Last week was, challenging. Basically I was meant to do a solo show in Liverpool and while I was there, sadly noone else was and a show is nothing without an audience. It made me think, question really, what I do. I’ve not written a play for 5 years and every time I write something I get angry with whatever I write (usually about 5,000 words in) and delete it. My stand up  isn’t great and the musical comedy stuff I’ve reached a point where my inherent lack of musical ability is a real glass ceiling. The stand up shows, which I love, I don’t have enough confidence will actually ever go anywhere. Finally directing is a dead end with my job as it is. So I feel like I need to work out what to do, something that I’m actually driven to do rather than something that just makes me furious. Of course this will read as reactionary but it’s not a particularly new feeling, just one I’ve not articulated really until now. I guess the question I’m asking is whether art and the pretentions of being able to make art has died a bit inside me. I think maybe it has. Maybe it’s just hibernating. In which case how do you revive it? How do you find that inspiration? Or is is just a little buried in feelings of weariness and an inability to turn off.

I’ve put below, the last script I was writing. I was about to delete it, angry that it’s not great, but instead I’m putting it below because it encapsulates the issue. It’s directionless. It doesn’t make a good point and when it does it’s either oblique or worn on a sleeve.

Read here (PDF): The Last Boy Scout