Writing is the strangest of creative processes. It is a little bit like improvising because you have to make things up as you go along, but that is where the similarity ends. I am involved in all sorts of writing; I write this blog, pretty much for me, I write things like scripts for industrial theatre, I write content heavy voice over material for a project I work on long term, I write some stuff with people, like Graham Weir, and I write my own things. I have recently finished a script of a play that Artscape is going to showcase at the end of the year called The Tent. It’s very exciting.

I am also trying to finish a script for a one-woman show that I am writing for myself. I started this at the beginning of the year. A friend had told me the story, years before, about a friend of hers, and it stayed with me in a weird unformed way until, pop, it formed itself into shape one day while Big Friendly and I were walking the dogs. Sometimes it’s like that. But, even though I know the story, choosing how to tell it is a whole other thing.

Some parts have flowed really easily. Others have come out literally one word at a time, and it’s ironic that those words are the ones’ I have changed the most often. I am so close to finishing, and this is the hardest part, especially since I don’t have a deadline.

That’s why it is so exciting to have a moment of sheer, connected inspiration, which is what happened just now. I dashed to the lappie (at a dark, pissing down 7am) and spewed a whole paragraph. It’s a complicated idea, and a totally new one. I reread it, first to myself and then to Big Friendly. Only one thing needed changing. And I am one inspired paragraph closer to the ending.

The paragraph is called “The qualities of the absence of doubt: A deviance before the inevitable resolution.” Sounds like all the stuff I do, like walking the dogs, making muffins, watching the cooking channel, rereading books, while writing a script.