I'd rather write this Christmas (than play board games)

Over on Academic Twitter I've a tweet that's getting a bit of attention.

Hey academic twitter rather than the “We have to work over Christmas” V “You are terrible if you do work over Christmas” how about adopting “You do you” and letting people do it their way?

— Dr Emily Garside (@EmiGarside) December 22, 2018

What started (as most good things do) as a good old fashioned subtweet has come to sumarise some of my feelings about the season. And created a few more.

The point of the tweet was that many academics (and creatives for that matter) will be spending part of Christmas working in some capacity. Many of us will be working at our 'Day jobs' in retail or hospitality, or indeed at our 'real jobs' in the theatre for some of it. Whether it's for money or creativity, well done, and may the Christmas asshats be few (I'll be running the gallery Christmas eve, and grateful this year it's unlikely I'll get shouted at by customers on Christmas eve).

But many of us will be working elsewhere over the break as well. Many will be reading, writing, editing beavering away on projects because the Christmas break gives them some downtime, and more importantly headspace to do that.

The flip side: if you need Christmas off to totally switch off and recharge, then come back at it in the New Year. Crack on! you do you.

Of course the 'You need a break, it's bad working practice to work over the break' neglects a key factor: many academics (and creatives) have a job outside their 'real work' to pay the bills. So the shut down over Christmas is a rare and ideal time to do some 'real work' when the rest of the world has stopped for a couple of weeks. It's actually a privilege to have that 'You must have a real break' mentality. And maybe some people need to remember that, and check their privilege before they tell others how to manage their time, run their lives or their careers.

Oh also the minor detail perhaps that not all academics (or creatives) are Christian....or celebrate Christmas in any way. And as I said in a follow up tweet, I'm not suggesting anyone references over Christmas dinner, but by 27th December when it's pissing down with rain and there's nothing good on TV...well a few hours writing sound like utter bliss to many of us.

Because here's the other thing, this 'take a break for Christmas' assumes everyone has a log-burning-on-the-fire-families-playing-games Christmas.

And that's the other side of what I've been thinking a lot this year.

I'm sick of feeling second-rate because I don't play board games at Christmas.

Firstly, board games are fairly hard to play when you're an only child and it's just you and your Mum. Secondly, the board games playing, no TV on Christmas, presents after lunch...seems like a weird Middle Class parallel world that looks nothing like my Christmases past or present.

More importantly the frankly nauseating refrain of 'Christmas being about family' but meaning a very specific version of 'family' that involves large gatherings of extended family makes people like me, with no real extended family to speak of, feel a bit...well flat inside.

So while I might joke that Christmas involves drinking gin and watching crap telly with Mum because I'm common as muck. But also you can't help but feel like not having a family to sing carols with in some pseudo Dickensian manner around a tree is somehow a personal failing.

Add to that the being a certain age and not running around with partner, kids etc of my own. And my Hallmark Christmas gets viewed as more and more tragic. I don't know what it is this year, but because I'm not 'driving home for Christmas' being so excited to see a plethora of extended family or celebrating with a picture perfect family, but instead staying where I always do, contemplating what work I can get done in the quiet time...I feel like I'm failing at Christmas.

None of that is to judge anyone who does, and genuinely enjoys that kind of Christmas. That's great, and truly I'm happy for whatever makes any of us happy. But I know there's loads of us out there with weird mixed up families, people we'd rather not spend time with. Odd traditions, no traditions. And all those who've lost people they wish were here. This is all for you. Just because your Christmas doesn't look like a film. Just because you do your own thing (maybe you go to the pub, eat Chinese food, celebrate a day early or late). This one's for you. Let's all do us.

More importantly I'm sick of feeling a bit rubbish and sad because Christmas for me doesn't look like it 'should'.  Honestly? Christmas films don't do it for me. I'm not big on Christmas parties. I'm not big on family (having never really had one of those big family-type families). You know what I'm big on? making and eating a metric shit tonne of food. Hanging out with my Mum. Watching crap telly. Drinking. All of these things bring me actual joy.

And on Boxing Day, if I feel like doing some writing, rather than sitting there feeling guilty about wasted time. I bloody well will. Because in the long term that'll make me happy too. In the short term as well. Because there's only so much shit TV I can watch.

'Just write it' and other stupid/sensible advice

This is a blog about how writing a book is so much more than sitting your arse down and writing (though that helps).

In recent weeks (months?) every single night without fail, at around 9pm until sometimes Midnight I've had a tightening in my chest and a sense of being paralysed with panic, for not writing the book. No matter if I had (rarely) worked on the book that day. No matter how flat out I'd been with other things. No matter if I was too ill to be working (but had anyway). I went to bed each night utterly gripped with the fear of failure- and that I'd brought it on myself.

This totally came to a head last week, which was the anniversary of getting the contract. I've had to ask for several extensions. It should have been done long ago, and I still don't know if it'll be done in time for this deadline.

Everything I say sounds like a million excuses. Which they are.  But while writing a book is sitting your arse down and writing, it's also a million other things. It's earning a living first and foremost. Unless you're very privileged. It's living life day to day- buying food and walking the dog. It's also keeping a social life, self care, whatever else you want to call it. Because you need to stay sane. Especially if it's a subject that needs a little bit of your heart and soul.

And all the above has been a struggle in the last 12 months. Everything has frankly been a struggle. I  feel like I've been ground into the ground by this year. The truth of the matter is the book has been bumped off time and time again, because there's always something else.

But the truth is also, you can't give something like this the attention it deserves if your head isn't functioning as it should. For me the biggest cause of mental health issues is job related stress- more accurately lack of job related stress. This year was a year of it. And so in January this year there was the murder-admin job, that destroyed my confidence, and very much messed with my head. Then came months of temping in the Hospital. Only this week, a friend reminded me he'd told me to quit, because of what it was doing to me, but I couldn't. And so the book wasn't getting written. As much as unemployment should serve writing, it doesn't when you worry how you're going to pay the next bill.

It me, despairing over the state of things

And then there's the creative projects. Two plays, which I couldn't say no to. But I found out in the summer, that there isn't enough room in my head for two intense plays and an equally intense book. Luckily after one spectacular breakdown, my incredibly understanding producer let me shelve our project for a bit. And as a brilliant friend, every time I try and pick it up reminds me that the book comes first now, for a bit.

But that's the panic, in this world, that we can't let a single opportunity pass us by. So I kept saying yes to everything else, every opportunity, because we're all conditioned to not let anything pass us by, lest that was our 'ticket' to the thing we wanted.

But the thing was all that was distracting me from the thing I wanted, which I already had: the book. But because I think nobody will care, because I think everyone thinks the more important thing is to get a real job, to get back on the prescribed career path, be a proper grown up, I kept sacrificing the one thing I wanted, for everything else. Which then left me awake at night, paralysed with fear and guilt about not doing it.

Someone said to me this week, maybe I'm scared to finish because I don't know what's next. And while that's not wrong- I've been living with this in one way or another for so long, being without it is a scary thought. It's more than that. I think some people build to the big thing, the thing that's most important to them. And it feels like, for now, and the foreseeable future, there won't be anything like this for me. And that's a scary thing. It's a scary thing to think about being over yes, but it's also about the pressure to get it right. The sense of having got this far, and then royally fucking it up is really what's terrifying me, what's holding me back.

It's also, as my friend pointed out today, a result of the damage caused by m academic experience. That work- the first half of the book at least- is directly from my PhD. It's all the work that time and time again I was told wasn't good enough. Told that I wasn't good enough. Because also, contrary to what some people think criticising the work is and always will be personal, if it's done badly. Which it was. It's no secret that my PhD broke me. I know now that I was better than they let me be, I know that my work is better than they ever gave me credit for. But undoing that level of systematic bringing down, well it's hard.

And because, despite it all, I love it. I love it so much. And it is so ridiculous, and so difficult to explain to anyone. I love these plays. I love the productions (yes even the one with the penis). I love that sitting through and writing about a Kushner play is a particular kind of self inflicted torture.  I love every stupid thing Andrew Garfield said to the press over two years. I love James McArdle (obviously). I love the stupid rain machine I've dedicated far too many words to. I love pulling together my love of Cold War Politics and theatre. I love screaming 'Have you no decency'. I love my group of fangirls and boys who know exactly what I mean by that. I love Marianne Elliott just for all of it.

And I want to do this work right, by all of the above. (Even bloody Tony.)

I don't know what I'd be without this play. But I also feel like I've got a lot to prove with this work. But to pull those two together, I just have to write it like I love it. Because that's all I can do.

My friend Kirsty gave me the greatest Christmas gift this week- she got me to come and stay with her and her family for a few days, and work on the book. Now I didn't bash out 1000s of words, locked away in a room like in a 'proper' writing retreat. That wasn't the point. What I got was far more valuable. I got two full days of just sitting and working on the book- but with someone in the room to a) make sure I did, and didn't just do another thing b) someone to talk to about it who understands. More important than that, really, was taking me out of my everyday life for a bit. I haven't had a break this year, and stopping, being in another place, having kids to entertain and gin to drink (not at once honest) and just stepping back for a second.

It is about sitting your arse down and writing. And I have, having counted today 139, 000 words of the book (way more than I need). I have done work. It is there. It will be there. But it's so much more than just sitting down and writing. And it takes a village to do that.

And as it's Christmas. As it's been a year, a big thank you to everyone who has listened to the writing of the book (or indeed the not writing). And everyone who has believed in it so far. Every time one person tells me they want to read it, I think it's worth it. You are fabulous creatures, each and every one.

Coming out - Ulcerative Colitis (or my body hates me sometimes)

It's Crohn's and Colitis awareness week, and I decided fairly last minute to put this blog out there. It feels like coming out of the, as Joey Tribiani would say 'non gay closet'. And actually harder. I'm happy being a raging Queer. Not quite so happy sharing the sometimes disgusting ways my body has betrayed me in the last five years.

I have Ulcerative Colitis. I don't even get the cooler older sister Crohns that people have actually I don't know, heard of. So I don't even get to name it mostly, I just say 'it's a condition like Crohns'. Diagnosed five years ago, and something of a dirty secret of mine since then. It's not, let's face it, a particularly sexy disease is it?

What is it? well this blog here explains it better than I do in medical terms. But basically it's an inflammatory bowel disease and autoimmune condition. Incurable, if treatable with a whole host of secondary symptoms that make life super duper fun. And of course it's about stomaches, and let's face it, poo. And nobody likes talking about that.

Funny that I spend my professional life shouting people should talk about HIV and sex, but my own illness, I hide in the non-gay closet over. It still very much feels like 'nice girls shouldn't talk about that' but well, since when have I been a nice girl anyway?

So yes, I have Ulcerative Colitis. It's a big old bag of not fun. But it's also a hidden chronic illness, which comes with a whole bag of issues. Including if I'm honest a sense of shame about it. That because I usually function fairly well, that I'm not ill 'enough' to claim chronic illness. That if it doesn't totally disable me then I'm not impacted enough to talk about it. But of course it does, I've just adapted, and of course there's the looming possibility of what it might do to me in the future.

My diagnosis was awful. From about 9 months going back and forth to GPs (not their fault, even when they know what it is they have to 'prove' they've tried enough before referring). I was on peppermint pills for months. Because it settles a stomach. They do nothing, funny enough for autoimmune disease.

It's a terrifying illness pre-diagnosis. Mainly because your body offers up a vast array of symptoms that make no sense in isolation, or indeed together. The most terrifying of course is bleeding. Yes. You bleed when you poo (I said this was going to be honest). I don't really have to explain how this is terrifying right? Also often accompanied by excruciating pain. Let's be real about this, this set of symptoms, especially if like me, you come from a family where everyone dies of Cancer, you pretty much think that's what you're going to get. Added to this around the same time I got pulled in for a dreaded second Cervical Smear, and I remember saying 'I always knew I'd get Cancer I just thought I had a bit longer than 30 before I did.' It was a terrible time. And didn't get much better with diagnosis.

And oh the story of my diagnosis. I went to the hospital. I got poked in ways I will spare you. The one Doctor called in another (always a reassuring sign, right?) and muttered 'UC right?' before the other left. He gave me a cursory account of the condition, packed me off to X Ray and out the door.

Bad enough.

It gets worse.

The next day I'd gone to London, to see a show. I'd gone straight to lunch with a friend and didn't pick up my phone until about 3. I had a message from the Consultant that boiled down to 'You need to come back in' Well that's not a message you want right? Right. Between my Mum, his wonderful Secretary and I we spent a couple of hours chasing phone messages. He'd left no indication of what, why or how urgent. And the longer it went on the more panicked I became. Did I say all this was taking place in Paddington Station? at one point I was crying so hard a woman walked past, walked into a Pret, and brought me back some tissues.

Long story short, the last time I saw The Drowned Man I spent much of it convinced I was dying (but hey what a way to go...)

Anyway it turned out there was an issue with clarity on an X Ray. Which you know, would have been nice to know. But the nightmare didn't stop there. Which treatment to have varies wildly from Doctor to Doctor, and I was on a personal mission to avoid being put straight on Steroids. The ins and outs (pun intended) are not important. But eventually we settled on one of the milder medications, and a 'wait and see' attitude.

And so it's been five years, and that's where we still are. Things are no worse overall, though it's an illness that flares, so some days, weeks and months are worse than others. I'm on asacol, a form of mesalazine, which, well let's face it I don't know what it does but for now it works ok. Since the first year went ok I was moved to nurse led treatment, which is a dream. I go in, she remembers me, and as long as nothing much as changed we carry on as we are. I love my IBD Nurse for that attitude. When it needs interference, we'll interfere.

That's not to say it's plain sailing. Others with chronic illnesses will recongise maybe the difficulty in taking medication daily. Especially when it's for an illness you can't alway 'see' or 'feel' you think you can come off them, you don't need them. There's a sense of shame, about taking them. About being broken. So you go off, you get ill, you make things worse. Chronic illness diagnosis is a mental health impact as much as a physical one, and it's taken me five long years, and no support on that side to figure that out.

And physically too, there are times when it's, frankly horrendous.  Not only does my digestive system decide to wage war against me, in many disgusting and painful ways, but there's a multitude of other symptoms that go hand in hand with autoimmune diseases. Tiredness. I often wonder why I'm so exhausted, and it turns out to be a bout of chronic illness related fatigue. Muscle and joint aches are another one. Side effects from medication. My migraines also. It's all a wonderful disgusting mish-mash.

And then there's the fear. The fear looking forward. Yes there's the increased risk of bowel Cancer, though actually with regular screenings and *Shudder* more colonoscopies than I'd wish on my worse enemy, it's likely anything of that nature would be caught far sooner, so hey maybe I'm lucky!?

But then there's the very real likelihood of having an ileostomy or colostomy. Fun times right? (basically removal of large chunks of the bowel and having to, well have a bag to do all that stuff attached to you, depending on how it's done). I'd be lying if I said I never thought about it, or it didn't scare me. But it is what it is. And in the last year, watching Youtuber Hannah Witton go through it, a bit younger than I am, and cope, gives me hope it'll be alright- if not easy then alright- if/when it happens to me.

In fact for anyone curious about all of that, I highly recommend her videos:

And so that's it. That's my dirty little health secret. One that's harder to admit than coming out of the closet. One that doesn't affect me, yet affects my daily life constantly. As well as my mental health. But it's worth being able to talk about. To say that maybe cancelling plans last minute isn't because I'm a ditz (sometimes it is) sometimes it's because my body just doesn't want to play. And it's worth sharing for that hypothetical day in the future where it all goes really wrong. Or to help someone else out there too. 

Overload (or trying to do it all and doing it badly)

Firstly this blog isn't designed to 'glorify busy' or play that competitive game of 'I'm busier than you'. We're all busy. I get that. But I think also for my academics working outside the academy, for my arts professionals juggling a day job and the real job, it's also important to talk about when we feel overloaded. To acknowledge this happens to all of us, and because frankly having a moan sometimes does good, to get it out there.

So this is getting it out there: this week I've felt like I was at breaking point. I've got a moment, a day today where I still have everything going on, but nothing as urgently pressing as it has been. So I can slow down a bit.

A bit, means taking it slower on the work, and a couple of hours off later to go out for a coffee. The last several weeks have been 7 day a week, 8-14 hour days. Combining day job and freelance and creative, and academic and who only knows what else. And it's hard.

It's hard when people with 'real jobs' see you as a bit of a 'slacker' because you technically 'only' work part time. When in fact, you're working all the hours.

A week or so ago I sent a friend of mine a list of everything I was working on that week, and his response was 'wow I had no idea'. Right, and I'm not alone in that. I thought about listing it, but that's not the point, the point is day to day jobs, reviewing, teaching and long term creative projects all piled up at once and there's only so many hours in a day, so many days in a week.

I've been doing teaching prep for the first time in a long while. I long to get back into teaching more, but equally, jumping back in is stressful and time consuming.

It's been review season on acid or something in Cardiff lately and I've had them coming out my ears.

I started a new 'day job' and the brain power, plus the routine adjustment for that.

The long term projects; two plays and a musical in progress. A book with a looming deadline. A book chapter un-started, several book and article proposals waiting.

Oh and applying for 'real' jobs on top of that. And worrying where the money will come from in the new year when another freelance gig runs out.

And in both arts and academia there's a fear of saying no, of missing an opportunity. Of constantly having FOMO in terms of every opportunity someone else gets, you think you should have tried for, be doing. Be doing more.

And sometimes there's a personal cost to the profession too. As I found out recently. I can't pretend that having a close friend of almost 8 years end a friendship over me writing an article hasn't baffled, angered and saddened me in equal measure. And while I know perhaps its for the best we're no longer in each other's lives, there's an adjustment no longer having someone you talked to every day, not there any more. I don't think in life we give enough weight to what ending friendships means- we're all allowed to 'grieve' for end of romantic relationships, and a friendship should be no different. And we should acknowledge more, what working in these industries does to relationships of all kinds.

But I've come to learn in life you can't change someone's mind. And if my writing an article was the betrayal they think it was, no matter how hard I try I won't change their mind. In my eyes it's a great shame, and a loss. All I can do is continue to, as I've always done, conduct myself with as much respect and kindness towards others as I can as we navigate these fraught industries.

But I realise as well, I can't do that if I'm at the end of my own rope. If I'm burnt out and stressed and trying to give too much to too many things. I'll start to snap, say things I wouldn't mean, come across badly. And I don't want to be that person, even unintentionally. Self-care in that respect isn't always selfish, it allows you to be a better collaborator, a better part of the community.

Of course creativity burns us all out. And I've come to realise this year especially how much that's so.

For me right now, the creative projects and the book, they take a certain kind of energy. Two have been on relative pause for a few weeks. But the play (most recently blogged about here) is intensely personal, and I'm not ashamed of saying I find it hard sometimes. Often in fact. The vulnerability of putting it out there, the fear of being judged for not just the writing, and the challenge of being a good collaborating while guarding something so personal.

Add to that the book. Which feels equally personal, and a labour of love. And what keeps me up at night.

Here's the thing about the book externally too: it's what people seem to value the most and least. In that people want to know where it is, how it's going. But it's also the thing people frequently force me to push aside. I cried this week when the producer of my one play emailed in response to my slightly panicked 'I'm sorry I'm so behind' and said, basically 'Stop. The book comes first end of discussion.' because nobody, nobody else has seen the value of it lately. And we all have our own agendas, deadlines, things pushing and pulling us. But I feel like everything pulled me away from the one thing I should be doing. That I've fought however many years to do, and not least dreamed about my whole life.

That's not to say the plays aren't important- they are, and my single greatest fear at the moment is that someone will take them off me. But the book's important too. I've put nearly 7 years into getting to that point all told, and I can't throw that away.

So I'm going to ground a bit. Saying no a bit and hibernating a bit with the book. I'm still working hard on the plays, I'm still going to be a theatre critic. I'm still going to work and applying for jobs. But I have to take my friend's advice seriously too: the book has to come first for a bit.

Not least because trying to do it all is breaking me. This has been a tough year mental health wise, which is probably a blog for another day. But this week, I could really feel myself spiralling. From Friday night until, well now pretty much I was consumed with anxiety, I cried a lot, I haven't slept much. And it's partly exhaustion, partly the exhaustion of trying to keep too many things going, and keep everyone happy. And I've probably been doing badly at it all.

So while this blog is in part an attempt at keeping an open, honest conversation going about the strain we're all under, it's also an apology to anyone I've let down, professionally or personally. I'm trying, we're all trying, let's just try and keep kindness in the mix.

So what now? well, firstly I'm trying to just get the other side of this week, the last truly intense one of the year for me. And then focus on what's important right now- which for me is the book. And to try and come into 2019 with a slightly fresher outlook, and start again.

It's been a year, and that's the next blog. And it's broken me a bit, so I'll try and fix that. And still get the work done. But not all at once, because that's not helping anyone.

Readings, redrafts and...cake again.

In the spirit of attempting to keep this updated, this is both another play progress, and life/writing/creative update.

We had another read-through of the play this week. There was cake.

Cake. Everyone will be fat by the time we finish this thing it tastes better than it looks.

It was a nerve-wracking experience as it always is. Afterwards the director said I always look- I’m not sure, miserable? Worried? Terrified? Well firstly as discussed elsewhere I clearly have an epic resting bitch face which I’m sure gets worse when I’m concentrating. Secondly, I AM TERRIFIED. I mean having been locked away with it for however long, going in and hearing people read it aloud is terrifying. Especially this time when I had changed/added some substantial parts.

Luckily, it transpired I knew everyone in the room. Which can go either way. One actor I’d met only briefly at another event we’d both been involved in, but that’s a kind of helpful familiarity. I’ll admit at first the second actor filled me with more terror than usual- the week before I found out a friend of mine was reading one of the parts. Luckily he’d had the foresight to forewarn me, and confided that he assumed I’d find it more terrifying with someone I knew involved. He was indeed correct. I admit (and have to him, so I hope it’s ok to say!) that I had a moment of utter ‘ohgodohgod’ at the thought of having to sit with someone I know well reading it at this stage. Not everyone will think like that of course- the other way to think about it is ‘oh good someone I know’. And ultimately that was the case, not only did he do a great job, but we’ve been able to talk about it in detail since, and continue to do so, in a way I haven’t with other actors, simply because we have an existing relationship. Which is great! Still doesn’t mean I wasn’t absolutely shitting it to have someone I know reading my work.

And what about the state of the play? The state of play isn’t too bad. If I had to I’d be ok with it going ahead as it is. As is, I have time to play with it. And what were initial tweaks have, based on a couple of conversations morphed into a few edits, a bit of bits and pieces threading through. Not a major rewrite, but enough to elevate it a bit more.

None of that is deliberately vague or obtuse, just that sort of explaining the plot blow by blow none of it will make sense. But I go back into it, perhaps this weekend, perhaps in a few week’s time with a new sense of what I need to do. It’s not finished, it’s never really finished. But it’s an odd feeling being ‘almost there’. And I’ll be honest I’ll miss the process when it’s over.

There’s a sense, which I might not be able to articulate properly here, but after that read through there was a sense of this being almost there. I had my list of little tweaks that were practical things that I needed to fix. But I had a feeling of something not quite being there. That I could feel, but couldn't see. It's a nutty-writer-wanker description, but it is like there's a blind spot and it's just out of reach. But you can feel it over there. I can feel it but I can't quite see it yet. But it's almost there. And then finally last night a few of the pieces settled into place and I can feel it and see it. 

Two people recently helped with this. Firstly the incomparable Kevin Jones, the writer ‘ahead’ of me in the Clock Tower season. He told me recently I’m the most honest writer he knows. And I realised actually there’s bits of this piece that aren’t as honest as they could be, and that perhaps I’ve held back a little. That’s natural I think, as you develop a piece, a kind of self- preservation thing. Related to that, my friend Tom, who through virtue of mis-hearing something in our discussion at the reading, sparked a conversation that unlocked some of what might not be as honest as it could be. And suddenly things seem to be falling into place for the strange thing that seemed missing on hearing it.

And that’s what rewrites are for too. Yes, for logistics, yes for making sense of it. Yes for my dyslexic brain that can’t tell the difference between definitely and defiantly (slight issue when the question is ‘should we have sex?’). Rewrites are also for making sure, when I set it free, it’s the most truthful version and the best version I can make it. And of course that the cake based puns are A-game.

Not only am I a writer who loves a re-write (I’m an editor, not a perfectionist in first write) but of course there’s a moment when these characters stop belonging to me. When they get handed over to other people…and I’ll kind of miss them. This project, probably of everything I’m currently working on, feels most personal, and I certainly have the most attachment to these characters. I know them, I love them, I’m fiercely protective of them… but I also can’t wait to set them free in the world (not least so they get out of my head for five minutes).

But it’s worth recording, what a supportive, and joyous experience this has been (I mean aside from these read-throughs where I feel a bit sick, but even them). It’s such a rare and wonderful thing to work with a team of people with the patience to help you work through and improve your work. I know the draft I sent in to them originally was far from perfect, but I’d always believed there was something, buried in there, about this story I was trying to write. And I don’t quite think I can articulate how grateful someone else saw that. More importantly, that they then spend time working with me, supporting me, to make it a better version of it.

And so, as I get my head down to get this final (?) version of this done, I’m really thankful to the team. But also, all the actors who came in and read drafts. All the friends who have listened to endless conversations about cake based puns, and endless further neurotic waffle about this play. Who put up with me when my rants morph into one (or more) of the characters. And who put up with my almost weekly breakdown that putting my heart and soul into this sometimes is at the detriment of other things. And who then remind me, that if I’m doing it, I have to do it right. And be happy with it. And you know what I just might be...

So I'm raising a slice of cake to the team at Clock Tower who really do take the cake, for helping me get it this far. And saying just how delicious (yes) it's been to work with such a caring, supportive, intelligent team who helped me turn this half baked (yes) idea and watched as it's risen (yes) into a tasty bake (ok that just sounds dirty, also fitting for this play) that hopefully just needs a bit of icing....and of course the cherry on top will be an audience. 

Did someone say cake? On drafting and redrafting

After man interludes it seems like the time to get back to writing about writing plays.

The current state of affairs there is, one play is paused while I finish another, and the book. After the second draft the producer and I after a lot of discussion decided on an alternative route, which is really all ok, and really brilliant. But needs time and work. So that's what we're giving it.

Elsewhere there's a semi-secret musical project (ok not that secret, just early days and I like a bit of drama)

We're not discussing the book here. Let's just say it's happening. Let's just say there's suddenly more than one book and leave it at that. (and a muffled scream)

But the main focus in recent weeks/months has been 'Don't Send Flowers' my play with Clocktower Theatre. Something I can say has been an utter joy in a sea of angst and real life terribleness. So where are we? what's going on? and what's with all the cake?

All valuable questions. We had an initial read-through which you can read about here

After digging this play out of a drawer, finding someone did want to put it on. Going through the nerve wracking experience of hearing it for the first time I was so relieved and elated that it went well.

And then I went away and re-wrote. Based on feedback, based on what we discussed, and my own mad, mad thoughts. And I over-wrote. I did on redraft, then in a fit of enthusiasm, did another. I was really pleased with a lot of it. But I made it long. Too long.

And so when we had a second read through it was too long. Also there seemed to lose some of that spark I'd felt the last time. Was it me? was it never going to live up to that first time? had I broken the play? I admit when our director cut the read through short for time, I was crushed. It wasn't the intention but in my writer- brain I'd made it so bad we couldn't even get through it. Then when the actors didn't find my new final scene quite as hilarious as the rest of us did I thought I'd really, frankly, fucked it up.

Taking a step back, stopping reading and spending an hour getting actors' thoughts was the right call. And they gave us excellent notes, and a lot to think about. The wonderful thing about this play has been every read through, every meeting people have brought their own stories about things that they relate to in it. That alone was telling me I was onto something. If people were bouncing back with 'this reminds me of...' and often telling me some heartbreaking and hilarious all in one tale, made me certain something was working...just buried fairly deeply.

And so, after picking up my writer's ego, we got together to make a post-it plan for what the play should look like. After which the play looked like this:

It was big and messy and then somehow condensed into a list. With I think 8 scenes with major re-writes and a restructure. It'll be FINE.

And the thing is it was. There's something about this play that once I start working again, I know it, I know them so well by now, that it sucks me in and I can't leave until it's done. It's also a world I'm loving being lost in. I know it sounds a bit narcissistic because I 'made' them, but I really love these characters. They're totally fucked up and sometimes not very nice people. But they're funny, and weird and I do kind of love them. I love bringing them out to play, and seeing what they (ok I) am going to come up with in their weird little minds next. There's a darkness to the humour that people think is strange in real life so it's nice to give that a run around.

Of course following that I had a writers meltdown. I'd broken it again. The new structure didn't work. I'd lost some of the essence of it. But then sitting down with my director and seeing it through someone else's eyes, no Em you haven't. You might be a dark and twisty bitch with a bit of a cake and undertaker obsession. But you haven't broken it, in fact you might have fixed it. And you might just be having a lot of fun in the process.

Amid the fun it's hard. Sometimes, in an oddly satisfying way. There's a lot of personal stuff, some might say personal baggage, I'm pouring into this play. (Like cake it is cheaper than therapy). For as much as it's hard, and will probably be a hard watch when the time comes, there's also a lot of meaning to it. A lot of heart, and I think a lot of emotion. Some of it is really hard to write. It's digging into things that probably are better off buried in the depths of my mind. It's saying things that are uncomfortable, that are really really upsetting sometimes. But all that feels, not to be too worthy, but important. And start some conversations. Maybe.

And there's a lot of chatter about cake.

But I think the emotional core of it (and the cake let's be real) is what makes this a joy, and what drives it. As wanky (that's a great word) and artsy as it sounds, genuinely if one person tells me they were moved by it, that it meant something, it'll have been worth it. And if not, well there's always cake. And perhaps, yes therapy for me after it all too.

The most important thing aside from this has been what a joy it's been. The arts, theatre feels like a battle most of the time. This hasn't. This has felt like a true collaborative, let's make the best thing we can and put it out there process and I have loved it. It feels like this kind of working is what we all do battle for.

The team as well I can't say enough about. Firstly every actor who has read the parts, for being first brilliant, and second giving me insight into my own characters I had missed. From just their reading I learned so much about my own play. From their comments and questions so much more. And in particular actors who let me bug them after the fact for 'But what if?' (No Em, you can't write a scene in Narnia in it...) Alongside them Director Louise (whose name I have to be careful not to mis-spell as Louis one of the characters in the play, she won't thank me for that comparison). Louise has been a ball of energy and enthusiasm from the get go, and much needed for a pessimistic creature like me. Ashley our Assistant Director is such a thoughtful, insightful person, who really has the best interests of the play at heart. And then there's Steve, the artistic director, for supporting this madness (even if he won't let me set fire to a cake).

When I left a meeting yesterday, Louis told me to 'enjoy it' as I went back to re-writes. And she's right, and I intend to. I intend to enjoy the time I have playing with these characters I adore. Writing something I'm passionate about subject wise, and as a project. And I intend to enjoy every moment of working in such a positive way, because that's unfortunately rare.

Oh and I'm also going to enjoy cake. Did I mention there's cake?

So that's where the writing is at. It's so close it's exciting, because next we get to bring it to life. But first I get to make it the best I can. It's like...ok yes it's like baking a cake, and it's just starting to rise in the oven....I just hope it tastes good when it comes out.

Being Bisexual means getting rejected by everyone

Last month I wrote this for Bisexual Visibility Day. I decided not to publish it. For various reasons. But as bisexuals come out twice as often as anyone (joke, see what I did there) publishing on National Coming Out Day seems just as significant.


Earlier this week I thought I’d missed Bisexual Visibility Day. Which in itself is something telling.

On one hand it’s a fun skill. Stealth. Like a Superhero. And it’s a well-known fact bisexuals like a striking outfit. Something in lycra usually.

A note on semantics: I used bisexual as it’s the term I grew up with/into and feel most comfortable with. I used it interchangeably with Pansexual. All to say, my personal attraction is inclusive of all gender identities, and how anyone chooses to express that identity. (Basically, if you hot, or funny or both I am into you).

So why do we have to visible? Well on one hand the same reason the rest of the LGBTQ+ community needs to- the wider world is rife with homophobia still, and as bisexuals we still experience that. Bisexuals also tend to disappear- depending on who we’re in a relationship with. If we’re in a same-sex relationship, we’re gay, if we’re in a heterosexual relationship we’re straight. Apparently our own identity isn’t up to us, but for external factors to decide. But also sadly because despite being the B in LGBTQ+ we get at best ignored, at worst told we don’t belong by our own community.

So that’s why we need to be visible. To have a day where we wave a flag (Queers of all kinds like a flag, let’s face it). And to tell our stories.  

I was also lucky that I grew up and came of age in an era before all pervasive social media. As much as the resources of the internet and the ability to find a bisexual community would have been nice, I spent about 10 blissful years unaware that even the LGBTQ+ community questioned whether I belonged.  At 17 I heard Alan Cumming describe himself as bisexual, worked out what it meant and said, ‘I’ll have that’ and didn’t question it for many years.

But increasingly I heard the questions slip in ‘Are you SURE?’ ‘Are you gay and just pretending?’ ‘Are you pretending just to get guys attention?’ (trust me Bab, you don’t want that sort of guy’s attention). Really though I don’t stroll up to my straight female friends and ask them ‘Yeah but how do you KNOW you like dick?’ Why? Because that’s a dick move, and it’s rude. Heterosexuals predominantly don’t seem to get this. Meanwhile, the gays assume you’re on a stop over to their ‘side’ at best, at worst tell you that again, faking it for male attention. REALLY love, I wouldn’t put this effort in for a bloke, I’d get my straight mate to snog me in a club and job done and even then it’s a lot of effort to put in for at best a mediocre bloke...(if they’re impressed by lesbians, fake or otherwise, mediocre is a generous description)

Why is it seemed ok with bisexuals to accuse someone of lying about who they are? Or that it’s a ploy for attention? I can’t speak for other bisexuals, but attention to who I do or don’t want to sleep with/be in a relationship with isn’t the kind of attention I want. It’s nobody’s business but the person I’m doing those things with.

Ah, the person I’m doing those things with. Shall I let you in on a secret, the deep dark secret bisexuals have been keeping from you all this time?

Being bisexual doesn’t mean we’re having twice as much sex. It just means being rejected by twice as many people.

I know right? Shocker it’s not the sex-fest it’s made out to be. Not that I personally want it to be. Another shocker, people aren’t bisexual because they want to have a lot of sex with a lot of people. If you’re not hard-wired that way, you still won’t multiple genders or not (No judgement on those who are, you do you! Have fun, be safe).

As I hurtle further into my 30s, and contemplate, somewhat lazily at times admittedly, having a relationship of some kind, I realise bisexuality is a real barrier for many people.  I don’t know if it’s fear of the unknown, paranoia, or a lack of understanding. But aside from the lecherous comments that any woman learns to brush off in life, my sexuality is met with at best suspicion at worst outright rejection.

You never stop coming out. That’s the lesson any Queer person learns early in life. Yes, you have the big moment where you tell your parents, friends etc for the first time. But then you have to keep coming out, every new person you meet, every new job, club you join.

For straight up gays (see what I did there) that at least doesn’t include every new relationship, hell every date. But at some point, whether I attempt to date a woman or a man I have to ‘out’ myself as bisexual. And it’s a moment of dread, a moment of will they accept this, or will they run. Will they try and ‘fix’ me? Will they laugh at me? Will they suddenly ask inappropriate questions? Will they ask if I’ve got STIs? Will they ask if I’ve got HIV (yes this really happened, I have no idea why this makes me more inclined to have STIs than any straight person but hey ho).

Or worst-case scenario will it unleash some kind of homophobia? Because a lot of people forget bisexuals are subject to homophobia too. That we get a ‘pass’ if we’re in a relationship with a man isn’t good enough. We still hide our identities. We still risk the same attacks, the same judgement as other Queers if we’re visible. So, for all the years I kept quiet. All the years I changed an outfit for fear of looking ‘too gay’. For all the years I kept a shitty haircut because I was afraid short hair would mark me as too gay. Also fancying men, a bit didn’t save me from any of that.

And you end up explaining it feeling at best like some kind of mythical creature because they’ve ‘never met a real one’ (I know I’m as fabulous as a Unicorn but come on). Or see, above start telling you it isn’t real.

And because for some reason, being a 30 something single bisexual scares the shit out of potential dates. And I’m sick of having to come out on dating apps, or a fledgling friendship-could-be-date shutting down when they find out I’m a bit Queer.  I can’t count the number of online dating conversations that have either dwindled off when I dropped the ‘B’ word or turned creepy/lecherous. I can’t shut down the paranoia that a date I’ve been on ‘found out’ and decided it wasn’t for them. Or who once in a relationship said things like ‘yeah but you’re not any more are you because you’re with me’. So, you start leaving it off, wondering how long you can get away from it. If you can forever maybe.

And we shouldn’t have to hide. Not from straight people, and certainly not from our own community. Our identities shouldn’t be erased by the relationship we’re in. And we shouldn’t be cast on the reject pile based on something that is as beyond our control as eye colour or height. It should be as inconsequential a thing to list on a dating profile as a favourite film.

So, screw that. Here’s my new dating profile:

Bisexual. Looking for non-idiot.

That’s pretty much it. If you like dogs, great, if you like cake even better. Let’s take it from there….and then we’ll discuss past relationships like anyone else on a fourth date: by declaring what a dickhead they were and bonding over that, not interrogating what genitals they had.

I’m bisexual, I’m not stopping waving my flag (Queers love a flag), I’m not putting away my fabulous outfit (lycra is in) come on then, date me if you’re brave enough….