Words

It’s been a while. I feel like I start far too many posts that way. But lets be honest, you don’t miss me when I’m not here, sad as I am to admit it.

So, new things. I finished the first stage of R&D for How to be a Man, or HTBAM for short. There’s a trailer I spliced together that is floating around somewhere. Then I got a job for Lincoln Cathedral, working in the Grants and Donations office. Basically helping raise money to keep the building upright and pretty.

That’s sort of why I’m posting. I like having a nice comfortable job, getting paid more than I ever did working behind a bar, and being treated like a real person rather than an idiot who is only there to give you an drink. At the end of this week I will have been working here for a month. I have treated myself to a new TV and a new game as well as some whisky and other things I have not had in a while. It’s been grand.

That said, there is a small amount of despair. It has been over a month since I have done some of that theatre what I like doing, that’s not counting a scratch night in which I performed some of that show HTBAM. The despair isn’t from not doing anything, or not wanting to do anything. It’s not a fear that I have got a nice easy job that pays well and so I will slowly stop wanting to be a dashing maverick creative with things to say (never really had much to say anyway, I just like making pretty) The worry I have is that I will forget to be that dashing creative. I will get home from work, wanting to do something but feeling tired so I think to myself, I will do it later, or tomorrow, or on the weekend. For now I will play my new game on my new TV. It’s a worry that I will keep wanting to do an theatre, but it will always be tomorrow.

Thankfully that wont happen yet as I have been booked to perform HTBAM at an event in London on the 1st of November. But even that is tinged with a small taste of despair. Because to fit my show in to the small space I have to lose some of my set (a third of it) and I have to rewrite some of it because there is no stage lighting, and it’s in a light open space with lots of windows. There’s nothing worse than theatre in a light open space with lots of windows, apart from musicals. It’s a puzzlement, on the one hand, yay I’m being forced to do the work. On the other hand it feels like a half baked version of the show that can’t even be disguised by dark, mysterious lighting. And this isn’t to say I’m not looking forward to it. I get to show people some things that I put together and see other stuff that other people put together that relates in some way or another to the stuff that I put together. And there’s a dinner too. I will get to talk about and explain my work. It’s exciting.

So I guess the major worry is that even if I manage to get passed the first worry, if I manage to keep working despite having a job, that I will be consigned to the fringes. Of making and performing theatre, but always a slightly shitter version than I want to. Of being constrained by not having enough time and/or money to make what I really want to make. That’s my real worry I guess. That I wont be able to perform in the theatres that I really want to, or to make the shows that I really want to. It’s seems a bit silly to make pretty theatre that isn’t that pretty.

It’s ok though. I’m talking with Ovalhouse and Lancaster based folk, setting out the next stage of R&D for HTBAM in which I will hire a director who will make it less bad or maybe even more good. I’m going to write another GFTA application and try to get as close to finishing the show as I can. Then I’ll worry about showing it in the places I want to. I don’t mean to finish sounding optimistic or positive, that ain’t my bag yo. I just didn’t want you to finish reading this and feel sad. Don’t feel sad. Feel threatened by my dashing looks and maverick ways. I may well be the best.

I’ve also been watching a lot of Archer, he looks like me. I Know the pictures don’t look that similar, I don’t have one of me from that angle without my beard. But trust me, we look similar.

 

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