“Much of the act of writing isn’t glamorous or worthy of pageantry…”
I’m not even a coffee drinker, yet finishing my latest script took a prodigious amount of coffee, as well as sleepless nights, and endless circulatory, hamster-like strolls around the neighbourhood—some days, twice. I’m certain that if my neighbours were not cognisant of my habitation here, that is no longer the case.
Much of the act of writing isn’t glamorous or worthy of pageantry, and stands diametrically opposed to the performative strive required to promote oneself on social media. A solitary act, writing requires sitting within four walls, only venturing out if the weather permits; perhaps to a park, but without anything to lean on, long sessions yield backaches and crow’s feet as the sun’s eager glare buffs clean the laptop screen until, gleaming, I am reflected against the verdant shrubs. It’s tough out there.
Occasionally, outdoor writing is fine when exploring ideas or problem-solving by hand, after which a desk, quietude, water, and focus are required to write anything coherent. This summer, I learned that perspiration and strained muscles are physiological responses to intense writing sessions—perhaps that’s owing to the stifling weather these past few weeks, but still.
So, after years of private striving, seeing my first script, A False Friend, achieve the following milestones is, to put it simply, mighty rewarding:
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BBC Writers: Reached the top 10% in its earliest draft.
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National Theatre New Work Panel: ‘Highly Commended’ after drafts of reworking and restructuring.
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Alfred Fagon Award 2025—Best New Play: Longlisted.
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Royal Court Writers’ Group: Invited to join (and being told I am talented by a theatre whose work I’ve admired for years).
The hard work, perseverance, and persistence are paying off, and I know they will continue to.
For now, just to have something to show on the socials, here’s a series of pictures of me over the years, hard at work on the 138-page script, A False Friend.
The poolside photo was taken whilst I was in the throes of a draft last year. My partner, seeing that I was absorbed, placed a rather tiny hat on my rather large head. After coming up for air, I was shown the photos, which I thought were candid and liked.
