I turned in a play for a competition recently. I have to say, I put some thought into it.
Having turned it in I found myself with a pocket of time with which to stay away from the pens, notepads, and keyboard. I failed mostly but I had a go.
I went out and read a few stories, people clapped, they really seemed to enjoy it. I was happy, genuinely, and I think they were too.
I wassailed with some friends, and met some people and had long drunken conversations. I hadn’t done that for a long time. It was fun, and I can see why people like it.
But most extraordinarily of all I saw a scratch performance of a draft of a scene from the play I turned in. The writing was ‘old’ I had changed it for the turn in. What got me was how well acted and directed it was in a short space of time and how the actors really tried to make it what I must confess I am afraid it is – deeply unsettling and weird and conflicted and unfair and humorous and dark and disturbed and disturbing.
They really did it well. And the audience clapped.
I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.