Sydney biennale and laying to rest the past.

Today has been a wonderful day, filled with sadness and extreme happiness. The day began with a sweet/sour goodbye to my dear friend N in Sydney as i boarded a plane to make it back to another dear friend's big day. My friend Kerry was to perform her one -woman show at a local theatre in front of selected guests and a camera crew from the ABC's Australian story. For Kerry, a great stand-up but no trained actor this was a major event, despite it being somefour months prior to her scheduled opening at a Melbourne Fringe venue. To have a film crew in the audience was something a seasoned pro would find daunting, especially given the script was still in workshop stage.

I am proud to say she nailed it. The material is so strong. Everyone is caught up in the moment; a friend doing the extraordinary. I am proud of her, just conquering the nerves and having the strength to face her demons publicly, especially considering her nearest and dearest were hearing events from her perspective for the very first time. Emotionally this was a momentous occasion for Kerry, her daughters and her ex-husband. There were tears shed in the auditorium as complete strangers were given a privileged insight into the Victorian justice system.

Even Kerry and her director, underestimate the potential power of this piece. As my friends know only too well, the acting teacher/director/performer and professional theatre reviewer still cannot sit inside a theatre auditorium and shut down the critics voice. Yet, today I became the dramaturg... another role I am comfortable in. However, this was not the role expected of me. I was to be the friend, caterer and general support crew.

I just find this impossible to do. I cannot switch off the producer/marketing head space. I know Kerry is sitting on a hit. Big time! It could do a national run easily.
But how do you speak to people so invested in a project? My dear friend asked my opinion as everyone (and that is literally everyone... oh yes except one regular theatre goer) gave Kerry such glowing feed back. We were all caught up in the emotion and success of the achievement.

Stupid me. I managed to avoid giving feedback at the venue when I discovered her director had very set opinions about the style the piece should take. In one sense she is correct, especially if Kerry is the 'talent'. However, I know this is bigger than that and needs a professional hand guiding the tiller. How can you discuss a project objectively when everybody ibvolved is too invested (and amateur).

Later when all the 'normal' people, the non-theatre people had returned home to their comfy suburban existence, Kerry and I sat together toasting a successful event.

I state again here that I am so proud of her accomplishement.


But then I made the mistake of being honest when she asked for my input. I was very cautious, trying to explain my point of view, but the moment I even hinted that the piece needed a dramaturg and professional actor.... well I lost my friend. The whole ownership issue and creative products is a fraught issue. Only the most successful palywrights (like Joanne Murray-Smith) know that for the piece to 'fly' the mother has to let go.

Only then in workshop can the writer see just what a gem she has created. How many great works falter at this first hurdle because writers/performers think that they alone can make the work 'fly'. I would say this is true at every level of the Industry, from Melbourne fringe to Hollywood blockbusters.

I guess this is why I no longer work as a theatre critic. I have made too many enemies by trying to be faithful to the potential of the work rather than the individuals involved.

I learned many years ago that no matter how good I thought I was, there was always someone better than me.... even with my own stories. I have learned the skill of letting go. It is painful but a necessary severing for the art to happen.

I want this piece to make its presence felt nationally, but I do not want my friend hurt or feeling inadequate. I am so conflicted. It really is none of my business... but basically I am still the woman prepared to mortgage her house to option a script, as I did in the eighties. I was defeated then... (Neil Armfield did the film, and unsuccessfully in box-office terms) but am too timid to take on the heartache again.

I guess I value my friendship with Kerry more... does that mean I am finally growing up?

A need to stop procrastination...

It's a new day; and I have managed a morning reading the newspaper and listening to talk radio and the pc is now up and running. AND OFF FACEBOOK! I have also delayed doing the bloody email sorting.

I have had one of those breakthrough thoughs in the shower about my PhD progress or lack thereof. Every Monday night I have been watching the new Arts Channel on Foxtel which is allocated to books, literature and writing. Cumulatively, I realise that all the interviews listened to over the past Monday evenings have been percolating somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain. I have been reflecting on the whole creative process and how I go about learning and practicing the craft of novel writing.

And once again like a typical Libran, my thoughts and opinions (scales) counterbalance depending on who is speaking and how well they articulate their processes.

Looking back over the past many months of the PhD I realise I have vasillated between all approches spoken about:

Plot linear notes and plot chronology
Character bios and chronologies
Thematic foci
Scenic reconstructions
Dialogue driven story telling
Structural analysis of plot and story arcs
Character voice and narrative voice

So whilst attending to my personal ablutions I see that over the past three years I have actually done a lot of work! Not nothing as I had recently been feeling!

It's just not cohesive and completely pulled together in a one-piece typed document or manuscript.

I have sequences of false starts and grinding halts all documented and piled heaven-wards on my desk:

electronic file format (and retrievable)word documents,
old library-style system cards,
multi-coloured (and thematically determined(post-it notes,
pictutre images and visual motifs,
hand-written mind maps,
typed MS word flow charts (and other such project-management tools)...

Months and months of intellectual and creative processes on display, right at my fingertips. Ah, the very bones of the Exegesis I believe.

I have had a crack at every method articulated by the published authors from programs like Writers on Writing, The Book Show, and the various Writers' Festivals.

I have been actually working. I have been researching my own creative practice.

Derr, how dumb to see this all as time wasting?

The lows are obviously going to be a generative process also. I just needed to re-frame my own view of it all.

So what if there is only 150 or so pages of typed-novel-manuscript with huge gaps? I have on-hand my cards, memos, notes and dot points, ideas mapped, plots graphed all ready to fill those holes. The book is writing itself although not forthcoming whilst I am waging war on the theory piece editing.

This is the hard part, the sense of nothing being 'finished' as two coponents of the PhD seem at war with each other, like small children fighting for their mother's attention. The stress and feeling of being overwhelmed is immense and should not be underestimated. The impact of this tension cannot simply be ignored or seen as irrelevant. It isn't. It is the PhD process itself. How could I have been so blind?

See 'light bulb' moment of illumination (from earlier mentioned shower stall).

It is envy which has primarily influenced my emotional reactions in the past 24 hours. One author/biographer stated in his interview that he had spent 6 months simply rearranging his system cards until satisfied with the linearity, drama and logic of his text. He then began to write the story.

Envious of this time?
How strange?
That is exactly what I have had...
...time to re-arrange all my creative attempts and thoughts.

What he didn't have was the looming sense of an impending 'Sword of Damocles' that a PhD timeline imposes (over and above) . A knowledge production process which constantly re-iterates via progress reviews and publications a perceived lack of both.

The PhD is a pressure cooker environment. In one sense, it comes down to straight research organisational issues, as in traditional mode PhDs.

Where it differs however is the actual creative artefact production and process that makes it distinctive and unique.

By third year the analogy needs to shift from the realm of the Academy and literary.
It is now one of practice alone.
That the craft has been explored.
Experimentation has occured.
The ingredients laid out ready for the recipe.

Now, in the latter months of the PhD candidature it is like the "Master Chef Pressure Test" (UK version please) .... do it now.

Call it all up,
master your techniques,
hone the craft,
present in the time frame.

"Step back from your benches".

Just before the clock ticks over, stand back and take 'stock' (pardon the pun). What pieces of the dish are already sitting in place?

How about a 900 plus article file covering theoretical, methodologicald and practice discussions and arguments? How about pages of self-reflection in the writers' journal? And ALL the above artefact components?

Is not the success of the PhD down now to documenting the research findings and calling a halt to the research gathering?

So I am actually facing my ususal learned behgaviour pattern - facing down my personal demon; the 'fear of success'? I have all I need just not the motivation/inclination to lay myself on the line - or to 'walk the talk' (in common parlance).

Just take one baby step each day, Carol. Stop looking at the whole picture... it is paralysing.

The failure is not in the moving forward and writing poor quality work it is not writing at all.

The Yoga worked!

Again dragging my lumpen body out of bed after less than three hours sleep, I forced myself to drive to the hospital. And the Yoga class was just perfect. Suddenly most of my anxiety has evaporated, and I do in fact feel re-energised (as cliched as that sounds). Pity the old weight still plays a degree of havoc with the knees and no downward-facing dog for me. (I could make some smart quip about that having been the case for many years now, but I will refrain!).

In order for Health Fund coverage had to attend Group Therapy with a counsellor I had not met before. This is always fraught, although just walking through the Eliza Ward doors made me just want to ring home and get a suitcase delivered. I guess the outside world has taken quite a toll over the past couple of weeks. I definitely felt like seeking sanctuary. The session was a touch cerebral but given we were prodominantly strangers that's to be expected. Why is it after the formal stuff finishes everybody let's their hair down and shares all the interesting female-buddy confidences?

Great to see J looking so well, but her voice is shot to pieces. That would have pleased B during the last two Collingwood match broadcasts. (What was the word of the day J?)

Also good to see V on day out and B going home for a while. These people feel like family. This is a Tuesday appointment I simply must keep up.

Ah, Yoga. I feel so much better and my left side is beginning to stretch as comfortably as my right. Eva, I even manage to stand on tiptoes without falling over as I do the breathing exercises... can't actually spell the name of the pose.

Came home determined to do some work but the lack of sleep caught up with me. I have been fighting off the need for a Nanna nap again as I know it will wreak havoc on my sleeping patterns and undo all the good I did today. At least doing an online newspaper read (away from the Carl Williams soap-opera) brought me some exciting news. Another dear theatre pal, Tony Sheldon is having a well-earned break from Priscilla (on the West End) and is finally going to play Bernadette when the show opens on Broadway next March. (Tattslotto ticket needed now). I am so thrilled that his Green Card issues have been overcome and that his contract negotiations similarly worked out. To think after extensive auditioning in the Big Apple he could not be matched in versatility. I am so proud of you Tony. Hope you get home and we can share a bottle of classy champagne before the year ends.

Maybe I should take a leaf out of your book and get my backside into gear and finish my PhD, then we can both celebrate our mid fifties in style, having reached career landmarks. I do indeed feel inspired to pick up the pieces and scramble on.