Methods Of Work Avoidance # 2365

In between writing re-drafts (no, really), I have also found the time to create a avatar of myself via the website BitStrips.I'm fully aware I may have created  a generously attractive   version of myself, but screw it, it's my cartoon,and so I'll do what the hell I like.  

Monday 7th January 2013

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.

Cover Me

So, today, I posted off an entry to a short story competition - Opening Lines, at BBC Radio 4. It's the first time I've sent anything off to the BBC, so naturally I'm slightly nervous. But on the other hand, I'm not expecting to hear anything in response until at least March 2013, so the best thing is just to forget about it, and go about writing the next short story.

That seems to be the thing at the moment, for me: short stories. It makes sense, because normally I'm a terrible procrastinator (by which I mean of course that I'm excellent at it), and working on short stories lends itself naturally to seeking out writing completions, which are generally weighted towards the short story - even if there isn't a great deal of agreement as to an appropriate length that can constitute a 'short' story. There's a good few different stories that I'm working on at the moment, and I have this vague idea that at some point I might bundle them together on the kindle. Well, it's the modern way, isn't it?

This week will be my last improv workshop of 2012. Considering how nervous I was back in September that nobody would ever turn up to any of the workshops, I've been very pleased by the support and amount of returning customers. As I say, this Sunday is the last one this year, so if you're around the Iron Duke around 7pm, do please drop in and say hi. There might even be mince pies. (no promises)

I say that I've been working on short stories, but this week that's almost a lie, apart from the Opening Lines entry, and the fact that I had an idea for another story this afternoon. What I've actually been doing in the last couple of days for the most part is mocking up covers for the kindle short story collections. There are a good few very decent free photo editing programs littering up the Internet, and I've begun to have some ideas about how to make this (as yet non existent) collection look more attractive to the average browser online. Since I haven't actually finished all the stories, this is of course roughly equal to avoiding doing your homework, but ensuring that you use lots of brightly coloured felt tips to decorate the folder it comes in. But I guess it's not entirely procrastination: having a potential cover makes the whole thing tangible, even if, being an online book, it isn't literally tangible. As the year races to the close, I'm thinking that occasionally - just occasionally - I'm getting some writing actually finished. It's been a hell of a long time coming.

I'll Get Around To It

Something odd happened with my Facebook last night. I'm not sure why, but each time I left a comment, or updated my status, the little image that appeared next to whatever I'd written - in theory, my profile pic - showed an image of a different woman. The first picture was that of Ariana Huffington (of the Huffington Post, obviously), and I wondered initially if something had got into my system meaning that anyone that I was friends with, or whose pages I subscribed to, would now show as my profile picture.

It didn't seem to be the case, though, as the picture changed each time I refreshed the page, and the next few people I didn't recognise at all, but they all seemed to be the kinds of photos that you occasionally get on an unsolicited follower on twitter; the kind that follows 95,3977 other people, has never tweeted, has a disturbing sounding web address, and a photo where they're pouting from behind a tangle of tousled hair. And I don't actually know anyone like that. Well, no more than six.

Clearly something had infected my Facebook profile, but it was odd that all the images being touted as me were all female. I've never before picked up a virus from a variety of different women (oh, please; you should be ashamed of yourselves) and I didn't really know what to do. Well, actually, I did; I reacted to this problem in the way that I react to rather too many: I didn't really do anything, in the assumption that everything would probably sort itself out. You'd be surprised how often this is successful. Although if you've received a email from me in the last 24 hours claiming that I've got video footage of you doing something obscene, I'd imagine you can probably dismiss and delete it without too much concern about your personal liberty.

I guess there's one major reason why I put off doing anything about those things sent to try me, and it's the old demon procrastination. There are many theories as to why people procrastinate, but it does seem to be deeply ingrained into a great many of us. It's one of the reasons why I'm writing this blog; so that my writing becomes more habit than chore. I missed writing yesterday's blog simply because I couldn't think of a damn thing to talk about; and even just that single one-day pause was a real scattering of tacks in the road: it became stupidly difficult to get the groove going again to begin writing today's entry.

In order to further combat this continual threat of artistic lethargy, in November, I'm going to be taking part in NaNoWriMo. This is an annual event, which takes place each November, in which thousands of people across the world who don't know any better attempt to hack out an entire novel in a month (the name stands for National Novel Writing Month, see?). The main logic behind this is that many people who consider themselves writers speak at great length about this book that they're going to write, while never actually writing it, because life, jobs, family and love gets in the way. But of course, they'll always be in the way, and NaNoWriMo serves as a catalyst to actually stop coming up with excuses and get the damn thing done.

There are two particularly brilliant conceits with the success of NaNoWriMo, one somewhat unavoidable, but the second ingenious. The first simply comes from the fact that everyone is attempting to write a novel in a month; the same month. No matter that such an undertaking is insane, it combats the usual problem that most writers have to deal with at some point, insomuch that writing is a particularly solitary activity, there's not really anyone else around to feel your pain. In November, however, there are potentially millions of people online, all cheerfully ready to acknowledge that their efforts are worse than yours.

Which brings us to the second point of success: it's written into the rules of NaNoWriMo that you should consider it unimportant how good your novel is. This is one competition where quantity truly is more important that quality: all that matters is that you get those 50,000 words down in some sort of coherent narrative order. The polishing, detailing - many authors would say the actual hard work of the real writing - can come after November, once you've got past that first, almost always insurmountable hurdle of actually getting a story written. For a serial procrastinator like me, it means that all the usual excuses and logical reasons of why I don't get round to findings hong such and such a play, or completing that 20 minutes of stand up, have been ruthlessly swept away. There are no excuses to not write: you simply write.

I should point out, I have tried NaNoWriMo before, about four years ago. I lasted one day, and 600 words.

I'll let you know if I do any better this time round.

It's Connected To The Arm Bone

Managed to do something painful to my shoulder the other day. I was trying to get something down from the top of the wardrobe, and I slipped. I put out my hand, slipped a bit too much, and my hand slammed against the wall, while my body ended up staying pretty much where it was. Bone ground against bone. All a bit painful. I looked it up on the internet, typing in 'Have I dislocated my shoulder?' (and google can get a bit disturbing with what it offers you as you're typing in those first few words). While it's still - a couple of days later - reasonably wince-making, it doesn't appear that I've done anything to worry about, although I'm very aware that my body is doing extra work to stop my shoulder being quite so painful, meaning that even writing this blog entry is something of a exhausting chore. But that's okay; I'm reasonably confident that it's probably something of an exhausting chore to have to read it, too.

I haven't won the lottery this week (actually, that's a lie, I won eight quid on the Euromillions, you may have seen it reported in the national press) so it looks like I'll be unable to avoid returning to work next week. This is something of a worry, since I've felt this week that my mind has been finally clicking into place with regard to all the creative stuff that I've had on the boil since, well, forever. A good few of the short stories that I've been working on are almost complete, by which I mean they're a couple of drafts away from their final incarnation. I'm very aware that once work hits back in again, I might end up being too physically and emotionally exhuasted to work on anything. I'm always in awe of those people who have full time jobs and families who still manage to create thier novel, play or whatever, although I'm fully aware that procrastination and re-runs of Fraiser are the real enemies here. In a good news/bad news situation, I'm about to lose one day of work a week. Good news: this means I'm no longer working seven days a week, four weeks a month. Bad news: significant hit on my already meagre funds. Good news: a full day when I can actually catch up on the writing that I always say I can't get around to writing because I'm working seven days a week. Bad news: I might be lying to myself.

Another thing that I've been managing to work on this week is surgery on a play I wrote last year, called Four Play. It was part of the Brighton Festival Fringe, and seemed to be very well received, even if everyone agreed it was too long. I need to lose about forty minutes from it. Now, it's not just the precious writer part of me that found this difficult - I'm quite happy to hack out huge parts of anything I write, but there's a technical aspect to Four Play that means that I have to consider very carefully logistics of timing even when I'm editing out just a few lines. But I've had a few ideas this month that would seem to allow me to do that - I just now need to re-write the damn thing in the full knowledge that the next draft (and quite possibly the one after that) will be an incoherent mess. But it looks like something good might come out of it, and as much as anything, I should really acknowledge and thank the vast amounts of encouragement that I've received from those who saw, and were involved with, the original productions. More news on that as it develops.

The two other things I'm working on at the moment are a one-woman show, and improv classes. The one-woman show is written by, and starring a friend of mine, and it's the first time (as far as I can recall) that I've been a 'director for hire', which has its own, unique series of pressures. Luckily, it's being produced with the New Venture Theatre in Brighton, which I've always found to be an encouraging and nuturing atmosphere.

The other thing - the improv classes - aren't being held at the NVT (although I will be running acting classes there next month). It's been a while since I've been directly involved with improv, although it's really how I began to perform when I was in Brighton. (like most drama students, once I got my degree, I immediately stopped acting for about five years). I will be producing an improvised play next May as part of the Fringe, and it's going to be helpful to start up a 'boot-camp' for those actors interested in getting involved before the auditions kick off. Although, in truth, the workshops are as much for me to get my game back on as they are for any improvisers wanting to improve their skills.

As usual, details when I know exactly what's going on (I'm just waiting for the venue to be confirmed). I'm aiming to get a couple of the short stories finished (by which I mean final draft finished) by the end of this week. The aim is to enter them for writing contests (something that I've never done before), and once I've got enough, put them together on a kindle collection. Hell, if everyone else is doing it .