'What do you get for it?' on Single-Person judgement.

Six years ago I was freezing my arse off and being called fat by another Bridesmaid (damn that bitch hated me) for a close friend's wedding. I mean obviously, a close friend as I was Bridesmaid.

2.5 years ago, while I was on an overnight flight no less (and so saw when I landed) I got dumped by said friend. Out of the blue. The reason?

'Sorry it's just you haven't got a husband and I can't really talk to you about things...'

I wrote a tweet about it which got some attention so I thought I'd write some long form thoughts linked to my favourite musical theatre subject Company.

Six years ago today I was Bridesmaid for someone I (obviously) considered a close friend. 2.5 years ago, she told me we could no longer be friends because, and I quote “you don’t have a husband so I can’t talk to you about my life”

— Dr Emily Garside (@EmiGarside) March 16, 2019

There was slightly more to it, chiefly in a rota of people who came two by two there wasn't room for a Bridget Jones in their smug married dinner parties, and it was frankly too much effort to sustain an independent friendship it seemed.

Now let's unpack the above statement first. No, I might not have a husband. Yes, my Queer-Feminist-Liberal outlook might not be, shall we say 'traditional' but I have encountered...men...and relationships...and other humans. I was even, dare I say, friends with people's husbands/boyfriends etc etc. Even so, if you don't want to talk about your relationship with me, fine. I have plenty of friends with whom I know next to nothing about their other halves because our relationship and their identity isn't in fact defined by a ring on their finger (or who they shag).

Obviously, this is a particular dick move by this person. But it made me think of the larger ramifications of being single at a certain age. Not least because after writing that tweet I walked the dog and ran into my old 'Brown Owl' who asked if I had kids yet, and was suitably aghast that I still lived at home (sorry Brown Owl but we're all broke as shit...)

But it's also the reason Company spoke to me so profoundly this year. My initial reflection on that can be found here and here. But I happened to revisit it a few weeks ago. And I watched it with tears streaming down my cheeks because I felt once again so SEEN by it. That some of us are more complex in our affairs of the heart than that.

A friend of mine used the phrase 'reserved in affairs of the heart' about me before Christmas and that is probably the most accurate description.

Like Bobbie 'I'm not avoiding marriage' but like Bobbie I'm also not actively seeking it.

People tend to forget that life isn't so cleanly structured for all of us. Especially, yes, the dreaded 'Millennial' generation.  There was no 'leave school, Uni, job, settle down' for me. There's just been this messy path that's led everywhere and nowhere. And I'm ok with that. I'm dare I say happy with that. I look back and go 'well if I'd settled down at 24, where would I be?' and that's not the wrong choice, it's not the bad choice it's just a different one, and I'm really happy with where this one took me. Except when I endure the judgment for it...

And also to play the PhD card here, I lost five years between my mid-twenties and turning 30 to that. Years when traditionally yes, I should be dating, should maybe have found the person to settle down with. Instead, I was in a bubble of books and living in my head. Still, do some might argue. The point being I skipped right from the early 20s dating time, to mid-30s without the bit in between. So suddenly everyone around me is married with babies and I still feel like I'm in the baby-steps, is it all too soon mentality about dating.

But more than blaming the PhD, I'm just wired differently. Again there's the theme in Company that Bobbie doesn't want to 'give up' her life. And damn right I don't. Because much like in watching Company, it looks from the outside like every person in a couple wants you to become one person. And I don't want to give up my life for anyone, my independence, my identity. I couldn't be with someone who expected my every waking minute. And logically I know the right person wouldn't ....but that fear is always there.

There's also an expectation of dating in your 30s that everything has to be on 'fast forward' because we should all be in the place of 'are we getting married/settling down' and that equally terrifies me. Why? why are we rushing from a to be so fast. Can we not slow the fuck down and actually establish if we want to spend time with this person? I mean basically, I'm saying that I date (in my head, because no actual dating is happening) at the pace of a confused snail. And anything else has me going 'whooaa now hold your horses' (way to mix an animal metaphor)

But equally, people (and by people I, unfortunately, mean women) are highly suspicious of a woman who does not spend most of her time pursuing relationships. I've lied countless times to women about being on dating apps (I'm not) and about how many relationships I've had. It's just easier to make everyone believe you're constantly hunting for a partner than admit the truth: for whatever reason you're not.

Let's think about that- women are suspicious, they judge me for not acting enough like I need a partner.

Oh and all this is before we throw in the whole bisexual thing. The whole 'pick a team' thing or the whole 'slutty' thing (honestly no judgment but it's laughable anyone could consider me slutty).

Meanwhile, I'm just...busy. Honestly, I'm looking at my diary this coming week and weeping from exhaustion already. But I love it. I lead a really full life. I work exceptionally hard right now (you know trying to write a book, 2 plays and god only knows what else). And it's not that someone else doesn't fit into that, but it takes a very particular kind of someone to understand that. To understand that no they won't always come first. That no, they won't always see me all the time. That yes, my work is often the most important thing.

And I can hear (women) saying 'but you have to make room for someone' 'You're work won't love you when you're old' ...I will make room, for the right person, at the right time. But I'm not sacrificing the rest of my life for that. Or for the myth of that.

I'm not a robot. Of course, the thought of someone crosses my mind. I get romantic, I get (yes) horny. I'm a person, I get lonely, I think 'what if...' Going back to Company, Bobbie sings 'Did I know him? Have I waited too long? well maybe so has he' and of course there's that sometimes nagging feeling of 'oh have I missed a chance' but honestly, no. Because there's likely someone out there who has waited this long as well. Someone who is the right fit, not the result of endless swiping and meaningless dates that could have been evenings with friends. And it's the push-pull of that song 'Someone is Waiting' the idea of 'hurry-wait for me' being caught between 'I want and I'm not ready' and that's kind of ok.

Company was exactly what I needed this year. That reminder that it is difficult. As Marianne Elliott herself said to me 'For women it's always a massive choice' because a relationship changes things, impacts things, brings up questions. Who am I? Where am I going? will this change my career? my friends? in a way it doesn't for men. Of course in expressing that about the production I got called a sex addict (and yes, she knows about that and who too...) which goes to show...well how we judge women right?

So my ex-friend might be remembering today that Bridesmaid she cut out of her life for not being married. She might pity her, she might call her names, judge her. But that's ok.

And as for me, 'Marriages and all that' if 90s romantic comedies taught me nothing, it's that it happens either when you're least expecting it, or comes from something that was there all along...even if it takes a decade. And not to trust Hugh Grant because ultimately he'll end up trying to steal Paddington Bear.

Project Book: is it time to give up?

It's a Monday and for once I have time aside to do work on the book.

That is if I ignore, looking for a job, looking for freelance work, doing work on one of the creative projects I'm involved in and about 100 other things.

That's one problem.

The other is the utterly paralysing fear, the kind that seizes my chest and genuinely makes it difficult to breathe. It's the same feeling I get night after night when I realise another day has gone by and I haven't worked on it. Or worked on it enough.

And then there are the days I spend looking at it, trying to plan it, trying to make sense of it. And getting nowhere. Nothing has moved in months, not really. And I genuinely wonder if it's time to give up.

For many reasons. First being, I've wasted enough time. Enough time saying I'm working part-time to do the book, that I'm waiting for the book to be done. Yes, I've struggled with first unemployment then horrendous temp work, then looking for a job, then starting it...juggling other ways to pay the bills. I feel like I'm making excuses even though I know I'm not. That stuff is hard, the insecurity is hard, the worry is hard and the juggling shifts and trying to write it hard.

It's also that, during that time many an interesting project large and small has come my way, and it's very difficult to say no to those. Indeed it would be foolish to say no to most of them. I already struggle to get a look in with the theatre world- they dismiss me as an academic, not one of them. So when they offer, I can't say no.

I couldn't say no to a company putting on my play, the re-working of which has been so important and valuable but also has eaten a lot of my time. I couldn't say no to a commissioned piece which the first draft of which ate up a good chunk of last year. I couldn't say no to a musical theatre project which is now taking shape and taking off. All of these are projects I would have dreamed of even 2 years ago, but still, I feel guilty that they've made me not work on the book.


Then there are all the smaller bits- but things that are in fact huge as well. My 'day to day' reviewing but also some pretty big pieces in the last year- The Stage, Slate, American Theatre. None of these I could say no to. Oh and writing another academic book chapter.

And I feel like a failure because many academics churn out far more 'proper' academic work than that- journal articles, book chapters, and monographs. But also, that they have the institutional infrastructure in which to do it.

Because that's the thing. It's fucking hard doing this outside. And I know academics don't want to hear that. Because they like thinking theirs is the hardest job in the world. And yes I know you all struggle with research time, and you work bloody hard if you're teaching. But you have an institutional support mechanism as simple as you have libraries, you have colleagues. You go to conferences. I can't afford conferences. I can't afford academic books. I have zero concepts of what is going on in the field.

And all this makes me question the book itself.

I know I can write an intelligent, dare I say interesting analysis of Angels in America. Specifically, I can analyze the 2017 production until the cows (Angels) come home. And it's good, and I get it, I have things to say, I know that production, I have thoughts on what it means, where it sits...I have things to say.

But they're no good. Because they aren't academic things. They aren't referenced. The second half of this book only has references from reviews and the play itself. And for me, that's enough. But I know it means the book is a failure, it'll never get to print. And I can't do it I just can't do it, I can't make it 'academic'.  With the best will in the world, I'm not part of that world, and I don't have the tools. I also never had the skill.

So what do I do? I've wasted over a year on this. More if you count everything. I've pushed back deadlines so much I don't even know if it'll get published anyway. And honestly, a big part of me wants to give up, before I'm told I've failed.

And it breaks my heart. Not just because I've wasted so long, put so much into it. But because I do know I have things to say. That are valuable. That are in their tiny niche important.


But on a practical level what do I do, these are my key issues:

1. Time. How long I can sustain this, and carving out actual time to do it.
2. Money. Getting a real job. 
3. References- try as I might it will never be academic enough.
4. Proofreading. I nearly failed my PhD because my dyslexia meant I couldn't get it right (on this note the indexing terrifies me because I can't 'see' alphabetical order right and I'll fuck it up)
5. The thought that it's all wrong and not 'academic' enough anyway and it'll get thrown back at me.

So what do I do? give up on this, publish a series of glorified blog posts? do I try something different, finish it and try and find a non-academic publisher instead to take my treatise on why this play matters (then stick it in a drawer for all time when nobody does).

Or do I give up, not waste any more of my life on it?

I love this work dearly, it's what I've put everything into, but I've reached a point of wondering, when is enough enough? when do you admit your failure and move on?

Edits and Finding a Voice.

There has been little about actually writing plays on this blog of late. That doesn't mean there hasn't been much going on ...quite the opposite in fact!

Today I sent off what will hopefully be the last major edit on 'Don't Send Flowers' and you know what? I'm damn proud of what it's become. And of the work I've put in on it, and how much it's let me not only grow as a writer but also assert myself as one as well.

A few years back I walked away from a meeting with an artistic director and cried. I felt horrible. Not least because they told me I wasn't 'trying hard enough' because I wasn't 'going to London every weekend to see Fringe theatre' and because my tastes weren't encompassing what they thought was 'good theatre' and I was 'too mainstream' in my taste. Well, guess what? I like mainstream. I love that there are people out there who make abstract theatre. That there are performance artists who stick needles in their skin and make art out of it. I like that there are people who lock people in a shipping container, in the dark for 20 minutes and scare the crap out of them.

I'm not any of those people.

A friend read 'Flowers' and in a discussion about it called me a 'child of 90s sitcoms' and that was frankly the best compliment someone could have given me.

Because you know what I like? I like characters, and story and making people laugh and cry all at once because they care about those characters. I won't apologise for that. I can appreciate the other sort- I love much of it, I admire much of it, some of it admittedly is like slow torture, but we can't all like the same thing can we? life and art would be boring.

If I had that same meeting tomorrow, I'd sit there and hold my ground. I'd tell that Artistic Director, that maybe my work isn't for their theatre. But that doesn't mean my work isn't good. And that I can only make the work I know how to make.

Have I written the greatest play ever to grace the stage? Fuck no. Have I written a fairly decent piece of work, that is interesting, a bit funny, maybe even a bit moving? I think so. (Honestly, I'll go into proper marketing mode when I need to). Am I proud of it? Fuck yes.

And I am. I've loved getting it here. I love these characters. As I write this I've got (one of) the playlists I've used to write to (Yes I'm that extra) playing, and 'You Matter to Me' from Waitress has come on. And that's a great summary of this piece. A song that many people think is 'like totally reducitve and basic' but brings a lot of joy to many others. And in terms of characters, well, they matter to me. Another friend read it and said 'I really like your characters, I want to know about them' and that's one of the greatest compliments too. Because it means they're kinda real (don't worry I know they're not and  I 100% have never talked to them out loud). But they're people to me now, people with a story. And that's exciting, and something to be proud of.

Also, it's been FUN. That's something a lot of theatre folks don't like either. There's a feeling to make 'art' you have to be terribly serious all the time. Look lads I've written a play that needs a budget line for cake (no really) how serious can I be? I make myself laugh with it (I possibly need to get out more), I make myself smile. Hopefully, a few people who see it will too.

And I love these characters. I've loved playing with them (not like that. Bit like that sometimes). I've loved sitting with them, learning about them, watching them change and grow. Occasionally wanting to kill them all off. And isn't that when you know you've got something worth hanging on to?

More than that I take joy in the labour of it. I enjoy unraveling a puzzle that is a tricky scene or refining a line just enough to make it click. I love when words just spill out onto the page, and I love editing them to make sense. It's not a thing to be endured, if it is, really, what's the point?

It's taken a team of people to get this far, from the team producing it to my long-suffering friends who have endured coffee after coffee hearing about it (I did buy them cake too) to those who have read it (more than once, who I owe cake to). And I feel really lucky that people believe there's something in it worth reading, worth listening to, worth supporting (either that or they are really easily swayed by cake).

I've sat with the characters of this' for more years than I care to admit. The entire journey is another blog post. I'll leave it with this....(and maybe a hint to one scene that has survived all this time).

I can picture clearly not just the exact bookshop I had the idea for this in, but the exact set of bookshelves. Near the window, on the first floor, overlooking the road. I can also hear the first piece of music that inspired it (ok that's cheating it's on the playlist). Something about this story stuck around and wouldn't give up, no matter how many times I threw it out. So I'm kind of proud to get to this point.

The next bit...well that's the bit where it actually starts to become real.

I might need some more cake (or something stronger) before then.

International Women's Day.

It's International Women's Day. And a day to celebrate all the fierce and fearless women of our past, present and future.

Why do we still need it?

For all the women who aren't as lucky as us, who are oppressed, who struggle in their day to day lives for basic human rights.

But for our own 'first world problems' as well. For every woman who feels she can't speak out for fear of being labeled 'bossy' for every woman passed over for a louder man. For every woman who a man on a dating site has labelled 'too intimidating' for her career, her education, her salary.

For every man who has ever said I shouldn't call myself 'Doctor' if I wanted to 'get' a man. For every man who has ever called me 'too intimidating' good. Be intimidated.

For every woman who has been told she isn't good enough because she's a woman. That it isn't her place because she's a woman.

And what should we do this International Women's Day?

Women. Support each other. That means even the women who are different from you.

Support the woman who doesn't look like you think women should look like. Who chooses to dress differently to you.

Support the woman who chose to get married at 21. Support the woman who enjoys being single at 50. Support the woman who couldn't give a fuck about dating, and support the woman who would really like a husband.

Support the woman who doesn't want kids as much as the one who is desperate for them.

Support women in your workplace. Support women in your network. Support them against not just the men but the women who don't do the same.

Reach down, don't punch down. Give the helping hand you wish you'd had, don't pull the ladder up behind.

And men, this bit's for you:  listen to women. That's a great starting point. If a woman explains how she feels about something, why she doesn't like something, why she does; listen.

When women tell you about the gender pay gap, or everyday sexism, or abuse or period poverty. Listen. Don't talk over us, don't forget the minute we've stopped talking. Listen and engage.

Put women forward for things. Encourage the women you work with, that you're related to, that you're friends with.

Buy art by women. Buy their music, their books, see their plays. Don't put it in a category of 'women's' and 'not for me' we've managed to watch stories about men for decades...try it you might like it.

I have so many fierce and brilliant women in my life. To many to name individually. They are my family, my networks, some of them virtual strangers. But every woman who has ever stood by my side: You are awesome. Keep doing what you do.

Testing my ability to fail- dyslexia and job hunting.

Here’s a weird thing; I’m glad I wasn’t diagnosed in school. I went to school in the 1990s. Where anyone with a learning disability was put on the ‘special’ table at Primary School and put in the ‘remedial’ group for everything. If I’d been diagnosed at 5 or 6 then likely at that time nobody would have expected anything of me, and as a result, I’d not have been able to do half the things I’ve done.

I’m lucky too, that reading was never an issue for me. I read lots and at a high level from a young age I like to think of my academic success in terms of what Hermione says in Harry Potter ‘Books and cleverness’ I read a lot and remembered some of it.

I could never spell. I could never do times tables. Both of which were tested weekly. Do they still make kids do that? It’s the most horrible form of torture. Sat in silence wanting to cry looking at the paper knowing you’ve no hope of remembering it. Well, that’s how I felt the other week in a job interview. Except I was doing the test in an office full of people. So, I couldn’t cry.

I walked into the interview part of the interview knowing I didn’t have a hope in hell. Hell, I’d got on the train that morning (having spent £90 in total to travel, back via bus of course) knowing it was a waste of money because they’d told me there would be a ‘test’.

And ‘test’ means using Excel, and maths. And quite often test means proofreading or editing with no computer support. And these along with the test conditions, using a new computer etc. are my nemesis in term of dyslexia. Now I’m not saying anyone LIKES doing them, or they’re fair to anyone. But quite frankly I am never, ever going to pass one of those tests.

And also, can we talk about how useless said tests are, when in the workplace, we’d all use spellcheck and google?

And that an overall measure of suitability is not a memory for formulas in Excel? And that perhaps collaborative working and skill sharing with colleagues to double check your work would probably be more useful to an employer?

It’s impossible to explain to anyone with a ‘normal’ brain what it’s like. I mean they weren’t far wrong when they used to say ‘number blind’. Logically I know how one should get to an answer, but I just can’t do it. Likewise, I can, one would hope, string a sentence or two together, but I can’t always see where the errors are. And I certainly can’t do this, in 20 minutes, under test conditions.

Give me a job and training, and I can learn it. I figure out the workaround. I make notes and lists, and I can do as good a job as anyone mostly. I’m never going to work in mathematical research or be an accountant, but in most of the kinds of jobs I’m likely to do I’ll get by. More than get by, I’ll do a good job.

But not if I can’t get past even the first hurdle.

And then come the comments of ‘well you should have disclosed your disability’

Firstly, no disability, no opinion on the politics of disclosing. I appreciate I also speak from a position of privileged in some respects because I can ‘get away’ with not disclosing because my disability isn’t obvious when I walk in a room. But people with invisible disabilities of all kinds I know will speak to the minefield of ‘do I disclose or not’.

Because like it or not, it counts against us. Whether it’s a learning disability, mental health condition, chronic illness, we all worry, rightly so, that it will count against us. The employment sector is FIERCE and cutthroat. And rightly or wrongly you think well, they’ll find another reason not to employ me. And it’s all very well saying ‘they could get in trouble’ or ‘it’s against the law’ but in a pool of high calibre candidates it’s hard to ‘prove’ that’s why you lost out…but very hard not to wonder if that’s why nonetheless.

With dyslexia also you disclose and do badly in the test, or you don’t. Either way you run the risk of being called a liar. That dyslexia isn’t real. That you were using it to get an advantage (ooh thanks 10 minutes more to do the daft test?!) and that actually you’re just a bit crap at spelling or maths and trying to get a job by faking it…

Or of course, the idea that I will never get a job because of it. Like I say, competition is fierce for jobs. And being struck off before I even start because my spelling isn’t perfect, and my maths is yes, appalling (but again, we have calculators and spellcheck people)

But what’s anyone supposed to do? I can’t help but think my dyslexia is another reason I’ll remain forever unemployable. If I can’t get past the hurdle of a test in an interview what am I supposed to do?

And it’s another barrier because I’ve been knocked right down the ladder to entry-level jobs again. Because despite working for over 15 years. I’m both ‘overqualified’ for those but also ‘fail’ because I can’t pass the tests to get through interview stages. And you know what I just want to scream, what does anyone want from me?

And what if I get a job, what then? The one time I disclosed my dyslexia was during my PhD and that ended terribly. I was accused of lying repeatedly about proofreading, even when I’d disclosed my disability. I got no support from my supervisors. In another job, I got ‘outed’ about my disability, because obviously, I have been pretty open about it on social media. Not long after I was told my fixed term contract was coming to an end, with no explanation as to why.

I’ve been told by other disabled people it’s not real. I’ve been told to just ‘try harder’ that I just have to ‘accept’ I can’t do certain jobs (well all of them if they give tests like that).

My dyslexia is a big part of the reason I failed as an academic. I wasn’t given the support I needed in that, and my confidence was further destroyed by that. As I write this, I’m giving serious consideration to giving up writing the book altogether because I just don’t think I can do it.

And it’s really sad that I struggled through all the ‘school’ there is to struggle through and proved that being dyslexic isn’t a barrier to that. But that I can’t get a simple job, because I get kicked out at the first hurdle. Or that I can’t complete the work I did as an academic either.

I would love the idea that being dyslexic just means you’re a bit stupid, that you sit at the stupid table, had stopped in the 1990s. But tragically it hasn’t. And I’m not sure what to do, or where I go from here.