I’m in hiding. I don’t have time to be in hiding, it’s possibly the worst thing I could be doing at the moment, and yet hiding is where I am.
I feel like I opened the floodgates because a beautiful butterfly fluttered by, and now the waters are rising and I can’t get the damn (flood pun) gates closed again.
My procrastination has procrastinations. Just as my introduction is bleeding into introductions. All to avoid the awfulness of self-promotion and just how uncomfortable that makes me.
I have a box of flyers sitting in my kitchen, sulking at me. It has developed hunched shoulders and a glare. It knows it contains words that I’ve trapped onto a page, and it wants to fly free and spawn its letters everywhere. Instead I have thrown things atop it, thrown it guilty glances, and am tempted to throw it out.
One of the problems with promotion is contact; new contact that I don’t know the rules for. I have been raised to be painfully British and self-deprecating, but those rules don’t work when you actually want people to believe that what you have done is good. Then you need to be loud and proud, and those things jar with my need for peace.
Instead I am doing what I do; I am writing about my experience of something new that is difficult, and through doing that I hope to innocently sucker you all in to coming to my Play.
I have written a Play. I am enormously proud of it, and of course terrified that the world will rip these words from my chest and devour them in front of me; all creative-types know that fear.
It is a play about a late-diagnosed autistic woman. It is story-telling and memories and moments. It is beautifully performed by Lucy Theobald, who has exceeded all my expectations and been thoroughly good-natured about all my micro-managing of the character. Somehow, she has made an authentic human from my scramble of words. It’s been a pleasure to watch her emerge.
I recognise so much of my process of masking and building my social character, in the way that Lucy puts together the character of Laura. There is a pleasing construct within a construct, a Russian-doll of people all leading back to a small girl trying to build a face that the world would accept.
‘The Duck’ is currently booked for Plymouth Fringe Festival on the 2nd of June, Aberystwyth Arts Centre on the 8th of June, and Barnstaple Fringe TheatreFest from the 30th of June to the 1st of July. All links to ticket sellers and further details available here https://autact.wordpress.com/the-duck/
I am in hiding now, because I plan to be at every performance and to do that, I will need reserves. If you are in the area, or know someone who is, and you think they might enjoy this, then please send them my way. I would very much love to see you there. I’ll be the gibbering wreck in the corner, sitting on a box of undistributed flyers, hoping everyone has received my psychic summons, and worrying about how I can ever make it up to the paper I have wasted. Come and say hello, or if you’d rather not, then I love nothing more than receiving an awkward wave; it makes me feel like I belong.