Rusty and I … Computer says No.

Saw State of Play yesterday. I was hoping for it to be better. I guess I can't get past how much Russell Crowe makes me want to throw up my lunch. Have I lost all ability to be entertained by commercial films? Jesus. How pretentious. But on the other hand quite true. I tried very hard to give a shit about these people and their problems, but I just couldn't do it. Maybe because their problems were so huge, national security and whatnot, that I just couldn't relate. Give me a dysfunctional family who don't know how to speak to each other and I am so there. I may even cry for you.

Today

I have a list of things to do today – some of it admin stuff, some of it crappy, some of it actual writing. I can't get to the writing until I've done all the little bits and pieces because that's all I will think about until it's actually done.

So that is first. I'm hoping to be utterly unbelievably productive today. Best to get to it.

Crush

I began reading this on the train this morning.

Have I mentioned how much I love Paul Auster? I'm sure I have. I'm sure I couldn't have gone this long without gushing like a 12 year old.

I first came across Mr Auster when I was in University. Being the serious artist that I was, I dutifully sat on the couch on Sunday afternoon and watched Sunday Arts on the ol' ABC. One afternoon, which we will call The Day My Life Changed Forever, a documentary on my aforementioned literary crush came on. I think I ruined my couch with the drooling.

Turns out he can write a book or two as well so that was a bonus. If you haven't read him, go, go, go. What the hell have you been waiting for?

Yeah Yeah

I have done some of the worst writing of my life today. Sitting in the middle of a wind storm with my "monster" sized skinny flat white, I wrote about 5 pages of people going:

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And that was the highlight.

But I did make one of my characters cry, and I've been trying to make him cry for about a month.

I don't know if this says more about my characters or about me. I mean, seriously, who holds the pen here?

It was a nice idea

I had all the impetus to write so much tonight. I got about 5 pages. This play was supposed to write itself. It's such a good idea.

Chicks with no dicks

More interesting things written about the "female playwright" issue can be found here. This all started with the Primary Stages thing. Primary Stages in New York has a season of women playwrights. People started cancelling their subscription. People put two and two together and got a WHAT THE FUCK?

I can't tell you how many times artistic directors and whatnot have been thoroughly surprised (and slightly horrified) when they find out I'm a woman. Horrified. I'm not kidding.

Nuclear

Last night I went and saw this. I don't really know what to say about it other than it was riveting and attention-grabbing and big and messy and wonderful. Love, love, love and while I have had many things to say about Robyn Nevin over the years … you rocked the socks off that character.

I haven't stopped thinking about the staircase in it. I don't know why. Perhaps I want to write something with a staircase. I don't know why I thought that was important enough to write about it but I seriously can't stop thinking about that damn staircase.

Perhaps I like the levels. This I will need to think about.

 

A day in the life of …

This week seemed to rush past in a blur of paper. It never ceases to amaze me how much paper a law firm can accumulate. All I heard was this week was "You see that huge folder of very important legal stuff and general stuff that is also super important and have you seen how much I make in a year because if you had and we won't talk about this for very long because talking about money is tacky and usually reserved for people that don't make money so, well, that's not me. I make a lot of money, A … Lot but god don't make me talk about it, but you have seen my Mercedes because of that day when I made you rush down to the car park because my life is so busy I can't possibly remember small white plastic cards that actually get me into this place where I accumulate money as fast as I do wives, what number am I on again? That doesn't matter. I'm getting off track here and I'm a busy man, an important busy man, a rich, important busy man and there's nothing better in this world than being that. You don't understand. You never will. For one you're a woman so there's a major problem that's going to take some serious thought to overcome. Another thing is that apparently you write plays. Someone told me this. Whispered it in fact. I didn't believe them. It's easier than actually thinking about what that actually means. Writes play. You're hurting my brain and I don't like that. I'm not alone. Rich, important, busy men don't have time for things that don't fit nicely and securely into white plastic folders …

WHITE PLASTIC FOLDERS! I knew there was a point to this. You see that one there. I need five copies, perfect copies, don't be going and changing things around. I'll be watching. Now that I know you don't fit with perfect plans and things that are white and shiny, like myself, well, I won't look now but the ground beneath my feet is starting to shake slightly. I blame you for this of course. You may look the part with your black pants and your stripy business shirt but we both know that you're not part of this and that is FREAKING ME OUT! You hear what I'm saying? I may need to go call my therapist. In fact you should do that. I'm paying you after all. Like I'm paying him. Like I pay all my wives and the children they insist on having even though I've made it perfectly clear that making money, serious money and turning up to watch Beatrice or Alice or whatever pseudo-upper class name they call them try and whack a ball is not ever going to happen. Why can't they ever actually whack the ball? If they could actually whack the ball and we didn't have to waste so much time telling Clara and Adelaide that we're proud of them for actually trying, then maybe I could squeeze them into my schedule. If they played after midnight that would be a great help. Do you understand what I'm saying? Are you writing this down? Am I going to be a character in your play? I don't know what I think about that and I'm not sure I have the time to have an opinion about that or anything else. I'm making money, I don't have time for ideas as well. I am only one man. A rich important busy man but still … I'm already late for a meeting with the time I've taken telling you that I need five perfect copies of that folder. It's extremely important. Many many dollars depend on the photocopying of those folders so if you could drag yourself away from thinking of all the wonderful things you are going to write about me, that would be wonderful … Thank you."

Only women

There seems to be a lot of talk around the moment about the status of women in theatre. Or, more accurately, the fact that we have none. This talk has been going on for so long it has taken on the characteristics of that thing that you did forever ago and she won't ever let you forget about it.

One of the reasons that the talk keeps popping is that nothing ever changes. We still are vastly underrepresented, we still have to fight the notion that we don't tell "well-made stories", we still have to put up with patronising comments such as "a woman just won the Pulitzer, what are you people whinging about?".

So instead of talk, I'm protesting with my feet. Next weekend will be the last play I see by a man. I'm only going to plays written by women. It's not a lot of a protest, but it's something. I have a feeling I'm not going to be going to a lot of theatre.

This week

This week seems to have gone by in a blur of day job, packing boxes at day job, writing an application, packing more boxes, pretending to care when my workmates spend forty-five minutes talking about hair colour and other life things.

However, the work continues. I have done my application and sent it off. Yesterday, I typed up the rest of Act One of Cut for Stone and finished the outline for my first short film script. Seriously, the rocking that I am doing is practically tipping the boat over.

I've been leaving for work 45 minutes earlier and writing at a café near work. Not only am I becoming one of those people that are so disciplined they should have a permanent scowl and a ruler, I am also not letting day job overwhelm everything else. Another thing that is helping is that the other half tried to "fix" the remote control and actually broke the crap out of it. TV watching has become difficult and frustrating. Much easier to get off the couch and go do some work. I should congratulate him but I won't. Treat em mean and all that.

Magic tricks

Yesterday started out as one of those days where all inspiration leaves the building and checking out other people have fun on Facebook becomes my life's work. As it was last "working" day before I have to go back to cash job on Monday for what seems like forever, I got really mean and school teacherish on myself. You are staying at this desk until you get this play to the end of Act One. It took forever. I didn't want to be there, the play was falling apart in front of my eyes and then , out of nowhere, one of the characters came out with something and it all, magically, seemed to fall into place. Yahoo!

I then took the longest bath ever – well, I deserved it – and finally finished The Savage Detectives by Roberto Belano. I have struggled and struggled with this book and then, just like my play, in the end it all fell into place. Great book and trust me, worth the struggle.

I'm off now to the food markets to get food for the next week and there is promise of more bacon and egg sandwiches for brunch. This is all good, because later, I have to tackle an application. I fear my mood is about to change.

I’d do you

And I simply, simply, simply, CAN'T WAIT until this arrives on my doorstep. I want to marry Jermaine. I do, I do, I do.

Birthday

It's also best friend's birthday. She's declared that she's only turning 32 even though there's twenty-four months of life that she has lived through. We had a long discussion on the phone how we are turning into crotchety old women. It was alarmingly consoling.

Happy Birthday K. Hope you're having a good one.

Genius declared

Things are progressing very nicely with Vivisection. So much so it has a brand new title … Cut for Stone. It's perfect. It's better than perfect. The word genius has been bandied about since it was declared … Sure, that was me, but the point remains … What was the point again?

Oh right, the play. There are still troublesome spots, more than I like, but it's a first draft so I'm trying not to get too concerned. There's something effortless to it as well, compared to a lot of plays that I write. I've got this feeling that if I keep at it, it's just going to work itself out. I don't think I've ever had this feeling. Maybe it's confidence. Maybe it's because I'm a genius.

Where I am

Have written about 80 pages (longhand) in the past week on the new play. It seemed to go off the rails somewhere over the weekend and now I'm typing and putting it all together. Sort of. There are so many things going in this play (too many perhaps) but I know that if I keep working at it then it's going to come together. I know it, I know it, I know it.

I'm going to try and get it all typed today … so I can start ripping it to pieces and putting it back together again.

In other news I made the best beef ragout last night. Like seriously sensational.