A few films - only a few, mind - are able to stand apart from the rest of the pack that Hollywood produces each year via a rather dubious distinction. Through combinations of mishap, bad luck, and occasionally, simple lack of professionalism, these are the movies that are not allowed to end their films with closing credits that claim that no animals were harmed during the making of this picture. It now seems that my NaNoWriMo novel will suffer a similar fate, if, perversely, it's not finished.
This is the deal. After my last blog speaking about my NaNoWriMo wordcount, which I've spent the last fortnight being horrifically behind on, a friend messaged me with the encouraging advice that if I didn't finish the novel, then she would take it upon herself to murder a puppy. As if that wasn't enough, she then went on to say that such an act was likely to result in her suffering bouts of guilt and post traumatic stress, neatly surmising that even if I wasn't going to be affected by puppy death, then I might well be persuaded by a pretty girl making puppy eyes at me. I wonder if I should be insulted that I'm so easily manipulated.
Actually, the clock is against me: although today I broke the seal of 30,000 words, that means I still have to sink twenty thousand words in under seven days. Actually, of course, much less than that, because as well as working full time, I think there's about three of those evenings in which I'm not going to be anywhere near the computer. Plus, I've got a couple of workshops to prepare. So, it's going to be a bit of a marathon sprint to hack this thing out before next Friday (actually, Thursday, really - I'm going to be doing my first bit of stand up in around a year on Friday - damn, that's another thing I have to prepare for). I have, if not quite every faith, then certainly a bit of faith that it's still possible, though.
Earlier this week, I went to a thing called Working Towards Performance (see, away from the computer again). This was the culmination of a series of acting workshops led by local actor Steven O'Shea. It's been a thing that I've been meaning to get along to for a couple of years now, but time and circumstance, as well as my own acting/directing commitments, have always conspired to get in the way.
It was an evening of Shakespearian speeches, and the room - at the top of the Hobgoblin pub, in Brighton - which wasn't exactly small, was packed. It had a great atmosphere, making me think of the kind of vibe I romantically attribute to the San Fransico Beat scene of the Sixties. Not that I was ever involved in any of that, obviously.
After the show, there was lots of meeting people - actors, directors, etc - who I hadn't seen for a while, and there were lots of conversations that began with the phrase 'what are you doing at the moment?' While it's good to be thought of as someone who's almost always involved in something creative, I couldn't help qualifying my answers with the lament that all these things, I do in my spare time - none of them pay any sort of a wage, not even this blog, which at this moment has precisely two subscribers. And of of them is on a free trail.
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