This is a very short one – I’ve had a very theatre-y week. I’ve watched 3 plays in the last week (Hungry at Soho, The Darkest Part of the Night at Kiln, and Favour at Bush – which was extremely lovely). I had dinner with some writer friends, then dinner with the Tamasha Playwrights 2021-22 cohort (which I co-facilitate) to celebrate the end of the year, and then I was interviewed by lovely Mark Ravenhill for the 37 Plays podcast. It’s been A LOT of talking about theatre. On top of this, I’ve been trying to get my head down and write theatre. Weirdly, all the talk about theatre makes the writing impossible.
I’ve been banging my head against my laptop all day and honestly, blood from a stone. I feel all talk and no trousers.
I’m reminded that my most creative spurts are on holiday, or on a weekend in a bored moment, or on a dog walk, or a run along the river.
This weekend I’m in Norfolk with some old school friends and I bet just as I’m starting to unwind and have fun, my fingers will start twitching because suddenly it’s there and ready to be written.
So I’m calling it a day today, going to listen to music, pick up an old banger of a fixie I’ve just bought myself off eBay – a 2009 Charge Plug for those who are excited about nerd things like that, and head to watch Briefs: Bite Club at the South Bank with my bestie. Cabaret doesn’t count as theatre, right? Anyway, that’s all from me. Iman, out*.
(*On the podcast, Mark described my writing as distinctly not hip, and somehow managed to make this sound like a compliment. But that’s just crazy, because I’m like super hip, no?)