Fresher Avenues

 Delicious early Christmas present - I applied for a bursary. Didn't get it. Ding dong merrily on high. 

An application for these things is a LOT: a synopsis, a budget, a list of potential collaborators or "partners", a mission/artist's statement and ten pages of script. The money is NOT a lot - it's the theatre, darling, but that's fine because I didn't get it anyway. 

I understand it. No one wants me to do theatre. I hear you. 

I think I knew I wasn't going to do any more theatre, anyway. My film - "Goat Songs" - was a love letter to the magic of theatre. It was also a "Dear John", an "It's Not Me It's You", a "Vaya Con Dios". Writing a film about how wonderful and valuable theatre is in the face of the lock-down, and hearing nothing back AT ALL from the theatre community, even those I actively sent it to asking "What do you think?" was something of a wake up call. This fresh indignity was merely a death-knell. 

It's important to mention these things. A lot of people accentuate the positive. They crow about the victories, the career upswings. And my career is seeing an upsurge in other areas. I'm doing wonderful stuff.  I'm learning and I'm growing and in a sense, I'm living my dream. So I'm doing pretty well, generally. I just doubt I'll ever do anything in the theatre again, which is a shame as I have three or four plays in various states of repair, that would be an ornament to any stage. But the momentum I built up as a playwright atomised a long time ago. No one wants to work with me. 

Fresher avenues.