I’m writing a play. I’ve never written anything for theatre before (aside from my year 11 solo piece), nor have I ever considered writing anything for theatre before. It kinda just happened. In a really organic, unforced, spontaneous way. One minute I was writing what I thought was the beginnings of a novel and then the next I found myself lost in this very real, moving, evolving ‘thing’ in my head that was, well, screaming at me for an outlet through which to be born. Continue reading
And because Charlie died every Friday – gracefully – his instinct, justifiably, kept large mausoleums near; obviously; precisely; quite rightly, so that unexpected variables – Wilbur, Xerxes – yearned zero.