Advertising the latest –
and ditching the past

First off, don’t forget the upcoming ten-minute play show at the 1812 Theatre in Ferntree Gully called Board Shorts. The season is only a short one – June 28 – 30 – but it includes my piece False Trail, directed by Robert Williams and starring Samir Odedra and Jason Triggs as two men who discover only one of them has eight minutes left to live…

Go here to book! All tix only $15.

Well, now that’s done:

It is not Spring here Down Under. In fact, Winter has just started, and a cold couple of days it has been. Am I too late to do a Spring clean? Having reached and left the age of 50 what can I let go of?

Plenty, it turns out.

The following are just some of the junk that I will never see again:

-early drafts of plays (unlike Beethoven, I don’t think anyone’s going to be interested in these in a 100 years’ time! Hell, I’m not even interested now!)

-old notebooks (see the Beethoven comment above)

-early diaries (full of the trivia of 30 years ago. Was I really this banal?)

-printed emails from publishers and play producers I haven’t heard from in ages

And all of this is paper! A lot of writing water has come up to the bridge, banged on a couple of piles, and finally managed to slide under. Writing I’ve never looked at in the last year, let alone the last 30.  I have realised so much in our lives can be stripped away and we can still carry on as if nothing has happened. Is this what they call Minimalism?

One thing I noticed as I trawled through my shelves was the amount of work that had been started, and not completed. As organisational consultant Peter Walsh puts it: “People are finding that their homes are full of stuff, but their lives are littered with unfulfilled promises.”

(Another intriguing thought is that of Idea Debt. Just go here to find out what that’s all about and how it’s holding you back in your creative projects.)

So if you are trawling through a recycling bin, or scanning an egg carton, and you come across words of adolescent heartache or brooding assassins, remember that they belonged to me.

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