Read-throughs can be fun to attend as a reader or gopher but when you’re the writer, you can only gird your loins and approach it as an instructive exercise.

One of the nice things about a closed read-through is that the atmosphere is collegial: it’s okay to say, This dialogue sucks because it’s understood that the speaker will then say why it sucks, and maybe even suggest how it can be made to suck less, all in a thick fug of We’re here about the work.

A public reading – well, that’s a different kettle of hedgehogs. There’s the possibility – no matter how remote in these ever-so-polite South Pacific isles – that someone in the crowd will say, That sucks! and hide in the mass of unfamiliar faces. And I suspect that stalking up and down the stage eye-fucking every suspicious-looking audience member and yelling WHO SAID THAT? is not really the look I want to promote.

Saturday’s public reading had no such impromptu drama – all the drama was scripted, there was polite applause, and at the end of each reading, there were questions and comments that forced the writers to think and consider.

Ah, humanity: how I love thee at times.

With just over four weeks to go (30 days, to be precise), the production exudes a quiet confidence while the writer goes through 250 grams of cocoa product a day and worries at the script, desperately trying not to think that any day now, he will have to let go of it and trust in the director and actors.

You want names? They’re right here and here. … Um, yeah: more to follow, obviously.

So, yesterday was the read-through and…. Read-through’s are always an heady, anxious, butterflies-in-the-bowels kind of experience. You’ve just emerged into the light with a draft that you think/hope/pray hits the mark. You anticipate the joy of hearing your dialogue sing and await the inevitable praise to be heaped upon you from your readers.

This read-through was no different.

The actors reading their lines sounded nothing like the voices I’d heard when writing the script. (Disclosure: this was a cold read.) Holes that I thought I’d papered over sufficiently stuck out like… holes don’t stick out, really, do they? The dialogue did not sing. Arcs I thought I’d artfully sketched turned out to be just sketches waiting some proper writing to define them.

Praise was not inevitable. Warm supportive noises were welcomed. Carefully phrased criticism was taken on board. No tears were shed. No pride was swallowed.

With an open reading less than a fortnight away, it’s about tightening and bridging and articulating and… writing.

Development continues apace.

Recap:
 -  a 23-page working first draft of the script was submitted on Sunday (15 April);
 -  on Wednesday (18 April) an actual, like, complete first draft of the script was demanded by the coming Saturday (21 April);
 -  Thursday was day-job day, and was full-on, maaan;
 -  Thursday was so full-on that it spilled into Friday, duuude;
 -  Friday was further made exciting by having to wake up at 0430 to ensure The Goddess caught an 0640 flight, and lengthened by having to stay awake to collect Her at 2400 later that day.

Friday, I must say, for all its excitement and marathon-like/-lite duration, was a little frustrating.

Oh, and then I was reminded that:
 -  Saturday we were expecting seldom-seen relatives.

Forcing condensing three potential writing days into five hours can be an exhilarating experience.  I love it.  After the fact.

Experiencing it is another matter as the knot in the stomach gnaws and gnaws, your fingers won’t type fast enough – and they keep inserting typos! – and a headache tries to distract you with variations of “How you like me now?”-type pain.

But it’s not all bad.  Honest.  There’s the actual exhilaration – the fevered and/or inspired connection and transformation of notes-to-self into a story, the page count in the bottom corner of the screen clicking over and reinforcing the sense of hard work in progress, and the process of writing, throwing shit down, cursing as you delete, mentally high-five-ing as it just flows.  Five minutes to the contracted deadline, and you’re done.

One thinks, Gaw, that weren’t so bad!

Oh how quickly one forgets.

(Final page count:  33 pages.)

The hours/days/weeks/months of radio silence that follow the delivery of a script never get easy.

In this case, I only had to wait three days.

   From:  Producer
  To:  Writer
  Subject:  Goodbye My Feleni – first draft
  Message:  Where’s the second act?

Ah yes.

The second act.

It’s not as perfect good as I’d like. But it’s got a beginning. And an ending. What more could a story want?

So yeah: I hit 23 pages five minutes before deadline, held my breath and clicked on Send.

The Producer can’t ditch me now.

15.

A measly three pages since yesterday.

But I did spend an hour negotiating a formal agreement that reasonably I’m happy with. There were moments that gave me some ‘Nam-style flashbacks but everyone’s still alive and still talking.

It’s late afternoon now and we’re entertaining in the banquet hall so there’ll be no more writing today.

Three pages is always better than no pages.