Crapistmas

Okay. I don't want anyone to panic but I woke up this morning to realise that it is only 15 days to Christmas.

Fine. Start panicking. I sure as hell am. I have not done a thing. I haven't thought of Christmas. Okay, well, slight lie. I have made a list of stuff that I want. But as for other people, no, no and a bit more no.

Oh God. The buying of presents. The wrapping of presents. The sending of presents to far flung lands such as Queensland for my family to toss to one side and never think of again. Oh God. The wasting of money. And only 15 days in which to do all of this. I think we will start calling it Crapistmas. Spread it around. I am 100% certain it is going to catch on.

Balm for the busy

If you're feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, then suck on this for a couple of minutes.

You Want a Social Life, With Friends -- by Kenneth Koch

You want a social life, with friends,
A passionate love life and as well
To work hard every day. What's true
Is of these three you may have two
And two can pay you dividends
But never may have three.

There isn't time enough, my friends --
Though dawn begins, yet midnight ends --
To find the time to have love, work, and friends.
Michelangelo had feeling
For Vittoria and the ceiling
But did he go to parties at day's end?

Homer nightly went to banquets
Wrote all day but had no lockets
Bright with pictures of his girl.
I know one who loves and parties
And has done so since his thirties
But writes hardly anything at all.

Jesus, I hate poets. They always get it so right. Bastards.

What I'm not talking about.

While I should be putting my two cents into the debate, war, general brouhaha that exploded over at Belvoir in Sydney regarding a certain playwright and his oh so feminist stance (I'm sorry, there's something about men burning their bras for me that sends me loopy) I'm not. Other people, such as this smart woman and this other smart woman are doing a much better job of it and raging against the unfairness of it all. Good for them. I hope something happens from it. It won't, but I won't stop hoping for you. Talk about it till the cows come home if you want … they are still going to have male directors that want to put on male playwrights and have a great big male time of it all. And so it will continue until someone actually gets some balls and does something so wildly unpopular as mandating that our theatres must include 50% of women in all artistic positions or else it's bye-bye to all your funding. Yes, every last cent. Positive discrimination, ring your bell now.

I know, I know. Wildly unpopular. Beat down that heretic little witch. Fine. Call me what you want and yell at me with phrases such as "compromising artistic integrity" as if this will be the first time an artist has had to do that in order to get her work produced, but think on this. You think that women would ever be in the workplace if a law hadn't forced old white men to make it so? Do you think anything changes just because a minority wants it? What world do you live in people? People don't like change. I personally despise it. God only knows what would happen. But the only way we are going to stop having excruciatingly condescending treatment such as "Look, I know we haven't got any women but would you like to have a forum about it one Sunday afternoon if there is absolutely nothing else I can program?" is if someone (yes, I'm talking to you Mr Rudd and Mr Garrett and your little state counterparts) goes BAM! Rips the thing apart. Women, or die. Women artists can't be squeezed into the current system because we have no place to sit ourselves in the current system. Rip it apart. Start again. I swear to god, the empire will stand. No. I lie. The empire is going down. And that's a good thing.

You start coming up with outrageous mandates such as 50% or start packing your boxes and see how quick the relevant theatres rush to ensure that young women artists are nurtured and developed before they let them anywhere near a stage. Go on. Try it. And while you are growing some balls Federal Government, why not grow some more money so that the theatres can actually do what you say. Because it's all well and good to tell people that it is good, it's another to get them to their seats. Perhaps everyone is right when they say (not that they say it out loud) that people don't pay good money for theatre made by women. No, I take that back. That's bullshit. But just in case, we might be needing some more money to fund your new balls.

I know that people will start throwing their arms up in the air and start screaming "Quotas, quotas" as if they were the devil herself, but I have no problems with quotas. None in the slightest. As a woman and an artist, I'll take any helping hand I can. Because trust me, there aren't that many of them. Say what you want about quotas but perhaps we'll finally get to see some real diversity in theatre instead of young angry men talking about young angry men and David Williamson talking about nothing much at all. And some of it will be so good you'll wet your pants at it and some will be horrific but that's theatre. The most important thing you could ever do for a woman artist is to give her the chance to fail. Mistakes are part of creativity and every woman artist has the right to do fuck it up as grandly as possible for as many times as she needs to get it right.

Well, would you look at that. Perhaps I did want to talk about it after all.

Oh wait, I'm not the first. Crikey beat me to it. Bastards.

musings

Things that have changed about me.

1.

Before

Whenever we went away as a family when I was young and I was FORCED to share a hotel room with my brother, I would always have to have the curtains closed fully. Not an millimetre of light was allowed in. If I got woken before midday because of that stupid thing called the sun, then I was not going to be a happy camper. Well, I was never a happy camper, my angst having taken firm root from an alarmingly young age, but this vampiric hatred of the sun was non-negotiable. Anyway, all good and fine, when I was in my own room in my own house, but when I was transported to some hotel room where I was FORCED to share with my brother, there he was throwing open the curtains, blinds, windows willy-nilly like a very happy camper, which he never was but somehow that was deemed "okay" by the people that mattered, aka my parents. I would close, he would open, repeat until you both look miscast in a very boring pantomime. Once that gets boring, start yelling at each other, move quickly to name-calling, amp it up to screaming and then wait for your father to burst through the door with the wails of your mother in the background chanting "You've ruined the holiday" (because someone always did).

Now

Open. Close. What the fuck do I care?

More help

In a nod to fairness, here's an opportunity that will appeal to all the playwrights that like their theatre with words (I know, what an archaic thought) here's a lovely place to get your work produced:

Ensemble Studio Theatre (New York)

Material: One-Act Plays (40min's max.)

We will accept submissions for the 2010 Marathon from October 1, 2009 through December 1st. We accept all one act plays which have not been reviewed in New York City. We recommend submissions do not exceed 40 minutes in running time. Playwrights are welcome to submit up to two submissions, but no more.

We prefer electronic submissions. Please send your script as a word document attachment to firman@ensemblestudiotheatre.org.

http://ensemblestudiotheatre.org/opportunities_playwright.html

Happy writing my munchkins.

 

 

Helping hand

In order to be the helping hand that I truly believe I am, I have an opportunity to share with you that some might find helpful. Some might cheer, although that might make you look weird but really, it's up to you.

But this opportunity that is pretty damn good and might be the turning point in your life is for a particular breed of artist (sorry to all the non-artists out there, I'll get back to making fun of train commuters shortly) and so in order to make this even more helpful and so you don't get to the end of the multiple forms and then only realise that you have nothing to offer and would be an idiot to apply, I have developed (at my own time and expense) a foolproof questionnaire. If you answer yes to all of these then grab a pen and start madly lying your arse off.

If your favourite word is 'me', closely followed by 'everything' and coming up the rear is 'now' then stop throwing your fists around in a temper tantrum and listen up.

Still not sure.

If you like your art spliced, diced with lots of sparkle and set to the dulcet tones of whatever emo goth band is speaking your angst, then put down the razor blade and use your powers for good.

I hear you. You can't be pigeonholed that quickly. No worries dude, I got more. (if the word dude makes you roll your eyes in weariness at the stupidity of the old, then I would take a look at this)

If your bio reads something like, like I dig the multimedia shit and the technology is wicked in line with the art and stuff that I make when I not doing a multitude of other cool things cause I'm just not one thing and never will be you old fucks. But the art, it's really all about the art, everything is art and I make it with the hip hop tunes and dem kickarse beats and wack, wacky stuff that you will, like, never understand because you, old fuckers at the age of 25, you have totally lost the vibe and you will probably say it's too loud or too noisy and, well, I can't even be bothered explaining it to you because you'll probably be dead by the time I'm famous which should be happening right about NOW! so just fuck off and leave me with my digital, hybrid, eco-friendly, comic book slash Icelandic hip-hop inspired silent performance art comedy opera.

Thanks. Not.

Didn't I tell you to fuck off?

Yeah. If that sounds like you, then I have a gift for you. No need to thank me, I just want you to take your mess that you are audaciously calling art and move it to QLD for a while.

Like they used to do with characters on Neighbours.

What? Of course that's funny. Well, it used to be in the 90s.

Oh fine. Go here. Express your genius.

Back

Sound the trumpets. Dust off the costumes for the parade. Start tearing the paper for the ticker tape parade. Because she's HOME! Yeah, she really is. It's no joke. I wouldn't joke about something that serious. Me? You think I go around joking about Me? You people have issues.

Let's move on.

I'm back from the theatre Mecca of the known universe. That's right, New Zealand. JOKE! She spent too long on a plane but she still hasn't lost it. I know, New Zealand. As if. It's hilarious. I know. I'll give you a moment to recover.

Okay, are we ready?

The Mecca of Hobbit-lovers and sheep fuckers perhaps. Oh no, she didn't. She did NOT go there. That girl is on fire! FIRE!

Okay. Enough of that. Calm down Kiwis, I really do love you all … They are seriously the most gullible people in the entire universe. I'M KIDDING!    

Okay, I'm really moving on this time.

I'm back. NYC is amazing. Things have changed. Hang around, and you'll find out what.

 

PS Nice to be back.

Advice

This comes by way of New Zealand, but we are not going to hold that against it.

This is good advice. I should start following it more:

Advice to young writers, by Gary Henderson.

- Stay out of jail.
- If you do go to jail, make it because of something you’ve written.
- At least once in your life write something that might land you in jail.
- Only write things worth going to jail for.
- Remember that once something is written down it becomes fiction.
- Always write for curious, intelligent audiences who pay attention.
- Always write for the best actors.
- Always work with people you like.
- If someone doesn’t support you, stop seeing them.
- Don’t sleep with the cast.
- Don’t sleep with the crew.
- Never sleep with anyone from Creative New Zealand.
- Learn how to write silence.
- Learn how to write light.
- Learn how to write space.
- Remember that once something is written down it becomes truth.
- Make sure the conflict you resolve at the end of your play is the same one you seduced the audience into at the start.
- Your play has one theme. One. Everything else is either a variation or it’s in the way.
- You are not obliged to solve anything, but you are obliged to resolve everything.
- If you don’t know what your play is about by the time you have finished it, you haven’t.
- Good characters will always come to your rescue.
- Remember that truth is stranger than fiction, but fiction is truer.
- Strive to make your writing simple and complex. They are not opposites.
- The quality of your play has nothing to do with how hard it was to write.
- If you don’t have an authentic connection with your material you’re a fake.
- Always place your story. A play that claims to be about everyone everywhere at any time, is always about no one anywhere ever.
- There are no universal characters called A and B.
- Write in your stage directions whatever it takes to convey your vision, but don’t tell the actors how to act or the director how to direct.
- Bad stage directions will keep them on track. Good stage directions will encourage them to go exploring.
- If you get stuck, take a break, stop writing the play, and just let the characters chat amongst themselves for a while.
- Never write for television.
- Never write a play for personal therapy. It will backfire. The audience will always ridicule the character that’s you.
- Occasionally try to sneak a glance at your reflection when it’s not looking.
- Make the most of being the latest hot young thing while it lasts.
- You are as good as the last thing you had on stage this year.
- Become an expert at spelling, punctuation, grammar, and sentence structure. These are the tools of your trade. If you can’t use them you will never be a good writer.
- Breaking the rules will not make you fresh and exciting. Every bull in a china shop leaves the same old predictable mess. Learn the rules, understand them, then subvert them in a way that’s never been done before. That will make you fresh and exciting.
- Trust your conscience.
- Two bits of really good advice can contradict each other. Get used to it.
- Train yourself to listen to music all the way through.
- If you aren’t already, become a shameless eavesdropper.
- Never get interviewed on television sitting in a row of theatre seats.
- Never put off writing until you are better at it.
- Strive to be clever enough for your own good and big enough for your boots.
- Never be intimidated by people who are better than you.
- Never allow yourself to be bullied out of your right to tell any story.
- Never be ashamed or frightened of your truth. Whatever it takes, you must find the courage to tell it.
- Contrary to what you’ve heard, you CAN change the world.

Public Announcement (Bogan Edition)

Okay.

I thought we had come to an understanding.

I thought we had sorted this shit out.

But no.
Someone didn't read the memo did they? Yes. You know that I'm talking to you WhiteTrash65 and BoganManChild436. Don't try and deny that's how you hooked up in the beginning of what has become a loathsome pairing we all have to endure. I imagine that the love connection was made on a place such as www.Bogans_hot4_Bogans.com or www.wanttoseemycrack.com. I also imagine that your profile read like this:

WhiteTrash65: 95% STD free (one more treatment!) and generous to the point of public nudity.
BoganManChild436: I want some.

Oh, the beauty. And aren't you both so generous and giving to share it with all your fellow train commuters at 8.15 in the morning? Here we all are, blistered and brutalised from the Antarctic winds that have knocked us sideways as we wait for our delayed train, and here we all are again, smacked up against the armpit of a man that obviously has serious moral qualms about bathing more than once a year, and quite frankly it could all become a bit sad, a bit depressing, a bit one false move and fatherhood will be the province of other men buckaroo.

But it's not.

Because we have you two, and your VERY LOUD LOVE.

I don't know if you're new to our train or you've just recently found the joy of bogans hooking up with bogans (it comes with a Shannon Noll soundtrack) but the last few days you have really made your presence felt. Now to be fair, we are not very welcoming of new train participants as the ratio of distance from nose to armpit, and breast to foul groping hand is already way past the point of pleasure. So, you may have noticed our glares, the quiet growling. Don't take it personally but to cut a long story short – we hate you and although you have only been on our train twice now, we are plotting ways to kill you.

It's best if you know. We wouldn't want your ghosts hanging around going WTF? Or, why did youse do that for? Huh? No, sorry, you don't get classier when you are dead. You can blame Jennifer Love Hewitt for that misconception.

Anyway, if you don't want to be attacked by a mob of cold, miserable train people, here is a helpful list I have compiled:

1. Stop finding your boyfriend funny. You may not know this WhiteTrash65 (and I can't believe there are only 65 of you – must have got in real early with that one), it is statistically impossible to be funny 100% of the time. Your brain explodes and ugly demons rise out of the top of your head. True story. So now that you have the facts on your side, please refrain from guffawing non-stop from Middle Footscray to Flagstaff every time BoganManChild436 opens his mouth.
2. Let us all keep our tongues in our own mouths. I know, this one is hard. You're in love, or at least that's what you are calling it, and you want to express this love through some serious tonsil hockey. Good for you. At least no one is dropping their pants, which I know you all want to do. But let's just all do our bit so that we can have a train ride without anyone losing their breakfast.
3. Hands where I can see them Mister. This is especially for you BoganManChild436. I'm sure she has a great arse and those tits are gifts from god. I understand. However, let's keep some of the mystery alive for us all. Some of us like to use our imagination. Or not.

So, are we sorted? I really don't want to have to do this again. See you all tomorrow morning.

Lines

 
 

For all those keeping count, this list that I started here last year has now got more lines through it. Not as many lines as I would like but the lines and me will always have a fractious relationship.

Fractious.

I am so freaking smart.

List One

Short plays that need minor rewrite/tweaks.

       Sugar

       Normal is the Enemy now called The Enemy

       Ordinary Tuesday

       Night declared Day

       Darkness Cut

       Ignorance

       Breath

       Sophie in the Water

List Two

Short Plays that need another complete draft

        Love

        Lost and Found

        No Fish, No Father now called Couch

        For the Defence – Butterfly Evans

        Cut the Lime outline for new draft done.

        Morning Millicent

List Three

Short Plays that need to be written or rewritten completely

        New Coffee Shop Play

        People, Places, Things

        Dead Man Speaks half re-written

        Marcus & Sally Play

        In the Blood

        Sauce

        Breakfast with Others

Things I've heard "bosses" say to "secretaries"

• I don't know my life, ask my secretary.
• Really? Today? … Hey Secretary, why didn't you tell me it's my son's birthday.
• Hey Secretary, can you call my wife, she likes speaking to you.
• My secretary is stuck on a train so I have no idea where I am supposed to be right now … In court? Really? Crap.
• My secretary is having a baby … I know. How much maternity leave are we giving out these days? Really? Crap.
• Hey Secretary can you call my mistress, she likes speaking to you.
• Hey Secretary … oh, you know … Don't you?
• Hey Secretary. I just came to your desk. You weren't there. Please don't ever not be there.
  

Stalker Girl

It is fast becoming apparent to me that I am becoming obsessed with my trip to New York. Like stalker obsessed and really there should be a program, with steps, for people like me.

Evidence:

1. I cannot stop thinking about New York. I cannot stop thinking about myself in New York. I can see myself walking down the streets. I don't even know what the streets look like but there I am. Weird.
2. I have snorted every website that mentions New York and now it all runs through my veins. I know more about New York than anyone. Go on. Test me.
3. The only way I can sleep is if I think about New York.
4. I am being organised (which never happens) in order to get to New York and have the experience I want.
5. I am not nice to be around at the moment. This is mainly because I am not in New York.
6. I like saying, thinking, writing the words New York. I like it to the point of obsession.
   
   11 sleeps to go.
   
   

A Public Announcement

Things not to do on a crowded train:

1. Fart. Obviously. Or, in some case, not obviously, which is why I'm pointing it out. Squeeze people. Squeeze. Don't ask me to explain what to squeeze. Call your mother if confused.
2. Lean your great hulking body against the rail that is there for us all to hold. a) you're selfish, let's just admit it. b) you are damn right I am going to push you out of the way. See a) to reason why.
3. Backpacks. Chances are you are not going on a wilderness trek on a Wednesday morning. If you are, then you have multiple issues that I don't think I have time to deal with. If you are not going on a wilderness trek then please resist the urge to bring onto a crowded train a backpack that would fit a reasonably sized refugee family. You do not need all that stuff to get through one day at work. You're at work. Do some work. Keep your work at work. And I know, as we all know, that's not work in your Himalayan expedition with a quick trek to the Antarctic backpack.
4. Do not break up with your boyfriend on the train. You would think this is obvious but oh no, and I am talking to you Partygirl2134 with your impossibly straight hair and six layers of makeup. Do not conduct the private business of your relationship on the train. Do not tell your boyfriend who is desperately trying to sink into the crowd that he has a small dick. Do not tell him that you called him 5 times last night and all you got was his stupid Southpark voice message. Don’t tell him that Southpark is stupid, because it's not. Don't tell him to shut up when he tries to answer your questions. Don't tell him that if you had a gun, you would shoot him. That makes us all nervous. Don’t tell him he was an incredibly bad fuck and his brother is way better in bed than he is. That makes us all laugh and does terrible things to your boyfriend's self esteem. Don't do any of this, and if you have to do it, then don't do it on the bloody train. What the fuck is wrong with you?
5. Children. Do not bring children in oversized prams onto a train at peak hour. Call me whatever names you want, you know it's wrong. Think your life through a bit more.
6. Do not see this as an opportunity to hook up. I know I am pressed up against you, I know that in any other situation this would look like I could be naked in thirteen seconds flat and show you all my 'skills'. But that is not this situation. I'm going to my job. I hate my job. There is nothing that will get me naked at this point.

Right. Are we all sorted? Good. I'll see you all tomorrow morning.

Jobs

So, the suck has returned. Because sometimes it all gets just that little bit too much, and you start to think you're never going to make it, and you're not half as funny as you think you are, and you suck at trivia nights even though you have a fancy degree, and you're quite ugly compared to everyone else because you realise you never look good in the mirror in the elevator and it's hard not to look good in a tiny moving space, it's really really hard, and you have nothing interesting to say but you're a writer so you better have something interesting to say and every time you tell your father that you have a play on the first question he asks "And how much does that pay?" and 'they' still haven't listed that as a reasonable excuse for patricide and you're starting to feel old, like old old, and tired and you still haven't got anything interesting to say and you want to buy stuff but you know it's just stuff and so you look at the people that have stuff and don't know it's just stuff and you're jealous.

I blame this on jobs. I hate jobs. Sorry? Oh, you didn't hear me. I said, I HATE JOBS! Yeah, I know you do to. Or perhaps you don't. Perhaps you accept jobs as the way of the world and just get on with it. You own stuff too, don't you? Thought so.

Eight hours (and that's without the travel which is a specific and particularly evil form of torture that we will leave to another day) of sitting, sitting, sitting. That's all I really do. I sit. Occasionally someone I work for and I seem to work for a lot of people will come by or more usually send me an email and say can you do this? And I just do it because that's what jobs are. Doing shit for other people. I hate that bit too.

There's lots of things I hate. I hate it when they come near me and I hate it when they are a ten second walk away from me and choose to send me an email. I hate it when they put cheers at the bottom of an email that explains how the rest of my day is going to be screwed in 12,000 different ways. Cheers this, I say. I hate it when I say No Problem and it's really a huge fucking problem. I hate it when I hand over the work and they say thanks and I say You're welcome. They're not, I don't know why I keep fooling them into thinking they are.

Oh. Yes I do. Because they freaking pay me. That's right. I keep forgetting the small point that I'm not sitting, sitting, sitting out of the goodness of my heart but really because I'm being paid to do it. That lightens the load somewhat.

Carry on job soldiers.

Playwrights talk

In case you haven't found them yet, American playwright Adam Szymkowicz is doing a series of interviews with playwrights. They're fascinating and useful and I'm glad there are people like Adam out there that take the time to do this. I hope he can find endless playwrights and this becomes a life long project.

Anyway, go read about them here

Take that suck

Just when you thought that the suck refused to give up its stranglehold on my life, good news broke through and declared victory.

A little play of mine is on in Chicago. I know. Like, Chicago. This rocks my world.

A tiny amount of good news but we will take good new wherever we find it.

Donate to the cause

If you're looking inside your purse/wallet/pocket and you're thinking to yourself I have all this small change and what I am going to do with it.

THINK NO MORE!

You can go and buy my plays! I know. Can you believe you're this excited and not having a heart attack?

Where, I hear you say?

here and

here and

here .

Go on. You know you want to.

Update

Things progressing at a nice pace here on my week off and the pink highlighter is starting to dominate the to-do list.

The new draft of New Light Shine is actually starting to fly, like REALLY FLY, and this makes Shannon happy in a way that Shannon is not usually happy.

What makes Shannon not happy is the fact that Patrick Swayze is no longer with us. My teenage self is weeping uncontrollably and yelling at her parents that they don't understand. I don't know how many times I saw Dirty Dancing and Ghost but good lord it was a lot of times. In fact, I may watch them again today.

Awkward

According to my stat counter, the majority of people that visit my blog came here by way of two google searches:

1. Asbestos jokes
   
2. Boys in lycra.
   

This does not give me hope for humanity.

Also

I'm thinking of writing a voice play. I'm thinking of doing this in New York.

Just thought I would share.

Just when you thought …

Ah, just when you think you've got me in your grasp, I slip out of the noose and call FREEDOM! Don't think you own me. You don't. But I do kinda like you all and think you're kinda fab and cool in a way I could never hope for. Don't have the hair for it.

But in the ongoing saga that has become bleeding the suck from my life, things have taken a somewhat turn for the better. Let me explain.

1. I have a new play on. It's called Sophie in the Water. It's on in New Jersey. Everyone involved in it so far seem to be those people that I aspire to be like – dedicated, talented, enthusiastic. SUPER UN-SUCKFUL!
   

   
    

2. I made 17 submissions of my work yesterday to various places in the US of A. This involved a week of writing, tweaking, and retyping a whole heap of short plays. Suckful? Me. Never.
   

   
    

3. I have a week off from day job this week. That alone is reason to look confused whenever anyone says the word suck. I'm sorry, I have no idea what you are talking about. Are you having some sort of fit? Should I call someone?
   

   
    

4. I have lists upon lists of things I want to get done this week in my week off. I have been madly slicing through it and using a pink highlighter to emphasise my lack of suck.
   

   
    

5. I'm nearly ready to write the next draft of New Light Shine. I know, I know. Just finish the fucker. But I've been making notes, so many notes, and this play is truly going to rock. I know it, I just bloody know it.
   

   
    

6. Pink highlighters rock. I have two new ones that I mercilessly stole from day job. WONDROUSLY UNSUCKFUL!
   

   
    

So there you have it. Suck-O-Meter not exactly at 0 but suck is definitely looking like it doesn't really belong here.

 

 

Ho, hum

Ah, how the awesomeness (which is of course the opposite of suckfulness - yeah I went to university. Shut up. So what if it was a Creative Arts degree. I said, shut up) drifts further and further away. So hard to be awesome. Perhaps that will be the title of my first self-help book "So hard to be awesome: why bother?" I know. It's got New York Times Bestseller list written all over it.

Anway where were we. Ah yes, the Suck O Meter. Well, the typing is going well. It's going to be very nicely typed. Which is better that it being poorly typed but not much better than anything else.

I did get 8 pages written yesterday morning. This I was quite happy with. Pages written this morning? I didn't even dream I was writing them let alone actually getting out of bed and writing them.

Suck O Meter: 9

This is going to take a lot of work.

Reading

In another thing to add to the less suck, I'm reading this which is haunting and brutal and so beautifully written. I want to hang out with M J Hyland. I've got a feeling her life doesn't have the suckful in it. But then ... Anyway, go read it. Like … now.

Boiling and extracting

Slight improvement over day three's effort of extracting the suckful from my life and boiling it down to make funky jewellery that everyone will think is pretty but would never consider buying. Managed to do some typing last night of what is called New Light Shine but really should be nicknamed Monster Play from Hell and other surrounding neighbourhoods. It's going to be so big it may need a forklift to extract it from the couch when it needs medical attention.

Anyway, typing, typing, typing, was about all I could manage which is definitely not enough to banish the suckful but it's enough to keep it at a manageable level.

Suck O Meter: 6.

You so know we are doing this until I have a solid and irrefutable run of zeros. I wonder if that life has ever existed. We shall see.

Pantomime

Well, it was all going along so promisingly. On Day Two of the surgical removal of the suckful from my life (mind the organs, you never know when they will need to prove their worth) I outdid my day one effort. 32 (handwritten) pages of New Light Shine and the end of Act One. Oh, the parades, the adoration. If only I knew what lay at the end of a hard day's work. Oh wait … none of that happened - apart from the 32 pages. So, I guess that was good enough. Oh no it's not, I hear you say - because I'm convinced that deep down I'm living in a pantomime, oh yes I do. ('It's behind you, it's behind you!" "What?" "Your arse!") No, it's alright. I'll wait until you're done laughing.

Done? Okay then. You sure you don't need more time. Alrighty. Just asking.

If my 32 pages weren't enough (and really, it's not like I solved the wonders of lung cancer here even though the exhaustion that comes with creation should never be underestimated) I made a start on typing the soon-to-be-declared masterpiece. Victory! … Or something close to it.

Suck O Meter for Sunday: 3

And then … And then … This is the quiet moral part of the pantomime so gather in close if you want to learn something from this ridiculous form of theatre - set my alarm to get up this morning and continue work on soon-to-be-declared masterpiece and what the hell happens? Yes, the evil sleep monster came and stole my early morning away. Okay, enough with the pantomime. No need to scream it. And it's my life so there is never any lovely moral to sew into the tail.

Suck O Meter: 11. Oh yes. Don't try and tell me I'm being melodramatic. It's my Suck O Meter.

Let's see if we can improve it slightly by nights end.

Progress

I've decided to try and erase the suckful from my life and to do this will now utilise a highly scientific instrument known as the Suck O Meter. This, of course, is the lay term. It's actually known as the Suckeratatus Ex Meter (yeah, you so know I know Latin).

Anyway, after that depressing post yesterday (which was true and my mood was moments away from sealing the gaps under the door and turning the gas oven up to 11) it's time to get things back into order. Or at least lower the dial on the Suck O Meter.

So I sent my other half to the pub (really, you must go. Drink lots of beers, yell at the football. Do it for me honey ... oh, okay. I really want to stay home and use a toothbrush to clean the grout in the bathroom but you know that I am here to support you in your writing anyway I can - I think this is what he said, he was halfway down the street at the time) and shut off the radio, TV, laptop, anything that produces noise (I tried to send a SOS to God to do something about the roaring wind but like that bastard has ever helped a girl in need). I then jumped into bed with pen and pad and kicked out 20 pages of the new play. Yes, it's New Light Shine. Yes, I know I have been working on it forever and a day. Shut up Dad. These things take time. It's not an excuse to send me yet another application for law school.

Anyway, it made me feel like a million dollars and was able to unseal the gaps and cook a casserole in the gas oven. Rockin? You betcha. Would I liked to have got more done? Oh, how you know me so well.

Suck O Meter 4 (baby steps people)

Silence

Ever have those times when you just can't think of anything to say that doesn't include "My life sucks" "Oh god, my life sucks" "Gee, I wish my life would stop sucking" "Can you leave me alone while I wallow in my life sucking" or "If you keep standing there I'm going to have to kill you just to prove that my life sucks".

Yeah. No one wants to read a blog about that.

A riddle

Consider this:

Your friend is getting married. I don't know if he is your best friend but you are the best man so you're not exactly that guy that I play cricket with ever third Saturday. I don't know his name but he's kinda cool and really funny when he's drunk. Like, hilarious. So can we invite him to the wedding? You're not that guy. You're higher up on the friend chain than that. You're so high up you are put in charge of the bucks night. Yes, you are like super-sized friend. There is no friend greater than you. As super-sized friend, you let your fingers do the walking and wham, bam, thank you maam you have yourself a stripper who does a XXX rated performance called "Anal". Yes, you heard me right.

So bucks night comes around and boy are those beers flowing freely, especially from the guys who play cricket. Is that? Yes, that is the fourth keg being opened. Madam Lash (although I'm sure she had a more creative name than that) is doing her thing which amongst other notable highlights, includes lap dancing, breasts out and all over your face (yes, that's what the move is called) and then, oh then, comes out the strap-on dildo. Remember what the show is called people.

So Mr Best Man who doesn't play cricket but thinks he might try out for Most Valuable Player for the evening ,volunteers to be a part of Madam Lash's extravaganza. He gets a lap dance. Nice. He gets a couple of breasts rubbed on his face. Nicer. He is told by Madam Lash to take off his pants and get on all fours. Remember the strap-on? Not so nice. What does Mr Best Man do? Does he say well, this has been fun but why don't we make it a little less interactive? Or, Thanks very much Madam Lash but my mother always told me to keep my pants on when drinking beer - which would be very good advice for all mothers to tell their sons. Especially when they grow up to be footballers. No. No, Mummy forgot to tell her very grown up son that excellent piece of advice. So there he is - on all fours, literally butt naked. Then Madam Lash produces from some secret compartment in her leather bustier the "special" lotions which everyone knows only drips trouble.

However, in Mr Best Man's defence he did ask Madam Lash to please be gentle which Madam Lash who is there just to collect the cash so she doesn't really care, says "Sure. Course I'll be gentle" as she applies the special lotion to his butt.

As the story goes, Mr Best Man shortly after felt a "sharp pain and a thrust" which millions of young girls on prom night will relate to and suddenly the meaning of triple X made itself very clear to Mr Best Man.

Now, this story would have been hilarious if it had stopped there. But it didn't. Because idiot Mr Best Man then went and accused Madam Lash of rape. Yes, you heard me right. And the whole thing was dragged through the courts until today when 12 sensible people of the jury who no doubt would never be caught anywhere near any kind of "special" lotion told Mr Best Man he was an idiot and sent Madam Lash on her way to a buck's night near you.

You can read about the whole sordid mess here.

Oh, where is a violin when you need one

Oh, poor blog. Poor bloggy blog blog. I pretend to care so much and then I just abandon you without a second thought. In fact I rarely think about you in the first place so a second thought is really some pie in the sky stuff. You know what I mean bloggy blog? Okay, I'll stop that … soon. You know deep down you love it … Bloggy blog. Okay. Last time. Seriously. I swear.


Bloggy blog.

I can't believe you fell for that.

Give peace a chance

This week seems to have flown by. New cash job is pretty full on but everyone is nice and I haven't screwed anything up yet. So that is good and good for my general well-being. My days are also taken up with planning a trip to QLD next week for M's wedding and then general family business. The wedding is turning out to be the easy bit. Trying to get my family to come together as good families should do is proving more difficult. I understand how foreign diplomats feel when dealing with the Middle East. It's very similar. In fact, I might consider that a fallback position if this whole writing thing doesn't work out.

Work has been so full on laterly that all the real writing has been left to the weekend. This weekend I have to read through the monster treatment of New Light Shine and get it straight. The writing has to start by Monday at th latest. I've made a start on it and it's all kinda working. It may be a little BIG. It needs some pruning. Every play can't be about everything. Can it?

Red Pen Weapon

I'm now on the second last scene of the New Light Shine. It's … happening. I think that's the best we can say about that. It's fine, it's good in fact, it's just, you know, work. But I think this process is working. By the time I write this play, I'm going to be all over it like a rash. Seriously. Don't you try and go off on your little tangents characters, as I know you love to do. I've got a red pen and I'm not afraid to use it.

A note to the gods

Am now into Scene Four of my treatment for New Light Shine and without trying to jinx the whole thing, it seems to be going rather well. The step outline is just right. Not too much to actually stifle it when I want to go off into other territory but keeping me enough on track so that it doesn't go off into the wilderness not to return. It's going to be long. The treatment, rather than the play. One is hoping people won't lose decades of their life sitting through the play.

I['m already starting to hear Joe, Peregrine and Anna in my head and how they talk and how they move and what they are like with each. Again, not with the jinxing, but it is all progressing quite nicely and for that I say thank you kindly good gods. Thank you.

Day … gone

Ways I procrastinated today:

• Twitter
  
• Twitter
  
• And I think I spent some time on twitter.
  

Very easy to procrastinate at day job but not so easy to do actual work. Discuss.

Genius

Well, last weekend I outlined, wrote and rewrote 50 pages of Cut for Stone which nearly ruined me forever more. It takes a special kind of genius to wake up on Monday morning more tired than you were on Friday night. But that's what I did and it's now off and into the hands of the all important judging committee. Even if it doesn't get the nod, I'm pretty proud of my effort. AMAZING, what a crazy deadline will do for your productivity.

Tonight

Off to see this tonight. Tash was an actor in One Cloud and was so fabulous I just know it's going to be great.

Good little writer

Have been back at cash job for the last week and a bit. Not the worst cash job I've ever had but not exactly a barrel of fun either. It's busy and it's all to do with metal and mining and things that come out of the ground and get shipped to the other side of the world. Or China. This of course needs a lot of lawyers writing a lot of things to each other. But a job is a job is a job.

But in an effort to become Good Little Writer of the Year, I have been getting up at 4.30 (yes, that's in the am) and working on New Light Shine. It takes every ounce of determination to sit up in bed and say "Get up you lazy little thing". But I have been doing it and now the outline is done and dusted. The whole play is worked out. I know what this play is about, I know what happens and I know why it happens. Happy? You betcha.

I'm going to have to leave it alone for the weekend as I've been longlisted for a fellowship and now I have to get the next round of the application ready by Monday morning. Fun times.

Buy my plays

Just because I know you sit there in your little houses wondering how you can support me and my wonderful writing, tearing yourself up inside because you believe that you haven't sufficiently shown me how much you love me, you can go here and here and buy them. You can just read them or if you are especially wonderful you can hire a hall and put them on. I cater for all needs.

Weekend

I took a break from the massive play over the weekend which probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had but that didn't seem to stop me. I did get a couple of short plays finished and off to various festivals and whatnot so the weekend wasn't a complete bust. Also started an outline for a new one act that looks really good at the moment but I'm guessing that feeling won't last very long.

I also wasted a lot of time thinking about things that I can do nothing about which made for a wonderful if not productive Saturday afternoon.

But it's back to the monster today and for the rest of the week until someone gives me some gainful employment, which it looks like I'm going to have to go out and find at this point. I hate when that happens.

Story

Well, Mr McKee and his 30 hours of story was quite the experience. It was good. I wasn't expecting it to be so helpful especially with writing plays but I have been getting down to it since I finished and it is changing the very way I write. Which makes me sound like I was brainwashed or something and maybe I was but I've been working on New Light Shine for the last two days and while I thought I had an outline and I knew what I was doing … turns out I had a half a scrap of an idea and three characters that were sort of worked out.

Well … all that has now changed. It feels like I'm doing less work each day but it's a gathering process and the whole foundations of the play have now changed and are now cementing themselves into place.

I hate to say it … but I am a convert. Mr MrKee, Sir, I worship at your altar.

I know … I make myself sick too.

Next

Off to the fabled Robert McKee seminar for the next three days. I have a new notebook and 4 new pens. I'm ready to be touched by greatness.

Update

I managed to get two short plays rewritten on Sunday afternoon which was … not exactly the hub of activity I assumed I was going to create. And I'm still tweaking them. Anyway, 2 better than 0.

Cleaning up the vomit

This afternoon, in an attempt (HA!) to get my life (HA!) and my work (HA! HA! HA!) under some sort of control, Shannon Murdoch Inc will be closed for all business that does not pertain to plays that are of the smallish nature.

This, loyal readers, is an on-going issue. I have so many drafts of short plays in various degrees of doneness that it looks like a forest vomited on my desk. It's disgusting. I should be ashamed of myself. Half of myself is laughing at the other half. Something needs to be done and NOW!

I hope to come back to you with better news.

Stay tuned.

After the first draft

I'm not alone in thinking that the worst part of writing, the absolute gut-wrenching, want to die, want to go enrol in law school and forget this whole seedy business is when you have to face the first draft and figure out what the hell you were doing and more importantly, what the hell you are going to do now.

I've been in this for the last few days on New Light Shine. What I thought was a pretty solid first draft turned out to be well, a first draft. The surface of things, a rambling story with a hint of all the things that should exist under the surface but instead just hang like loose threads.

It's overwhelming. I never know where to begin. The instinct is to get my pen out and start rewriting dialogue. This never helps. Let me repeat that. This never helps. Talk about bandaids on gun shot wounds. Draft Two is all about outlines. Detailed documents where everything the play needs to function is worked out before anyone does any talking.

This is where I am with New Light Shine. It's always horrible for the first day or so but after that it starts to become more enjoyable, dare I say fun? Maybe not quite that far. Draft two is the detail stage. Tiny little things, twitches of character and plot, are marked down and bit by bit they start to grow and connect, forming something works as a whole.

Draft Two is not mad writing, seeing where things will go, not caring about what is on the page as long as there is something on the page. Draft Two inches along, tiny step by tiny step, getting bigger and more solid with each detail. It's about creating a detailed world, where your characters are comfortable telling their story and interacting with each other and going on the journey they must go on.

Making connections. That's what I'm trying to say. Draft two is all about making connections.

 

Note

So it turns out there were three female playwrights in the plays I saw on Sunday night (Sorry Hoa) which made me feel better about the whole all female all the time theatre going thing. Unfortunately, three of them were completely rubbish. Fortunately it wasn't all the female playwrights. Only two of them. I won't mention who they were. That's not nice.

But here's a note to playwrights: Stop bashing me over the head with how bad the world is. I know. I live in it. Give me some hope, just a little, for the love of God. End of note.

Reading

Reading this which I've been meaning to for years. So far it's not quite as good as I was hoping it was going to be which is always the way with books that have got lashings of praise from all corners of the globe. Gee, wouldn't that be nice? But still I keep turning the page so there is definitely a lot of fairly good going on in this book.

Update

Still waiting for the last scene of the first draft of Cut for Stone to give itself up. Part of me is telling myself that the reason that the scene won't come is that there are all the problems in the rest of the play. The other half is telling me that that is a cop out. Just write the damn scene. It's a very uninteresting battle in my head to see who wins out first.

In happier news, I've finally started a "youth" play that I actually like and I think is actually quite good. Well, good in a first draft sense.

I'm going to see this tonight. My bid to see only women playwrights is kind of screwed with this one but there are two female playwrights. I'm also seeing this next week. Does that even up the score? Maybe I have to rethink this whole thing because I really want to go see the Will Eno play that's on at La Mama. If I see all the female playwrights, all of them, then maybe I get to see what I want after that. Except for Joanna Murray-Smith. She really doesn't need me flying the female flag for her. She seems to be doing alright and really, her plays shit me to tears. You heard it here first.

I'm also reading this, which I found in a remainder bin and pretty much like the cover so bought it for five bucks. Then I find out it is shortlisted for the Orange Prize and proves yet again that people are dumb and don't know good when they see it. It's the fictionalised story of Nikola Tesla who invented the radio and AC electricity and got screwed out of his invention by Edison and Westinghouse and died penniless in a hotel in New York. Don't let that put you off. Because it's also about pigeons. It's a great read. Find it in a remainder bin near you.

Almost there

Have almost finished the first draft of Cut for Stone. I have one scene left to write and I can't think of a thing to say. I know who is in the scene, I know where it takes place, I just don't have a clue what they are going to say. It's almost there but not quite close enough to grab hold of and devour.

It could be the fact that my brain is mush at the moment. I've been writing for about 7 hours non-stop and the grey matter is begging for a nap.

I think some dancing around the house might be in order. Sitting in a chair for hours on end makes me remember that I have rheumatoid arthritis. Time to get the joints working.

Hating myself

In an effort to destroy any last thread of self-confidence I may have been clutching with both hands, I made a list of things that I haven't done last night. This included:

1. Get a day job I actually enjoy;
   
2. Have a child; and
   
3. Save money.
   

Wow. I have issues.

On the upside I have finished a short play, a one-act play and the first two scenes of Act Two of Cut for Stone in the last three days. Not exactly a child, but not exactly a complete failure.

Rusty and I … Computer says No.

Saw State of Play yesterday. I was hoping for it to be better. I guess I can't get past how much Russell Crowe makes me want to throw up my lunch. Have I lost all ability to be entertained by commercial films? Jesus. How pretentious. But on the other hand quite true. I tried very hard to give a shit about these people and their problems, but I just couldn't do it. Maybe because their problems were so huge, national security and whatnot, that I just couldn't relate. Give me a dysfunctional family who don't know how to speak to each other and I am so there. I may even cry for you.

Today

I have a list of things to do today – some of it admin stuff, some of it crappy, some of it actual writing. I can't get to the writing until I've done all the little bits and pieces because that's all I will think about until it's actually done.

So that is first. I'm hoping to be utterly unbelievably productive today. Best to get to it.

Crush

I began reading this on the train this morning.

Have I mentioned how much I love Paul Auster? I'm sure I have. I'm sure I couldn't have gone this long without gushing like a 12 year old.

I first came across Mr Auster when I was in University. Being the serious artist that I was, I dutifully sat on the couch on Sunday afternoon and watched Sunday Arts on the ol' ABC. One afternoon, which we will call The Day My Life Changed Forever, a documentary on my aforementioned literary crush came on. I think I ruined my couch with the drooling.

Turns out he can write a book or two as well so that was a bonus. If you haven't read him, go, go, go. What the hell have you been waiting for?

Yeah Yeah

I have done some of the worst writing of my life today. Sitting in the middle of a wind storm with my "monster" sized skinny flat white, I wrote about 5 pages of people going:

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And that was the highlight.

But I did make one of my characters cry, and I've been trying to make him cry for about a month.

I don't know if this says more about my characters or about me. I mean, seriously, who holds the pen here?

It was a nice idea

I had all the impetus to write so much tonight. I got about 5 pages. This play was supposed to write itself. It's such a good idea.

Chicks with no dicks

More interesting things written about the "female playwright" issue can be found here. This all started with the Primary Stages thing. Primary Stages in New York has a season of women playwrights. People started cancelling their subscription. People put two and two together and got a WHAT THE FUCK?

I can't tell you how many times artistic directors and whatnot have been thoroughly surprised (and slightly horrified) when they find out I'm a woman. Horrified. I'm not kidding.

Nuclear

Last night I went and saw this. I don't really know what to say about it other than it was riveting and attention-grabbing and big and messy and wonderful. Love, love, love and while I have had many things to say about Robyn Nevin over the years … you rocked the socks off that character.

I haven't stopped thinking about the staircase in it. I don't know why. Perhaps I want to write something with a staircase. I don't know why I thought that was important enough to write about it but I seriously can't stop thinking about that damn staircase.

Perhaps I like the levels. This I will need to think about.

 

A day in the life of …

This week seemed to rush past in a blur of paper. It never ceases to amaze me how much paper a law firm can accumulate. All I heard was this week was "You see that huge folder of very important legal stuff and general stuff that is also super important and have you seen how much I make in a year because if you had and we won't talk about this for very long because talking about money is tacky and usually reserved for people that don't make money so, well, that's not me. I make a lot of money, A … Lot but god don't make me talk about it, but you have seen my Mercedes because of that day when I made you rush down to the car park because my life is so busy I can't possibly remember small white plastic cards that actually get me into this place where I accumulate money as fast as I do wives, what number am I on again? That doesn't matter. I'm getting off track here and I'm a busy man, an important busy man, a rich, important busy man and there's nothing better in this world than being that. You don't understand. You never will. For one you're a woman so there's a major problem that's going to take some serious thought to overcome. Another thing is that apparently you write plays. Someone told me this. Whispered it in fact. I didn't believe them. It's easier than actually thinking about what that actually means. Writes play. You're hurting my brain and I don't like that. I'm not alone. Rich, important, busy men don't have time for things that don't fit nicely and securely into white plastic folders …

WHITE PLASTIC FOLDERS! I knew there was a point to this. You see that one there. I need five copies, perfect copies, don't be going and changing things around. I'll be watching. Now that I know you don't fit with perfect plans and things that are white and shiny, like myself, well, I won't look now but the ground beneath my feet is starting to shake slightly. I blame you for this of course. You may look the part with your black pants and your stripy business shirt but we both know that you're not part of this and that is FREAKING ME OUT! You hear what I'm saying? I may need to go call my therapist. In fact you should do that. I'm paying you after all. Like I'm paying him. Like I pay all my wives and the children they insist on having even though I've made it perfectly clear that making money, serious money and turning up to watch Beatrice or Alice or whatever pseudo-upper class name they call them try and whack a ball is not ever going to happen. Why can't they ever actually whack the ball? If they could actually whack the ball and we didn't have to waste so much time telling Clara and Adelaide that we're proud of them for actually trying, then maybe I could squeeze them into my schedule. If they played after midnight that would be a great help. Do you understand what I'm saying? Are you writing this down? Am I going to be a character in your play? I don't know what I think about that and I'm not sure I have the time to have an opinion about that or anything else. I'm making money, I don't have time for ideas as well. I am only one man. A rich important busy man but still … I'm already late for a meeting with the time I've taken telling you that I need five perfect copies of that folder. It's extremely important. Many many dollars depend on the photocopying of those folders so if you could drag yourself away from thinking of all the wonderful things you are going to write about me, that would be wonderful … Thank you."

Only women

There seems to be a lot of talk around the moment about the status of women in theatre. Or, more accurately, the fact that we have none. This talk has been going on for so long it has taken on the characteristics of that thing that you did forever ago and she won't ever let you forget about it.

One of the reasons that the talk keeps popping is that nothing ever changes. We still are vastly underrepresented, we still have to fight the notion that we don't tell "well-made stories", we still have to put up with patronising comments such as "a woman just won the Pulitzer, what are you people whinging about?".

So instead of talk, I'm protesting with my feet. Next weekend will be the last play I see by a man. I'm only going to plays written by women. It's not a lot of a protest, but it's something. I have a feeling I'm not going to be going to a lot of theatre.

This week

This week seems to have gone by in a blur of day job, packing boxes at day job, writing an application, packing more boxes, pretending to care when my workmates spend forty-five minutes talking about hair colour and other life things.

However, the work continues. I have done my application and sent it off. Yesterday, I typed up the rest of Act One of Cut for Stone and finished the outline for my first short film script. Seriously, the rocking that I am doing is practically tipping the boat over.

I've been leaving for work 45 minutes earlier and writing at a café near work. Not only am I becoming one of those people that are so disciplined they should have a permanent scowl and a ruler, I am also not letting day job overwhelm everything else. Another thing that is helping is that the other half tried to "fix" the remote control and actually broke the crap out of it. TV watching has become difficult and frustrating. Much easier to get off the couch and go do some work. I should congratulate him but I won't. Treat em mean and all that.

Magic tricks

Yesterday started out as one of those days where all inspiration leaves the building and checking out other people have fun on Facebook becomes my life's work. As it was last "working" day before I have to go back to cash job on Monday for what seems like forever, I got really mean and school teacherish on myself. You are staying at this desk until you get this play to the end of Act One. It took forever. I didn't want to be there, the play was falling apart in front of my eyes and then , out of nowhere, one of the characters came out with something and it all, magically, seemed to fall into place. Yahoo!

I then took the longest bath ever – well, I deserved it – and finally finished The Savage Detectives by Roberto Belano. I have struggled and struggled with this book and then, just like my play, in the end it all fell into place. Great book and trust me, worth the struggle.

I'm off now to the food markets to get food for the next week and there is promise of more bacon and egg sandwiches for brunch. This is all good, because later, I have to tackle an application. I fear my mood is about to change.

I’d do you

And I simply, simply, simply, CAN'T WAIT until this arrives on my doorstep. I want to marry Jermaine. I do, I do, I do.

Birthday

It's also best friend's birthday. She's declared that she's only turning 32 even though there's twenty-four months of life that she has lived through. We had a long discussion on the phone how we are turning into crotchety old women. It was alarmingly consoling.

Happy Birthday K. Hope you're having a good one.

Genius declared

Things are progressing very nicely with Vivisection. So much so it has a brand new title … Cut for Stone. It's perfect. It's better than perfect. The word genius has been bandied about since it was declared … Sure, that was me, but the point remains … What was the point again?

Oh right, the play. There are still troublesome spots, more than I like, but it's a first draft so I'm trying not to get too concerned. There's something effortless to it as well, compared to a lot of plays that I write. I've got this feeling that if I keep at it, it's just going to work itself out. I don't think I've ever had this feeling. Maybe it's confidence. Maybe it's because I'm a genius.

Where I am

Have written about 80 pages (longhand) in the past week on the new play. It seemed to go off the rails somewhere over the weekend and now I'm typing and putting it all together. Sort of. There are so many things going in this play (too many perhaps) but I know that if I keep working at it then it's going to come together. I know it, I know it, I know it.

I'm going to try and get it all typed today … so I can start ripping it to pieces and putting it back together again.

In other news I made the best beef ragout last night. Like seriously sensational.

All the other things

Today it took me three hours to return an email. Which either makes me a very caring human being or a complete moron that can't string a sentence together.

So that was the morning.

This afternoon I've been submitting, submitting, submitting which has got all the deadlines out of the way for the next couple of days. It's always at the beginning and end of the month that everyone decides that they want stuff.

Now, it's onto some typing of stuff already written because it can't stay in my notebook, all lovely and perfect, for ever. Unfortunately.

And then it's back to the research that seems to grow and grow.

New

Today, apart from piling on as many layers as humanly possibly to ward off the cold, has also been most productive.

I've started a new play, with the working title Vivisection, for the Kit Denton fellowship. The research is piling up and has to be dealt with quick smart. But as of this afternoon, there is a prologue, scene one and the beginning of scene two.

It's all about medical research and clinical trials on humans but it's mostly about families, or one family.

Now to that research …

Smile

Things that are amusing me this morning (which is now afternoon):

• It is a cyclone outside. Things are flying everywhere, there's rain, there's hail, there's nothing nice about it all. Inside, it's all warm and cosy and some guy on the radio is talking about mushrooms and eggplants and good things to cook for winter. Oh, and I just made a sensational cup of coffee and someone is about to make me egg and bacon sandwiches for lunch.
  
• I had so much sleep last night I feel 10 years younger. There's a new show on TV called 10 years younger in 10 days. Fuck that. Go get some sleep. End show. Roll credits.
  
• I'm reading this. It's doing my head in but in a very amusing way.
  
• I'm going to finish a draft of my pilot this afternoon. The pilot is slightly amusing.
  
• Did I mention the egg and bacon sandwiches? Oh, it is good to be alive.
  

Things to do

Other things:

Websites to check out to waste time, find ideas, marvel at the horror of humanity:

Women's view on news – news totally about women. Actually, it's more like terrible things that happen to women and how it is truly amazing that we have lasted this long.

Mira's List – all about grants and funding for artists. It's basically US focused but she writes fantastic posts on tips for grant writing and whatnot.

Where I am.

Update:

1. My play Bloody Bride Wife that was going to be the coolest play ever, thus making me coolest playwright ever, has turned out to be a huge steaming pile of shit. What a shame. It's been sent to the corner to work its shit out (and its mixed metaphors) and then we will have some serious counselling sessions.
   
2. Lots of spectacular fellowships, opportunities have deadlines soon. This is what is going to be taking up my time in the next couple of weeks. Because I am the sharing type:
   
   1. Kit Denton Fellowship
      
   2. Realise your dream
      

   Don't they all sound wonderful? I think there are more. I'll repost if there are. Yes, I will, little blog. This is not going to work if you constantly bring up the past.
   

3. My little play Sophie in the Water, I think, is finished. Now to find a wonderful theatre company to put it on.
   
4. I wrote a pilot. I had so much fun I wrote another one. That one is not finished yet.
   
5. I'm going to begin a second draft of New Light Shine. Typing up the first draft, I found some really good stuff in there. There is also a lot of shit. Hello, second draft.
   
6. There's a whole heap of short plays situated on various points on the scale of shitdom.
   
7. In exercises of stating the bleeding obvious, I'm working on too many projects. Like way too many. It's time to do some focussing exercises.
   

   
    

 

Breath

In other exciting news, my little play Breath, is getting a production in Minneapolis at this place. Check out their website. Don't they sound like the coolest people alive? I wish I could go see it. Or get drunk in the schmick bar eating some Polish fusion food and feeling like this could just be the life.

Future

Have been working up a storm in screwed cash job, saving pennies, because … I AM GOING TO NEW YORK! In October. It's going to be fab. I just know it.

All suggestions on what I should see, do, eat, drink, worship at the altar of, gratefully accepted.

I have a feeling I'm going to weep when I see Broadway. What a girl.

Turning up on your doorstep

Oh, poor neglected blog. Look at you sitting there in your virtual reality, alone, neglected, wondering if it was you that brought this upon yourself. What did I do? Am I supposed to do something other than sit there and look good? Am I supposed to think for myself? Write my own posts?

Fret not sweet blog. Like a true commitment phobe I am back and this time it is for good. Really. Promise. Swear on my … something really important to me. This time it's going to be different. I'm going to change. I'm going to be everything you want and need. I'll be your soul mate. Promise … Come on. Give us a little smile. We'll have make up sex later. Yes. Promise I won't come first.

Other stuff

In other news, I have a play on in Washington from tomorrow. It's been a long time between drinks for my short plays and them being on stage and so happiness doesn't even come close.

Also, in harking back to old posts, I did finish Molasses and got it in on time. It's now called Dark Habits which sucks as a title but it was the best I could come up with at the time.

I've almost finished a rough first draft of Bloody Bride Girl which is on the boards for major writing project of the writer's retreat for one. But who knows? I may want to write haikus all week. I doubt it but I'm open to the possibility.

I'm still working on the short play Sophie by the water. I seriously can't make this play work. I plug on.

 

The End of Psycho

Oh, what a couple of weeks in the never-ending day job. First there was the boss with the psychotic wife … and the psychotic mistress. Then there was the staring boss. It was Friday the 13^th yesterday, I swear to god he was giving me the evil eye.

But it's all over now and boy does this little writer feel good. I have a whole week next week by myself. Yes, that's right. ALL BY MYSELF. The other half is off to some far-fetched place for his job and I am turning our little shack into a writer's retreat for one. I am going to write and write and write and … well, you get the picture.

 

So far … so okay

Finished up on page 44 last night of the new script which is not as far as I wanted to be but brain fried writing is almost as bad as not writing at all. Page 44 is about the half-way point which means that there is going to have to be a hell of a lot of writing today to get it finished. Can she do it? Can she really, really do it?

Stay tuned.

Update

2 ½ hours of work and 10 more pages down. Which actually didn't seem a lot when I was doing it but now seems magnificent and genius-like and that word that is never used to describe me … prolific.

Now, the next 10 pages.

Back

Again, with the no blogging. I keep thinking I should but then I think I don't really have much to say. But then I always have something to say. ALWAYS.

So this is what has been happening.

Heat, fires, my birthday, fire, heat, more heat, unbelievable fire … okay, you get the message.

But that's what has been happening outside in the big wide world and here in this space, we are all about me.

I turned 32. This has always been a number in my head. Things have to happen by 32 or I'm giving the whole thing up. And while I don't think that will happen … what would I do with my time? … it is serving as a good kick up the ass to get some things done. My only resolution for being 32 that rain, hail, shine, alcohol, hard days work, doesn't matter, there is writing done every day. EVERY DAY. I've only been doing it for 19 days but there has been a couple of days when so tired, so very very tired but I've pulled out the notebook and done at least a page. Writers write, so they say.

So this is what I'm working on:

Molasses – this was a short play I wrote when I was at NIDA. I've always thought it was a long play trying very hard to be a short play but just not getting there. So it's now, way too many years after it should have been, being turned into a long one act. I'm hoping to get it to about 70-80 minutes. I've been working on the outline for the last few weeks and yesterday started the actually writing. I'm on page 23. I'm trying to get a first draft by Sunday. Wish me luck.

Sophie by the water – this is a short play that sort of came out of nowhere and now is causing more trouble than it really should. If you going to arrive out of nowhere with all your baggage and your stuff, you might as well be nice and well-formed about it all.

Home Law – another short play that I had the idea for a couple of months back and it stayed as a one page note until I turned it into an outline a couple of weeks back. It's still an outline.

Bloody Bride Girl (working title) - the lead character of this just came to me the other day and started talking about stuff. Weird stuff. Funny stuff. Murderous stuff. Love her already. This is just a set of ideas and dialogue snippets.

I'm trying to limit how much I am working on. This won't work but the idea is there.

Also

I'm also reading The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas which is fab, fab, fab.  Go read.  Go on.  Why not?  Well, we're all busy.  You don't know busy.  Really, you don't.  You're just lazy.  Yeah, that's right.  Lazy.  Look, there's no need to cry.  Why are you crying you big baby?  You remind me of the kid in the book.  Well, if you read it you would know if it was an insult or not so go read it. 

Plans schmans

Things have gone slightly off the rails in the last week or so, namely due to the cash job and the demands of.  Have still yet to find a way to manage both a full day's work and then writing at night.  I manage to get something down every day but it's hardly any serious work.  However, there is a long weekend here this weekend and that means writing, writing, writing.  I'm working on a one-act and a couple of 10 minute plays.  I'm hoping to get a completed first draft of the one-act done and dusted and even typed - oh, how she tries.  If only trying were half the battle but apparently it is nothing of the battle at all.  I'm also working on the first 10 pages of a script for a competition and that HAS TO BE DONE BY TOMORROW.  So, perhaps ... I MIGHT DO THAT TOMORROW!   There's also a house to clean and a play to be watched and I would really like to see one of the dozen or so great fucking movies that are out at the moment. 

Rock on

Back to the dreaded cash job tomorrow but with hopes of a trip to the Big Apple sometime this year, I am looking at this as a means to an end or an unnecessary evil or something that I have to get through in order to get to that beautiful shiny place.

With the prospect of more money coming in, there was an overwhelming need to go spend some. And spend I did. But on good things, not things I will look at in a few weeks with the exclamation WTF? I bought myself a seat in Robert McKee's Story seminar because I need to do more of these things. Important, career things or some such nonsense. 11 hours a day for 3 days. I don't do anything for 11 hours a day except sometimes sleep. Sounds like fun ... or some such nonsense.

Have also declared after two weeks that my new method of getting writing done is an unqualified success and someone should give me an award of some sort. Productivity has now become my bitch. I couldn't be happier.

Finished the next short play which was to be called Heart but was pipped at the post by Act Accordingly. Done, sent off, onto the next thing , which is ... a new play based on an old play which I wrote for NIDA back in 2005 and tried to squeeze it into a ten minute play but failed so miserably I'm still licking my wounds but I persevere. I think it's going to be around the 40 minute mark. And it's better than anything I came up with at NIDA.

Rockin it? You betcha.

New play

Managed to drip a long first draft of new play with could be called Heart but who the hell knows onto the page. It's way too long and I'm not quite sure how to fix that but I guess that's my job. Now, it's time to get it onto the computer and work some damn magic on it. I kinda like it though. It's funny. Well, I think it's funny.

This morning is all about the rewrites and if I get the nod that I have to go back to cash job next week then I may take myself off to the movies. Or work a bit more. Who knows?

I’m so smart

Have had two blah blah days writing. Haven't really got my groove thing on or some such nonsense. No more. Enough. I have to get a short play done by tomorrow (or the world will end, rampant disease will infect my community, some such nonsense) and I've been dancing around it for the last couple of days. It's a ten minute play and has three characters. I knew what I wanted to say with it, I knew the basic structure of the thing, I had the characters loosely mapped out … in short, everything I needed to write a first draft. And then … blah. I paced, I moaned, I grumped through the hours until it was time for cocktails.

And then it hit me. If you have three characters in a ten-minute play, you need two of them to have some sort of prior relationship, or else you waste too much time trying to get them to talk to each other or figure out who each of them is, and you never actually get to the story you're trying to tell now.

This is my one and only playwriting truism. Enjoy it.

The end of an era

Sad news. Our beloved goldfish Kevin gave up the ghost and travelled upwards to the big goldfish pond in the sky. M and I are devastated. Absolutely devastated. We had this fish for a year and a half. We loved him more than was healthy to love a fish. A five dollar fish at that. M and I sat around for a long time trying to comfort ourselves, telling ourselves what a good fish he was and whatnot. It was all a bit naff if you weren't a part of it all.

I woke up yesterday and went out to the living room. Before I could remember I said "Hi Kev" as I do every morning. All that was there was an empty goldfish bowl. It was the saddest thing I ever saw. I know, I know, it's a goddamn goldfish. I get it. But it was Kev. And Kev was no ordinary goddamn goldfish and you weren't there so you don't know.

So I hightailed it down to the market and bought Little Sam who is very cute and never stops moving. Unlike Kev.

Productivity and I are BFF

Finished short play, now called Linger which has been duly sent off to the other side of the world. It's based on/inspired by the statement "You're good enough to eat". So there. I rock, no need to dance around it.

Also have written first draft of another short play called Revolution which I'm about to type up, rewrite and also send to the other side of the world. Totally rock, no need to dance around it.

Have started to make notes about a long one act I'm going to write very soon about baby farming. I think it's going to be great. Morality, women, babies, and the men that think they control all that. Awesomely rock, no need to dance around it.

Also watched the most fascinating documentary about Dr William Freeman, the man that invented the lobotomy. Wow. And I thought I had an ego. Did you know the youngest person he performed a lobotomy on was 4 YEARS OLD!!!!. Unbelievable. He also performed a lobotomy on a 10 year old boy who didn't like to go to bed. Yes, I don't feel like dancing either.

Who loves me?

Well, if they're handing out awards for most productive first day of the new year, I would like to humbly raise my hand and nominate myself. Things achieved yesterday:

1. One Cloud – Typed up, rewritten, sent off to four theatres. DONE!
   
2. New short play – Started to write this on Wednesday and got about 8 pages in and realised that nothing was happening and it was all a bit slapstick and not in a good way, in a totally ridiculous way that made me want to do bad things to small fluffy animals. Anyway, rewrote that yesterday and while still needing a bit (read: a lot, a lot, oh god, a lot) of work, has a first draft and is kind of strange and lovely.
   
3. Served up quite the most fantastic antipasto platter to ever set foot in Footscray.
   

Diamonds. Chocolates, trips to New York … you decide what the prize should be. I'll get back to the list of things to do for today.