he wasnt wrong. Id had the urge to write since I was a young
man and I indulged myself from time to time. I scribbled the odd short story, I wrote
pornographic letters for a couple of contact magazines, I sent ideas to TV s tations, I wrote scripts
and I collected a lot of rejections as most writers do. One day I got a letter inviting me to visit a
TV producer to discuss my work. I wept.

The producer didnt want to use my script; she liked it, but she was looking for writers for the
revival of an old courtroom drama. Did I think I could write thirty episodes? Why not? I said. Go
away and study the law, courts and court procedure, she said. As soon as the contracts are signed
Ill send you the story lines, she said.

I read books. I spent my days in Londons famous courts. I made friends with people, on both
sides of the law. I made lots of notes. A couple of months passed. We wrote to one another: I
told her how much I had learned and how anxious I was to get started on the scrip ts; she
repeatedly assured me that the contracts would soon be signed.

I noticed, at the bottom of one of her letters, that her title had changed. She was no longer
assistant producer of xxx, she was now producer of xyz. I congratulated her on her promotion. It
was the last letter I ever received from her. I had not understood that the change of title meant
she had been promoted out of the old job, with responsibility for the courtroom drama, and that
she would have no more use for me.

It took a few weeks, but I got the message. It was a blow. I probably wept. I promised myself,
that I would not write anything speculative again for TV or anyone else, I would write a novel
instead. And I wouldnt send it to publishers; Id publish it myself. I thought I may e ven give it
away; hand copies to people on street corners; read passages to people on trains and, if they liked
it offer a copy to them; or just leave copies in coffee shops and on park benches. I began writing
The Workers, a sexy, violent, funny story from the London underworld.

After writing about fifty- five thousand words, I allowed the son of a friend to borrow my laptop
for a homework project. Dont download anything and dont add any programs, where my parting
words. Two days later he brought the laptop back with a killer virus on it. Every word of The
Workers was lost. I wept.

Luckily I had a few chapters in hard copy and I tried to rewrite the rest, but its hard. I just didnt
seem to be able to get the scenes down. I had all but given up when I saw a n article about Alex
Tew and his Million Dollar Website. It was a great idea, Alex had sold a million pixels to fund a
university education, I thought may be able to sell a few pixels to fund the writing and
serialization of The Workers. I decided that, once I got going with a monthly deadline, I would
be able to squeeze all the lost ideas out of their hiding places in the dark corners of my brain and
onto the screen.
I didnt have any trouble finding a Million Dollar Script, a Google search produced plenty to
choose from. I decided on a script offered by ozwebfx. The script was less than a hundred dollars
and Ozwebfx uploaded it for a small fee. Within a few hours, on the 31st February 2006, chapter
one of The Workers, Say Goodbye To The Monk was uploaded to my new site,

This article was posted on September 02, 2006

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