I had an idea for a new play some time last year after watching an interesting French film which, nevertheless, left me a little unsatisfied.
I could write something better, I thought, as we all do think in situations like those.
So I’ve been working on this new play the past few days and Act I has taken shape. At this point, I know that I will finish it. It’s a curious thing, when you’re writing: sometimes I’ll enjoy the thing I’m writing, the short story, the scene, the scraps of scenes, but I know that I’m not gonna finish it – at least, not any time soon. It’s not shaping up. It’s doodling. It’s doing it’s own thing and it hasn’t caught me yet.
And then sometimes, I’ll write just a few sentences and I’ll know – yep, this one is making it to the end.
And of course sometimes you have a deadline and you just have to write the damn thing, even if you don’t particularly feel it in your guts.
Writing is hard work. It’s turning up regularly to work on the work. I don’t believe in ‘inspiration’. But there is a knowledge that I’ve developed over years and years and years of doing this that let’s me… intuit? Sure, let’s go with that. I can intuit when a story is a story and not just a sketch.
Over the past year, I’ve mostly written to deadlines, and I’ve only written plays. Once the first draft of this play is done, I have another play I need to write, and maybe another one, for other deadlines and THEN I can finally get back to novels and short stories.
I miss working on prose. I do. But then again, when I write for the stage, I can watch it come to life, and I can watch other people watching it and enjoying it, and that’s kinda fun. You very rarely get that as a short story writer.
And this play, currently called The Spare Room, is definitely going to get finished and make it to the stage. I can feel it in my bones. It’s a nice feeling.
