Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Aah Two

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We never found the cockroach, but abandoned the room instead.  I went to bed early, though I managed to read a lengthy short story (and a short short story) before I fell asleep.  So there’s a possibility of it still lurking, waiting, watching…  I’m 60% sure that I managed to get some insect spray on it, though.

29 lines on the play yesterday.  Reading it back today, I’m not as disgusted by it as I was when I wrote it, but no doubt I’ll fluctuate on the matter as I always do.  A writer can never see the mystery in his work, and so he can never be as satisfied with it as he is with work by other writers whom he idealises.

Although I did discover an underlying psychology of one of my characters that could be used to explain his actions.  Or rather, that connects his actions to a whole instead of disparate parts.  I don’t really know what I’m saying.  I think I mean to say that my subconscious, working in the shadows of my ink as it does, managed once again to surprise me.  Let me explain:

At one point in my play, one of the characters – the madam of a brothel – says to another character, whose wife is pregnant, “there’s something of the dusk about a pregnancy”.  When I wrote that line, I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, or what it was getting at, but it sounded ‘deep’, and that’s what I wanted at that point in the play – a quick lull before action broke out again.  Anyway, something like a month later (I think), as I was on my walk, I was pondering the line, and suddenly realised that the line (in my humble opinion) precisely captures what your average sex-worker would probably think about pregnancy, namely that the sun is setting on their career and whatnot.  That is, unlike for most people, pregnancy wouldn’t be a hopeful beginning.  Something like that.

Stoppard says that a writer should feel ‘lucky’, not ‘clever’, and gives the subconscious as one reason why you might feel lucky.  (Your subconscious knows more about the thing you’re writing than you do, you see.)  Anyway, I’ve been feeling lucky every now and then while I’ve been writing this, so hopefully that’s a good sign.  (I still don’t think the play’s all that wonderful, though.)

But yes, I think a writer can never see the mystery in his own work.  And I’m fairly certain that the best compliment you can pay a writer is by noticing something that the average reader wouldn’t see on first glance.  If the writer didn’t consciously plan this ‘something’, then the compliment wouldn’t affect them that much, but if they did plan it, and not many people have noticed it, then I think it reinforces that perhaps there is some mystery to the work, and others do see it, even if the writer can’t.

Still, it is a tragedy, but a necessary one.

But on the underlying psychology breakthrough – I wonder if that’s what actors look for when studying a character.  If they strive for that eureka moment.

43 lines on the play today.

“Sleep”, by Murakami – I felt it would’ve worked much better if he’d mentioned the rapists much earlier in the story.  But I fully admit I don’t think I quite got it, anyway.

187/whatever in me booky.

Written by epistemysics

January 27, 2013 at 10:48 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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