Nearly a week ago since I watched San Francisco receding into blue distance: touchdown in Frome has been hectic but pleasant, beginning with a meeting of
Frome Scriptwriters whose latest scripts will be performed next month at the Cornerhouse.
When She Imagines is a trio of monologues, directed by
Nevertheless producer Rosie Finnegan, which was commissioned as 'fringe' to the
Imagine events at Rook Lane. Are
Frome Scriptwriters resting cosily on their laurels? No of course not: they're already deep into the next project,
Tales of the Tunnels, for Frome Festival.
Apropos things dramatic, here seems a good place for the link to my newly launched
theatre blog: for some reason that now eludes me, I thought a good title would be
Apart from that, Mrs Lincoln...
And while I'm at the self-promotion,
Frozen Summer is now out on Kindle ~ it costs a quid, but think of the postage saved! And the trees... I've been recommending this free-to-use form of self-publishing for ages so it seemed only reasonable to try it. Provided you have a correctly edited Word file (no page breaks except for essential separation like new chapters and acknowledgements etc) publication takes literally only a few minutes ~ I did it in the departure lounge at San Francisco. I know some writers fear the stigma of 'Vanity Publishing' but self-publishing these days is not only respectable, it's a valuable contribution to diversity. 'We are the Farmers' Markets in a supermarket world' I like to say, with suitable fervour, and there's now even a major award solely for 'indie' writers, as non-commercially published authors are now termed. The Guardian
Books Blog quotes wonderful Kate Tempest as good practice: she self-published her
first collection and subsequently hit the headlines by winning the Ted Hughes Award for her poem-play
Brand New Ancients. Kate is interviewed in
ideas tap, and her philosophy is one I completely relate to:
If I felt something, I’d write it down. I never knew what it was for but actually all that writing has enabled to me know my palate and my writing style. If you’re a writer, then write constantly. Not for anybody to judge it but so you’re more comfortable at the page than away from it.
On Wednesday
Writing Events Bath organised
A Gathering Of Writers talking about their work in support of Dorothy House, a cause as popular as the six authors contributing so the BRLSI was crammed. Debby Holt, Lindsay Hawdon, Andrew Miller, Lesley Pearse,
Nathan Filer and Tania Hershman proved a very successful medley of different voices, each with an interesting take on their personal craft, and all picking fascinating extracts to share. I liked especially Debby's view that 'writing is a way of making sense of our lives', and Nathan's reading from his debut novel. I've been a fan of Nathan for nearly a decade, since he came to Frome to contribute to
Urban Scrawl ~ a night of performance poetry I organised as the climax of my year as Writer in Residence at the Merlin Theatre ~ and it's no surprise that now he's turned his writing hand to prose there was an 11-way auction battle for
The Shock of the Fall. HarperCollins won. It's out in hard-back - but you can get it on Kindle at half the price...
Victoria Park on Saturday looks like a Peter Greenaway film as Frome hosts the national Town Cryer competition. I know nothing about crying, in the civic sense, and am intrigued to glean more about this tradition. Judging is on dress, voice, and cry content apparently: two cries each, separated by Morris dancing. "First cry is about the town, second cry is about a news item," explains one of the Axbridge team over tiffin. Everyone makes their own costumes but the Swindon entrant demurs when I ask if he chose his green jacket. "Some of them make it up to please themselves, but this is Great Western Railways!” I don't know who won but they all looked glorious ~ long may they cry for their towns!
It’s easy to spoof Shakespeare ineptly, baffling audience members who don’t know the plots and irritating ones who do. I approached
Machamlear at Bath's nice little Rondo theatre with a trepidation which turned out to be totally needless: Dougie Blaxland’s paradic blending of three tragedies into a contemporary soap saga is a hilarious by any standards, and Live Wire community theatre company had terrific fun with it. The basic plots of each play are as recognisable as the Eastenders theme music that links the scenes, but all three are inextricably intertwined as action moves around the London suburb of Burnham Wood with plots are hatched by Mac and Beth and Claude Elsinore in the Kings' Head, the pub Ken Lear has unwisely handed over to his greedy elder daughters... “My mother’s married a total dickhead” moans Hamlet to
Cordelia, the only one who understands since Ophelia dumped him, and they run away together followed by hoodies Rosie Krantz and Gill Denstone... The stories end in similarly cross-fertilised mass slaughter. “I’ve never seen so many corpses," declares the doctor ~ there’s always a doctor in a soap ~ "Things like this only happen in plays!” The cast's five youngsters add charming energy to the production and there's zestful acting all round with a superbly scene-stealing cameo as Banquo’s ghost from Jackie Eliot. Spanking script, lively direction, great night out.
