1. Writers can be fat cave-dwellers, actors cannot

They keep the writers tucked away in a cave called the story room. At the centre of the story table is a self-replenishing pile of chocolate. “Story fuel”, they call it.

From the story room, we get a clear view to the patch of gum trees near the car park where the actors all gather to smoke. The only one who doesn’t is running laps of the car park. After a TV journalist wrote a not-very-flattering article about his appearance he dropped 20kg and a senior staff member told the writers they could start giving him romantic storylines.

This morning he’s out in the car park doing burpees and push-ups during a screening. The same senior staff member stops the tape so we can all behold his dedication to televisual attractiveness.

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Everyone is at least 10kg lighter than they appear on screen. “We call it ‘three-month syndrome’,” one of the set dressers tells me. “It takes three months from the time they join the show till their scenes go to air. They see themselves on screen and –” he sucks his cheeks “– they start to constrict.”

As for the writers, we sit around during screenings munching our way through packets of Tim Tams and casting aspersions on the actors. “So and so’s getting an arse,” says one of the male story editors, cackling through a mouthful of chips. “Let’s give her a bulimia storyline!” Normally I’d find this offensive, but this morning two actresses came into the script office and literally threw bags of lollies into the story room, then ran away giggling. What do they think writers are, a pack of pimple-faced, cave-dwelling goblins? Or is it their way of bribing us into giving them better storylines?

2. Do not try to reinvent the show

Friday is the all-important pitch meeting, when each storyliner must pitch two prospective storylines, broken into beats that can be woven in over several episodes.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘We’ve got to get the hunks to stop crying! What’s wrong with a wall punch?’

“The worst thing you can do,” was the advice I had from people who’ve gone before, “is try to reinvent the show.” When it’s my turn, my pitches are so profoundly inappropriate (“confusing and needlessly weird” is the feedback) that the script producer asks if they can use them in their training manual.

The pitch meeting ends with a call for a light and fluffy C-story for the resident sexy dad and his young son. The aim is to take the edge off the A-story (fake teen pregnancy) and the B-story (1 hot teacher + 2 cougar mums = PTA love triangle).

The new script editor pitches a story about the son taking the class pet snake home for the weekend, and the hijinks that ensue when dad reveals he has a phobia of snakes. The script editor mimes dad waking up to discover the snake on his pillow, and the squealing and hand-flapping that follows. The story room is in stitches. (Bar me. I have taste.)

Suddenly the script producer goes quiet. “It’s a great story,” she says, “but we can’t do it.”

“Why not?” asks the editor.

The script producer sighs. “The network won’t let us de-ball another hunk.”

3. Men are men and ladies are dishpigs

The working week begins with a screening of rough cuts of the five episodes shot the week before. As far as I can tell, screenings are like watching TV with your friends, except here when you yell, “Why don’t you learn to act, dumb-dumb?” someone writes it down as a note and passes it on to the relevant department.

The trick is to package suggestions so that they offer the appearance of change, without actually requiring change

Halfway through the second episode, the senior staff member jumps up, cape flapping, and someone stops the tape. They are stressed after a meeting with the network and stop the tape after every scene to yell at no one in particular.

“What did I tell everyone? Don’t give that actress more than one emotion per scene. You know she can’t handle anything complex! And why doesn’t wardrobe have her in something more sexy?”

“She refuses to wear anything tight-fitting,” the script producer murmurs.

“Tough shit! We hired her to be the sexy slut; she’ll wear the fucking Lycra!” I look around for signs of feminist horror and find none.

Three episodes later I can’t take it any more and lean over to one of the storyliners. He’s gay, so surely a progressive ally?

“Why are the women always the ones doing the dishes and cooking dinner?” I whisper. “And why do they always take their husbands’ last names?”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘Learn their ways. I write a note to myself: More lycra, less tears.’

But he just looks confused. “Do they? I’ve never really thought about it,” he says. “It just sort of happens. It doesn’t mean anything.”

The screening finishes with an emotional scene between the teen heart-throb and his dad. After the workaholic father cancels yet another event with his son and leaves to do business with “the Chinese”, the teen heart-throb stands in the doorway and a tear rolls slowly down his cheek. It’s a heartfelt scene that I think will resonate, unfortunately, with many kids watching.

The senior staff member throws a Bounty wrapper at the screen. “No, no, no! The network says we can’t show him in tears. We’ve got to get the hunks to stop crying! What’s wrong with a wall punch?”

A wall punch? I think of the little boys in the audience, learning the masculine way to show sadness as they wait for their own dads to come home.

Learn their ways. I write a note to myself: More lycra, less tears.

4. The show may be G-rated, but the fans are not

By the end of the day I have been schooled in audience demographics (kids and elderly conservatives who write in if anything bar hair, make-up or wardrobe is a shade too progressive), and exactly what we can get away with without losing our G-rating.

They have one Eurasian actress, a former model, but she’s white enough that they cast her as a member of an Anglo family

It’s dark by the time I leave the studio. Around here at night, it really does feel like you’re in the country. The stars are brighter, and there are only the lights from the distant highway to guide your way. As soon as I step onto the darkened street, a car flicks its headlights on, blinding me. I’m just out of view of the studio’s security cameras. The car lurches toward me and through the lights I see that the back seat is crammed with young men. One of the men jumps out of the car and runs up to me. I freeze. He stares at my face then calls over his shoulder, “Nah, s’not her!”

These are the people we write the show for.

“Fucking slut!” someone yells, the man jumps back into the car and they drive away. I will not be raped today, and neither will the actress they were waiting for. So that’s tonight’s gratitude journal sorted.

5. Actors should know their place (or be sent to Brisbane)

I share desk space with a camp set dresser who has been here forever, is fiercely loyal to the show and is an excellent source of gossip. He explained that actors are split 50-50. Half are NIDA graduates and the rest are former child models or hot teens plucked from shopping-centre runways. He told me how a new family that moved on to the show banded together and dared to complain about the storylines. “They forgot they were jobbing and asked for better scripts.” He chortled.

“What happened to them?” I asked.

“They turned the dad into a gambling addict, shipped the daughter off to a fat farm, and the wife moved to Brisbane.”

They’ve just imported a new story editor from a rival soap. She told me what happened when her old show had tried to introduce two lesbian characters as part of the regular cast. “We got death threats until we got rid of them,” she said. “It was a steady campaign until the lesbians went to Brisbane.”

Brisbane: TV jail for naughty actors.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest What do they think writers are, a pack of pimple-faced, cave-dwelling goblins?

6. Really, don’t try to change things

Asians and lesbians are allowed on the show, they just get moved on quickly. During a break in the screening I ask the script producer why there aren’t any non-white regular characters. “The only way someone becomes a regular character is if they’re related to one of the original families on the show,” says the script producer. “And since there are no Asian families on the show...” She shrugs – it’s out of our hands. They do have one Eurasian actress, a former model, but she’s white enough that they cast her as a member of an Anglo family.

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7. Are you still trying to change things? Don’t

Over the weekend, the senior member of staff read an article about the different subcultures of millennials and has called a meeting this afternoon to brainstorm ways to mutate the current characters to match.

Every time we’re told to “shake things up, be more now”, I stuff a mini-sandwich in my mouth. The trick is to package suggestions so that they offer the appearance of change, without actually requiring change.

“Emo! We need to make Bella an emo!” the senior staff member bellows, handing out copies of the article. “Oh fuck, but we’re not allowed to do anything with her hair. One of the network execs has a hard-on for schoolgirls with heavy fringes.”

I reach for another fancy sandwich. When you’re beginning to suspect you’re in the wrong room, wrong job, wrong body, catering helps.

• This is an edited extract of Bad Yogi by Alice Williams, which is out now through Affirm Press and available on Book Depository