When The Muse Returns

Writing is a strange activity. Nearly everyone thinks they can do it. But when you eventually sit behind the keyboard, it’s a very different matter.

I’ve run into a number of people that tell me that they are writers. Without exception, when I’ve asked them what they’ve written they’ve responded “I’ve started 3 plays/novels”. When I ask them what they’ve finished, they tend to get uppity and change the subject.

A writer isn’t someone that writes… It’s someone that finishes writing.

I admit on the site that I have a lot of Work in Progresses… That’s just code for something I haven’t finished.

I’m lucky that I can develop a number of ideas. I can even write a half-way decent synopsis for those ideas. But when it comes to writing the scenario… nothing… I can’t believe a word that I’m writing.

Theatre is about passion. To keep an audience member in their (generally uncomfortable) seat, they have to emote with what’s happening on the stage. If you can’t believe the stuff your writing, you can’t expect the audience to sit through it. The result is, the manuscript ‘goes on the backburner’ (translation: ignore it until it goes away).

I’ve had this feeling for nearly a year now. Everything I’ve written recently hasn’t excited me. It’s like being a drug addict or alcoholic. You get your first high and away your run… nothing can stop you. You try it again, it’s still good, but not as good as the first time. Sooner or later, the high isn’t there, you’re just itching a scratch. So, you move on to something stronger and the high is bigger than the first one!

I’ve had this really excited feeling about one of my Work in Progresses, The Breakfast Show for ages now… but every time I’ve played with the scenario, it’s turned out flat.

The other day I decided to have another stab at it. I was away from home, so I didn’t have the original files, so I had to start from scratch. Not that I thought this would pose a problem – I knew the idea, I could knock out the character profiles and synopsis in a couple of hours. And indeed I did.

Then to develop the dreaded scenario… Cautiously, I opened a new file and started typing… and typing… And Typing…

This just wanted to be written. The characters had taken over my brain and were escaping through my fingers. “Stop. Something’s not right here! It can’t be this easy!”

I stopped. I re-read what I had written… I believed it! More than that, I was excited by what I read. “Don’t question it, just keep writing!”

My muse had obviously taken residence again, and I wasn’t going to question her.

When I eventually got home, I told my wife that I was really writing again, so I could be in for a few sleepless nights. Her face turned into that I’m really pleased, but I know you’re going to be impossible to live with until this one’s finished look she’s mastered so well as she made me a flask of coffee.

I sat myself down for a marathon session and referred to my original files… There it was… There was the reason I was finding it so much easier this time! I had unintentionally swapped some of the traits between characters. Re-reading my original files, I couldn’t understand how I could have assigned the traits the way I had.

Gleefully, I deleted the originals and inserted my new files. I drained my flask and made it to bed by a sensible 5AM (my alarm is set for 6:15AM).

Okay, I may be tired… But at least I’m feeling fulfilled! I’ve got a feeling you’re going to love this one.

I’ll let you know when I’ve finished the scenario!

Who need heroin…? I’ve got a word processor!

Waiting II

I started in Theatre the wrong way. When I was young (about 11 I guess) I realised that I had a talent for acting. Not that I had been in any school plays or anything, but I realised that I could get people to believe I was feeling something when I wasn’t. Sound mercenary? Natural born liar? Nope! Bullied… It was one way of avoiding a beating.

I decided that I should do something with this talent – so I phoned the Citizen’s Advice Bureau (not bad for an 11-year-old) and asked for details about amateur dramatic groups.

I was somewhat stunned by the response. I was told to look for something else to fill my time – theatre was no place for the young!

When in my late 20s, my boss pointed out that it would be “A very good idea if you helped the theatre group out’ – and seeing as his wife was a rather significant member of the club, I reluctantly agreed. I became the Props Manager, not knowing what tabs, stage right or downstage meant. I had a blast (it was a panto after all). When asked to get involved with the next production, I offered my newly gained skills as props manager.

I turned up at the ‘Production Meeting’ and was passed a musical score and ordered to sing! Don’t ask me why, but I ended up singing – I knew this wasn’t the job of a props master, but I did it anyway, rather than lose face.

Two days later I received a phone call: “Jay, I’m delighted to offer you the role of Miles Glorious”. That was it. Full theatrical addiction was only two performances away.

I enjoyed my time as an amateur actor. I didn’t want anything more.

Then I moved and found that my new local didn’t have a theatre club. So, after press-ganging a couple of friends, I started my own club. We had a theatre, but there were no flats and no actors (I had lighting and sound gear, and people to operate it). So what were we to put on?

One evening, my friend Peter Trott suggested that I should try and write something that didn’t use too many actors, but would require a set that we could re-use in other productions. I laughed this off – but Peter knew that I used to be a journalist, so must have some writing ability.

Eventually, I committed pen to paper and wrote Prime Directive (Obsession). It was purely a play to start a club up… Then after the performance, seeing as it was entered into a festival, the adjudicator took me to one side and explained its “mass commercial potential”. I looked over the script again and realised that this was a play that I would be willing to pay to see.

I instantly posted the manuscript to the biggest theatrical agent in the country and started dreaming about being the new Willy Russell or Tom Stoppard.

Needless to say, I received a rejection. But, thankfully, it wasn’t a form rejection; the agent had been kind enough to write me an individual response, asking me to forward him future plays.

Now four plays down the line, and more rejections (both form and personal) than I care to recount, the only things that have changed are my attitude toward acting, my professionalism toward writing and my steadfast desire to make playwrighting my full-time profession.

At least I am now a little more realistic. I am the first to admit that I have no chance of securing an agent – at least, not until I gain a professional production (cue chicken and egg argument).
There are four ways of gaining professional status as a playwright in the UK market:

1. Get a theatrical agent
2. Gain a professional production
3. Pay for a professional production
4. Win a competition

Now, in the commercial market, unless you are a celebrity, you aren’t going to get (1) as there is too much financial risk with an unknown playwright. In the main, the same is true of (2). (3) is the route a lot of people go down (and the Edinburgh Fringe Festival is an excellent place to accomplish it) but being a family man, I don’t have the spare cash for this. And as for (4), these competitions are few and far between – so you can enter, but a heck of a lot of other people will as well… Being conservative about it, your odds are about 1:20000.

Not a lot of potential for my dream to become reality then…

This is where you have to start playing (2).

If I were to walk into the London Old Vic with a copy of Mark of a Gentleman under my arm, saying “Here’s your next award winning play”, I had better make sure I’m wearing my elbow and knee pads. But if Tom Stoppard were to turn around to a big-time director and say “I’ve just read this play by Jay Saunders and I think it could be something you’re interested in” then I might stand a better chance.

And that’s my current route at (2). Making contacts.

I’ve Rambled before about the contacts I’ve tried at… I’ve been mentioned to Cameron Mackintosh, I’ve chatted with Terry Practhett and his playwright Stephen Briggs… But nothing has come of it.

The last two I made were a little more realistic (code for lower on the food chain): One a regional theatre director, the other an off-west-end playwright. I Rambled before about how it was painful awaiting their responses.

So what have I heard…? A big fat nothing.

One sent me an email a while ago, saying that I was on his reading list for the weekend. The next I heard, he was off travelling the world, occasionally returning home. And I’ve not heard anything from him since his ‘weekend reading list’ email. (Jay – time to decode this message! He doesn’t like it!). The other… Nada! Nothing! Nout! (Jay – read the last bracketed section).

It’s at times like these that it’s easy to get despondent. I may not be a professional, but I am a playwright. I have been asked to look at a number of plays for people – and without fail, I have passed back my comments. If it’s taking me longer than I had envisaged, I let them know.

And hence the despondency. I wrongly expect people to behave the way I do – and I say wrongly, because (as they haven’t emailed me) I haven’t the faintest idea what's going on in their lives.
I hate the waiting. So I’ve given up. I’ve contacted them and don’t expect to hear anything more from them. If I do, it’s a bonus.

I suppose the thing to do is see if I can find some new contacts!

If you’ve got any ideas, please pass them on…

Post Festival 2005

Well, I managed to survive another RN Theatre Festival. As I posted in an earlier Ramble, I was playing Sir Robert Chiltern in Oscar Wilde’s An Ideal Husband. I have to say that it was easily the hardest role I’ve played in several years. The reason being that although Ideal is a comedy, Sir Robert is a straight role and his emotions are up and down like a demented yoyo.

But the production went well. The adjudicator was an old friend of mine, so when he gave me my critique, he was uncomfortably accurate (many thought that he was a little harsh – but he was telling the truth – he knew that I could have made the character more three dimensional. He should know, he’s directed me five times!).

The awards night was a scream. Ideal picked up a few awards, including Best Actor (Lord Goring) and Best Voice (Lord Caversham).

I managed to pick up a Highly Commended for my manuscript for Mark of a Gentleman. I couldn’t question the winner of that category – he wrote something that I couldn’t – a full-length play in mime!

The festival has left me feeling a little distant at the moment. I’ve noticed that being a playwright has significantly altered my views of acting. I find myself wanting to correct other actors and ask too many questions of the director. I guess that’s why I had such a problem bringing reality to my character. I needed to understand the psychology of my character and I couldn’t get there, as I couldn’t understand what was going on around me. That isn’t a criticism of the production – this adaptation had a huge cast; performed by an amateur company. Time was of the essence, and the only way that we could all have gained every bit of information we wanted, was to delay the performance by about three months.

So I’ve made the decision to pull back a bit from acting and concentrate on writing and directing. I’ve got a couple of ideas about both… I’ll keep you updated.

Nothing Ventured...

The guys in my office know how much of my free time I spend on theatre. One pointed me in the direction of a new Channel 4 competition ‘The Play’s The Thing’.

I had a good look at the entry rules and decided that I would enter one of my plays. But my dear lady wife had other ideas. She read the rules more closely and discovered that a playwright is entitled to enter three manuscripts.

So, after much badgering, off went Prime Directive (Obsession), Denim, and Mark of a Gentleman.
I would say that I will keep you updated as to how I get on, but unfortunately, if I did, it would be a bad sign. The rules have a very strict privacy agreement, to ensure the success of the programme. So if you see me Ramble about The Play’s The Thing again… You’ll know that I’ve been rejected.