Pete's Play

Beneath The Valley Of The Poseidon Adventure

They lied to me. They lied from the very beginning. They fooled me into thinking that writing a forty page play would be easy. Simple. Invent a couple of characters, put them in a situation of some kind, find a resolution that is both appropriate and meaningful and then sit back and bask in the warm glow of writer-hood. And I lied. I lied to myself. I was convinced that this time would be different. Every day I would spring out of bed to another fresh new morning, sit down at my pathologically tidy desk and churn out page after page of quality drama. My play would be funny and touching in equal measures. It would speak volumes about the plight of early twenty-first century youth. People everywhere would rally to my banner and together we would forge a new age of peace and understanding. My play would be the dramatic equivalent of the music of Wyld Stallions. A post-modern Look Back In Anger. At the very least it would be in on time.

(By the way, if you don't know what post-modernism is then don't worry. Neither does anybody else. Anybody who says they do know what it means should be avoided, because they are either a) lying or b) extremely confusing to talk to. Look Back In Anger, however, is great and should be read by everybody. And of course when I'm Emperor it will be.)

Of course, I was wrong. As well as being a week late it was rushed, botched, mangled, badly planned and ill conceived. I realised that I had spent more time fantasising about sacks of fan mail from impressionable young ladies telling me how great my play was and how they'd really like to come round my house and make me bacon sandwiches than I had actually working on the bloody thing. The book I'd bought called "How To Write A Play" had lain unopened on my desk (which, incidentally, was still covered in a foot high drift of crap) since the day I got it. And so, with the deadline approaching with the speed a 5 franc piece dropped from the Eiffel Tower, I got to work.

I'm not going to lie to you; it was horrible. I spent two weeks locked in my mate Gaz's room staring at a computer screen and feeling my brains dribble out of my ears like cum down a window. I began to fear for my sanity. I felt the end would never come, and then, suddenly...it did. And it was a really weird feeling. I was glad and everything; I mean, I had my life back. I was free. But I'd spent two weeks alone in a small, featureless room with only a group of imaginary people for company and now they were gone. It was all over. I had to go and get on with my life. It fair put the wind up me, I can tell you.

I ended up getting 56%. That's a 2.2; not bad considering I lost 10% for handing it in six days late. I also got some feedback from my tutor. He said that it was enjoyable to read and was quite good in parts, but also contained bits that were definitely not needed. All of which seems reasonable. That's more or less what I thought. I might rewrite it; take out all the bad bits, polish up the good bits and then unleash it onto the waiting world. Or I might just leave it as it is, and then go and write something else. Either way, I'm glad I wrote it. It was a learning experience. I'm also quite proud of it, which is something i wasn't expecting. If you read it and enjoy it, great. But if you read it and think it's shit then please don't say so; I'm very sensitive.