I’m a revisionist. I write and edit and read and edit and think and edit and listen to music and actors and walk and collage and sketch and stare at paintings and watch theatre and write some more. I layer aspects of the story; a little like the way I dress. Sometimes I write out of order and assign the right speech to the wrong character, so I listen to my director and edit.
Here in Ireland I can’t print out as many hard flat copies on which to sprinkle red ink, but I’m adjusting to editing on my laptop Apollo. Walking has replaced the lizard brain distraction of driving I sometimes need in order to sort big ideas. Today I begin directing two of the short plays and that different brain use will stimulate the playwright section of my mind. Surrounded by writers is the perfect environment in which to write, and late at night the hostel air crackles with fresh words. The poetry of Ireland’s natural beauty and the music of Irish voices swirls through my head and pushes new stories out of my arm.