Last night's Iron Clad Improv went well, although, to be honest, it wasn't quite as well attended as I would've liked. That's to be expected, though; it's early days yet, both in terms of Iron Clad itself, but also the actual year: it's been a long while since most people have last been paid, and in these dark cold days of January, everyone's just struggling to get through the month. All that said, however, it was as I've mentioned a pretty good start back in the season, with lots of silly short form games.
Tonight, I'm running the first of three long form improv workshops at the New Venture Theatre in Brighton. I'm aware that there might be a few people reading this blog who aren't exactly sure what the difference between short and long form improv. I will probably talk about this another time, certainly as the May performances kick in, but I'm loathe to get into it right now, not because I feel that I'll get it wrong (alright, maybe that a bit), but also because there's so much brittle dissent even within the 'improv community' as to what the 'right' or 'wrong' way to do improv is. There's a well repeated and well meaning mantra that indicates that the first rule of improv is that ..... there's no rules. Which is all lovely and gorgeous and actually something I can get behind, but it's too easily exploited by people who just wanna be a bit lazy, and do uninspired, flabby and unformed improv. I've seen quite enough of that. Hell, I've been involved with enough of that. Double-hell, I've been responsible for enough of that.
Anyway, we're starting three sessions at the NVT for long form tonight, which promises to go well, judging by the amount of interest people have signalled already. At the very least, it's a slightly different reaction to the one I get when people hear what show I'm directing for the Brighton Festival Fringe this year (short version: my cast will rock up to the stage each night with absolutely no idea or plan of what play or even story they're about to perform). To be fair, I got much the same kind of reaction last year when I said I was directing Medea. Clearly there's a part of me that gets off that kind of reaction, and it's useless trying to claim otherwise. Even so, I have tentatively been on the lookout for a 'simple'/'traditional' script over the last couple of months. Or, indeed, being directed by someone else - acting, in other words, which I haven't done for almost a year now, and am just about beginning to miss.
However, in my research today about long form, I spotted an ad for a one-day workshop in London. It's in February, so too late to be useful for my January workshops, but if I can get together the cash, it will be very useful to reassess my own skills prior to directing the May show. Even though I'm not what is sometimes called a 'working actor' (anyone who's seen me on stage might question if even one of those two words are appropriate), but I always enjoy the idea of going back to training, even if it's merely polishing up existing skills. Another persons approach or viewpoint can serve as very valuable. And it's always great to meet up with other people who are going through roughly the same creative things you are.
That in mind, I'm doing another meet up tomorrow (Tuesday) - it's the first one, and I have no idea what it's going to be like. I get the impression it's a social event for procrastinating writers, in which - well, I suppose you can pretty much guess what the aim is. People who should be writing meet up (at the Marlbourgh Pub in Brighton, which has a lovely theatre upstairs), and after sharing hellos and drinks, pull out their various manuscripts, and - well, write. That thing that they don't actually get around to at home, because there's a box set to catch up with, or washing that needs doing, or a cat that needs de-clawing (I don't actually know about that last one). Just being in the presence of other writers silently scratching pen to paper (or fingers to scalp) is a great spur, particularly as there isn't, as far as I know, any requirement to share your work with others at the end of the night.
Currently, I'm writing this blog in my local coffee shop, which always seems to be tuned into the oddest radio station ever. Normally, there's a slight over balance in the amount of Gloria Estefan they play. Today, it seems to be all about the obscure Tiffany songs. Although, if you begin to query quite how I'm able to recognise Tiffany songs if they're that obscure, then I'm not sure I've got a satisfactory answer for you.
ANDREW ALLEN IS DISTRACTED
- Andrew Allen
- Brighton, UK, United Kingdom
- Andrew is a Brighton based writer and director. He also acts (BEST ACTOR, Brighton And Hove AC for 'Art'), does occasional stand-up, & runs improv workshops every Sunday. This blog can be delivered to your Kindle: By subscribing via this link here -or you can carry on reading it here for free ..
Showing posts with label Gloria Estefan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gloria Estefan. Show all posts
Monday, 7 January 2013
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Not Long Now
Christmas is going to creep up on me this year. I think it's because it's on a Tuesday. Monday's in the holiday season can just be added to the proceeding weekend, and Wednesdays or Thursdays mean that the entire week has been dismantled and sold off for parts, but with the big day falling on Tuesday, I rather suspect that I'm going to be caught unawares. Even though I'm writing a blog entry about it right now.
I feel a little big groggy, and I suspect that that's all to do with my body holding off the worst of the illnesses and fatigues for the past fifteen weeks, and waiting for a period of time where I'm not constantly dashing from one place to the next, and taking that as a signal that I can just shut down. I'm determined not too, however, and to still make good use of the time that I have off, knowing that it will be over all too soon. I had intended to do some writing, but my main computer has died. I do most of my writing in cafes and suchlike, finding that if I try to write at home, all too often I'll get distracted by the lure of a DVD, a sandwich, a book, or equally often, the chance to doze. So I'll come out to a cafe, and try to write as much as I can that way. I'm not always good at avoiding those cafes in Brighton that have a free wifi connection, but at least I'm making an effort. I'm aware that there are a great many writers who are unable to write unless it's quiet all around them. I'm not one of those writers. I quite enjoy the hustle and bustle and muttering of people around me, music playing that I'm not familiar with (even if the Mad Hatter, where I am now, has a seeming over-fondness for the oeuvre of Gloria Estefan). It's even better on a day like today, when the weather is miserable, and all you have to do is write out a few words, fuelled by decent hot chocolate. I almost remember what being human feels like. If I could get paid to do this every day, then I'd consider myself very lucky.
However, as I said, my computer has died. I forgot to keep it charged, and it has no power on it. It means that I'll have to move on to another cafe very soon, and plug it in there. I would try to plug it in here, but the usual spot has been taken up by something like fairy lights (you see, once again, Christmas leaping out at me unawares). I am running the risk of being one of those people in coffee shops who sets up camp at a table with their laptop and a mocha for a couple of hours at a stretch, writing absolutely nothing of any value whatsoever.
Last night, I was at Brighton's Burning Of The Clocks, which sounds a lot more traditional and paganistic than it actually is, whereas in fact it's only been around for five years. It marks the winter solstice and is mainly a children's festival. Thousands of people (it certainly seemed like thousands last night) gather with paper mâché lanterns which are lit, and finally end up on a huge bonfire on Brighton Beach, followed by an impressive fireworks display. Oddly enough, I was there partly because of research, since there's a sequence in a book that will take place during this event. I can safely talk about this scene on this blog with little fear of somebody else stealing it, because - if I'm honest - I'm reasonably doubtful if this particular book will get started, let alone finished. It's book four in a series of six, and so far I've only had vague ideas about how to put them together. I'm certainly in danger of becoming (or continuing to be) one of those people who talk about their upcoming projects as a way of avoiding actually doing them, but things have started to lock in a different way. The NaNoWriMo book was one point. The book itself might be awful (it actually might be; I haven't dared read it in the past month), but it was a extraordinarily useful tool in learning how to discipline my writing methods. It's a tool that's easily forgotten about if you're not careful, but it's still there for grabs. The other thing, of course, is the sending off short stories for competitions. Now, it remains to be seen if those stories actually get anywhere - the best method once they've been posted is to simply forget about them - but the whole process of completing the stories and sending them off to some kind of destination is incredibly useful - it gives you some kind of closure, rather than having to constantly return to them, or even worse, have what's more - much more - than a half decent idea - and, by not doing all that much about it, allowing it to wither and die.
And therefore, there's another thing worth noting. Aside from the fact that I'm generally quite a morose person, I've been very encouraged by the amount of - well, encouragement - I've received from so many people on my writing and directing and even acting this year. It's these kind of voices in the darkness, particularly after you've had a tough nine hours at the day job - that really give you the strength to carry on writing, to carry on trying, and - most elusively, most magically - give you the strength to occasionally consider the possibility:
"I can do this"
I feel a little big groggy, and I suspect that that's all to do with my body holding off the worst of the illnesses and fatigues for the past fifteen weeks, and waiting for a period of time where I'm not constantly dashing from one place to the next, and taking that as a signal that I can just shut down. I'm determined not too, however, and to still make good use of the time that I have off, knowing that it will be over all too soon. I had intended to do some writing, but my main computer has died. I do most of my writing in cafes and suchlike, finding that if I try to write at home, all too often I'll get distracted by the lure of a DVD, a sandwich, a book, or equally often, the chance to doze. So I'll come out to a cafe, and try to write as much as I can that way. I'm not always good at avoiding those cafes in Brighton that have a free wifi connection, but at least I'm making an effort. I'm aware that there are a great many writers who are unable to write unless it's quiet all around them. I'm not one of those writers. I quite enjoy the hustle and bustle and muttering of people around me, music playing that I'm not familiar with (even if the Mad Hatter, where I am now, has a seeming over-fondness for the oeuvre of Gloria Estefan). It's even better on a day like today, when the weather is miserable, and all you have to do is write out a few words, fuelled by decent hot chocolate. I almost remember what being human feels like. If I could get paid to do this every day, then I'd consider myself very lucky.
However, as I said, my computer has died. I forgot to keep it charged, and it has no power on it. It means that I'll have to move on to another cafe very soon, and plug it in there. I would try to plug it in here, but the usual spot has been taken up by something like fairy lights (you see, once again, Christmas leaping out at me unawares). I am running the risk of being one of those people in coffee shops who sets up camp at a table with their laptop and a mocha for a couple of hours at a stretch, writing absolutely nothing of any value whatsoever.
Last night, I was at Brighton's Burning Of The Clocks, which sounds a lot more traditional and paganistic than it actually is, whereas in fact it's only been around for five years. It marks the winter solstice and is mainly a children's festival. Thousands of people (it certainly seemed like thousands last night) gather with paper mâché lanterns which are lit, and finally end up on a huge bonfire on Brighton Beach, followed by an impressive fireworks display. Oddly enough, I was there partly because of research, since there's a sequence in a book that will take place during this event. I can safely talk about this scene on this blog with little fear of somebody else stealing it, because - if I'm honest - I'm reasonably doubtful if this particular book will get started, let alone finished. It's book four in a series of six, and so far I've only had vague ideas about how to put them together. I'm certainly in danger of becoming (or continuing to be) one of those people who talk about their upcoming projects as a way of avoiding actually doing them, but things have started to lock in a different way. The NaNoWriMo book was one point. The book itself might be awful (it actually might be; I haven't dared read it in the past month), but it was a extraordinarily useful tool in learning how to discipline my writing methods. It's a tool that's easily forgotten about if you're not careful, but it's still there for grabs. The other thing, of course, is the sending off short stories for competitions. Now, it remains to be seen if those stories actually get anywhere - the best method once they've been posted is to simply forget about them - but the whole process of completing the stories and sending them off to some kind of destination is incredibly useful - it gives you some kind of closure, rather than having to constantly return to them, or even worse, have what's more - much more - than a half decent idea - and, by not doing all that much about it, allowing it to wither and die.
And therefore, there's another thing worth noting. Aside from the fact that I'm generally quite a morose person, I've been very encouraged by the amount of - well, encouragement - I've received from so many people on my writing and directing and even acting this year. It's these kind of voices in the darkness, particularly after you've had a tough nine hours at the day job - that really give you the strength to carry on writing, to carry on trying, and - most elusively, most magically - give you the strength to occasionally consider the possibility:
"I can do this"
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