Absence makes the heart and all that

Well the summer raced by with a blaring distraction that took me away from the internet world and into the strange new world of bumps and babies and things (never again to be mentioned). It was, however, a rather good excuse for not blogging for so long. But, oh! What this blog has missed. It has been a glorious summer of Shakespeare. I saw two productions that I won't soon forget and may have lodged themselves into my consciousness as *definitive* versions.

Tweets and Giggles

Being a (fairly quiet and largely ignored) part of the Twittersphere has been an interesting experiment so far. I am regularly supremely jealous of people who are able to sit at home on a week day and work on their romantic novels. I am even more jealous when these romantic novelists mention their gardens. This lunchtime I saw that Wayne Rooney has had his hair transplant (or whatever the treatment it is he’s flogging for oodles of cash). Rio Ferdinand proceeded to rib him about hair extensions. Yes, it is slightly embarrassing that I follow them, but it is all in the noble name of research. And apparently Twitter can predict stock market movements (according to an article in the Economist's Technology Quarterly - you have to subscribe to see online). If you’re feeling anxious and you tweet it (clap your hands?!) then you contribute to the ‘mood’ statistics that seem to lead market trends. It’s a whole world - one microcosmic second at a time.

Cause Célèbre (or the things we do to each other)

Of all the juicy theatre I wanted to see, I did manage one: Cause Célèbre. It was a puzzling piece of theatre, much debated and deconstructed on the train home. Similar to Flare Path, I had to ask myself whether Rattigan was just labouring an obvious point or whether the real probing question was something quite different.

Too much theatre, too little time

There is so much out there I would like to see at the moment, but I need to keep up the editing on #bookwithasillyname (as yet untitled), which is terribly time-consuming. I would love to see the JM Barrie adaptation Mary Rose at the Brockley Jack (I wanted to see Project Snowflake there, too, but missed that one). I love the Brockley Jack: great food, great space, interesting productions. I may yet take the time to see I am a Camera at the Rosemary Branch (in Islington, for us South Londoners who don’t know it :-p). I read Goodbye to Berlin a few years ago (soon after saying goodbye to Berlin myself). More Isherwood background might get me off my behind (and computer) and into the theatre. Thrill Me - the Leopold and Loeb story would be awesome if it didn’t freak me out a little. And Cause Celebre is closing soon, too, and it’s too good an opportunity for comparison with Flare Path.

I haven’t been to Theatre503 for a while, but there haven’t been any productions that jumped out at me. I had a chuckle at their most recent production: SOLD. Why am I not surprised that an Australian playwright is writing about real estate? Oh, I know it’s about the characters and dark undercurrents, but there must be people in Australia who aren’t obsessed with real estate (sorry to be harsh on my own peeps).

Plus there’s a Tom Stoppard and then Ralph Fiennes in the Tempest at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. The Trevor Nunn season seems to be drawing me in very effectively...

Ten Lame Titles for my Book

To hopefully get it out of my system, I’m going to brainstorm ten very silly names for my book. It has already had about seven working titles, worthy of varying degrees of cringing. I can’t seem to stop satirising myself. It means I have injected an amusing degree of cynicism into the book (and into that sappy tart Lizzy), but it makes finding a title a minefield.

The reason I’m looking at titles is rather exciting, though. I am going to make some attempts again to get it out there. Still some editing to go, but in a few months I will have a submission (and in a few months after that, I will have a flurry of rejections).

Looking back at my list, I’ve managed to sabotage myself again by including some that might actually be semi-decent. I strongly dislike the self-conscious nature of sharing work. Some of the titles are satisfyingly stupid, though (gonna get that dirt [read: cliches] off my shoulder).

Mentally Spaced

After 10 days of cycling and camping in Europe (lord I’m so British these days - I mean on the Continent), I’ve managed to come back to daily life with more spark than usual. ‘Just pedalling’ cleared all the mush out of my brain. Our longest day was 126km (although the 90km of hills was more exhausting), achieving a comfortable rhythm and my first new ideas for months.

Rather unexpectedly, I’ve returned to my first love - the book of many titles aka the story of my now five-year-old heroine Lizzy (with a Y). Somehow I just can’t let this book die, despite some of my newer work being of higher quality. The hero is so devastating I just can’t give him up. I’m still so very conscious that the setting will put a lot of publishers off, but I know the potential for readers is there. And so I’m editing again, but my ideas are comfortably slotting into place and I’m taking a few risks (not my forte).

My most recent experimentation has involved the very difficult to tap resource Twitter. It’s an amazing source of information and inspiration. I now follow a very odd list of people and organisations. @EnglishHeritage and @NationalTheatre of course make perfect sense, but they now share space with @rioferdy5 (a prolific tweeter) and a few other names from *that* world. I couldn’t bring myself to follow @Cristiano, though. The pic was too cringe-worthy.

A bigger step up on the risk scale is that I am experimenting with incorporating tweets into the novel itself. I hear the creak of rolling eyes. A gimmick it may yet turn out to be, but it’s also surprisingly funny and easy to incorporate. Facebook is such a visual medium it requires more creativity to incorporate it into traditional fiction, but Twitter fits naturally, an externalisation of a character’s inner monologue. Twitter grammar also lends itself to being recorded on paper (specifically the @ and the #). Twitter is also a widespread social outlet. It seems odd that it’s not included in more fiction.

Taking a bit of a plunge, I’m going to spoil a scene here. It was previously not only dull, but revealed how very sappy Lizzy was. Add Twitter, and it’s worth reading.

Nineteenth-Century Emo

I have had such a marvellous week of treats at the National Theatre. Not only was there an excellent excuse to put my slowly settling ideas about Frankenstein back into the blog (there is still so much to say!), but I enjoyed a quiet evening with Polly, my netbook, in the foyer cafe before the Q&A last night, pausing only to people watch during the interval of Hamlet, playing at the Lyttleton. But last Friday was the greatest treat: Keats, Shelley and Byron.