The World Only Spins Forward (Angels 2 years on)

It’s been a minute since I talked about Angels in America on the blog. Partly I think because talking about it becomes caught up in a paralysing fear about the book (we’ll get back to that).

But yesterday was two years since it closed in London. And a few weeks before that marked a year since the Broadway closing. So, it seems a moment to take pause, and talk Angels.

I use that production as a marker in my life. And a reminder. It came along at a moment I was so done with theatre. So, done with my PhD work. So…done. I was in a crappy admin job, that was due to end soon. With no idea what next, but with a strong sense that ‘it’ was never going to happen, no matter what ‘it’ was. So, I might as well give up. And I find it hard to put into words, just how scary and more than that sad, heartbreaking even that was.

And then Angels happened and for a brief moment I felt like some of it was worth it- that what I had to say about something was considered worthwhile. That I was worthwhile to some people as well. And that maybe after all it wasn’t time to throw everything in.

Two years on I still consider myself a failed academic. But a failed academic with some pride. And some hope too. Because I feel like that helped me ‘prove’ I was worth something even without being a ‘real’ academic.

The two years since have been tough. Tougher than anything that went before- even the PhD itself. But there’s been some amazing things too. And I trace it all back to then.

And so back to Angels itself. Yesterday evening I decided to watch the final 15 minutes (how? Let’s not pretend we don’t know where former NT Live broadcasts go to live out their retirement). I hadn’t seen, or even read the play properly since I last heard the words ‘More Life’ on Broadway a year ago. I don’t need to in order to write about it…and I couldn’t. It had stayed in its little box, sealed in that theatrical moment since then.

I watched from Prior’s ‘Louis you can’t ever come back’ to the end. Firstly I strongly believe James McArdle is Pavlov's Tears or something- when he cries I cry- By the time Harper said ‘Night flight to San Francisco’, I was crying. By the time Prior said ‘We won’t die secret deaths anymore’ well…it wasn’t pretty.

But it felt good to revisit it. As ever this production will always be like coming home. But it felt for the first time like looking in on it, not being tied up in it. And there was a strange moment of, to quote another Marianne Elliott production ‘I’m ready, I’m ready now’ …there is a need for a certain amount of emotional and cognitive distance to really do justice to what you love. And I think I’m finally there.

A week ago I said ‘I don’t think I’m ready for another Angels’ but actually, that’s not true. The world only spins forward. I’m a firm believer (in fact it’s in the book) in there being a theatrical time and place for everything. There is a right moment for every production- and both I and the theatrical world needed that version at that moment. But neither I nor theatre is done with that play. Maybe not this year, maybe not next…but when it does I’ll be ready for it. It’ll never be ‘my’ Angels in the same way again. But that’s ok. We all have ‘our’ versions of our favourite plays that take up residence in our hearts…but there’s room for others as well. (Also I'm just saying if Andrew Scott wants to do it while he's still young enough I am here for Hot Priest Angels) 

And what does that mean for me? For project book?

A kind of painful progress as ever. But I’ve accepted that. I’ve also accepted that it might not be a bright and shiny cool book. It might not be the best book ever written. But it will be honest and fuelled by love and passion. And it will be the book I am meant to write.

When I think of that last performance two years ago it’s never for one second been with sadness. Always joy. It was such a wonderful day- rarely do you get the privilege of such theatrical perfection. Rarely do you get to actually simply lock yourself away in the theatre and indulge in something you love. (Rarely also do you nearly knock Benedict Cumberbatch out of the way…metaphorically speaking..sorta)

And you’ll find my friends that the thing you love will take you places you never dreamed you’d go.

Everything I’ve done- achieved since then, every cool article I’ve written, book contract signed, a play commissioned, a play produced…it’s all been a knock-on effect from that tiny part in Angels and I’ll always be grateful and that’s why this play will forever be more than just ‘that thing I did my PhD on’. And as rough as the past two years have been, I’m grateful to my favourite Angel for that.

While you're here, I have a Ko-Fi account to support my writing it's here 

I have a play! come and see it in Cardiff (Tickets here) Wolverhampton here

Academic Job season for the Failed Academic

There’s a part of me which wonders how many years I’ll write a blog like this.

Once again it's Academic Announce Your New Job Like A Wanker’ season. Ok, they aren’t all wankers. Some of them are very good, very nice people who deserve everything they are getting. Others, by a law of averages, are indeed wankers. But that’s another story.

Every year the slew of ‘I’m thrilled to announce having signed the contract, that I’m joining…’ announcements feel like a stab to the heart. Or a kick to the stomach. You know that real sinking feeling or that gripping of the chest…both of those at once sometimes.

And it doesn’t matter how much I tell myself I don’t want an academic job. It doesn’t matter how much that is true. It still feels like failure. It still feels like ‘should have been me’ it still feels like ‘why not me’.

And I’m not bad people (mostly) I don’t and have never wished ill on anyone who gets those jobs (who isn’t a wanker obviously). I want to celebrate with them, be proud of them. But there’s a little part that always thinks ‘that’s not for people like me’. And knows now it never will be. And there’s always a part of that which will break my heart a little.

People ask with frustrating regularity ‘but what do you REALLY want to do?’ as if I’ve spent my entire life to this point flitting from one thing to another. When the truth is that I spent a very large chunk of my professional life working towards a very specific goal. Between waiting to be able to afford to/get into a PhD and completing it was seven years of my life. I finished my PhD and graduated by 30. And I’ve spent 5 years trying to figure out what next. Most people do that 5 years between 21 and 26 and they don’t get the same judgment. Just think about that next time….

But that’s tangential. The point being 7 years of my life were spent dedicated very specifically towards that goal of being an academic. And then for the next 1-2 years after, with admittedly decreasing commitment…or confidence. But that’s 9 years of my life. Hell, let’s round it up to an even decade just for simplicity.

Much like the kind of abusive relationship academia is (rightly) often compared to, you don’t just walk away undamaged by that. You also don’t put near enough a decade of your life into one thing and suddenly walk away. It’s a gradual process. And a gradual coming to terms.

I decided that I wasn’t willing-  more accurately able- to commit to the kind of ‘everything for maybe’ approach that academia needs. The idea that you have to base your entire existence around a slim hope of an academic career- moving every nine months or going from short term contract to short term contract, working (continuing to work) survival jobs…all with diminishing returns in a sector that is falling to pieces. After another five, even ten years there was still little hope I’d have a permeant job. And even if I did, the culture of overwork, all-consuming nature of academia…ultimately I decided that wasn’t a path I was on anymore.

But you don’t just ‘stop’ being an academic overnight. And nor should you. Slowly we are coming around to new ways of thinking about scholarship. That it's possible to conduct scholarship outside of the Ivory Tower. That sometimes, shock horror, it is possible. And just because I don’t choose to pursue this as a full-time occupation does not mean I’m less of an academic- although unfortunate the academy often does not agree. I am still an expert, particularly in the areas my PhD covered. I’m still an expert in many other things I’ve undertaken research in. I’m still an excellent teacher. Those skills didn’t all vaporise with the last day of my library access.

And that’s what is difficult about this season. The feeling of being on the outside peering in. Almost as if someone locked me out of the library and I’m looking in through a window watching everyone else ‘do academia’. In reality, most people aren’t in the library, they are at home in their PJs, they’re teaching endless classes, doing admin…and being researchers around all that.

But still, for those on the outside, there's a sense of being not good enough. I've always told myself I just wasn't talented enough to cut it. Like a dancer cut in the first round of an audition, I just never quite had what it takes. It's more complex than that in reality- lack of opportunity, lack of financial privilege, class privilege, disability...all played into it. More than that I beat myself up for 'giving up' that it was easier to give up and say I walked away than properly fail. And maybe it was. But maybe that was the right choice as well. Maybe it was the right choice to live my life another way- to find another way. 

And I am, in a way....I'm  doing what I do, and I’m doing it on my own terms. I’m writing articles. In a stubborn rebellion to the PhD supervisor who said ‘you write like a journalist’ as an insult, I’ve managed to carve myself out a few niches in that area. And I am by day, as I’m sure they will look down snottily upon, working in marketing, where again my writing style is appreciated.  Meanwhile, I’m writing the book of (half) of the PhD. I have plans for the second. I’ve contributed to edited collections. I’ll never be in a journal and that’s ok. I’m picking and choosing the projects that interest me rather than what is ‘REF-able’ or will ‘get me a job’ and to be honest I couldn’t do it any other way now.

And I’m writing creatively. Which maybe none of it will last, but I’m giving it a damn good go. I’ve got a play on (hello PhD supervisor again, you said I never would), I’m working on a range of (translation far too many) creative projects….and so I am so much more than an academic job. 

As a friend said today, from the outside it looks like I’m ‘smashing it’ …and maybe it does, for a moment at least. But its ingrained in us to feel like failures, if we don’t reach the traditional academic goals of a ‘proper job’ or more accurately ‘doing all the shit jobs that might have a dim promise of the actual job at the end’.

To which I say a sincere, but thankful ‘pass’. I made my choice or it was made for me. But I'm carving something out of it.  probably wouldn't have got to this point without doing my PhD. And I'm thankful for that. I know that this is probably the 'right' way for me to do it...but it's still hard watching the could have-should-have-would-have versions of your life through social media this time of year. 

And it may take a few more years for that sick to the stomach, stab to the heart feeling to abide. But one day it’ll be gone.

'Tickets now on sale' setting a play free...

So today, finally I can say 'buy tickets to my play'

Wow, that's weird to say. Despite working on this particular play with this company for some time...a part of me never really believed I'd see this day. Partly through being a neurotic writer, lacking in any self-confidence, who is predisposed with an anxiety-ridden brain to assume the worst will happen. That suddenly everyone will decide it's actually awful and quit. And partly because at one point there was a brief moment of 'no everything is imploding' (Including, fighting for performance space with a pop-up restaurant...ah Cardiff).

But last week I got to see a sneak peek of what the actors and director had been working on. Things were still rough, still a work in progress...but I sat there with a huge grin on my face. It's a genuine joy to have your own words make you laugh out loud because they've been given a new twist. Or to be moved by the characters who sprang from the depths of your mind, even though you knew what they were going to say. It's even better to be surprised by it, to think 'wow I didn't know it could mean that' or to think, in seeing it fleshed out 'wow I never would have thought of that.' All of that is why I write for the stage- to hand it over and see what someone else makes of it. Most of all, by the end I caught myself swept away and engaged in the story, waiting for the next moment rather than analyzing my own writing. And that's a sign things are looking really good.

It's worth saying how grateful I am to have a team who include a writer. I'm more than happy to hand over how it looks and sounds- that's my job, that's their job and as above, that's why I write for theatre. But to work really collaboratively is to stay involved- to be asked questions, no matter how big or small, to offer help where it can be given, to help tweak things that need tweaking. Like everything in theatre it all works better if we work like that- and we get a better 'thing'.

But also just on a human level, writing is a lonely profession. And sometimes its hard thinking 'everyone is off having fun without me' while you're sat at a computer. So to be included- in auditions, in creative conversations and rehearsals, makes it less lonely, it makes you feel part of a team. More than that though, writing is handing over a little part of you to a group of strangers. It's partly a vulnerability of writing- the idea of taking something from the dark depths of your mind and letting other people see it, and work with it, turn it into something else is a terrifying thing. And it is also that bits of you inevitably end up in what you write. Whether you're writing something worlds away from your own life or not. Bits of you will bleed into the characters, and then other people take them away from you. If you're lucky they give them back more whole than before and do something beautiful. But it's a terrifying thing. And what if, like this play is for me, it's not worlds apart, but at times like tearing out a part of you even more- fragments of your own story meshed up with others until you can't quite tell them apart. What then?

That's a lot of words to say (ever the theatrical child of Tony Kushner) it's hard, and vulnerable and scary as hell to share your work, to have people work on it. But to feel welcome in the 'family' making it, to feel part of it even when you've handed it over. That means the world. (And makes me feel a little less 'mad writer in the attic'). And I've been lucky to have the most wonderful group of dedicated, kind and of course talented actors bringing it to life.

And as for other people seeing it? I'm excited, genuinely. On the day you will likely find me sick with nerves. But I'm excited. The amount of support I've had from friends, both close and the most casual of acquaintance has already been amazing. I haven't taken a single person saying 'I'm coming' for granted and I'm genuinely amazed at the number of people who say they want to come. And just by the number of people being supportive, congratulating me and generally, in an industry where kindness often gets forgotten first, is a truly nice thing.

And with it being performed, given the nature of the industry, there's a weird feeling too of wanting to be dismissive. To say 'oh it's only a little production' 'Oh it's nothing really' especially in the face of everyone else who seems to be doing so much better than you. That you shouldn't really be this excited about a little play...because obviously comparatively it's a drop in the ocean.

But also, why should I wave away and dismiss all the hard work I and several other people have put in? And why shouldn't I (we?) be excited about sharing that? I've always said about everything I write, if one person appreciates it- be that a review, a blog, a book chapter my damn never-ending book, or yes a play...then I've done my job.

One of my favourite slightly obscure musicals is [Title of Show] which is a musical about writing a musical. And the song 'Nine People's favourite thing' sums up how I feel here;

I'd rather be nine people's favourite thing
Than 100 people's favourite thing. 

Actually, the whole song is a good message or anyone trying to create something. It's about trying to make a thing you love, out of not much at all. Of knowing you're drowning in a sea of talent, but still believing that what you've got will mean something to someone. (It also includes another musical reference that I, of course, find pleasing).

So you'll find me humming this to myself when my play opens. As the song also says, fittingly for a writer and a play obsessed with cake 'Let our show be the rice crispy treat'

Meanwhile, do go and buy tickets for the play. On in Cardiff 6th and 11th September here

And me and the Director will resume doing what we do best....

Moose Running for Big Moose (Running update)

I run like a moose- I shouldn't be able to get round the state of me, and you'd better get out of my way before I fall on you....

Running update! because what's more boring than running? some wanker talking about running....


For those who don't know, I foolishly on what can very much be described as a 'whim' signed up to the Cardiff Half Marathon. Why? honestly, who knows. Basically, my friend said he was doing it half challenged me to, and apparently, my competitive spirit kicks in occasionally.

At the time I signed up I was probably at my least fit in years. Which wasn't totally unfit, but I had reached a fitness slump. I was going through the motions with my gym routine and the odd run thrown in but putting not much effort into either. Sure I could shuffle around a 5k, and throw some weights about. I wasn't getting any less fit...but I wasn't getting fitter either.

Because as much as I know I like running, I also know running is hard. And personally, it's 'easier' for me to throw some weights about in a gym. So I needed a kick up the arse. Apparently, that took a few weeks to kick in because I was one reluctant runner for some time. And then suddenly (as 15 odd years of fitness training SHOULD tell me by now) it all kicked in and I noticed this thing called progress.

In the last week, in particular, I realised it was suddenly easier. I was suddenly enjoying it all the time (ok not in that heatwave) and that surprise surprise, I looked forward to running.

But actually, this was less about running more about mental health. Looking back, I realise my fitness nose-dive was alongside a mental health nose-dive. The first half of 2019 wasn't fun. For various reasons, it felt like an 'everything imploding but very slowly' type year. A sort of insidious disaster in the making. And with it a sort of creeping mental health crash too. I credit my exercise routine for staving that off from being any worse- I luckily rarely dip to the point I don't exercise, and exercise helps keep me off that point.

Physically it's not been plain sailing. As a dyspraxic somewhat moose-like runner I'm uncoordinated as hell. Shown by an epic 'wipe out' of a fall a couple of weeks back, in which I finished the run with blood running down my arm. Add to that my Ulcerative Colitis (oh yes, it's been a hot second since I talked about poo on this blog right?). Which means there's been times I'm running through either a fatigue day, or simply a 'searing abdominal pain' day. And yes, there's something about running that while in the long term seems to make me more healthy, but also shakes up my insides making me worry slightly...and yes I do find myself worrying that I'll end up with a flare up during the race week. But you know what, ill or not, I'll limp around.

And obviously physically I'm getting fitter, and that's great. But also mentally I'm much healthier for running. Like the physical gains, it's slowly, incremental but has a lasting and real effect. To the point I know now I won't ever let the running slide again because of the very real effect on mental health it has. 

I said I was running this half marathon for me. As something that wasn't remotely career connected, something I could just do for me. Because the trouble with 'do what you love' for a living is that you do little but work. Having to have a 'day job' means that unlike 'normal people' my days are split between 'that work' and 'my work'. I love 'my work' but most evenings and weekends are taken up with writing. And despite loving theatre, and it is my main 'hobby' as well as part of my job, it means much of my social life is also taken up with 'work'.

More to the point if you're running you can't physically be writing. More importantly, having to go for a run means a legitimate hour or more where I don't have to write. And that my friends, is golden.

I'm sure some writers use running as 'thinking time' and 'oh darling I come up with my best ideas while running an ultra-marathon' well good for you bro (it's going to be a bro). For contrast here are some snippets of my interior monologue from this morning's run:

'Dog!'
'Is there a hill if I run that way?'
'Do I have to do 10k really?'
'Dog!'
'That's got to be 5k already surely?'
'If I run 10k I could go an buy some kind of desert surely'
'Dog! Dog! Dog!'
'I swear this wasn't a hill last week'
'What's for lunch?'
'Fuck me is that a goose...fucking hell it's coming at me...oh look a dog!'

You get the idea...I'm not saying I don't daydream, but I don't use running for anything other than escaping everything else. And it's working pretty well. It's the ultimate 'me time' because nobody can demand anything of you while you're a sweaty mess running around Roath Park (let's not pretend I'm that posh it's usually the shitty leisure centre near me).

Training is going well. I'm up to 15k on a long run, and three 5-7k runs a week. I'm not worrying about time, just getting around, but there's a small improvement there too, gradually. Distance and getting around without falling. That's the aim. Everything else is a bonus.

And so it's fitting that I'm running the half marathon for Big Moose. A brilliant local charity whose aims are:

1. mental health

2. homelessness

3. the prevention of suicide.

This marathon is doing me the world of good. And I hope by raising some money for them I'll help some other people as well.

And if you think you could spare maybe the price of a cup of coffee to sponsor this moose running, I'd really appreciate it.

You can sponsor me here  and I'll send you a moose picture.