Courage

Its now been more than a week of sleeping on the floor in a dormitory. (I tried using the bed, and ended up twisted like a Rubik’s Cube. Mentioned the shitty mattress to the powers that be, who suggested either a plank under said mattress, or putting mattress on the floor. No use. So I’m been getting more or less a good nights sleep, sleeping on the thin carpet on the floor.)
Can I just say that I miss my bed?

Its interesting how its the simple things that I crave as routine. The morning smokes, cup of coffee, a ‘bed.’ Before I start sounding like the angels in Wings of Desire, and list the feel of palms being rubbed together on cold mornings, to my list, I’ll change gear.
Rehearsals have been going at high speed. Its been interesting to be confronted with student actors, and to see what the taught approaches to performance are in America. I’d go into detail, but as Inspector Clouseau would say “Now is not the time, Cato.”
I miss writing; feeling the satisfaction of observing the emergence of well-crafted sentences from out of the morass of jumbled words on the printed page.

There’s a scene in Dennis Potter’s Black Eyes, where characters literally pause midway up stairs and awkwardly loiter, waiting for the instructions on what to do next, as the narrator (the writer of the piece) verbally doodles and ums and ah’s over what happens next. That’s roughly how my characters are feeling at this point. They’re all standing around, eying me and waiting for me to direct them towards their intended actions. But currently writing isn’t possible. The rehearsals are long and cut into my morning wide-awake hyper period – whereas by nightfall and around 8 or 9ish, I’m slitty-eyed and ready to fall over. The cast and director kindly cut me enough slack and realize its not coz I’m lazy – truth be told I’m probably not getting enough nutrition to last the very long days, given that mine starts around 6am. (Good nutrition is a daily struggle – I’ve got my rice cakes, fruit, and diminishing supply of broccoli, and that’s what’s keeping me alive and well-fed. I’ve learned enough previously about US food, to deliberately avoid the toxic sludge of it. Stupidly ate some bread from the scam known as ‘Wholefoods’ when buying fruit and vegetables – my mouth was stripped raw, and my whole body took days to recover. Gawd knows how people can eat the stuff on shelves and restaurants here.

But the rehearsals continue, and I step through old thoughts and old material. I think I have a glimmer of what Michael Palin felt/feels like, when people quote Python material at him, and he’s having to think back decades to the person he was when doing it.

That said, ‘Dogs’ is fairly funny, and is a self-contained little story which is still effective. Its doubly interesting seeing what the cast and director are able to by turns, perceive and not perceive, in terms of the nuances in the script – this alone is teaching me volumes about American society, in a way that is profoundly educational. Its fascinating seeing what constitutes ‘complexity’ locally – and how script is approached and understood.

Scientists and hunchbacks, cooks and broth.

Its these and other issues that draw me towards Prose, where what IS – provided its written correctly – remains unassailable and undeniable on the printed page. And others wanting to pretend they’re part of the artistic vision, can simply fuck off and wander in the wilderness of their own vacuousness.

As opening night draws near, I wonder sometimes about what constitutes ’success’ and how one is supposed to appraise this…

I know I’ll be sitting outside on the steps on opening night, smoking and looking at the Moon, and thinking my various thoughts. Hopefully the audiences inside the theatre will be having a good time and enjoying themselves.
I’ll find out soon enough whether I can reach through the numbness brought about by a million miles of concrete highways and parking lots, and sameness – and make some folks ‘feel’ something.
/Goth mode off

Putting Yourself in Harm’s way

An update. Semi irked, I guess. Finished a new novella, and realized that it didn’t properly capture the world (or the story) that I was trying to explain. I’d got the story arc nicely created – but much like the Fairyland book – the complexity of the world I created was just too vast to fit properly into a little 40-something page creation. With hindsight, looking over it, I can see that I need to take more time with the unfolding plot, especially given that there’s a huge amount of theology and backstory involved. So what I’d created was almost a precis of the actual events.
And now I need to revisit the ‘world’ and rewrite it properly.
What have I learned? ‘Writing’ teaches patience.

Taken the almost unheard of step of taking a day or two off. Naturally I’ve already started the new tack at the story. And now, on day 3, I’ve also started writing something else. Not entirely sure what it is, or where its going, but its emerging and so I’ll go with it and see where it takes me. I have a vague idea of some of the moods I want to evoke, but as to the actions, conflicts and the like, no clue.

I was thinking idly about the upcoming Brown University jaunt, and more specifically about having to talk with the students – and that’s going to be a fun and weird thing. I can picture the question: How do you plan your stories/plays? I dont. The stories emerge and I write them down. I try not to get despondent at my own exhaustion as I do my best to keep up with the story as it plays in my head. What advice can you give? Put yourself in harm’s way. Discover discomfort. Get real life experience. Face some life threatening stuff above and beyond being handed the wrong kind of coffee from the waitress. Discover the delicious clarity which comes from facing the possibility of not getting out alive from the situation you’re in. Assuming you live, the work you’ll do after this will probably be of a higher order than the mindless navel-gazing variety.
At the same time, I’m aware that a lot of good writers were comfortable middle class people, who merely used their imaginations. Dickens never starved. On the other hand, Joe Orton lived in a way that closely parallels my ideas of ‘putting yourself in harms way’ – and being true to yourself, regardless of how weird, sleazy, repulsive, or mischievous that might seem to everyone else in society. If you don’t know Orton, source the film ‘Prick Up Your Ears’ and learn a little something.

Side thought, I can feel my subconscious mulling over the half written play, whose characters are standing with their arms folded, waiting for me to point the way. Again, I know the story arc, and more importantly, the mood I want the audience to have by its end – but for now its still gestating. Like that character says in Bergman’s Serpent’s Egg (when describing the rise of Nazism) ‘you can see the egg, and the thing within, dimly visible – but its still not properly formed yet.’

Hmm, other things to perhaps raise with questioners – like ’sometimes you just have to write what you want to write, and its irrelevant whether or not you think the market will like it.’ I suppose that’s one of the issues I have politically with some ideas of ‘good art = what makes money’ – one ends up in a situation where people trudge along the same old footsteps creatively-speaking, believing that when you’re making money from art, or mass media ‘notices you,’ this therefore means that what you’re doing is ‘good.’ The primary difference between Culture in the EU and Culture in the US.

I think its lovely if/when ‘recognition’ happens, but there’s no way I’d ever want to be having those sorts of thoughts or motivations of fame/recognition in my head when making things. And trying to persuade people that there’s a technique which everyone can learn to ‘make good art’ (ie: stuff that makes money) is a slow dive towards scraping the bottom of the barrel, wearing weird glasses that have distorted the perspective. Hey, is that the surface I’m approaching? No, its the ocean floor – you’re upside down. The Aimee Mann line about ‘you’re on the ground and moving down…’ comes to mind.

I’m curious to see the kind of rehearsal process that’s going to unfold, and what the actors might need to know, in order to achieve the roles. Ditto seeing the other playwrights ‘process’ – as there’s no single one way that is ‘right’ – there’re many ways to skin a cat, and my approach is merely one of an infinite number of them, en route to the cast standing on stage, saying the words in the right order – and having fun with it, too. ‘No one gets out of here alive,’ after all…

And, now I think of it (re the ‘many ways to skin a cat’ line), what were the circumstances around the original unfortunate cat, which gave rise to that faintly sinister saying?
What were the original humans up to, which gave birth to that creepy line?
Who came home at the end of a long day, and muttered to their significant other ‘Damn, there are many ways to skin a cat.’
Why were they doing it in the first place?
Had they only been skinning cats in one standard way up until then? Just what were they doing with cat skins?

Hm, I suddenly notice that this is a rather kinky feline-sadism version of Brecht’s (I think it was) ‘thoughts of a person studying history.’
Good grief.

Its a gloomy day in Connecticut. Soft rain. Perfect writing weather.

Tobacco seedlings and prose and plays, Oh My…

Its been a while since I got around to writing words that aren’t directly connected to the manuscripts I’m creating. So apologies to the aether and the 2 or 3 out there who stumble past on occasion.
The house move was as horrifying as one can imagine, and the least said about it, the better. More importantly, my tobacco seedlings which I have decided to try and grow as a ‘hobby’ are doing well. Whether or not my enthusiasm will sustain long enough to see it through to planting the 50+ tobacco plants, and then, at the end of it all, harvesting, hanging and curing it ahead of smoking, is another matter entirely. Still, if the world goes boom, there are three basic items which become of value; gold, alcohol, and tobacco. To me, the measure of self preparedness is how much of each of these items one has stashed.
The ‘evil little thing’ I was writing at the time of the last blog entry, has been named ‘Pigman’s Fingers’ – and runs at around 44 pages. I’m pleased with it, it captures a dark American Gothic feel – like Night of the Hunter meets Steinbeck via JM Coetzee.

The epic saga, the 800+ page book, has also been completed – although minor editing tweaks are taking place. It feels at times like I’m hacking through undergrowth and clearing foliage. The book is down to around 670 pages now, which gives an idea of the extent of ‘weeding’ taking place. Its close to the point of being in a fit state to throw towards the Agent.

Had to turn down a voice job last week. I can’t go into details too much, suffice to say that the amount of time and energy required to travel from where I am to LA, in order to record, just wasn’t worth it. Weird though it was to turn a job down. Oh well, inshalla, as they say.

Being a freak of note, amidst the editing and ruefully eying my slowly growing tobacco, I’m 40+ pages into another ‘evil little thing’ – which is providing me with much amusement as I write. If the Pigman’s Fingers work pushes the envelope to a degree that folks may not have seen before, this current work, I contemplate at times, is probably going to get baying and howling mobs trying to hunt me down – as it dives into territory that’s dear to the hearts of many. I personally think its deliciously funny satire, but who knows? It’s not my job to do too much self analysis on my writing. My task is to write the stories that want to emerge, and craft them as well as I can, before I let them loose to hunt for their own food.

Its occurred to me that these ‘evil little things’ are potentially another book, which is a pleasant idea. Each takes me a couple of weeks to create, and then – hello iteration – almost as much time again to chisel, cut, polish, and make the words do exactly what I require. Prose is most certainly a harder taskmaster than theatre scripts. Speaking of which, the rehearsals of Dogs of the Blue Gods are set to begin later this month, and I’ll be relocating to Brown University for the duration. My primary concern? Making sure I have a decent source of fresh vegetables and fruit so that I can continue my food regimen, more or less as usual. I know, I’m a weirdo – but I’ve learned that even one day without my usual x2 fruit intakes and x2 clumps of fresh vegetables (no, not the toxic greasy garbage as found in US restaurants – just simple plain vegetables) and I can feel my body beginning to grind to a halt. Hopefully the other two playwrights aren’t going to mind the constant smell of cooked broccoli in our shared living space

As for the play, I hear you ask? I’m not too fussed. The actors are good, the director is good, and the text is road-tested. I can see that the only thing really that might need to be done, is to perhaps reassure all concerned to just ‘trust the test’ and do the piece as a straight play, which happens to have comedic and dramatic elements. Having done so much theatre, especially where I was the sole actor/director/performer – I’m fairly chilled about the process. And given the very high quality of acting I saw during the audition process, I think its going to be delicious fun to watch the actors discover the meatiness of what they’re a part of.

Hmm, its now 7.17am – time to get to work. That’s my update, Oh Constant Reader.

Brown University

Just a quick note. The staging this summer of my ‘Dogs of the Blue Gods’ play at Brown University has become official.
See this link.

Very pleasant. Me? Still editing the book, finished a 44 page nasty little saga, and am slowly advancing on another story.

This is amidst a house move – so much chaos in general.

Outside…it’s America.

Advancing on the second almost-final edit of the book at a steady pace.

As is typical, while doing this, a plotline and a situation emerged unexpectedly from me – and now I’ve also finished writing a 45 page story which is inconveniently too long to be a short story, and too short to be a book. But I’m busy editing that, as well. Another two or three works of this length and I guess that’s a short little book.

There are advantages to being an ‘outsider’ to American society. It allows one to see things that the citizens raised within the country are generally unable to. Something like those who live beside the sea, and who don’t hear the roar of the waves anymore, because they’ve become so accustomed to it.
(Perhaps that’s why cinema artists like Wim Wenders and Werner Herzog have each been able to create such fascinating dissections of US culture.)

I find the single most important aspect to me, of America, is how the citizens perceive ‘politics.’

Politics is seen as merely the equivalent perceptually, of ‘another channel on the TV’ – something distant. A thing to be groaned over, or seethed about, but ultimately – its removed from direct impact in citizen’s daily lives. A whole culture of phrases and cliches have been allowed to develop within western society, like a form of etymological mold, in order to describe, minimize, and shrug off the doings of those with political power.

And as the status quo remains the same, and human liberties decrease, and the profit motive for warfare continues to crouch unnoticed behind the raggedy shit-stained torn flag of ‘patriotism,’ in order to keep justifying mass murder – a thinking person has to pause and wonder…

But politics in America is that distant thing, requiring just a click of the remote control to change the channel, to something less complex or more pleasing.

Whereas the rest of the world knows that ‘politics’ is what killed their mother, or father, or friends, or family. It was politics that dropped that bomb which killed those children, including the neighbors toddler. It was politics that made mom have to do those things with soldiers in order to find food for the family.

Politics, for the larger world beyond America, is personal. Its not a well-framed distant channel of happenstance, hanging over there on the wall like a banal cheap desiderata praying to a nonexistent deity. Its what blew your fathers head off and smeared his brains along a wall, and every day as you trudge to school you can still see the smear.

America has a new President, and to those who naively base their judgment on the color of a person’s skin, rather than the content of their character (thank you MLK) – this was a new day dawning. There’s a vast sound of a hundred million people slumping back on their sofa’s and figuring all’s right with the world. No deeper attention need be required.

‘Change’ has come.

Its not surprising that citizens might seriously believe that, given their disconnection to the reality of what ‘politics’ means. They weren’t looking too closely to begin with, and the general education level – well below many other nations, means they lack the reasoning skills to perceive the complex web unfolding around them.

Change doesn’t seem to include the stopping of torture, or the death squads roaming the world and assassinating whoever appears to be ‘an enemy’. ‘Change’ doesn’t mean stopping of kidnapping of people and secretly transporting them to countries who like using power drills on human skin. Change doesn’t mean the withdrawal of the tens of thousands of paid thugs and mercenaries from a country invaded for no valid or legal reason.

On the contrary, ‘change’ seems to mean even more people will experience a personal view of politics, as new countries are invaded in a global imperialism which shows no sign of stopping. (The only positive, is that the expansion in genocide is much like that of any animal whose head has already been cut off, but whose limbs continue to move mechanically.) Change in this semantically-twisted version of democracy also seems to mean forcing citizens to have no choice but to ‘volunteer’ to work for the State, wear uniforms, chant slogans. Change also doesn’t mean justice and public trials for the war criminals who caused more than a million dead. Change doesnt mean justice for those men, women and children trapped in a prison-sized country, being blown apart, burned, and melted by US-supplied chemicals.

Change, I would have thought, is also not about continued, retarded excessive printing of worthless currency, and continuing to bully the world into accepting that these worthless slips of paper represent anything of meaning, value, or currency.

‘Change’ (the last time I looked) doesn’t mean ‘continue to think you can expand fake colonial wars of aggression on countries weaker than you, in order to steal their wealth.’

‘Change’ is not carte blanche to continue with the unmitigated greed of consumerism and capitalism.

Its cold comfort to know that History repeats itself. And those who do not learn from history, are condemned to repeat it.
I think of the Mussolini line, defining Fascism. “It is the merger of State and Corporate power.”

Naturally, disconnected from what ‘politics’ really is, the citizens here will most likely think they’ll know how to behave around it, as it rises, spreads, and scoops them up. They’ll admire the flags, try and outdo each other to prove their ‘patriotism’. Citizens will almost certainly want to ‘talk reasonably,’ and argue, debate, discuss – and ’share’ what they feel…all the way to being sealed in the cattle trucks-

when ‘Politics’ in America, finally becomes personal.

Upcoming Auditions and Travel and Brown, Oh My.

Its been a veritable hive of industry lately.

First off, my ‘DOGS OF THE BLUE GODS’ play will be getting unveiled at Brown/Trinity Rep, Summer 2009.
Schwinggg, as they say in the classics.
Auditions are happening this coming weekend down at Brown University. I yam thrilled. Is very cool. Looking forward to meeting folks, and getting a look at the campus. I’ve written a whole new prologue to the play – oh the angst – took me at least an evening to do. Writing play script after the dense nature of prose, well, its like cream pouring from a jug.

Going full steam ahead editing the 800 page novel, another month or so and then it can be thrown at agents and I can forget about it and move on.

Also 30-odd pages into a deliciously political play, which may raise some hackles once its done – but I’m pleased with the quality of dialogue that’s emerging, and wondering just what the characters are going to do. As usual they’ll tell me by their actions.

Also moving ahead on another prose thing (short story? novella? who knows) that leapt up and demanded that I write it – so I’m bouncing back n forth between prose and script at the moment.

Had sniffs at some other works of mine from companies. More of those when they come to fruition, if its meant to be.

Keeping an eye out for the release of Starcraft 2 (just to be a geek for a moment). And I’ve got a backlog of movies to catch up on – so that nips at my heels as I write furiously. Still trying to assemble 300+ theatre reviews up online in some semblance of order, but its madness, wading through the quantities of stuff writing about my work. Still, it’ll have to be done.

Hmm, an audition. Oh boy. Well, we’ll see what happens. Always wary of things which confer a ’status’ to one set of people, and a lesser status to others, regardless of the situation. Auditions have always creeped me out in one way or another, political animal that I am.
This aside, I’m curious to meet the other playwrights, as well as the folks at Brown, which has a rep for good theatre work, and especially experimental stuff. Must mention that I have a scary play dealing with a Theatre Faculty and Drama…

But right now, I have the second half of a cool Japanese comedy to finish quickly before bedtime (By Itami – for those who know. For those who don’t, source ‘Tampopo’ – for one of the most exquisite films you’ll ever see.)

Until the next time, if my exuberance doesn’t get the better of me.

How to Make Elephants Fall Out of Cupboards

Got news that one of my plays will be done at Brown University this summer. I’ll be in attendance, as the saying goes – hopefully to have much fun and answer zillions of questions. Questions are always good – as they help one to define things to oneself.

About a year ago, when I had gone to University Wisconsin Oshkosh, and had the privilige of getting to talk with students – on matters ranging from Drama through to political science. I came back, all fired up – having discovered how brilliant it felt to try to create the same passion that I have for writing, in others.

To this end I created a ‘In a Perfect World – Here is the Course that I would Try to Teach.’

I thought it might be interesting, and help to convey a glimpse of my approach to Theatre, and writing in general.

How would you respond to a course detailed as follows:

Learn How to Make Elephants Fall Out of Cupboards

I think theater ought to be theatrical … you know, shuffling the pack
in different ways so that it’s — there’s always some kind of ambush
involved in the experience. You’re being ambushed by an unexpected word,
or by an elephant falling out of the cupboard, whatever it is.
TOM STOPPARD

The overall objective is to help students create theatre that doesn’t suck.

“I can sum up none of my plays. I can describe none of them, except to say:
That is what happened. That is what they said. That is what they did.”
(Harold Pinter)

While looking at a few key playwrights work, mainly Pinter’s ‘The Birthday Party’,
Dennis Potter’s ‘Brimstone and Treacle” and ‘The Singing Detective” among others,
the primary focus is about constant writing, and constant ongoing discussion of
students work, in order to get students used to the ability to create imaginative
scripts.

This course isn’t about ‘how to make the perfect one-act or three act play -
and it certainly isn’t about passively studying other playwrights or thematic
structures, in order to ‘duplicate’ their styles.

This is a course from the perspective of a non-academic working playwright,
who wants students to have the courage to find their own voice, get used to
creating their own theatrical worlds, inhabited by their own characters,
and tell their own unique stories along the way – and achieve creative satisfaction.

“A bad act done will fester and create in its own way. It’s not only goodness
that creates. Bad things create. They have their own yeast. ”
(Dennis Potter)

The course is about practical construction of genuinely interesting stories
for theatre, and interesting characters, and creating drama and conflict
and seeing how they play out.

This course does NOT work on the idea that ‘good work’ or ‘quality work’
means teaching how to create material that must be geared towards
commercial success, or be acceptable to corporate entertainment industries.

“You have to assert something about yourself in order to be yourself.”
(Dennis Potter)

Theatre is an art form, a creative craft. Therefore, what matters to me,
is the strength of the unique vision of the individual student, combined
with their increasing ability to create and sustain interesting theatrical stories.

And while there are courses which will teach students the techniques to
automatically churn out generic script material that don’t push boundaries
in any real way – this course isn’t one of them.

As I believe that good Theatrical stories should be indistinguishable from
the dialog and storylines of high (and sometimes low) quality Film, there
will also be continual showings and discussion of a wide range of world cinema -
examining the storylines and unpredictable conceptual approaches of many
of the rarely seen cutting edge ‘genre-blurring’ films from parts of Asia
- as well as European cinema, past and present.

In addition, as British playwright Dennis Potter chose to write primarily for television,
there will be a number of his works shown and discussed, in order to demonstrate
what is conceptually possible for the potential playwright, to create, within the
borders and constrictions of mainstream media.

As this is not a passive course, a constant requirement for students, will be to
produce a minimum of two pages of a dialog scene for each class – on a theme that
will be provided, as well as a weekly requirement to produce a 5 page script,
as well as a monthly 10 page ‘play’.

This may appear excessive, but the object is to train students into ‘doing the work’
and teaching them the personal discipline of putting words on paper.

Every student submission, both short and long, will be reviewed and comments given,
and the most interesting work, will be acted out – in order to get students
trained into the differences between their own internal voice, when creating
dialog, and the voices of others, when speaking their words
————————————————————<
- and that’s as far as I got. Naturally, this was interrupted by my urge to get writing.
Which I did.
In the last year – to give an idea of how my approach works – and keep in mind that I
consider this to be woefully insufficient, I’ve written:
3 full length plays, 2 ten minute plays, and an 800 page novel.

I hope to do better in 2009.

It Is Finished…

(The blog heading makes me think that I should be wearing a loin cloth, and surrounded by Anglo actresses wearing dark wigs.)

But the book is formally finished. The story has been written and completed.
Now, I am moving forward in the editing process. The current position is: I’m editing from page 495 – and the length of the book? 789 pages. Quite a monster – especially given that this is all just part one of a much larger story. I’m keen to be done with it, and to move on. There are stories to be told – and miles to go before we sleep. I’m sensing the political possibilities of book writing – the ability to directly address issues which otherwise are hidden from view.
I’m also interested in the emotional resonance that is possible with prose. The ability to inspire anger and horror, maybe even outrage…

For now though, the editing moves forward as fast as possible. Once that is complete, I’ll be able to see what sections need work, or need to be thrown out. Then its ’send to the agent’ time. Hopefully – despite the fact that its all just the opening shot of a larger operatic work, I wont have to revisit this world anytime soon. I have better worlds to focus on. And living in America, has shown me a multitude of things – some of which I want to dissect and examine, probably in ways that local citizens will not appreciate.

Writing on the Internet, is much like scribbling thoughts in a dark back alley. Some passersby may see the thoughts but ultimately its pale pasted sound and fury, signifying nothing. Pixels on a digital wind. Would ‘Story of the Eye’ have achieved its aim if written on a website? Would ‘Mein Kampf’? ‘Turner Diaries’? All of the inflammatory and pivotal works which have had a profound effect in the real world, would, I think, have dissipated on the winds of static chattering through servers, as a billion ‘consumers’ write to each other about the latest product they’re buying, or have bought, or want to buy.

He pauses, his mood thoughtful.

Prose is tough going. Editing even more so. Plays? Easy-peasy – a week and a half to two weeks of work, and that’s a full length piece created. Prose, on the other hand, is the proverbial horse of a different color. It actually takes *gasp* work…

I do seem to have found my voice, though. I started off with vague ideas of writing in a similar dense style as Mervyn Peake and other heroes of mine – and saw swiftly that actually, my prose style is derived more from the books I read as a kid, and which in various ways, luridly formed my younger writing self. None of them are high art in any way. Alastair Maclean, Stephen King, JT Edson… They are/were all damn fine writers. And more importantly, told a good story in a simple way. And it seems, that’s roughly the approach I’ve found for myself. Keep it simple. Avoid pretentiousness. Tell the story. Let the characters speak.

The book is sitting in the 800 page region, and it took roughly six months to write. Easily two to three of those months were taken up with me stumbling through the maze of learning the right tools to put words on the page, so as to communicate exactly what I want the reader to experience. So the book actually took less time than it seems. I have the urge for another story – but I’m trying to resist getting into it until this Saga is properly edited. When that’s done, I can move on and never look at it again.
See how I actually feel, after so much concerted creative effort.

The Final Night

The story I’ve been writing for the last six months or so, takes place over a period of about two weeks.
More or less ‘real time’ unfolds as a big Journey is embarked upon.
Now I’m at the point where the final night has been got through, and the story ends within a few hours.
Dawn, if you want to be Pythonesquely technical about it.
I have to resist the urge to rush towards the final stage of writing ‘the end.’ Not that it will be. Instantly I’ll back up some 400 pages to chapter 10 where I’m advancing slowly, editing, revising, and throwing out garbage.
‘Iteration.’ is the word, for prose. Continually going back and forth, I guess like a sculptor chipping away at stone, keeping the image hidden within the rock in mind, as one taps here, and then there – working slowly to reveal the creature within.

I was fairly moist and disturbed over the last few days, as some of my characters, who’ve fallen in love, got thoroughly intimate. Interesting to feel the discombobulation – as if I’m a parent who’s found the kids stash of porn magazines and dildo’s. Its one thing to find well-thumbed copies of mammarily focused magazines – its another thing entirely to find that and leather straps and butt-plugs. It kind of shakes the paradigm a little.
That said, I had to let the characters do what they wanted and needed to do, despite my constant thoughts which ranged between ‘Am I writing porn here?’ and ‘Are you sure you want your character to do that; say that; lick that finger…’
But characters will do what they have to do.

Now I’m inching towards a violent ‘reveal’ and a last scene – and then my characters journey – at least this part of it – will finally be at an end.
Its been interesting to delve into an imaginary world, with its own rules and peoples. As I come towards the end of this Saga (currently I’m approaching 720 pages) parts of my mind are already storing story ideas. They’re coming fast and furious as, I suppose, parts of my creative engines begin to close down, and I focus on the human elements for the final pages.
I’m tempted to reread some Proust, being contrary by nature, an evil Mary Poppins perhaps – after working on a literally gigantic landscape and canvas for so long, its alluring to consider a story set within a massively confined area of time and space.

That at said, the story ideas are yapping at my heels, like small, fragile, and very easily crunchable dogs. Each wanting their turn at becoming flesh and visible.
The bottom line for me is of ‘how much fun’ they’ll be to write.
The one set post-WW2, and which moves from Antarctica to the heart of US power? A little difficult.
The vampire one? Work – but fun.
*sighs*
Fun always wins. It has to. Otherwise what’s the point?
I’ve learned some things, let me share one of them:

I don’t write in order to become famous, or rich, or well-known.
I write because the stories well up inside me, and demand to be told.
And if I don’t write them, nobody ever will.
That just too sad to contemplate.
So, I write.

In the past, the attitude of some folks, towards the spread of my theatre work, would puzzle me – the enmity and the envy. As if what I’m doing hasn’t meant bloody hard work on my part, and having to make hard choices between hedonism and productivity.
Its good to have had the fame, and the trappings of it, good and bad, right down to the archetypal addictions – which I managed to climb free of.
I think I’m a more self aware, acute, and less materialistic person for it.

But the attitude of those who simply want ‘to be known’ – as if this accomplishment could fix anything; use creativity as a tool to be some kind of salve on the psyche’s gaping wound amidst a desolate life…

*shudders*

The Colonial approach is useful at times – the self flagellation of Work and Discipline.

And yeah, I pretend at times that I’m not being grabbed by the scruff of the neck, and thrown onto roller coasters to ride the unknown ride of the blank page.

I juggle with the Performer mindset versus the Writer mindset – and always have. The schizophrenic urge to say ‘Look at me!’ followed instantly by the recluse muttering ‘Leave me alone, don’t look at me.’

Perhaps that’s something all theatre writer/performers have – the split personality desire to be Seen – and yet Not Seen.

Ego versus Humility.

The word ‘conflicted’ – doesn’t even begin to encompass its dimensions.

However, (and here is where the Colonial taskmaster comes in; climbs onto the shoulders like a Troll in a fairytale, and begins prodding mercilessly) so long as the sense of being driven, and all the internal conflicted clashing views, result in quality writing, then that’s all that matters.

The Wide Bright Sea

Its taken a long time.

That old cliche about ‘little did I know’ seems applicable here. The Saga now is a fraction over 650 pages, and I’ve brought my characters out of the latest danger (or at least away from the things that threatened them underground) and they’re about to discover the coastal region.

A million years back, when I first got the story idea, and created a theatrical version, one of the initial titles was ‘From a Castle to a Coast.’

I had this simple idea of a Journey, where the travel itself became a character – as my heroes and heroines struggled to stay alive as they moved across a landscape and geology which hopefully had a range of meanings to the reader/viewer.
The last ‘formal’ monster in the plot, has fallen into a bottomless Pit.

And now my characters, unaware of a number of nasty approaching surprises, move towards their final destination.

Action scenes are exhausting to write, I’ve discovered. How does Koontz (or King) do it? Good grief.
Writing is very much about playing at being a creator of a universe, where you control the stage, the actors, the lighting cameraman…everything.
And precision is partly the key.
What is on the page, and how it is said, conveys the emotion of the moment to the reader.
So when the action erupts, the film being made, slows down radically. I’ve discovered this as one set piece after another occurs, and my characters have to fight or somehow escape.
And there’re no shortcuts to telling the story, unfortunately.

Its taken me 5 months of writing to reach the 650 page mark. Real slow. One of the initial reasons for the slowness, was that I had to learn how to correctly write prose. How to structure sentences. What to say, and what not to say.
(Much of storytelling is about letting the reader’s mind paint the pictures.)
I probably wasted at least two months worth of writing, in the painstakingly sharp learning curve. In addition, given that I still have no clue as to what a verb or an adverb is, I had to learn a whole bunch of basic grammar – not necessarily their names – just, what to use and how and when to use it.

Its all about making those movies in the minds of a reader. Prose writing truly is the ultimate power trip. After years of hoping that others ‘get’ what I’m saying in my theatre scripts, and having to watch as others create my work – its delicious to be able to precisely put down on paper, the world that I am making, and to know that a reader will feel the story exactly as I want them to.

The smear of orange across a purple sky at sunset. The acrid sting in the back of the throat at ancient dust in dank tunnels. The flicker of an eye at a crotch, followed by the wet pinkness of a tongue emerging to moisten a set of lips…

The poet in me comes out to play with prose, as I choose my lighting for each scene, and where I want the camera to zoom in on particular details that – for some reason – I feel should be used to show the reader a ‘moment’ in time.

I like to think that I have a slightly better handle on how to communicate in prose.
Play writing is not prose

The next thing I write should emerge much much faster. I can feel the ideas yammering away inside me, but as a writer, I’ve learned to reign these things in, and to be patient. ‘Slowly slowly catchee monkey.’

The finish line is almost in sight. The important thing is to ‘do the work.’