Spent yesterday writing a play in a day for Live Theatre as part of their RSC season of new play readings and new writing activities. It started at 10.00 a.m with coffee and newspapers, sitting with the directors and circling stories. A statue of Adam had collapsed in New York, and Dylan Thomas’s shed was being taken apart and renovated, whitethroats were nearly extinct, and a cleaner had got ï¿½27,000 from a faulty cashpoint, taken it home, and then felt so guilty he’d returned it with ï¿½200 of his own money. Theses stories seemed to go together rather well! I sat in an office with people bringing me coffee and wrote like a maniac. At lunchtime I was beginning to panic. I could see a good idea like a mirage in a desert and it was a long way off. At 2.00 the actors arrived and we had a read through. I did one more draft and then it was rehearsed and performed that night in the theatre, before a reading of Paul Telfer’s Poor Kit Smart. My best part of the day was working with the directors and actors. I just wish we’d had longer. Still there is alot to be learnt from writing badly and quickly, and not being too precious about it. Last night, though, I could hardly sleep…it felt like a premature birth or something!
Now I’m back in peaceville and about to get back to the novel; that pleasureable made up world that I control absolutely.