Sharing rejections (and being defeated by them)

There's a thing going around Twitter at the moment called 'Tweet your rejections' which is mostly full of inspiring stories of life going very wrong before it goes right. This isn't a blog critiquing those stories. I love them. Some of them are hilarious in an 'Oh I've been there' kind of way. Others are heartwarming, and others just give a sense of 'oh it's not just me then'.

I also love them, because I like to be inspired to keep going. About a year or so ago I shared an article that focused on Denise Gough having the worst year of her career before she got the part in People Places and Things. I shared it on Facebook with a line about it being inspiring or whatnot. Because it was, people getting to do the thing they love is inspiring. Do I think it happens to everyone? no. Do I think that because it worked out for Densie Gough it'll work out for me? No. But I like to hope. For a moment. It gives me a sense of 'keep working it might just work out' when my brain wants to tell me to stop. And what's wrong with a little inspiration anyway?

Well why don't we ask the prominent industry professional who I won't name but will say was a he. Who felt the need to slide on over into my DMs and inform me in no uncertain terms that 'More people fail than suceed you know, for every Denise Gough there are 100s of equally talented people who don't make it.' That these people are either working crappy jobs or give up and go and do something else.

Well firstly, no shit Sherlock. As someone who has had the crap kicked out of me by not one but two brutal industries for 10 years, yeah I kinda got that. Secondly, yes I know people give up all the time. I have been that person. I'm on about my 5th career already. So what? Even if I wasn't in theatre I'd find Gough's or any of the other tweeted stories inspiring, and heart warming. Because I'm not reading them to JUST say 'hey I can do it too then' I'm also reading them for a bit of good news, a bit of 'hey someone got what they wanted in life isn't that grand' because even in our own despair we could all use a bit of sunshine sometimes.

And am I a bad person? a stupid person? if these stories inspire me to keep going a bit longer. Sure they'll come a point where I'll give up entirely. But also, what if I don't.

If there's one thing I've learned over the years it's plugging on even if you're failing, eventually leads to somewhere else. Something else that does make sense. I don't always know where I'm going but as long as I'm still plugging on and trying, well I'm going somewhere right?

I write this all in the midst of utter professional and personal despair. Everything is going wrong at once.

My temp job that I plugged along at for six months thinking it would have the security to see me through, has gotten to the point of unbearable, and untenable in terms of supporting me. So I'm having to quit. And that's scary.

I've been out of a 'proper' job a year. And I feel like a failure. I'm beaten down by rejection and temp jobs from hell.

And it's my Birthday next week. Nothing like turning another year older to remind you how badly you've fallen behind.

My creative work....well we're about a 50/50 ratio of good and bad. I'm having to virtually throw a play out and start over after pouring 6 months of work into it at the expense of everything else. And as a result of that the progress on the book has fallen behind to disastrous levels.

And in temping for 6 months to get all that done. I feel like I've failed in progressing to 'proper jobs' (that I likely would have been rejected from anyway.


So in all honesty, I'm feeling like a big fat failure right now. I feel like I'm overwhelmed by everything, doing too much and still not doing enough. That it'll never be enough, that I've wasted and made a right cock up of the last year and it'll all be for nothing still.

So I can't share my own rejections. I'm too much in it. But don't mind me if I take 10 minutes solace in the actors who got the part in the end, the academics who got there or the people for who it did somehow all work out- even if it wasn't the way they expected.

Read throughs and starting again.

This week is a story of two read throughs. Or rather one read through and a not read through.

Because sometimes in life (and writing) things go right and sometimes they go wrong (in order to go right). So I should have, had things gone to plan one read through of one play on Thursday, and another on Monday.

Instead I had one read through, a lot of angst (and tears, it's me). And a throw-it-all-out-start-again instead of a read through.

The latter was hard. And I exaggerate slightly. It's not so much throwing it all out, so much as building it again from the ground up. And it's the right call. It came from me saying 'I can't make what we need out of this.' most importantly it came from being honest and saying 'This is not the play I would have written' So I'm taking the bits I would have, and rebuilding the play I would have written, in the way I want to.

And it's a disappointment, and a frustration. To fail at reaching a milestone, or to feel like you've failed because the work isn't what you want it to be. But it'll work out. I've said elsewhere about my book project, I'd rather do it slowly, and do it right. So this is me, doing it right. (and trying to block out the utter ball ache of once again re-jiging my schedule for the rest of the year, and the screams of panic at pushing other things back again).

One final note, last week's blog talked about healing from the PhD. And no, it turns out I'm not quite there. Feeling like any of these things can be taken away at any moment, however irrational, and however much other people feel you're a fool, is very much still there.

Luckily this week was balanced. And really, getting one read through of a play in a given week is incredible, and I shouldn't feel let down that another didn't happen. I'm also, amid all that frustration, grateful for how wonderful an experience the read through was. Just when I needed a reassurance that I might, might be good at this stuff.

The read through was for my play 'Don't Send Flowers' (and not the title still printed on the copies, because I am a lazy, lazy written. But also shout out to the actor who got the reference for the original title). It was the first time in many, many years I've heard that play aloud.

Because this is a a play that has been in and out of drawers (ooh matron!) more than, well possibly than one of the characters (filthy man-whore that he is....I love him). And it's been that long, that I was honestly doubting myself, and what I'd written. It had also, naturally been rejected several times from several places.

That the reading ended with my wonderful director saying 'Seriously you underestimate this' made those fears and doubts worthwhile. What also made it worthwhile was a group of actors who immediately got it. They got the extremely dry, dark sense of humour (as well as obviously a fair few childish jokes). They got the heart of it under that humour.  And they did it all in a spirit of support, of helping us as a team make it better.

And I'm so excited to make it better. There's something in knowing it's 'good enough' as it stands, that makes you want to make it even better. To have actors tell you how moved they were, how engaged they were by the writing. Makes me only want to make it more so. And to have the actor reading the central role tell me how rounded a female character she was, and how exciting that was....maybe just maybe there's something in this.

And so it's back to writing. My head is a bit crowded right now. Both these plays are at stages of re-writing. And a new projects, and team of characters just snuck in this week too. But it's exciting.

I may have had to throw one play out and start again, but in doing so I've found my voice in it again. And in hearing my voice so strongly in another, and knowing I can make that one really something great (I mean hopefully, let's not get too cocky). It's exciting again. Despite the fear, despite yes a sense of disappointment and failure there's a drive and excitement to all that.

Time to get (re) writing.

Draft 2 (and repairing some damage)

That's damage to myself not to the play. 

I sent draft one of a play off to my Producer/Collaborator last night. And as I blogged for Draft 1 it seemed to make sense to do the same for draft 2.

In some ways it’s a very similar feeling. Blind panic and sweating the minute I hit send and 1000 more amendments I want to make but damnit didn’t have time.

All that is normal. What I really want to blog about is that between the first and second draft what I’ve come to realise about my writing process. But more accurately what academia did to that and how I’ve changed through this process.

Before I continue, I’d like to acknowledge that there is good and bad in both academia and the arts. I’ve had my share of Directors making me cry because they just slated my work without constructive thought, or were just plain nasty people. In the same way I’ve known many wonderful supportive academics. This is just one story. But how my academic experience affected me I’ve come to discover has coloured how I work and how I write. And in a way the last few months working in a different kind of collaborative, but critical relationship has really started to heal the scars academia left.

To quote my favourite film (don’t @ me as the kids say)

“Sometimes the bad stuff is easier to believe”

And after believing the bad stuff for too long, slowly in this process I've started to learn I'm not as terrible as I think. And even more slowly finding my voice not only in the writing, but in fighting for my writing that I'd lost. 

Why did this seem like such a revelation? Because every time I’d pushed back during the PhD, every time there was a moment of ‘this isn’t quite what I asked for’ it turned into a Drama. With a capital drama. More so than anything I'm trying to put on the stage. And then there was also the way supervisors approached the feedback generally. And that’s how I came to the feedback on this play; expecting the worst about my work, and expecting also it to result in tears and the end of something I loved very much. Because that’s what academia had left me with. Destruction of my confidence in my work. And my love of it.

As a result, that week after handing in the first draft was fraught. I think we’d both admit that. But we came out the other side having not fallen out, with a better understanding of how to work together. And with the work improved. And I wondered, why had that been so scary? Why had it been so hard for so long?

I could talk for days on this. Instead inspired by an element of the play I’ve just sent off two letters, one to each side of this story….

Dear Former PhD Supervisors and Examiners (except you two, you know which)

You were supposed to be a mentor, not an enemy. You weren’t supposed to use my words, and yes, my failings as weapons.

When I broke down crying from stress and exhaustion you didn’t support me. You reported me. You said I wasn’t strong enough to take what you threw out and instead of helping me, you tried to get rid of me.

When I confessed the gaps in my knowledge, you didn’t support me to fix them, you looked for those gaps in my work. When you recommended books to read you then accused me of lying about reading them.

I wasn’t lazy, I wasn’t lying about proof reading. I wasn’t submitting you some half-arsed piece of work. I was dyslexic. Which you knew.

You destroyed my faith in the one thing I thought I could do. And in doing that I felt worthless. It wasn’t just that you took my belief in the one thing I thought I had talent for away. It’s that you turned it into a series of insults. And when I asked for help, you turned that into an attack.

You knew how dearly I loved my subject matter. And you repeatedly tore it down. The medium. The content. I make that joke about War Horse frequently. But what you were doing with that was letting me know who was intellectually superior. You knew I loved the PhD plays, and you made it clear they like me weren’t worthy of a PhD. You knew it as well was a matter of personal pride, and accomplishment. As it is for all of us.

You made it personal. You made it about sexuality, about HIV status (a question you should never have asked FYI). But mostly you made it about me. About how I wasn’t worth anything. When in fact you should have been helping me learn the techniques, learn to be an academic.

You made me think every difference of opinion was a battle. And every conflict was the potential end of something. More importantly you made me think every time we disagreed it was because I was too stupid, and not talented enough.

Maybe I was never good enough to be an academic. We can’t all be. But you didn’t have to destroy me to teach me that.

Dear Producer/Collaborator/Friend?

I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I apologise too much. But feeling like I’ve done wrong has become so engrained I’m not sure how else to start a conversation about my work other than ‘I’m sorry for it’. Or a conversation about how I’m not working hard enough, that being ill got in the way. That I’m just too tired from juggling my job and my other projects and trying to have a life. I’m sorry that I’m not working every waking hour on this thing.

Because that’s how I’ve been trained to think. That every step away from perfection is an utter failing. That if I’m not producing the best of the best that’s a failing. If I’m not aware of every other piece of work ever created with a link to mine, every theory related to it and every book written on it, I’m a failing. And thank you for (Slowly) teaching me that isn’t true.

I’m sorry that my mind is chaotic and messy. That I over write (I am truly sorry for the 350 page first draft).

I’m sorry that my dyslexic brain makes it hard to follow.. That I lose entire scenes because I get word-blind. And that I forget things. That I’m not precise in my timelines or my details. I don’t mean to be. It’s just…chaotic and blind in my head sometimes.

I’m sorry that my mind, my mouth and my writing goes 19 to the dozen and you struggle to keep up. Know that I struggle to keep up. Know that it’s messy and chaotic to me and it doesn’t always make a whole lot of sense.

I’m sorry that I struggled to trust you. And in doing that I wasn’t honest. And here’s the honest truth: academia both built up and armour and wore me so thin that my defences are now always up but worn so thin all at once. I told you it was chaotic in my mind.

I know I over think it. And that drives you crazy. Academia is over thinking, and still being told you didn’t think enough. Know that in general actually. After being forced to expose my work to constant criticism, week after week. Often cruel. I had given up by default just to not go through that again.

And I’m thankful I did. And to you.

And thank you for giving me criticism I can understand. That is in plain English. That is logical. That I might not always agree with (I still say the eyeballs scene was great) but that I can appreciate, and that I can see the benefits of. Because I spent four years being told everything I did was awful, and sometimes that’s still all I can hear. And for making me a better writer. By pushing me without breaking me.

And thank you for letting me love it. And for letting me put myself into it.

I was taught by academia that the part of me that loved what I do, and the part of me that allowed emotional attachment in was wrong. I’m a cold hearted bitch at times anyway (with a dark dark sense of humour to match). But I write from the heart, I write from me. I just don’t like anyone to know that. So know that when I let you know which bits do come from me, that’s a trust like nobody else gets.

Thank you for telling me I’m doing something right. Even when you say ‘I don’t say it enough’ know that you’re saying it far more than anyone did then and it means the world.

I’m not promising what I’ve done is brilliant. I’m not promising what I did will be a success. I hope it will be. I plan to do everything I can to make it one. But doing this made all the difference to me.

So I’m sorry for all of that. And this sappy note. But thank you for giving me my voice back.