Just 'warming down', as the fitness freaks have it, with a quick blog after redrafting the first half of the play. For the first time since I started work on the script, I actually feel happy about what I've done. We had a reading last week, and it was the usual cringing, hiding in the neck of my jumper stuff, and the words wot I wrote just sounded hideously embarrassingly bad. Now, they've been nipped and tucked and it's a whole lot better. I fear it's all very Hull Truck, which will only mean anything to people familiar with the venue's work, although my voice and my love of big daft lists are hanging in there. Spoke to the wife of the subject matter again tonight. She told me she can't wait for the play. Another reason to get nervous, then. Apparently, someone she knows in Turkey sent her a text asking what the play was all about, so marketing must really have their shit together, eh?
Mother had me shifting a load of photograph albums this afternoon. Naturally, I glanced at a few. There I was, with a healthy crop of long brown hair and, for some reason, a love of posing on top of walls. And my three kids as very tiny, chubby people. And my dad. I like that I can look at pictures of him now and smile about all the laughs we had, rather than cry that he's no longer here. Because, well, he is still here. He's in all those photo albums, for a start.
Listening: Morrissey - Ringleader of the Tormentors / Lenny Kravitz - Unplugged.
No comments:
Post a Comment