Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from July, 2013

Just because

A random tweet from a twit! 

The play; Austen; Mouthpieces.

Ok, so I stuck with the play. But it took on a different situation; I now have a rough first draft - and it will come in, once formatted, to about 40-pages. Needless to say, it will be one act with no intermission. And those 40 pages don't account for cutting. And I still don't quite know what I'm saying - I only have a tenuous grasp of what it is. May seem odd to those who don't write - or those who have to know exactly before they write - that one can spend so much time just writing something they don't know the message of. But, as many a writer will say, puke up over the typewriter in the morning, clean up in the afternoon. Or, I write and rewrite to know what I'm saying. This writing process for me is different every time. It requires an awful lot of tenacity - it's digging. I probably won't get to look at it now for a couple of weeks. I'm in Manchester next weekend to see family, so that'll be out. Onwards, and all that. 
One of my friends o…

Time to give up?

I've had to say adios to a play I've spent all week working on. And, actually, a good while before then making notes about, and thinking about what form it could take. There's a bit of hope that by letting go of it, it will somehow return to me fully formed, leaving me to just play amanuensis! But somehow each day has felt like a slog; yes, writing is a slog. But add to the mix this enervating climate everyone seems to have wished for all year, but is now moaning about, and the pressure of feeling that IT HAS TO BE DONE this week because I'm back at work on Monday, then it pretty much becomes a dead end. There are plenty of people who have written whilst holding a day job - pretty much all writers, actually; Terry Pratchett wouldn't give his job up as a Press Officer until he had seven novels published, so precarious is a writer's life and income. Juggling the day job and then trying to get into the creative mindset of 'another world' in the evening is …

A new age...

This coming Sunday I shall be forty. In some parts of the world it is old; spent. People in the UK can think it 'used' to be old here. But I'm not so sure. My grandmother had her seventh child at 40; a few weeks before her husband died. I have not experienced the need for a child. I think it's because I was the oldest girl in a family of seven kids! 'Mummy's little helper'. It was a role I was sometimes ok with. But also one that I often deeply resented. Being an older sibling in a large family can mean missing out on your own childhood; it also meant, for me, that I had never harboured any illusions or romance about the desperately hard work bringing up a child involves. And then there's the fact that I spent my thirties indulging myself in education and juggling work to help pay for it of course. And dealing with my own parents' premature deaths. My Mum would sometimes say 'wait till you have your own kids!' And then in the next breath …

That was the week that was

To Soho Theatre on Tuesday evening to see Address Unknown, a short epistolary play about two old friends and their relationship when one leaves US for his native Germany, whilst the Jewish Max remains. Beautiful set design, comprised two offices. As soon as I realised they'd just be reading letters to and from each other I frowned and sighed. But it maintained a compelling pace, with a few well-placed peaks. What I found striking were some of the parallels with today; of 1930s Germany and its austerity and collective shame and guilt from the First World War. The UK has never, it seems, been more aware of its colonialist past and the consequences of it. Even David Cameron has apologised for some things. But in eras of austerity, one often finds growths of extremes - on both sides of the political spectrum. And so from this mood Hilter, the failed and thwarted artist, came to power, offering the people a sense of pride and purpose. And a scapegoat. Towards the end it felt a bit like…