Do you want to see one of the things I'm working on?

Here is part of the theatre monologue I'm working on.

Taken in isolation it's a bit weird, but hopefully you'll see how it will all eventually come together.

                        He stands there in front of me and tells me that I’m not alone. That I’ll never be alone now. That I have no need to be alone, anymore.

                         And I actually don’t know what he’s telling me. Is it that he wants to be beside me? Or that he feels he ought to be?

                         Or perhaps that my aloneness is a subconscious desire on my own part to endure how things are without having to rely on others? That I chose it? Willingly. 

                        I’m confused. But I don’t blame him. Confusion is a part of me now. Like rain on a winter’s morning, it washes over me leaving no lasting effect, because it’s only what I’ve come to expect, after all.

                        But him? He’s new into this – raw and brave like a new recruit on the battlefield.

                        Not a war zone of bloodshed and righteousness – where one side believes in its cause unto death - but the battlefield of life, where there are no rights or wrongs; no surrenders; no victories. No banners held aloft on a crimson field. Just survival. 

                        Or not.  

Dark? Yup - unapologetically so, but it is mitigated somewhat by the comedy film I'm writing. 

So until my next post - happy reading!

I'm back!

I've written the first part of this blog three times, and erased it three times, so this is my fourth attempt. 

You'd be forgiven for thinking that because of the sort of novels and screenplays that I've written, emotions would be easy for me to deal with. But they're not. In fact, I am an exceptionally emotional person; even if I don't reflect it on the outside, I'm often screaming on the inside. 

Maybe it's not a bad thing then, that after my recent bereavement, I am returning to two very different projects. One is a comedy screenplay that I am writing and which would suit Simon Pegg and Nick Frost down to the ground; the other is a sharp and introspective monologue. 

The beauty of writing these in tandem, is that the comedy elevates me from the depths of despair, whilst the monologue allows me to voice and externalise that primal inner scream. 

My father's funeral was a strange affair. Filled with funny moments and memories, heart-breaking ones, and many which were both unique and special. I wish he could have been there to experience it. I think he would have approved. 

And as for my current projects? Well he would have loved the screenplay, and he would have understood the dark monologue, but he wouldn't have been comfortable with it. 

The monologue though is intended for quite a different audience. It will be a stand-alone piece of theatre, something that will be delivered to a live audience and will take their breath away with its power and its truth. 

But working on both together works for me. Isn't that the very nature of life after all? That sometimes we cry and then we laugh or vice versa? 

Life isn't simple. Why should my work be?

Until next time - happy reading!