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Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Music to lose yourself in while getting on with getting on


This, variations on the same theme and all forms of ambient Blade Runner sountrack music have been looping around me as I try to make a bit of progress ... or do I mean retrieve lost ground?  Vangelis. who knew?

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Leaving Helsinor

Play #22 of '28Plays28Days' is in on time. Three hours ahead of the deadline. I love this writing challenge, simply love it. And - much to my amazement - I'm hanging in there and have twenty-two short plays to show for it. 

Today's challenge was presented in these terms:
Fan fiction is all the rage now...
Oh, boy!
So write something about your favourite characters doing something else. Or use their world to create new characters... Or something like that. (I'm not 100% sure I understand what fan fiction is... Would Rosencrantz and Guildenstern count?) Anyway, I trust you all to know better than me!
Who knows?! Maybe the next 50 Shades will come out of this challenge! (that was fan fiction, wasn't it?!)
Bonus points if you write your fan fiction on something theatrical, so no Harry Potter, please!
Ophelia
by John William Waterhouse, 1894
So I chose William Shakespeare's Hamlet as my starting point; giving it a near-contemporary setting: 1978 (which is contemporary for an old fart like me).

We reach Act III, Scene 2 - the play within a play part - and Hamlet is being a sexist boor with Ophelia. Rather than just sitting there deflecting the Prince, Ophelia tells Hamlet she's tired of his  incessant whining, like some kind of pseudo-adolescent brat (the Bard's original text tells us, after all, he's at least 30). Ophelia has had enough. She leaves Denmark to live as a single mum in a squat in Vauxhall, finding solace and inspiration in the inestimable musical talents of Gloria Gaynor. Some time later, when young Ham is about three, Ophelia is arrested for blocking the entrance to the Cruise missile base at Greenham Common alongside 30,000 other women peace campaigners.








Works for me.

Did I say? I love this writing challenge. Thank you East London's The Space.


Monday, February 20, 2017

The Seven Sisters

Baggage Series by Mohamd Hafez
Play #19 of '28Plays28Days' is in. Today's challenge was to take an art movement not often (or at all) associated with drama as our starting point then write a play that applied its aesthetic, processes, methods to the stage / performance.

I chose 'Assemblage' as my school / movement - 3D collage using found objects. Applied that to the seven sisters of The Pleiades meeting up for their annual reunion at the cave of the eldest sister, Maia. Fun, eh?

Found fabby examples of assemblage art in the monthly online journal Europe Now (if you're interested.)

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Curtain Call

Day ten of the 28Days28Plays writing challenge from The Space performing arts and community centre based in a converted church on the Isle of Dogs, East London.  Today's challenge was given to us in these terms.
Write a play that never ends. That's it.  Simple!
It has a beginning. Sure! It has a middle. Of sorts. But... woah! What the what?! Holy smoking guacamole! No end?
No! No end! No end! It just goes on and on and on and on and on and ... you get the drift.
But here's the trick! For bonus points - don't make it cyclical (that's far too easy!)
Anton Chekhov
And I responded by writing a 15 minute play in which Agatha Christie meets Noises Off meets Chekhov and they all bump into Beckett near the never-end. (Spike said she laughed out loud ... which is a good thing cos I was trying to be funny.)

Not in my wildest dreams would I have conceived of such an idea or simply open up a new blank page and write it in about five hours. I cannot adequately describe how grateful I am to The Space for organising this month-long challenge. I love every minute of it. Truly.

Friday, February 10, 2017

In Defence of All We Knew

Morgan Le Fay by Frederick Sandys (1864)
I feel I'm at risk of falling behind in my 28Days28Plays challenge. I finished play #9 and submitted it just 20 minutes before the deadline. Way too close for comfort.

We were asked to respond to a quote from Hemingway, “The world is a fine place and worth fighting for and I hate very much to leave it.”

I somehow felt compelled to re-tell the story of Gawain and the Green Knight with most sympathy for Morgan Le Fay fighting to protect her Pagan world view. Fifteen pages ... and all in rhyming verse!

Ten days into this challenge, I'm beginning to suspect the real me has been abducted by aliens and replaced by an interloper from a more advanced, more literate universe. That story always ends badly for the body snatchers.

I'm loving it but poor Spike Deane is forced to read the lot.

Tally ho ... play #10 awaits.

Friday, February 03, 2017

Janet of Carterhaugh

Day 2 of the 28 Plays Later challenge (write 28 plays in 28 days) and script #2 was submitted about an hour ago. This was our brief:
So let’s look at myths and folklore today. Try to pick a random culture, find an interesting character in their mythology or an awesome folklore story and write about that.
I forgot about selecting a "random culture" and stuck with Scotland. I hummed and hawed for a bit between re-telling The Great Selkie of Sule Skerrie and The Ballad of Tam Lin. In the end I chose the latter, and not simply because it's one of Spike's favourites (although that did influence my decision).  


So I've re-told 'Tam Lin' in eleven pages, including music and dance. Me? Putting in music and dance. There's a first. And I've called it Janet of Carterhaugh because the more and more I thought about the tale, the clearer it became to me. It's Janet's story. The important point is that it's in. If it's a tenth as good as the rendition above of the ballad I shall be a happy man.

Thursday, February 02, 2017

After The Apocalypse

Four Horseman of the Apocalypse by Viktor Vasnetsov, 1887
Given some of the characters I included in my first screenplay (When You Dine With The Devil, first draft finished last Friday) it seems I could be developing an obsession with the four horsemen of the apocalypse. I submitted my first play (of 28) earlier this afternoon to the '28 Plays Later' project organised by The Space, a performing arts centre on the Isle of Dogs, East London; not far from where I used to live in Tower Hamlets back in the early 1980s. 

It seems I can't leave alone those four riders from the Book of Revelation. I've put them at the heart of my response to the first challenge of '28 Plays Later' -- a whole new play each brand new day.

Our first challenge came through the e.mail in these terms:
So… as you’ve probably noticed, the financial stake this year has gone up to 19.28 (as I said, blame Trump… Brexit… etc. - see below for super special bonus points)
So for today’s challenge, let’s write a play about “19/28". Perhaps a play about something that costs exactly £19.28. Perhaps a play that starts at 19:28 or ends at 19:28. Maybe set the play in 1928… or research the year 1928 and be inspired by something that happened that year. Maybe the play is a dialogue between two people - a 19 year-old and a 28 year-old. How about a play that lasts exactly 19 minutes and 28 seconds? Or maybe spend that time to write the play. Oooh… how about a play titled “when nine teens ate tea” (almost all the syllables)? Or a play set in the junction of 19th and 28th streets… something like that. The possibilities are endless… well… I guess not endless. They have an end. Like most things in life. Apart from things with no end.
Make sure your play has an end! We can’t write a never-ending play, can we? CAN WE?!?! Hmmm… we’ll see about that.
And this is how I began ...
A DESOLATE CROSSROADS IN A BLEAK WASTELAND.  AT THE JUNCTION, A CITY STREET SIGN INDICATES ONE ROUTE IS 19TH STREET.  THE OTHER IS 28TH AVENUE.

A RIDER, CLAD IN A GREAT WHITE CLOAK, LEADS A JET-BLACK HORSE DOWN 19TH STREET TO THE JUNCTION AND, THERE, TIES THE REINS OF THE HORSE TO THE SIGNPOST. THE RIDER REMOVES HIS HELMET, LOOKS ABOUT THEN SPEAKS TO THE HORSE.

Enough already with the deathly horse riders Douglas! (At least mine have gender-parity: two sisters, two brothers from one doom-laden family). The point, though, is: my first play is in. On to day two and play two, a version of The ballad of Tam Lin. Maybe.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Call me Ishmael?

Image may contain: sky, tree, outdoor, nature and water
Pic by Spike
It's been eight years or so since I was last on the water sailing a dinghy. James, my experienced buddy, told me that the essentials come back to you very quickly. He was right, although I'm very glad he was sitting next to me as we glided over the barely-ruffled surface of Lake Tuggeranong. At times we came almost to a complete standstill. Breezy, it was not. But it was enjoyable.

The ever-patient Spike sheltered in the shade of a tree from which vantage point this photo was taken. Next time we're both there it's possible we may sail together. Such is the bond of trust. Or the folly of ignorance.

Friday, January 20, 2017

A bird starts a bush fire

Mop-up work continues after fires in the Tarago area.
Mop-up work continues after fires in the Tarago area. Source: Canberra Times
Photo: Karleen Minney
Today's Canberra Times reports the assessment of the rural fire service that a low-flying bird, ignited by power lines north-east of the ACT set fire to the bone-dry land beneath it. The report tells us almost 3,400 hectares of grassland, woods and farming property were destroyed. Although livestock and wild animals were killed, one house and some vehicles destroyed, fortunately no one was hurt and no one died. Still. Summer heatwaves in a time of climate change and global warming are not done with us unless we take action.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Celebrate diversity

And don't let racists win.

A picture of two girls wearing hijabs was taken at a 2016 Australia Day event in Docklands. The photograph was used in a 2017 Australia Day billboard which included rolling images of people from different backgrounds.
A picture of two girls wearing hijabs was taken at a 2016 Australia Day event in Docklands. The photograph was used in a 2017 Australia Day billboard which included rolling images of people from different backgrounds. The billboard was removed after threats. Photograph: GAZi Photography/www.australiaday.vic.gov.au
Crowdfunding raises $50,000 for new Australia Day campaign with girls in hijabs. Read the story in the Guardian Online.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Daughters of the Dust by Rhiannon Hooson

Daughters of the Dust

There can be no mermaids of the steppe
though its bare hills roll and boom like the sea. Only
some strange creature, lithe in the gelid dust
and furred like a fox: silent, accusing in the eyes,
a deep wind parting fur down to bone coloured skin.
Horizons pile thin as paper one atop the next
and they spin their story into the pinched air: a woman,
and a wish, and a corsac fox. Nights

of the great white zud they might dance away the snow,
leaving paths of grass for the herd to eat, or else
rise like walls to blow across the landscape
stately and slow and sickening, only the chiming ice
singing their welcome with its spare high notes,
each like the prick of a needle. And in the city,
where the nights smell of sweet smoke and milk
and idling traffic, they go walking now:

silent over the glaze of blood frozen to the ground
around the wrestling palace. Silent in the alleys
where stray dogs sleep in the warmth from sewer grates.
Silent past the cafes where soldiers thaw their brows
over salt milk tea. Silent, until they are singing,
each alone in the dim reaches of the night,
each pale as an unlit candle, up through the gers
where the roads falter and the lights go out; up to the mountain
where the wind sings back; towering, and tidal, and old.

Read this poem today in The Guardian; their poem of the week. Love it. To be read out loud, 

Friday, January 06, 2017

I Am Not Your Negro



I'm looking forward to seeing this. 

I saw James Baldwin speak at the Edinburgh International Book Festival in 1985. It was riveting, unforgettable with an electric atmosphere in the big tent. I went along with Martin Currie. It was four months after I was discharged from my ten months in hospital following my accident. I was still getting used to life in a wheelchair. Still am. 

Tuesday, January 03, 2017

Summer by Joy Williams

Joy Williams. Photo: Anne Dalton
Finished the third short story in Joy Williams's collection, The Visiting Privilege. 'Summer' (first printed in The New Yorker in 1981) is delightful; chronicling the events and personalities during five weeks of an August summer holiday on an island somewhere off the eastern coast of the USA. It is warm, affectionate and humorous with less of the underlying melancholy present in the first two stories in the book (although that seam is not entirely absent). The children leap off the page as unique, wholly believable, perfectly-drawn individuals. The women who come in succession to stay on five consecutive weekends are brilliantly presented with such economy that it takes your breath away. Steven, the author boyfriend to each of the five women, is never seen but I formed a picture of him nonetheless, laughing out loud on the one occasion we hear his voice through a resolutely closed door. Constance and Ben feel real and you think ... maybe I mean hope ... their love will endure (because of the final paragraph) despite the frailty of the human body.  

The story has the feel of memoir. Maybe it is, partly. But maybe it's entirely constructed from the writer's imagination. More likely, I suppose, it's an amalgam of both because isn't that what all fiction is, in the end? I chuckled quietly as I read, sitting under shade in our garden on a hot summer's day here in Canberra. I am beginning to feel in awe of Joy Williams and there are still forty stories to read in this collection. How could it have taken me thirty-five years to catch up to this story? And longer than that to find my way to Joy Williams in the first instance. Fool that I am.

Sunday, January 01, 2017

And we begin again ...

After Midnight. Happy (and hopeful) New Year to all. Pic by Spike Deane