5 .. 4 ... 3 ... 2 ...

I'm trying to write a review of the year. I'm doing something for the NVT New Year's Eve party, and I've decided to try and do a retrospective of the last twelve months. I'm banking on most of the party goers being far too drunk by the time I get to my bit. I always think that New Year's Eve is a very odd night, anyway. For instance, last Saturday I'd come home after seeing a show, and was settling down for the night, watching the odd TV adaptation of Bag Of Bones. I'd just this week read the book, after having had it on my shelf for ten years. The edition I have was handed to me by Stephen King himself, after having signed it, at one of his very few UK appearances. But anyway, I'm getting off the subject here. That happens a lot, I'm really going to have to reel it in. I was at home, being reasonably unimpressed by Bag Of Bones, when a friend called up and got me out drinking, which ended up in a local nightclub. This almost never happens, but the reason I mention it was on that night, like most other nights, time was fluid - it got to about three in the morning without anyone really paying attention. New Year's Eve, however .. What the hell is it about New Year's Eve? Time slows to a crawl. And it doesn't matter if you're with good company. Such is the pressure about the midnight hour, that EVERYTHING becomes about the midnight hour, and you find yourself glancing at the clock, only to discover that it isn't yet nine.

Having said that, time is running out for me, and I still don't really know what it is I'm going to be talking about to tonight. I'm not even going to have a chance to think about what new year resolutions I'm going to attempt to break this month. I don't think I'm going to attempt too much in the way of resolution, since it can always get far too depressing when you stumble - or, as it's more commonly referred to, fail. I am writing more at the moment than I was at the beginning of the year, and it would be good to keep that momentum going. This is always a dangerous time in the year, because I have a job that actually does give me the full two weeks off for Christmas. (don't worry, I pay for it with my soul and hope). The problem behind that is, at this point in proceedings, I'm beginning to actually feel human again, and feel like I have time for a coffee and for a spot of writing. Which, of course, at this exact time, I do. It's when we shunt into next week (and next year) that my mood will down-shift into the grimace where it truly belongs.

Not that there isn't stuff to look forward to. There's a couple of writing deadlines looming (as I've mentioned before, there are few things more valuable to a writer than looming deadlines), and I have a double shift of improvisation workshops coming up. The Iron Clad Improv, which started up in October, begins again on January 6th at the Duke Box Theatre, and I'm doing a short series of long form improv classes at the New Venture Theatre for three Mondays, starting on the 7th.

The reason for these long form classes, apart from the actual just-having-fun aspect of them all, is for my first major project of 2013 ... For the Brighton Festival Fringe, I'm going to be producing an entirely improvised play: that's a production in which my cast, for five nights, will rock up to the stage with absolutely no script, no plot and no idea of what play they're about to put on. It could be terrible. It could be magical. Much like the next 365 days.

Happy New Year ..