Dialogue came. Just like that. Writing really is that simple. Especially when the theatre's asking for "sample dialogue" in advance of a meeting. A funny old game, ain't it? Yesterday the play consisted of 0 pages. Now it has seven. And I barely broke a sweat. Naturally, what I've written is all complete nonsense. But better to write nonsense than something that can transfer to the West End with ease, I've always said. Actually, I've never said that. Or I hadn't. Up until now. All this is bravado (or is it bravura?) of course. In the process of all this dialoguerry I have chewed my finger nails down to the knuckles (well, chewed the finger nails then moved on to the fingers, stopping at the knuckle), created bald spots by running my stumpy, bleeding knuckle-ended fingers through my hair and pushed my bladder to its capacity by consuming several hundred cups of tea. And for what? For seven pages of dialogue, that's what. It's a start, eh?
Stumbled over a couple of interesting blogs to give M a run for her money if she thinks she can just capture my attention without putting the effort in. Hull-ish ramblings over at Music Man and political, media-checking citizen journalism at Obsolete, along with all the recent intense action on playwright Fin Kennedy's blog, have kept me company along with this afternoon's darts replays. I've also been overtaken with the desire to nip out and buy my own dart board. Which will be something else to distract me from writing. Just what I need.
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