Plays, Jobs and Brain Chemistry

Over the years this blog has been a catalogue of the disastrous and ridiculous. Sometimes both at once (we all remember Murder Admin Job right? Right). So, it feels like a moment to also reflect on things going right…and the part of my brain and all the…well many and wonderful things this blog has catalogued, that make that difficult to take in.

2019 has been an up and down kind of year. But when I wrote about Finding My Theatrical Home a few weeks back, it felt like a tide was turning, 6 months in. And even more so now, 2019 seems to be dare I say it...doing ok? 

So where to start?

Today feels like a day to record in part because today the cast start rehearsal for my play ‘Don’t Send Flowers’ (tickets on sale soon. Do any of you REALLY think you won’t be hearing it until you’re sick of it when they are?). In so many ways it felt like a day that would never come. I’m not even sure I really believe it’s a real think that’s happening either. If writing a play is hard getting one on stage is like climbing Everest…you could probably die in the process and you’re not quite sure what’s up there (Bigfoot probably). And we have to give special mention to companies like Clock Tower who are doing this nonsense without any Arts Council support, without a ‘home’ venue, and just sort of getting on with it.

To that end I don’t think anyone involved would mind me saying it’s not been easy. The logistics of putting a thing together- in a city where theatre space is guarded by more gatekeepers than Mordor. Where costs increase almost daily, and everyone involved is wearing about 10 hats (my secondary hat being ‘Resident Cake Maker’ I know my strengths). And where you rely on goodwill and often blind faith. Just to get a script in a room to rehearse it seems like an achievement we should all take a moment to applaud.

As a writer too. I feel like, without any trace of personal ego, I should take a moment to applaud. Not my own script- lord knows it could still be an utter dogs’ dinner of a script (Interjection from the producer: it isn’t, please buy tickets). But as a writer to get from writing, to bounce back from all the rejection and keep trying. To bounce back from all the setbacks and keep trying, and to silence the voices in my head (and outside of it) that say you aren’t good enough, just long enough to do something with it. I’m taking a moment to celebrate that.

Or at least I’m trying to. Because silencing all that is hard. And in the arts, much as it happens, like academia, there is very little scope for celebrating what you’ve done. Only the ever-present ‘but what next’ or ‘yes but…’ the idea that, oh yeah cute you’ve got one play on…but what are you doing next. Without a pause to celebrate the fact…you got a fucking play on and that’s an achievement. Second the ‘yes but…’ you got a play on ‘but it’s not in x y or z venue’ or it’s ‘only with x or y’ or so-and-so did something else. And yes, I get it. I’m nobody. My play is a little nobody nothing existing in this tiny spec of a corner of the theatre world. But it’s my-no our- little spec. And lots of people have already worked really hard on it. And will continue to do so. And we think it’s worth sharing. And that’s worth celebrating.

So that’s that. And there’s lots of other creative stuff bubbling away. None of it concrete or finished, but that’s ok.

And then there’s the book. Let’s not talk about the book here this is a happy place…ok I just somewhat. The book is better than it has been. I feel happy with some words on a page. Scared of the gaping holes elsewhere. But the other week I finished the last totally unwritten section- meaning that for each section, there is at the very least a skeleton of what should be there. It’s far, far from finished. And there is a deadline looming again. But it’s getting to the ‘not perfect but written’ stage. So let’s hope it gets there. More importantly, I love it again. I think the problem was never not loving it, but loving it too much. Feeling the weight of expectation, of my own passion and love for it in parts. And that’s never going to go away because the thing wouldn’t ever get written if it wasn’t for that. And so we have to make peace with the fact I’ll occasionally cry writing it. We have to make peace with the fact I’ll occasionally cry about rain machines while writing it.

And so, for the book, I need to disappear for much of August to write it, because I need structure to write. I need discipline and I now find myself with less time than before because I’ve got a new job…

Ah, jobs. It’s been a ride, as this blog has often testified.

I did a PhD for lots of reasons. Some of them selfish (I really, really wanted to be a Doctor obviously, I have that much ego), I really wanted to write about what I wrote about. But also because I genuinely thought it was a great career move. Yes in hindsight you have to laugh at that or you’d cry. And I’ve cried, oh boy have I cried.

Suffice to say, the post PhD years have not been kind. There have been years of secure but horrible jobs, secure but ok jobs…and a year that should really be the-one-we-don’t-speak-of. And I’ve been open about the fact it left my mental health in shreds, and my career whatever that was, likewise.

So, it feels like jinxing it to say things could be, seem to be improving. And most importantly I’ve stumbled (as much of my career is still stumbling) into a job that’s both a brilliant opportunity to develop skills, for my career…but is also just a really lovely place to work. I can’t quite find a way to express what an almost unbelievable thing this is after nearly five years of exactly the opposite in every way.

I was compelled in part to write this because yesterday while working an event at work a woman I worked with at a horrible temp job- Receptionist at a private hospital- came up to me and asked me a question. She didn’t acknowledge that we’d ever met, let alone sat next to each other for seemingly endless shifts. Let alone that she was instrumental in making my life a misery there. I always swore if I ran into her, I’d tell her what a misery she made my life. And that I wasn’t just some dumb poor kid she could do that to (she liked to talk about how rich she was…). And while I’d never have done so while in work anyway…as she walked away I looked at where I was working, thought of the brilliant people I now get to work with, the creative interesting work I get to do…and thought ‘the best revenge is a life well lived’.

And I think that about the job, the play and everything else. There’s so much I could justifiably or not be angry at. So many people I could be bitter towards (and am). But I could also just laugh and think about my PhD supervisor trying to get my personal twitter shut down because ‘academics shouldn’t have twitter’ and that a good part of my job currently is sending silly gif responses on twitter. I could equally be bitter that the other PhD supervisor said I write like a journalist, and that I’ve written as a journalist for some pretty awesome publications. Or the former friend who said I would never be a proper playwright because I didn’t have an MA in it. Or I could just continue doing those things and kicking ass at it (especially sending silly gifs, that’s my number one skill).

What is hilarious (in a dark and twisty way obviously) is that in all this, right now my brain is spiraling into epic anxiety mode. Right now, that dark corner of my mind is slowly taking over and is utterly convinced that, among other things, I’m going to get fired tomorrow. Or that my play will still fall apart even though they’re rehearsing right now. There’s obviously zero rationale for either of these things. But a combination of brain chemistry, and all the stuff that’s led to this moment- the insecurity, the setbacks, the bullies and more, means that probably for a long time to come that’s the way my brain is wired. So what should be a relaxed Sunday after a job well done (I think) at work yesterday, and a day to be excited about creative pursuits, instead is plagued by my number one enemy (outside Murder Admin job and PhD supervisors) which is my own brain. On one hand, it helps you appreciate what you have when you get there- I can look at what I’ve got now and remember those dark days in January 2018 when it was all very very dark in every sense. But there’s always the lurking thought similar days are never far away. I wrote a lot more about anxiousness of having anxiety here it's exhausting some days, others just annoying. And just because life starts going well, doesn't make it go away. 

There’s no real moral here. There’s still much to celebrate and be content with which is the main point of this blog. But there’s also as ever the memory of what’s gone before and what that does to the now- specifically the now that lives in my head...

Talking of head. To end the blog with a shameless plug. One thing that is improving my mental health is running again. And foolishly training for a Half Marathon. A big advocate for any kind of exercise as therapy, but also of my own lack of sporting ability...I'm running for a charity called Big Moose that among many wonderful things, supports mental health. So if you're feeling generous...sponsor me here

14/48- finding a theatrical home

An opening note for more information on the 14/48 projects go here for my own personal waffle on my experience...keep reading. 

A week ago (when this goes up) I was getting ready to drive to Wolverhampton for 14/48. It’s fair to say I didn’t really know what I was letting myself in for. But when Neil Reading asks you if you want to make some plays and drink some beers, you figure ‘well what’s the worst that can happen?’ And also, honestly who wants to go to Glastonbury when you can spend the hottest day of the year locked inside the Arena Theatre (or more accurately stood on the pavement outside while the fire alarm goes off).

Anyway, instead, I should have asked ‘but what can go right?’

Answer; I was in very real danger of losing my love of theatre this year. But to paraphrase Taylor Swift, on a pavement in Wolverhampton…I watched it begin again.

I came to this at possibly one of my lowest points in a long time. Professionally, personally… 2019 has been a rough year. One of those years where everything you’ve been working towards seems to be falling apart… banging on closed doors in terms of employment, throw a few horrible humans into the mix ad it’s not been fun. I’ve had low points before in theatre, we all have, sometimes daily. But this time felt different, it felt like there’s a point at which you have to admit defeat, and this was it. And as a result, I can't help but be somewhat bemused that two people told me they were 'intimidated' to meet me because I felt like I was probably about to be laughed out of any theatre as a fraud (a director calling your work 'a disappointment' will do that) or more accurately that I wasn't really welcome at any theatre.

Because of all that, it wasn’t easy to come along to 14/48. Not only was I feeling pretty beaten down by theatre. But also, my mental health had taken a battering of late. Anxiety and introverts combined meant the thought of walking into a room full of people I didn’t know was nothing short of terrifying. That I didn’t end up needing to run out of there and hide, that I didn’t have any kind of severe anxiety episode is still nothing short of shocking. It wasn’t perfect and easy- because that’s not how life or mental health works. And yes, I admit early on Thursday I did text a friend and say ‘I think the actors have arrived it’s suddenly got VERY THEATRE IN HERE’  But while it was at times overwhelming, and yes nerve-wracking, it still felt like a safe supportive environment. We talk a big game in theatre about mental health but last weekend was the first environment in a long time I knew if I needed to I could have gone to any of the organisers and said ‘Hey I’m struggling’ and not felt judged or that my place there was in danger. And that I could have done the same to any of my colleagues for the weekend and been supported. And that’s vital.

While I’m shouting about that. I’m taking a moment to shout about accessibility. I’m Chair of a fabulous Theatre company called Taking Flight who make fully accessible work and support disabled performers, crew, writers…the whole gambit. So, to go into a festival that was entirely BSL interpreted (all 14 plays, by one rock star interpreter, thank you Coralie!) and had not only audio description but was training new people to audio describe. Honestly, I could cry. And when one director integrated some BSL into their play? Ok honestly, I did cry. Wheelchair users are also able to come to the festival and take part as fully as anyone else- no matter what your disability you were welcome. If 14/48 can do it, if the Arena can do it…there’s no excuse. It just takes willing to make a difference so everyone can be involved.  Also shameless plug, Taking Flight are back at the Arena in September with peeling by Kaite O’Reilly and 14/48 team, please come and see this show (and have a beer with me).

Creatively what 1448 offers is so important. Put in their words a chance to ‘make some fucking plays’ and that’s it, the beauty of it.

A pause here for 'what on earth is 14/48?' well it's described as 'punk rock theatre' and it feels exactly like the kind of theatre I started out doing. Basically, on Thursday there are no plays. By Saturday (well early Sunday morning) there are 14 plays that weren't there before. Writing, directing, acting, design it's all done in a day. And it's amazing what you can do when you just have to make something. I began my theatre career in Montreal, at a theatre with a similar ethos (including beer, but adding the grim winters) that's when I fell in love with theatre...and somewhere that got lost. That 'just make something' attitude. 

As creatives, that’s so important. We get so hung up on what it takes to get there- the auditions, the commissions, finding a company, finding a space, finding the money. Theatre making is hard, it takes a lot. But also, sometimes it’s really simple; get up there and tell a story. (Maybe a love story…maybe a gorgeous one with style…either way, look what you made me do 14/48)

For those who don’t know this is how it works. You pull a theme out of the hat.  Then you pick an envelope that tells you your running order. Then you write a play (casual like). Then the next morning your director picks an envelope. Then they pick some actors out of a hat.  

I can’t speak for how that works for others. But as a writer, it was freeing and inspiring. And yes terrifying. But the good kind of terrifying. For me as a Virgin writer, the fear was not being able to write the ‘right sort of thing’ but a quick realisation is that you can only write what you can write. I am not going to become a master of farce or surrealism at 2am, and I probably shouldn’t try. As Ted Moseby says, nothing good happens after 2am.

And so, for my first festival, I went with what comes naturally- which in my case is naturalistic, relationship-driven mini-plays. And the first, ‘How to Eat a Pear’ drawn from the theme ‘Heard it on the grapevine’ was just that. (food titles, and it seems alcohol were important in my plays this weekend). And a second when I thought a complicated relationship drama with two parallel storylines and timelines seemed too complicated….so I did that, but with politics added…look I never said I was a smart writer ok? And remember nothing good happens after 2am.

                                                            

Day one came easily. A simple ish idea inspired by a memory another play had inspired (a bit on that in the Epilogue here) and fun fact shared a song choice with another play this year. A quirk of creativity? Freakish supernatural occurrence? Sign that Shaun and I have already spent too much time together? Or just a sign that Return of the Mack is an utter banger?

Night two was hard. It should have been an easier theme ‘Facing the Inevitable’ ooh so deep, so interesting…I had four people, that should have been easier. Nope. Had nothing at all. Like blind panic nothing at all ‘oh shit they’re going to have a blank space and nothing else’. And so, day two was harder. I blame myself as writer entirely. And I take total ownership of handing over a confusing, play that didn’t initially translate from my brain to stage. And I’m not everyone’s cup of tea on page or in person. And that’s ok. But it’s the joy of this festival and its ethos that still what was created was brilliant- and that’s all credit to the team for pulling it apart and making it make sense to them, and to the audience.

As it turns out that thing I hated for a while there….I think it’s got legs. Not the literal thing on the page, but all the bits swirling around it, the things I know somewhere deep inside my mind and the ideas that have come since. Proving that sometimes something good does happen after 2am.

And while the joy of the festival is pushing your own creativity, it’s equally being inspired by other people’s creativity. Seeing what other people come up with that you never could. And I was so inspired by my fellow writers, and by the actor’s directors and design team that brought them to life. I’d be here all day if I tried to mention everything. But having met Matt Beames only 24 hours earlier, I could have picked his play out of a line-up blindfolded and loved it. Emma White’s integrating Shakespeare with quirky humour. Paul Rogers bringing the sweetest romcom out of Kat Wootton’s script. The utter beauty and heart behind Fran Richard’s direction on night two. The sheer resilience of team ‘Be Careful What you wish for’ as the final (interrupted) performance. Dragon sound effects. Joni Mitchell lyrics. Harry Potter. Dominic Thompson’s tour de force de farce performance. Every line Michael Southern deliver. Watching Coralie sign all the rude things we wrote. The audience laughing (and crying) together. And dancing together.

The lines I keep remembering (and I’m paraphrasing here so forgive me) came from Shaun Hartman’s second play. The first about being ‘sad tonight’ but the second about this festival feeling ‘More me when I’m here’ (with apologises for butchering those lines).

Maybe it’s a cliché, maybe it’s cheating to borrow those lines as my summary. Or maybe it’s exactly what 14/48 is about. Learning from other people, feeding your creativity off them and then off you (in a good way, not some scary Doctor Who monster way). Because I know, sitting there with my fellow writers, staring into a coffee in ‘Spoons, or into a beer in the Arena; I haven’t felt some in a long time. I’ve been in that sad night for a long time now. And any time I’m sad I’m going to remember that.

If I wrote all this in a play, I’d give myself a good talking to for how cliché it is. But I found my people last weekend. I found my community. When I was leaving Neil said to me ‘I knew you’d get it’ No, 14/48 you got me. And I’ve waited ten years for that. It felt like coming home. Fifteen years ago I started my theatre life making work like this in Montreal. I never found a place that felt like that again until now. What finding a group of people who support you who don’t pre-judge your right to be there, don’t interrogate your presence…who put simply abide by the rule ‘don’t be a dick’ is it makes you feel like you’re worth something again, after an industry, after people have spent so long telling you otherwise.

It also gives is a sense of confidence- that there is a world beyond the one I’ve been trying to be part of. And that I can also survive in it. Again, the mental health impact of trying so hard, and failing. Of an industry that will spit you out over and over again, is a sense of ‘I can’t do it anymore’ the anxiety that exists in me compounded with a totally paralysing fear of the unknown. It’s still a huge step between a weekend theatre festival and uprooting to start again somewhere. But there’s also a sense that it could be, would be possible to do that now. That sense that you can find people and a place elsewhere. And also a sense of- why have I been wasting my time on a community that doesn't want me, when there are people elsewhere who might? who do? Mostly though, it reminded me of all the things I love. And reminded me I do have a place there. 

And I say this, Neil Reading- as I know you’re reading this. Inviting me to 14/48 was as life-changing for me as when a certain angelic theatre director asked for my help. That moment rescued me, and so did this weekend. 

So, when I say 14/48 was life-changing, I really mean it. Of course, it’s no magic wand. But the difference feeling accepted, being allowed to be creative. Finding friendship. That gave me something much more valuable. Hope. And as a wise man once said ‘There is an ethical obligation to hope’

I've used a lot of words here (that's why I need a 6 page limit) but above all, while 14/48 was a revelation of sorts...it was also quite simply, like coming home. And 14/48 and the Arena are my home now too. You're stuck with me now....