I wish I could be like actors and pretend to be bored by press junkets, but the truth is I love the attention. My job as a Hollywood writer and producer mainly involves sitting in front of a computer and shouting at my kids, so free drinks, launch parties and people telling you how great you are is the perfect antidote to a room filled with empty Monster Munch packets and that urine sample you were meant to hand in to the doctor. Writers are such terrible narcissists. We not only expect complete strangers to be fascinated by our every thought; we want them to pay for the privilege. You can imagine how much we relish poor journalists being forced to listen to us talk about ourselves for days on end.
Last week, we released a new Netflix series called The Chosen One, a six-part drama about a 12-year-old boy who discovers he’s no ordinary kid but in fact the returned Jesus Christ.
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