“October is a symphony of permanence and change.” –Bonaro W. Overstreet

Winter is coming by Lucy Avery

It’s been a while since I’ve posted because I’ve been taking my own advice: in April I wrote about how important improvisation is to my theatre practice and after dwelling on that it’s opened a door to a whole lot of joy. I’ve been following where my creative flow has taken me, improvising and playing around, learning new techniques along the way. It’s been a liberating and enlightening six months.

“The things I did because I was excited, and wanted to see them exist in reality, have never let me down, and I’ve never regretted the time I spent on any of them.”

Neil Gaiman

Art making

Over the last six months I’ve thrown myself into art making, learning more about various techniques and practices, and I’m learning something about myself and art with every piece I make.

I’m pleased to share with you my final sketchbook from my course with Karen Stamper, which was the first time I’d really worked with intuitive mark making and let images emerge on the page rather than drawing from life:

This work encouraged me over the summer to keep my own sketchbook when I went back to visit the New Forest (where I’m originally from)*:

I’d had the longest break from going back to the New Forest over the pandemic I’d ever had: 8 months. When I returned I was fuelled with the nature I’d seen and got playing around with my monoprinting (with the help of Carla Sonheim’s course) and my first series of art work emerged. I’m calling it ‘Dreams of Nature’:

Dreams of Nature by Lucy Avery


But what about your writing Lucy? You brought us here to talk about playwriting, what of that?

Well, I still haven’t made it back to my play Ursa which I was working on when covid hit last year, but the novel is progressing. As part of a course I took with Emma Darwin and Blue Pencil Agency I received a report on my synopsis and first few thousand words. This was the first time I’d opened up the whole story for someone to review, and it was a great relief to be able to discuss it with someone in the industry. The story is shaping up to be a coming of age fantasy novel, and the chat and the report I received was incredibly positive and full of constructive feedback. Over the summer I delved further into the story, developing the world, and that’s where I am right now with it. Going deeper, and really getting to grips with the world I’m setting up and how the story I’m telling, feels like a trip down the rabbit hole. I’m just hoping I make it back!

For any writers out there I’d like to share a couple of tools I’ve discovered that are helping me:

  • Plottr which is a plotting programme for your computer which has really helped me develop what was just post it notes on a small noticeboard. I received a discount for it when I completed my writing goal during Camp NaNoWriMo in April which helped with the cost.
  • Bullet journaling, which is helping me track my writing goals and is becoming a bible on the story in its own right.

I’m currently reading fantasy stories to help me think through structure and pacing, looking at how other people do it, before I get back to a stretch of writing over Christmas and the New Year. I’m not going to make my goal of completing my second draft this year, but I’ve made peace with that. I’m always over ambitious for what I think I can accomplish, and this time of reflection and research will make the novel that much better.

Inspiration and Improvisation

All in all, approaching my creativity intuitively, improvising and following the creative flow have served me well, and is something I want to keep on doing. I knew I approached my writing from the inside out rather than the outside in, but this exploration has given me a confidence which I haven’t had before in this approach.

Art making is making me a better writer too, as I’m touching my creative well in a different, more immediate way, and some of the images I’m making are serving as ideas for the novel. Each form of creating is feeding the other. I’d like to recommend two books for anyone interested in exploring art making intuitively Louise Fletcher’s Life Force and David Mankin’s Remembering in Paint.

If reading this blog has inspired you in any way, I’d encourage you to think, what’s changed for you over the last year? What’s stayed the same? Is there a way you can keep yourself open to new things whilst at the same time developing a practice that you can rely on? I loved this quote I found about October from Bonaro W. Overstreet, “October is a symphony of permanence and change.” This new approach I now have I hope will become permanent, yet within improvisation and play, change is inherent.

Until next time.


*So you may’ve spotted I now have two Instagram accounts, one for writing and one for art making. Please follow me if you are interested in seeing how my work is progressing.

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“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” – George Orwell, 1984

This month I’ve been getting more and more interested in understanding the process of writing and making art, in the hope of understanding myself and being more comfortable with how I work.

When I moved from directing to playwriting I had to learn a whole new way of working, and it’s been the same with novel writing and the visual art making I’ve been enjoying. Something I’ve battled with, like most creatives I think, is the need to ‘get it right’ or at least to ‘get to a sense of completion’ with the work, and for it to resonate as deeply as it does with me, with others. But that can be easier said than done when you’re exploring a new art form, looking for touchstones to signal you’re on a path that will get to where you want to be.

Earlier this month I watched a talk with Kazuo Ishiguro and his daughter and fellow writer Natalie Ishiguro both discussing their new books, Klara and the Sun (which I’m currently reading and highly recommend) and Common Ground (which I have yet to read) respectively. Towards the end, Kazuo, or ‘Ish’, as the interviewer affectionately referred to him, referenced a podcast he’d listened to where a writer had state that novel writing was the convergence of experience and craft. Kazuo agreed but suggested that perhaps it’s actually a convergence of experience, craft and improvisation. He went on to talk about how little improvisation is discussed within writing and recounted a memory of watching Natalie when she was younger improvising on their piano for 45 minutes. She looked so free in her playing, making discoveries and enjoying herself. Did she use any improvisation in her writing now? He asked.

Natalie became incredibly embarrassed as she had no memory of this occasion, and confessed that improv doesn’t really come into her writing process at all. For Common Ground she spent a long time researching her subject matter and building on that rather than improvising around it. It struck a chord with me though, and the more and more I thought about it, the more I began to realise that this might actually be the thread that’s run through all my work to date.

Improv is part of all drama training and Natalie mentioned the ‘yes and’* game that she remembered from her own youth theatre experience. It can be very wide ranging and there are many different kinds of improv games you learn, and it was particularly essential to the work we did at Apocryphal Theatre. Any creative endeavour is about finding the process that works for you, but I hadn’t realised how neatly theatre and novel writing and visual art go together. Improvisation had become essential to my understanding of theatre making. It totally made sense that this is something I may instinctively carry on to other art forms without realising it.

As a director developing your own process is everything: Do you block the play from the outset or let the actors find for themselves where the character needs to be? Do you spend a lot of of time analysing the script or do you put it on it’s feet and explore the characters in the space?

During my BA I was lucky enough to be taught by Katie Mitchell who was in the process of directing Ivanov at the National Theatre. At the time she was very into Stanislavski’s Method of Physical Action, and as a part of our training we would create improvisations based on experiences from our own life, play that out and then analyse and breakdown the sequence of actions we’d performed. This approach of building drama around physical ‘events’ then led our approach to breaking down the script.

At Apocryphal, everything came from improvisation. For example, in the weekly lab performers would improvise around a piece of text or a gesture and translate that through a framework called ‘levels of address’ (to themselves, to each other, to the audience, to the grid). Even in rehearsals for the first show I was part of written by our director Julia Lee Barclay The Jesus Guy, instead of analysing what Julia had meant by each word in the text she’d written, whilst reading through the script we all talked about our own associations to the text and then the performers developed a set of improvised gestures around those associations. These became their instruments, so to speak, that they would play during performance (with the text being the notes). We would talk a lot about jazz musicians, John Coltrane being a favourite, and each performance would be a different rendition, within the frameworks we’d set of the notes (text) and instruments (the gestures). Being part of this company was revolutionary for me personally, as theatre making became a far more collaborative process from its inception, and I saw how meaning can become layered.

What of a process for writing and art making then? How does improvisation come into that?

The more and more I’ve been exploring novel writing and artmaking, I’m finding I’m happiest when purely improvising around a framework already set. On and off since January I’ve been taking part in Karen Stamper’s course called ‘Free up your sketchbook and grow’ (it’s on again next month, if you’re interested I’d definitely recommend it). That’s been filled with all kinds of ways into making, predominantly by making marks first, exploring different media and then letting those marks inform what you come up with (so like the ‘yes and’ game in drama)

Earlier this month during the course I had a break through session where out of purely making marks with different materials (the theme was flowers) I produced this image (below) of flowers in a vase, which is freer and stronger than most things I’ve created to date. The balance of improvisation with different materials, layering and then editing felt really good.

Another artist I’ve found inspiration from is abstract painter Louise Fletcher who hosts a great podcast along with fellow painter Alice Sheridan. For anyone interested in thinking more about the process of creating and the challenges that come with that I’d recommend looking it up. She’s covered topics like are you guilty of people pleasing in your art?, is making art selfish? and does your personality contribute to your art? Which was something I’d never thought about before. Listening to Louise and Alice talk openly about the challenges and joys of art making is both inspiring and comforting, and funny.

And what of my writing?

When I found the five act structure for writing plays, it really helped me to understand what each act needed to do to get the overall result of the story I wanted to tell. It’s now the framework I use to improvise within (I’m not a planner, I like to just write/improv with the characters in my head, until I hit on something that I feel I can grow). Novel writing is becoming similar, and I’ve just started on my second draft of my novel, starting by filling the rather large hole in the story I discovered when I read the first draft. Then it’ll be ironing out the plot points I have in the story I now have before I go in and redraft heavily.

In all forms of art making, people talk about it being about the journey not the destination, even though you start with the destination in mind. When I decided at 16 that I wanted to be a theatre director I had no idea how my life would look over 20 years later. I didn’t realise that dedicating myself to a creative path, would bring such change and personal growth, and challenge. Part of me is disappointed I don’t have my own theatre company regularly creating and producing work. The other part of me is realising, that I have more to offer, creatively, and there’s more I want to explore.

I guess all art making involves imagining another version of the world, another future. I just hadn’t realised how much the path would change me too. 


*For those unfamiliar with the yes and game, it’s a game where two or more actors are in the playing space and one actor sets the scene and the other actor builds on that scene through the improvisation. The rule is you have to go with the suggestion of the other player, you can’t say no, you have to say ‘yes and’ and this builds something together that can be very expansive. It’s also a lot of fun!

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“March on, and fear not the thorns, or the sharp stones on life’s path.” – Khalil Gibran

As the UK starts to open up after what feels like an awfully long period of lockdown, it’s left me thinking what, from the changes lockdown has brought to my life, do I want to keep?

This month has been shadowed for me, as I’m sure it has for you, with the memory of that first lockdown. I distinctly remember turning to my boss that day we closed the office, the person I sat next to at my day job every day, with no knowledge of when I’d see him in person again. I hardly ever worked from home. Not coming into the office was going to be a major change for us all. “See you… online I guess?” I said as we parted ways.

That last trip home was fretful, a lot of people were on the train, no one wanted to get too close but everyone wanted to get home as soon as possible; a man sat with a massive computer monitor on his lap, presumably so he could begin working from home as all of us office workers have done since. No one imagined a year from that day. I couldn’t imagine what the rest of the week would look like.

A year on, my day was filled with just as much anxiety, this time about how I might get back out into the world. But before I do I’m keen to really think about the positives that have arisen for me personally from this experience: with theatres closed I’ve given another writing form a go and am enjoying it; with no galleries to attend my visual art skills have grown, becoming part of my weekly activities; with no commute I’ve been able to write in the morning before work which is how my novel got written, something I could never fit in before.

I’m currently reading Emma Gannon’s ‘The Multi-Hyphen Method’ recommended by artist Sharon Walters via a podcast I was listening to one rainy day. It’s about dismantling traditional ideas of success, replacing them with something more personal, working less and creating more. When you’re young, dreaming of creative success, you never think of the practicalities or the industry around the work you want to make -or at least I didn’t- and this year of opening up my own creativity as the world closed down around us, has me thinking differently. If you’ve had similar thoughts and have books or podcast or video recommendations please share them in the comments below. The world as we all knew it won’t be back for a while, and I for one want to go forward keeping what good has come out of this experience just as I want to leave behind the bad.

My novel project
I’ve spent this month developing the history of the society at the centre of my story so I can start to redraft next month. I’ve been attending brilliant workshops with Emma Darwin, author of The Itch of Writing blog. If you’re into or getting into writing I would suggest checking out her blog. She’s created a whole host of tools for a newbie novelist. The workshops I’m doing are via Blue Pencil Agency. She’s doing more later this year.

Paris in spring
I’ve also spent March ‘in Paris’ with The Art Beat Club which has been such a delight. Paris is possibly my favourite city in the world and to be set drawing activities, as if I was on a tour of interesting places across the city, has really given me a lift. Here are some of my favourite creations:

All being well, April will see me back at the novel. I’ve set myself a goal of 10,000 words to write over the month. I started writing it last April so am hopeful last year’s achievement will spur me on.

Good luck for your own re entry into the world.

Take care. Until next month!


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“In February there is everything to hope for and nothing to regret.” – Patience Strong

February’s been quite an active month for me.

It started with attending Devoted & Disgruntled which I try to do every year. For those of you unfamiliar with it, it’s a two-and-a-half-day conference that asks the question ‘What are we going to do about theatre and the performing arts?’ Attendees bring with them questions they want to explore and discuss, debate, or ask for help with. In a previous year I asked for help with how to talk about my work, and out of that discussion this website was born.

This year it was delivered fully online for the first time (as you’d expect) and was a splendid opportunity to come together with colleagues in the sector and hear how life’s been since the last one. Needless to say it’s been really tough, especially as a high proportion of attendees are freelancers (which I would be if I didn’t have my day job). But there was the most amazing feeling that we’re all in this together, and we will get through this, somehow. Theatre is an ancient art form you can’t kill off however hard you try. How you make a living from it and keep the home fires burning is another question.

I joined discussions around all manner of topics, from how to get arts council funding for projects to how can we make theatre more inclusive? One of the topics I’m still mulling over is, do you need to add references to COVID-19 in plays you’re writing that are not about COVID-19? There was a lot of discussion in this group about projects that have been put on hold because of the pandemic and are waiting to go on, booked for touring in 2022; and then projects created during the pandemic, responding to the world as we’re finding it now, which will want to be produced once theatres are open again. And of course there are questions like: how will the world be when we are in theatres again? Will an audience member be wearing a mask when actors on stage won’t be? If it’s a naturalistic play does that make it absurd, as the goal of the play is to represent the world as it is? Or actually will we have had enough of COVID-19 by then and we’ll be wanting to see plays without any reference to it, as we suspend our disbelief and dream of a time before or in the future where COVID-19 isn’t a feature?

There’s no real answer. However, as my plays have a more mythic and fantastical bent it was felt that maybe those kinds of stories transcend time, and you don’t need to reference COVID-19 in that kind of work. As long as the play you’re writing feels emotionally true to the times we live in -even if the actors aren’t commenting on the new rule of 6, for example- it will still feel true to an audience. If you have a strong view either way I’d be interested to hear it. Please add your comment at the bottom of the blog. However quickly we get out of lockdown, COVID-19 is with us and as all theatre holds some kind of mirror to society, questions around this will be with us for a while.

One light in the dark however was when writer-director-producer Jennifer Lunn, who I’ve worked with previously, shared a quote from a writer friend of hers Aliki Chapple. We were discussing whether you can really plan a production in 2022 for a play that felt urgent to get on in 2020? Will that play still feel relevant for an audience? Her response was this quote below. I loved it so much I just had to illustrate it:

This quote has given me comfort ever since I heard it, and the afternoon after D&D finished, I was inspired to go back and write the full synopsis of my new play that’s been on ice since the pandemic. It felt good to be looking at that story again, and I think I might have sorted out the ending. So watch this space as I may have more news on that project soon! If you’re interested in reading more about the discussions at D&D see the website.

My novel project

As far as my novel goes, after a month of not looking at it, I read the whole first draft through. I’ve been following NaNoWriMo’s workbook on redrafting and the recommended next step is to ‘read it like a reader’ (so for the pleasure of the story rather than to correct/change anything). I wasn’t convinced it was going to help, but it ended up being very similar to having a play table read by actors: the moment you hear it aloud, you can tell what’s not landing; the moment I read the draft as a reader, I could feel what was and wasn’t working. Something that I was reminded of when reading the draft was a tip writer Philip Ridley said in a workshop I attended with him once. This is not exact, but he said something along the lines of:

“An audience only remember how you make them feel, little else.”

Philip Ridley

He went on to qualify it with something like, “they might remember how this bit was clever and that bit made them think, but a sure fire way to leave a mark is to make them feel something.” We are all the sum of stories we’ve heard over our lives, we know instinctively how they work. Reading the first draft as a reader -to enjoy the story and get wrapped up in the emotional journey of the characters- illuminated a lot. Not least that I have a lot of work to do! I love the process of writing, of crafting a story and am looking forward to getting stuck in.

Lucy recommends

I just wanted to share a couple of online events I’ve come across happening next month which might be of interest:

The girl on the altar by Marina Carr

I first read a play by Marina Carr during my ’12 new playwrights in 12 months’ blogging a few years ago. I absolutely loved her writing but haven’t seen any performed so I was very excited when the Kiln’s latest email hit my inbox announcing a stream of a rehearsed reading of her new play. Check it out here.

Imagining the city

Another email hit my inbox, this time from the National Writing Centre. During February they’ve been running virtual residencies with five writers from UNESCO cities of literature, exploring their connections between their own city and Norwich. Some virtually visiting it for the first time. I thought this was a really interesting idea and recommend checking out the articles on the website. They have a couple of free events too. Find out more here.

Well, that’s it from me for this month. Stay safe and take care. Catch you in March!


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“January brings the snow, makes our feet and fingers glow.” – Sara Coleridge

I can’t remember why I stopped writing this blog. The Future is Mine was shortlisted for the Introduce Yourself Festival at Finborough Theatre in 2018, which was really exciting, but other projects seemed to fall away. Nothing really stuck. I don’t feel like myself if I haven’t got a project on the go or something in the production works, but I guess that’s how it goes. That’s the ups and downs of being a writer.

After attending an awesome Arvon course with writer Chris Thorpe (do check him out if you’re not familiar with him), in late 2019 I finally started writing a new play. I was also branching out, exploring other forms of writing, and then lockdown hit.

I don’t need to tell you how hard it’s been. I hope you and your family are safe. I’ve felt incredibly lucky that I haven’t been sick, despite commuting up until the week before the official lockdown in the UK. I’ve been working from home ever since.

Words for plays have been hard to come by so instead I’ve been getting into visual art. It’s always been an interest of mine, and amongst other things, 2020 became a year of art courses for me. I explored drawing, painting, collaging, creative embroidery and art journaling primarily as a way to relax. I surprised myself by my energy for it, and it’s something I’m continuing this year too. Here are some examples of my work.

I follow art teacher Nicholas Wilton at Art2Life (if you’re into art do look him up) and early into lockdown he vlogged posing this question:

What does this time make possible for you?

Nicholas Wilton

It really picked me up and turned my thinking around from focusing on what I’d lost with the lockdown to what I could gain from it.

It didn’t take long for my mind to turn onto an idea for a novel I’d had for about the last ten years. I’d actually finished a course in Feb 2020 with writer Zoe Gilbert on fantastical fiction which helped me think about the story. It was when I was in my ‘exploring other forms of writing to help my plays’ phase and I actually finished the course discovering a way into this novel story, but decided to put it on the backburner and get back to my play. Where was I going to find the time to write a novel? I thought.

Now words for plays were hard to come by, but on the flip side I had all the time in the world to write a novel, and perhaps it could be the focus I needed.

I spent just 30 minutes every week day morning before work, just writing what came next in the story. I had a brief overview of generally what happened, and I already knew the end (which is essential for me to be able to get into any writing project). Long story short I finished the novel in three months (with the help of Camp Nanowrimo and another course with Zoe Gilbert) and then after a rest I finished typing it all up just before Christmas.

Broadly speaking it’s a fantastical novel set in a world not dissimilar to our own, but one where society believes magical people can’t be trusted. That’s all I’ll say for now, but hopefully that’s whetted your appetite. My work has always had a fantastical bent, but right now, I need fantasy more than ever and working on this project has been the tonic I needed.

Ursa, the play project I was working on before lockdown is still floating around in my mind, but as I just don’t feel like going back to it yet, completing a second draft of the novel by the end of 2021 is my next goal.

Something I’ve learnt about myself over the last year is that my creativity has many forms and great things happen when I just follow the flow. As Nick Wilton says, experiencing difference and doing different things makes us feel alive, and as my writing hero Julia Lee Barclay-Morton says “If you know where you’re going it can’t be anywhere new.”

My original purpose for writing this blog was to share the ups and downs of my life as a writer in the hope other people will be interested enough to come see or read my work.

In the times we’re living in now, some days my creativity is the only light I can find. I can only hope that these words are and will be of interest to you, and might add a lightness or distraction to your day. I’m aiming to blog once a month so I’ll see you in February and let you know how I’ve been getting on!

In the meantime, take care, stay safe,

and if you can, create xx

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The journey of a play

Each play I write takes me somewhere new. It takes me somewhere I hadn’t imagined I was going initially, and I usually end up with something that looks at the world in a way I hadn’t realised.

I remembered this just as I sat down to hear the read through of the new play I’ve been working on all year. I’d got as far as I could with the voices in my head. I needed to hear how the speeches hit the air before I could figure out the next steps in development. I was excited to discover where hearing it would take me. Like I was a child in the back of the car and my parents were taking me on a surprise trip somewhere.

Maybe if you write full time it’s different. Your capacity for creation is larger so you inhabit the world of the play more intensely and over a shorter period. Even if you’re more of a ‘see where this takes me’ kind of writer like I am rather than a ‘plan it and it will come’, you may have a better grasp of the whole as you’re moving through it at a quicker pace. I have a day job and between that and my life, writing is a humble third of my time these days. So each project is very stop start, and even if I write on the tube on my way to or from work, or carve time out after work, my main chunks of writing happen during holidays and weekends. As the gaps in my quality creative time are longer my plays in development can become the tension between my thoughts three months ago and where the world has moved to today.

You may think that having long gaps between writing sessions would bring more objectivity to the work. Not for me. I end up mulling over characters and possible stories for so long plots can get confused, as I get preoccupied with following characters through new puzzles their stories bring up.

My latest play is no different. In January I was on retreat at Cove Park writing a new draft of an idea tough to pin down the year before. In April a scene was read by the Actors’ Temple at their Playwright/Playread event which made me feel the topic had legs. I rewrote a little and then in May I had a session with David Lane (master dramaturg) to explore the idea further, and this November after I finished a new draft, the Actor’s Temple read the full script aloud for the first time.

After hearing the play read I now find myself at a crossroads. It feels that there are perhaps two plays warring for dominance within the one piece, and I’m not sure which road to take: do I follow the woman who needs to make peace with herself and let her secret out before she can live a full life? Or do I follow the girl searching for her father desperate to make sense of who she is? Both narratives are inside my play The Future is Mine at the moment but which one do I choose? 

One of my wise director friends suggested I think about what the core idea is that I’m trying to communicate to the audience with this piece, and figure out if the characters are explaining it clearly. 

This has really got me thinking and is becoming a great way to think about all the stories in the play and bring coherency to the story. I’m sure I did work on this when I was writing it initially, but hearing it, the core question of the play has definitely got lost. It may be that one of the stories is actually for a different play completely. 

So what is the core idea I’m trying to communicate? That’s my question to ponder over Christmas. It’s been a year of hard work and I can see another mountain looming before I get to the summit of this play. Hopefully I can find a helpful rope bridge or even a lift so I can see things more clearly and piece it all together.

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Out & About: Have you seen Ivy Davies?


As soon as she mentioned the glow-in-the-dark star stickers she had me. I was transported back to being about 12 and sticking my own glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of my bedroom because I was afraid of the dark. Ivy Davies’s show Play Ground however is about time travel: She shoots off into the universe to go back in time and see herself as she was years ago. She was so captivating I time travelled with her. It’s a really great show about love and who you were and who you are now and the tension between all three.

Ivy’s voice is beautiful and it just so happens that she instinctively writes in rhyme so the storytelling and song feel naturally entwined. I also appreciated the nod to a Smiths’ lyric in there too. Effortless, honest and beautifully lyrical it’s so lovely to see a woman hold her own, command her space and her body and the story she’s telling.  She also gives out this very positive vibe, so even though the sad bits are sad, and the reflective bits are forlorn, there’s a positivity about her presence that let’s you know however the story goes it’ll be alright in the end.

I rarely see one woman shows. It’s something I’d love to write, but if it’s not to your taste there’s just nowhere to hide as it’s just performer, text and audience. There’s no worry of that with this show. I think we all came our humming her last song ‘Gravity’. Watching Play Ground reminded me just how simple storytelling can be and has really inspired me to have a go at a one woman show myself I think…

The run has finished at Wilton’s Music Hall now but she’s at the Brighton Fringe in May. Catch her coming down to earth there if you can.

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The future is mine


The more and more I write the more it feels like creating collage rather than writing a story. When I was first writing plays I wrote them from beginning to end, but now, yes, I start working on the central thrust as a forward narrative but along the the way I may write an ending scene before I’ve got to that point in the plot and so I slowly amount a collection of scenes that reveal the story.


This is exactly how I approached my writing during my subsidised self-funded residency at Cove Park. It’s a beautiful freeing space where they just let you get on with whatever project you’re working on however you want to work on it. There’s a main house which has internet, but you’re left to follow your own working pattern undisturbed with only the flora and fauna to keep you company. (My accommodation and working space was the middle unit above).

Here are a couple pictures of my visitors during my 10 days:

Take a look at my Instagram profile for my photo diary from this retreat here.

Polly Stenham describes writing a play as creating ‘a backward explosion’, and once I had my fuse, my bomb and my debris, I was able to successfully create a full draft of the new play I was stuck on all last year!

I could say the future is mine now, but I’d be taking words out of my characters mouths. I haven’t looked at my draft since I got back but I can feel the fire of a new play bristling through me. Watch this space for updates on my progress.

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Getting a bit of fresh air to my brain…

I didn’t reach as many goals as I wanted to last year. As I mentioned in my last blog post I was stuck in the ice-lock for about 6 months unable to write anything. This year however I’m starting off with a bit of time out so I can get some fresh air to my brain and work on ideas I’ve got for a new piece.

I’ve been accepted on to one of the subsidised self-funded residencies that Cove Park are running where I’ll have 10 whole days to just write. I’m getting myself together to work on my new ideas at the moment. I’m finding inspiration from some articles I’ve been reading about how women are being portrayed in popular culture, and the complexity of the power struggles they find themselves in… I’m not putting pen to paper until I get up there so lets just see what I come back with!

I’ll be sharing pictures of my retreat on instagram so follow me there @LucyAveryWrites to see how it’s going. And of course I’ll be blogging next month when I’m back to let you know how I’ve got on.


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Escaping the ice-lock

Or how I’ve been panicking about not writing anything new…


I had so many goals this year: I was going to put the final touches to Godless MonstersI was going to finish the new play I’d started last year and I was also going to make a one act piece full length.

But like a lot of things this year, it just didn’t go to plan.

Godless Monsters is developing well: I’m working with a new director, went on a course to further develop it and had an excerpt shown in April. We’ve had a workshop since and I’ll be refining the play further, but when I went back to work on my new piece in May…


not even anything…



Despite my efforts my new story fell apart and I couldn’t see any way to get it together so I stopped writing it. I tried something new, something small, but even that wouldn’t come. So I just stopped writing. I didn’t even write in my diary (which I’ve had for over 10 years and when my writing projects falter that’s where I go instead).

Playwright Kate O’Reilly thinks of this moment as being similar to the moment captured by Frank Hurley’s photograph (above) of the ship The Endurance stuck in the ice on Ernest Shackleton’s expedition. She’s written a really great blog post on exactly the problem I was having and I realised

I’m a writer locked in the ice!

Her analogy felt a lot better than the term writers block as she talks about tiredness and lack of research as being fuel for this ice-lock rather than it being a total block. O’Reilly doesn’t actually believe in writers block, as she believes

‘the imagination is infinite and as such, can be endlessly resourceful.’

Reading her post ‘Take inspiration and above all, endure….’ really helped me not to panic that I wasn’t writing anything new, and let me allow myself to just sit with my feelings and encouraged me, when I was ready, to do more research into the topic my new play is looking at and find a way to thaw the ice around me.

I also came across a creativity blog by creative mentor Jani Franck.


Picture source: http://janifranck.co.uk

If you sign up and download her playbook you can explore what point you’re on in what she calls the creativity spiral. It may feel like all your inspiration has gone and will never return, but she encourages you to think of creativity as cyclical and not a static thing. It really helped me to start to understand my own creativity and to do small things to feed my inspiration without looking for results.

And then all of a sudden I was back at my desk…


My writing desk

I’m pleased to say that last month, for the first time in what feels like forever (it’s been about 6 months), I actually had a new idea for my story. I sat down one Saturday morning and just wrote it out. I had a submissions deadline in mind that I just haven’t been able to meet, but that’s ok. The fact that I’m writing new things is reward enough! I’ve also been accepted on a residency (more news on that when it’s all confirmed) early next year so I can take some time out to work on this new angle for my story.

I’ve been frantic these last few months. I’m never working on nothing new. But through this process of taking time out and looking at the nature of my own creativity I realised I hadn’t dried up. I was going through my own process and even if it felt like the ideas I had were too big to make their way onto the page.

I find my best writing comes from the coal way down deep and maybe sometimes you need new earth to grow and pack down before you can mine again. I don’t know how successful my new ideas will be, but I do know that my boat has finally broken the ice, and now I just need to find that mysterious land where my story works.


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