Outback Shan

Right now, I'm in the country. Like on a farm in the country. Sure, I'm an hour away from where I live. In the city. Nothing to do with the country. But a week and a bit ago I travelled down a freeway and entered … the country. This is a very odd thing for Australians. When I was last in the US, I got told a lot that I didn't sound like an Australian. John Guare said that to me. I told him I was from the city. He seemed disappointed but then he hugged me and said I was wonderful so I figured all was forgiven. It's true. I don't sound 'Australian' to the Americans but that's mainly because I don't say 'Crikey, check out that croc' at every available opportunity. In fact I've never said 'Check out that croc' BECAUSE I'VE NEVER GOT THAT CLOSE TO A CROCODILE. I mean, those things will kill you. If you don't believe me, ask about a thousand German tourists. In fact, don't. They are dead.

Anyway, I digress.

I'm in the country. I got a fellowship to come to the country and write for three weeks. Sure, I'm writing. I'm writing up a storm. But more importantly, I am bonding with the country which is something I rarely do, mainly because it is full of things that will kill me. Australian stories of the outback are nothing more than How to Get Yourself Killed by Venturing Outside of the City. But this place is wonderful. Mainly because nothing has killed me. Yet. Although there was a kangaroo the other day that looked at me with murderous intent but that could have just been the face he was born with. There are also sheep and horses and bunny rabbits that frolic about the lawn. There is an echidna that just mooches about being all echidna like. And because it is Spring, there are babies. Cute, cute babies that I want to steal and raise as my own. So keep being nice to me Australian outback. No one wants to read 'Australian Playwright killed by echidna with anger management issues'. Although, that would be hilarious.

Employment

So this whole writing fulltime thing is simple awesome and I am the happiest person alive at the moment. I even smiled at a dog the other day. It wasn't even a particularly cute dog. But happiness is not going to last forever and I am going to have to look for a new job. The thing is, I can't go back to being a legal secretary. I just can't. Not because it's awful, even though it is, but it's awful to me because it's not my job. There are people out there than love being a legal secretary. I've never met them but I'm choosing to believe that there isn't a whole profession out there plotting ways to kill their bosses. Told you, I'm one happy camper at the moment.

So, here is the deal. I'm putting my employment future out there into the cyber universe. Tell me what kind of job a playwright should have. To help you along, this is what I want in a job:

• Not going to leave me exhausted at the end of the day.
  
• Doesn't involve lawyers (sorry, it's me, not you).
  
• Use all these writing skills that I have painstakingly acquired over all these years.
  
• Is going to pay me a decent wage.
  
• Involves the things I love: books, plays, paper, words, people.
  

This is what I bring to the table: I am fun. And funny. I can make you laugh quicker than you can say 'God, is it Monday again?' One of the lawyers I worked with went to an Enrique Iglesias concert and I called her Enrique for 3 months. Never failed to make her laugh. Okay, that could have been crying and there was some mention of bullying in the workplace but trust me, fun is my middle name. Fun is what I do while I am working. I work like a vampire in need of their next victim. I suck the blood out of my work. Fine. Gross, but if you need it done, it gets done.

I have lawyers who love me. Lawyers! They have no soul, but they still love me. That's how hard I work, while keeping the fun. Laugh? You'll cry.

So, help me. Help me figure out a job that is going to give me money, but more importantly, give me some sense of … what is the word … oh yeah, fulfilment.

What is your day job? Does it help your art? Is there such a thing? All suggestions, thoughts, musings welcome.

Aftermath

Last Friday, I made my way to Malthouse Theatre to see Aftermath as part of the Melbourne Festival. I don't live far from the city but my short journey to Southbank was turned into an odyssey when the train stopped and we were told by the not very happy train driver that the train had gone down the wrong track – like the train itself was a crazy drunk that was out of the control of the driver, the signallers and the entire Metro train organisation.

So I'm running down St Kilda Road in shoes that are so cute but have an evil, blister-inducing soul and it's hot and I'm running late and I get there huffing and puffing and with sore feet just as the lights are going down and I'm stuck in between two sets of 'Toorak Women' or, for people not living in Melbourne, delete Toorak and insert name of the rich suburb in your town where ladies of a certain age wear a lot of light, flowing fabrics, gold jewellery and complain about the help.

So, there was all that.

But it didn't matter.

All of that was gone at Lights Up. Because what happened after that is the stuff that makes you jump up and down and feel glorious that there is such a thing as theatre in this messed up world we live in.

Aftermath is theatre at its most simple and therefore most powerful. It's the stories of ordinary people caught up in extraordinary circumstances and what they had to do to survive. Or, more importantly, what they had to lose in order to survive. These stories of Iraqi people and their war gives complexity and understanding to a war that has consistently failed to dig below the surface. Wars are about right and wrong, and which side you belong on. I dare you to see Aftermath and ever think like that again.

Innovation

In new ways to find me, you can google 'devil sleeper', 'confidence & innovation' and 'jokes asbestos luggager'. You know how they say that it takes all types … I'm pretty sure we could keep going with a few less.

In other news, I'm off to the country! Being the outdoorsy type and at one with a pair of wellington boots, I'm taking me and my laptop to a writer's residence on a farm in the middle of a state forest. I'm planning to recreate the Rihanna topless in a field shot, whittle something and tell long tales into the night of bear attacks that I survived. Oh, and I'm going to write a play. I may whittle my play. A play told entirely in whittled scenes. Innovation. You betcha.

Home

I'm finally home from Yale, and have been for a week, and while I meant to be all good and attentive and documentarian when I was there I quickly realised that it was me and not some other person that owns this blog so I slammed down my laptop, laughed and went and bought another bagel – because you really can't have too many and that is a scientific fact.

So, I'm really not going to go into everything that happened and how freaking wonderful it all was, and how I'm now making my partner call me THE GREATEST PLAYWRIGHT EVER just because my ego is riding at an all-time high and I want to hang onto that shit for as long as possible, and how Americans get such a bad rap for being all arrogant and stuff when really they are just the nicest, smartest, most generous people in the world (No, the American Tourist Board did not pay me to say that, but you know, totally open to talk about it) and how I got to meet all people that have been my heroes for as long as I could remember and how it was all just 'pinch yourself Shannon, because this may never happen again'. No. Not going to do that.

But Yale people, you fucking rock*.

 

* Feel free to use that on your brochures. No. You're welcome.

Fun

Conversation with my nephew Matthew at 5.35am on Sunday morning:

MATTHEW: Aunty Shannon …

Aunty Shannon sleeps

MATTHEW: AUNTY SHANNON!!!!!!!!

Aunty Shannon wakes up.

AS: Yes?

MATTHEW: Are you awake?

AS: Apparently.

MATTHEW: You want to come and see all my Thomas the Tank Engine toys?

AS: I'd love to come and see your Thomas toys but I seem to be lacking the will or desire to get out of bed.

MATTHEW: Okay. I'll bring them to you.

Thanks Matty. I never knew 5.30 on a Sunday morning could be so fun

Dance of joy

All systems are go ...

http://blogs.courant.com/curtain/2011/08/xxxxx-3.html

If you come near me right now, watch yourself. I am totally on fire