Thursday, August 29, 2013

The Undead and moving house - more related then you think.

Geee-od! May 14 was the last time I posted a writery blog and it wasn't even very writery if I recall. But here I am now making up for all that with news of a full length play.

I have explained how I managed to avoid work with other work - it always works out - one way or another. I was thinking about writing more for Fury - let's face it, it's been a year now since I wrote anything on it and I do like to leave my plays for a while and let them percolate until they are are a distant memory and I can re-engage with them on a more happy footing. I was ready to do that with Fury - I thought I was. And then... and then... "Year One".

My zombie play. An extension of Keeping Up Appearances, which won the audience choice at Brisbane Short and Sweet recently - I was well pleased with that and it further reinforced my decision to lengthen the whole idea out and to bring a dead guy to the stage arena. That's what we need, more dead peeps on stage. So I started to write. It is so much more fun writing a comedy than it is a drama. It is satisfying writing a drama - you can be caught up with your characters and journey, but it's not as much fun as comedy, where you can genuinely make yourself laugh.

Making myself laugh might not actually be that good an indication that the play is funny. In my experience I don't speak to the masses when it comes to comedy - I might be a bit more niche- more's the pity. It's a sad fact that I might be niche my whole life with my playwrighting, I don't speak to the youth and I don't speak to the hip, I might be speaking to some of the 30 to 40 year olds, but even then, I'm not sure. I still keep writing though, I just can't stop.  It's a type of sureness in myself that exists and is nurtured just by the process of writing itself.

So, there you have it. A full length play. About zombies. Also I saw the short version that Joon Kwok directed in Brissy and I really thought she did a fine job. It was very funny :) To me.

Now.. to moving house. 

The TORTURE of moving house. How I loathe it for so many reasons - let me list them tediously here:
1. All the shit that you own
2. All the uncertainty of a new place
3. All the cleaning
4. All the packing
5. All the trips to goodwill
6. All the trips to the recycling centre
7. All the tears, breakdowns, arguments and low blood sugar
8. All the random head strikes on low beams and bits of wood and awnings and things. Honestly how fucking big is my head anyway!
9. All the illness - the colds and the pulled shoulder.
10. All the selling of things on ebay... Aiiiiiiiiiiii!

What are they smiling about!!!
We just moved from two separate places - an apartment, where my husband lived and a house where myself, my father and my son lived. Yes, we lived separately - to cut a three year story short, we separated, and then we reconciled.

We make it sound easy don't we?

We moved into a three story place. Oh the stairs. Oh the walking. Oh the carrying of boxes from one room to another. Oh... Oh.

We seem to own SO MUCH STUFF. But where is it all? When I packed rooms up it was as if the process of removing an item replaced it with a waiting item that had been in some fourth dimension - so I packed and packed. It must be what packing the tardis is like. Imagine packing up the tardis. The move was not without tears. Mainly mine.

Louise helps by climbing into every box and then shredding the others.
Moves represent many things - and apart from living with my husband again, which actually I was ready for, it also meant leaving a place where I had settled myself in like a hen on a nest. Hunkered down and a bit broody. To illustrate further: my mum used to have three chickens that she collected eggs from - Jungle chook, who roamed about like a poultry Rambo laying where she wanted too, Clucky chook who was forever sitting on her own eggs and others and squinting and clucking angrily at you when you tried to get them out from under her and Chook. Poor Chook. Just a regular chicken doing a good job, no name for you. So in order to get the eggs from Clucky chook my brother and I would slide a piece of wood under her and lever her on to an angle and then shoot our hands under her grabbing the eggs. Did she think that it was weird that she was on a 45 degree angle? It didn't look like it. And frankly she was a chicken and not that bright.    

A lot like this. But angrier.
I am clucky chook. I was aware of the 45 degree angle though and so being levered out of the comfortable place I had lived for three years was not my idea of happiness. It filled me with dread in one way and in another I really wanted to be in a house with more than one toilet. I KNOW one toilet! Draconian.

But I'm here at the new house and I'm fine. Of course I am. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, usually up a staircase, and emptying boxes. As they empty and I find a place for the things I feel a bit better, each little thing in a little place makes me feel more calm and happy. Plus I get to sweep the floor - as they are floorboards and I like sweeping - it clears my mind.

I'm on less of an angle now. Maybe 10 degrees, I'm looking forward to being level. But the fact that I'm writing means perhaps I'm already there.