A little while ago, I attended a script-writing workshop up here in St. Andrews, the theme of which was ‘Spring’. For no other reason than I want to, I’ve decided to post the script I wrote up here for perusal. It was meant to be about 10 minutes long, we gave it to a group of actors who performed it and gave us feedback (very helpful, dramatic readings are always the best). Whilst I imagined one of my characters to be a teenage girl, both were played as male and it came off brilliantly.
I was in a Film Studies lecture recently, being told about avant-garde cinema, when we were shown a 7 minute long video of a lemon. It’s safe to say that I’m never going to get these 7 minutes back (all that happened was the light changed slowly around the lemon, not the kind of film we’re used to but I suppose that was the point). I did send many snapchats of this film, and received many more, and so by dinner time everyone had heard about the 7 minute lemon video. Why, you wonder?
It’s the lemons.
I understand that’s not very explanatory. Most recently I’ve been working on a play called Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons, by a guy called Sam Steiner. It went up last week and somehow we haven’t been able to escape the clutches of citrus servitude. Myself and the rest of the crew have been roundly accused of not shutting up about lemons, of both the real and metaphorical variety. It’s entirely true of course, I now point them out every time we’re in Tesco. I laughed the other day because my friend got a lemon sorbet. It’s possibly the oddest in-joke I’ve ever been a party to.
Especially because the play itself has no actual lemons.
It’s about a couple called Oliver and Bernadette, who live in a world which has just passed a ‘Quietude Bill’ that restricts everyone to only being able to say 140 words per day. I love it as a play, and have a simultaneous hatred and affinity for both of the characters. It’s quite tricky to pull off, as the scenes jump backwards and forwards from the time before the bill is passed and after. The title is in reference to a scene where Bernadette wants to get all of her words out in one go, so says a random list that includes five mentions of a certain acidic fruit.
My role in the production was publicity, so my hard drive is now full of pictures of lemons, yellow objects, videos of people juggling lemons, people using lemons as phones, people using lemons as hats, people eating lemons in pubs and videos about lemon-stealing whores (that one’s the intro to a porno – involving lemons? Was hilarious to a group of people who do nothing but talk about lemons). I have a dress covered in lemons that I wore to the opening performance. Soon, I will tear off my outer skin to reveal the lemon underneath.
However many lemons I now have that I now don’t know what to do with; and however many awful lemon puns we came up with; I genuinely enjoyed the experience so I’ve now joined a team that’s taking a production to the Edinburgh Fringe this year. We had a publicity meeting the other day. Guess what the ‘symbol’ of the play is going to be?
There is no escape from yellow fruit.
Hi all, sorry I haven’t posted in a while. I’ve been rather busy as of late but I can’t for the life of me remember what I’ve been busy with…
I finished reading Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency so then I began (and promptly finished) watching the TV show. Oh yes, that might have been what I was busy doing… Well that and reading my new book of course.
I’m branching out at the moment, trying to find some adult fiction that I like and I finally managed to succeed with G.M Barlean’s Thorns of Rosewood. I enjoyed the story (a two-thorned – get it… thorned – mystery), I adored the characters (four kick-ass old ladies and a reporter desperate for answers) and I loved Barlean’s writing.
She made me laugh with Gloria’s (the protagonist) internal narration:
“Dear God, please don’t let him be a serial killer because I think I just fell in love.”
There’s a truth in that which is rather sad when you think about it but it was funny none-the-less. And don’t worry, he’s not a serial killer. Not yet at least… it is a series so who knows?
What else, ah yes, Barlean wrote a line so beautiful I oo’ed and ah’ed as I re-read it a half a dozen times.
Naomi is the book’s antagonist. She’s flat out mean and is the town of Rosewood’s resident villain. At a particularly tense part of the book Barlean describes Naomi with her hands on her hips,
“her long red nails like drops of blood against her silken white robe.”
Excuse me whilst I float off on my little cloud of happiness. I’m a little bit in awe of what Barlean’s done here. This sentence could have been cringe worthy cliché with the classic juxtaposition of red on white, evil and innocence and so forth. Yet somehow, instead of working against Barlean the cliché strengthens the words. The imagery of the ‘long’ nails against the soft ‘silken’ robe holds the threat of such violence that, when the thought of blood is added, becomes over-powering and beautiful. Feel free to come join me on my cloud…
I’m on to book two in the series now so I shall keep you updated on any more hidden gems I find but for now farewell. I’m off to read!
If you’ve ever tried your hand at writing then you’ll know that endings are notoriously hard. You have to walk the fine line between giving the reader enough but not too much, giving them what they want but not being predictable and you have to do this all whilst avoiding the dreaded anti-climax. But this post isn’t about the big endings which means of course it’s about the small ones. For me, the most satisfying last lines come at the end of the first chapter. It’s the line that can make or break a book, it’s the line that has the power to leave you grinning at yourself because you’ve just realised you’ve won the book lottery. It’s the line that can send excitement bubbling through your veins and it’s the line that can make it impossible to put a book down, no matter how sleep deprived you are.
Last night my self-appointed bed time was sucked into the new book I started at half eleven (never a good idea), chewed up and spat back out. It sat discarded on the floor knowing full well that I wouldn’t be getting to sleep any time soon. I still cannot help but smile when I remember the last line of the first chapter of Michelle Hodkin’s The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer. Which, if you think about it, is rather disturbing given that the last line reveals the death of two teenage girls.
I’m going to give you some context because the build up is often what makes the ending. Not to mention that I’m a generous person and when I win the book lottery I feel bound to share my winnings. You’ll have to give me a second whilst I back track my Kindle to the beginning of the book (I wasn’t kidding when I said my bedtime went out the window, I’m already over half way through.)
Right, here you go, the final lines to chapter one of The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer:
‘Rachel relaxed, but I didn’t. For her sake, though, I tried to swallow my anger and unease as we settled in to watch the movie. Rachel popped in the DVD and blew out the candles.
Six months later, they were both dead.’
Well shit. If that doesn’t make you want to read more then I haven’t done the book justice. The only times I’ve put that book down today have been to talk to you lovely people and to make breakfast (reading is important, but so are pancakes).
Talking of last lines, I now need to think of one for this post. I’m afraid it won’t be as dramatic as Hodkin’s as I’m hoping that in six months, Sasha and I will both be very much alive.