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….

Show a little enthusiasm (Mental Health Day thoughts)

Yesterday I was rejected from a job because I didn't 'display enough enthusiasm for the role'.

On the surface this might seem to have little to do with World Mental Health Day. Aside of course for being rejected for yet another job not being the greatest thing for mental health of course.

But of course I was thinking if I was a happier person, with a sunnier disposition would I have got that job? If I was less prone to an anxious demeanour would I have that job? I'm still unclear how one shows enthusiasm for financial admin but that's another story. This links to my previous temp job, where I was told, in not so many words that my face was too miserable to be on a reception desk and it was buck up or basically fuck off.

Eventually they told me to fuck off.

Now I do just have one of those faces. Not so much resting bitch face, as resting miserable cow face. I can't help my face really. Also can I note I was a medical receptionist, I really didn't think it was great form to greet patients as if they were coming to Disneyland? but hey what do I know.

I say all this firstly because maybe I'm not predisposed to be a little ray of sunshine. Maybe some of us aren't. But I also say this because: both these things did a real number on some already fragile mental health. And I guess I should say what I've spent the above paragraphs trying not to say:

I'm not ok and I haven't been for a long time.

I don't have some witty anecdote for World Mental Health Day about how I overcame it all and life is sunshine and roses now. Firstly I'm not a sunshine and roses kind of girl. Secondly frankly everything has been a bit shit recently and it's no surprise with it my mental health has taken a dip (read nose dive off a fucking cliff). Thirdly, I'd love some narrative about how it's 'Good to talk' (Bob Hoskins eat your fucking heart out, oh wait he's dead). And how my wonderful support network of friends and family saved me. Now don't get me wrong I have a fucking wonderful group of friends. But here's the kicker:

Talking about mental health is really fucking hard.

And why? because half the time I don't know what's going on myself. So I can't just rock up to someone and say 'Hey dude, super bad batch of this today, let's talk about it' because usually it's a whole mess of shit on top of crap. And sometimes it's out of the blue and I can't explain it. So here's a few recent highlights.

This week. Right now as I write this in fact, I should be at a job interview in London. Not going was the right call for various reasons that again, are a story for another day. But over the weekend and into Monday the thought of going was sending me into a full blown panic attack. The thought of getting on a bus. Going to London, doing that interview. All the questions and uncertainty it threw up about life. It left me paralysed, breathless, I couldn't think I couldn't do anything. And I couldn't explain it to anyone. Every time I did I ended up feeling ten times worse. I was lazy, I was stupid for throwing away an opportunity. Yes they all judged me. Eventually one friend understood what was under all my rambling about it. Understood it wasn't about being lazy, or not wanting it enough. But that my brain had short circuited yet again and that's what I needed to address. And the next morning someone else got what had led me there, understood my mixed up brain.

Job hunting: that puts me in a perpetual state of anxiety. It's like someone turned the emergency settings up to nine and they haven't come down again. And sometimes they go up to eleven, and then everything falls apart. Job hunting is a constant game of 'what if' and that's not good for anxiety. I feel like I've been scared for a year. And I spend, because this is a fun symptom of anxiety, most of my time thinking about what other people are thinking, saying, judging because I'm job hunting. And I'm always one moment away from anger too. There's the fun anxiety symptom that doesn't get blogs and cute doodles. Anxiety isn't just introverts hiding in a corner or not wanting to leave the house. It's like being a frightened animal backed into a corner and the only way it knows to get out is to snap an bare it's teeth. I'm sorry for anyone who got the snap of my teeth recently. I usually don't know it's coming until it's too late.

In part I blame 8 months of hard customer service in a not so friendly environment. And not realising as we often do, what was creeping up on me. Customer Service and anxiety is like a permanent state of that animal while the man with the net is coming at you.

People think anxiety is just...well being anxious. It's so much more. It's anger- all too often when my anxiety reaches it's peak I'll react with anger. It's also believing that everyone hates you, everything you've said is wrong and eventually being unable to speak for fear of what it will lead to. It's hating your body, whether that's body image, feeling let down by what it does or doesn't do. It's a whole mess of things I don't even understand.

Then you add the creative work into the mix. Put aside the precarious nature of the industry and just think about the work.

I've spent this year working on two plays that frankly emotionally drain me. I've blogged about the process of one here. That sharing work that is intimately personal, in it's raw form with a person who was until recently a stranger. Integrating all kinds of things from the depths of my deep dark brain, and figuring out how to talk about them. It's hard work. And these stories, the characters the dark things you explore in them, take root in your brain.

Then alongside that the other play which in some ways creatively is the bigger joy (just because it's at a much easier stage) is hard. So hard. This week particularly. It deals with a lot of what I went through when my Father died. It's complex and not some easy sob story with tears and catharsis. But this week, on the anniversary of his death (Canadian Thanksgiving eh, there's a story) I was sat pulling apart that play with the directors. And it was fine, and we laughed at my inappropriate humour and made notes like 'keep the penis scene'. And it's fine. But it's also adding to the mass of stuff in my brain. And it's cathartic, but draining all at once.

And that's the point. It's all a mess. There's no easy sit down and say 'How are you?' and you say 'Oh I've been anxious this week' like 'Oh I've had a bit of a cold this week'. Because ask me at 10 in the morning and the answer might be different to 7 and night. Some days I don't even know anything is wrong.

But also despite typing all this out, I wouldn't know what to say anyway.

It's all very well saying we should talk more. But sometimes there aren't the words. I'm a writer I can find the words for characters, even for myself. But even I can't always articulate it all. And anyway I feel like I have to end it one happy note. We're back to that enthusiasm again right? except I have none. Not right now. Maybe tomorrow.

I'm not ok. I'm not ok because there's been a lot that's been going on to make me that way: job losses, career struggles, feeling a little lost to the world. Feeling a little left behind by the world. Feeling a little unloved.

I'm not ok because my brain will always be a little bit broken. Just like it can't add up or spell, it'll always be anxious. It'll never be sunshine and unicorns.

So maybe I'll never get the job that requires 'enthusiasm'. But fuck it faking enthusiasm is exhausting.