Dirty Funk and cat sick

I grabbed a morning yesterday to light the fire and sit and read.  I have completed the last taught module of my MA in Life History and Life Writing and so now 5000 word essay and 20000 word essay to go.  I realise that I have achieved the ambition of writing being my majority activity; whether it is academic work or theatre scripts or this journal or my diary (kept since 1978)  I am writing all the time. 

I am going to be showing some new work on December 19th at the Nightingale...I think I am on the same bill as Rachel Blackman and, I hope Emma Kilbey.  It would be great to see the work(ings) of 3 solo female performers.  The new piece is very different from 'Sid'.  I am not completely sure about my relationship to the material and how best to serve the material and the character.  I have faith that it will float up...I have to give myself time to get into what I call 'my dirty funk'.  It is linked to what Julia Crouch (sorry I don't know how to embed a link to her very good website) about writing in bed.  There is a point in the beginning of any project where I have to immerse myself in the world of the material.  This involves, usually a three-day stint where I don't get out of pajamas and I don't wash much and I walk around and around the flat like a woman in mourning or a woman in hysterics: hysterical mourning.  Then I try to 'puke out' a first draft.  Like a cat being sick in the corner of the room.  My creative process: dirty funk and cat sick.  Nice.