If I Can Dream (2/4/15)

Start this again. Don't structure it, structure's unnecessary sometimes. Don't redraft it. First drafts can be the right drafts if the idea's there.

It's a year. Give or take. Bit more really but let's call it a year shall we? For the sake of convenience. That and maths and stuff. Call last night the end of year one, this morning - lazy and unfocussed as this morning has been - the start of year two although year two really started last Sunday with the monologue read through - I'll get to that - or even last year with the first script for those monologues.

Maybe it started in January in the performance space behind 81 Renshaw St with Mairi (I'm not doing surnames, other people's lives are other people's lives) chillingly applying an arc of lipstick at the denouement of 'Clown Time Is Over'. Maybe it started in a cottage in Wales as I said 'I'm going to pull six monologues together but I need a thematic thread' and Anna replied 'Why don't you make them all by women?' so I did and parts of my life had suddenly happened to other people.

Last night I stood on a stage and I received a 'Highly Commended' Award for a play called 'The Comeback Special'. The title is very, very deliberate; it ties in to the subject matter. I'm not giving you the plot - although there are a couple of people who've read it already - as I want you to be surprised when you see it. And you'll see it. It may not have been the overall winner, may not be the play that the Royal Court will be considering for production (although all 10 were considered to be under option to the Court so who knows) but it'll get out there one way or another. It's too good not to; I have a framed award to prove the fact, I have the actors that performed a section of it as a rehearsed reading telling me how much they loved it.

Suffice to say, the synopsis goes like this:

'Given the choice, Robbie would rather not talk to the dead - and definitely not to this guy who claims he's the ghost of Elvis'

The synopsis alone got a laugh from the room. That's a good sign. 200 entries down to a shortlist of 20. To 10. To be in the top three. To be in the top three. Can you imagine? It's unbelievable. I knew the piece was good, I'm not doing false modesty here, I knew it was good from day one but to find out that others agree and when those others include Frank Cottrell Boyce and Kathy Burke? That's a hell of a moment.

And it begs the question: how the hell did this all happen?

A year ago I sat in a meeting with my regional manager, signed a form and ended a job that I'd had for 27 years, went home, picked up a coffee and started writing. Didn't look back. Not once. Life started. The life I'd wanted when I was 18. The one where you look at a blank page and figure out a way to fill it with stuff that didn't exist before you sat down. To make people appear and say things, to figure out what they wanted, whether they could have it and how they'd get it. To decide whether to use the phrase 'they'd' or 'they would'. To  sculpt a sentence so that it just worked. To re-sculpt it when it didn't.

And this is where it blurs and things overlap and order is unnecessary. I'm not precious about the exactness. As long as the intent and the story remain, we can change the order of the words. And it's my story anyway, I've spent a year making it up as I've gone along.

I joined a writing group. Submitted some two handers set in pubs for a competition. Submitted a longer piece for a competition. Was successful with the longer piece. Met with some directors. Chose one who had an interesting take on the piece and could extend it into something more than it already was via the use of attractive women in catsuits. You're really not arguing with that stance are you? Sexism? Not a bit of it, the director's name's Anna. Clearly a woman. I did the words, she added a visual edge that I hadn't seen during the writing. Rehearsals were incredible. And not because of the catsuits, because you were having a laugh for hours on end with people who were suddenly becoming mates. (Simple example - that play doesn't happen then I don't suddenly appear on stage at The Cavern the week before Christmas. Singing. Badly.)

The performances were great. And I took a break between that para and this to send a script over to the actor who may be taking over the male lead role when we hopefully take it up to Edinburgh in August. Says me as though that's just something that I do. Which it is now. Because I decided that I'd give anything a go.

Short films set in cars against a green screen backdrop courtesy of the aforementioned writing/now production group? Yeah, go on, I've got an idea for that. You want me to what? Act? Me? Oh, go on then, might as well give it a crack. Actors apparently crave imdb credits, I've somehow managed to get them as writer/actor/producer/musician. Which is nice. And very, very surreal.

And all the time that was happening, 'The Elvis Play' as it kept getting called was out there. And I couldn't say a great deal. All entries were anonymous. Had to be so that the judging was fair. Declare yourself as an author and you could be out of competition. So I didn't.

The e-mail to say I was in the shortlist of 20 came in November. I couldn't say anything. The e-mail saying I was in the last ten came the day after. Same story. Say nothing.

The first e-mail came as me and our Kev were walking to the florists to organise the flowers for Dad's funeral. It felt like the right time to receive it, felt like a message, felt like he was looking out for me.

Dad had wanted to be a writer. A sports journalist. I've somehow managed to end up doing a fair bit of that myself over the last couple of years. He saw that. He saw my first play, Venus Rising. Couldn't hear a huge amount of it but knew that I was finally doing what I'd always wanted to do. You can't ask for more than that.

There was advance notice that the winner and the Highly Commended recipients would need to give a few words last night. I took the chance, prepared a speech in case I got the big one. Dedicated it to my Dad. I'll dedicate it to him now. He's with me on this.

Other things then. The Anfield Wrap advertised for writers for the website. I pitched a couple of ideas. They liked them. I'm writing for them, I'm appearing on the podcasts. Last week I found myself discussing tactics with the manager of Mold FC; a man with a UEFA B license, someone who actually knows what he's talking about. Tomorrow I'm up the Radio City tower to record a show for next week, Bank Holiday Monday I'm doing another. And I somehow treat all this as normal, as something I do, because that's what it is; I decided what I wanted and said yes to anything that was offered that looked like it would be fun.

And the bonus? Everybody I've met is really, really nice. Dead sound, every one of them.

I had a direct message on Twitter from a guy called Simon. This is earlier now. 'Can I ring you and talk about Mick Head?' Yeah, course. Si had read a piece I'd done on Mick (Michael Head, ex-Shack, ex-ex-Pale Fountains, the man who wrote 'Comedy' the song that should have been at number one for at least half of the nineties) for Sabotage Times. He was writing a book about Mick, could he interview me?  Well, yeah. And that, through having a mutual contact in the writing/production group (big American dude called Chase, knows everybody. Like, EVERYBODY) became 'there's a gig at St George's Hall in October' 'right, let's make a film'. So we made a film. The editing's near as damn it done. Will you see it? Of course you'll see it. Soon, somehow, we'll make sure it's out there.

As a by product of the film, I kind of ...well....made a couple of music videos for the last single (joy of iMovie and access to the official photos). Oh, and the sound edit for the advert for that single as well. Which just happens to be the best thing I've heard in years. The single, not the advert. The other by product? I find myself sat in a pub in Liverpool watching a (terrible) European game with a guy who I've watched play bass at loads of gigs over the years. I find myself meeting a songwriter whose albums I've been buying for thirty years before and after a gig at Hebden Bridge and telling him that 'the mix sounds okay from up here' from my vantage point behind a camera at a soundcheck a week later. I'd paid for my ticket, I'd have gladly added a 0 at the end for the day I had. I pinch myself. Constantly.

There was a pilot episode for a sitcom. Wasn't picked up but had a ball doing it. Again, great people.

Oh yeah - we're making a film a month as well. Anna's idea. Do I fancy doing that? Of course I do. April's will be on Crosby Beach in amongst the Iron Men. It's a cracker. I know, I wrote it.

Which brings us - in a totally non chronological manner - to last night. An awards ceremony. A sit down meal, the presence of the lord mayor, sat at a table with jazz musicians, professors and Dave who runs Sound City every year - the man who's bringing The Flaming Lips to Liverpool in May. Great conversation, stayed sensible, avoided wine in the hope that I'd be getting the chance to use the speech that I had in my jacket pocket.

Highly Commended. Name up on screen. Congratulations from everybody. From the other writers. From the other, highly talented and experienced writers. You didn't feel competition, you felt camaraderie. Again, met great people. The feeling is pretty much indescribable. From this screen here, from this blank screen, the first work I'd put into a major competition (and we're talking major, second biggest in the country) to my name up on screen as one of the top three plays in the competition. It's not more than you dream of, it's exactly what you dream of. Dreams come true.

Genuinely having the time of my life. Never stop working. Getting paid for it will be a nice bonus when it comes. It'll come. I've decided.

For now though? For a start? Year two. We're in year two. Rehearsals start. Rewriting's done. 'Half The Sky' premieres at 81 Renshaw St on 11th and 12th of June. The writing's good. The direction's great. The music's excellent - live music from a fantastic singer/songwriter accompanied by a Cellist. The actresses though? The actresses are absolutely phenomenal. I know this, I've seen their first read, they're starting from a hell of a base. You should probably come and see us.

Meanwhile, I'm thirty pages into the next play. I've left a family mid discussion somewhere in the eighties and I need to go and finish off their conversations, lead them to the interval.

Take every chance you're offered.

This is what I do now.

Year two.  Start.