Mind Dump and Other Jargon

The presentation seemed to go passably well. No PowerPoint problems and my timing was precise enough. Quite enjoyed it actually. Bloody knackered afterwards though, because I had been up through the night finishing off my assignment for Shakespeare Studies. Bad planning? Well yes, to a degree, but also the latest manifestation of the way I work best. I cannot help remembering with affection the greatest day of my professional life, 20 December 2002. Sleep was unattainable so I got up and spread some 600 pages of legal documents around the floor of my hotel room and checked through them all one last time. A hearty early breakfast and I was at the solicitors' office in advance of the opposition. I convinced the bemused receptionist to let me into the boardroom and there I was sipping my second cup of good coffee in the best chair in the room when the others arrived. I was out by lunchtime, deal done, clients considerably richer and well chuffed with myself. Most unusually for a lawyer, that night I slept what felt like the sleep of the innocent. On harsh reflection I probably should have quit there and then while still ahead. Marvellous thing 20/20 hindsight.

My presentation included explanation of the coffee/bananas/big piece of paper school of writing. The piece of paper has now filled up and, for want of a better phrase, I am afraid we must term this the completion of my mind-dumping episode. 'Mind-dump' does not appear in the OED but it does graphically, if inelegantly, describe the process of depositing ideas good and bad and clearing the mind for the task of sifting them for value. The sifting has now produced its first fruit. I have a 1954 word Stage Outline around which I am going to write the scenes. I also have the outline of some casting and character notes which explain the multiple roles. I have settled on eight actors and I am still keeping Adam and Nina in character throughout. All the rest have at least three incarnations. Some of the doublings are quite pleasing  - Father Rothschild/Miles Malpractice is nicely potent; Vanburgh/King of Ruritania nicely speculates on the dismal prospects of aristocracy.

In writing the Outline I have been most occupied with getting the characters from one place to the next and taking the plot with them without causing whacking great changes of scenery. The three act structure discussed earlier on this blog is still in place which means no linear plot although each act does hopefully build to its own little climax - Balcairn's suicide in Act I, Adam's sacking as Chatterbox in Act II, and Agatha Runcible's funeral (my addition to the text) in Act III. At the moment I envisage a Prologue which shows Adam 'selling' Nina to Ginger to cover his bill at Shepheard's and an Epilogue comprising the book's battlefield 'Happy Ending'. I am adding Vanburgh, by now finding a strange fulfillment in war correspondence, to the Epilogue and have found some nice lines from Sword of Honour which describe the ironic blessing of war for a lost generation and which I will put in his mouth,

But now, splendidly, everything had become clear. The enemy at last was in plain view, huge and hateful, all disguise cast off. It was the modern age in arms. Whatever the outcome there was a place for him in that battle. (Men at Arms, p11)



It does not address quite the problems of plotting that I am dealing with but I have been handily reminded just how adroit stage writing can be by the amateur production of Ayckbourn's Table Manners with which I am assisting back stage this week. It is one part of a trilogy of plays which cover the same people over the same weekend but which each stand up as individual plays. Enormously clever and also very funny. The words 'East Grinstead' are made to have tremendous comic effect. Mindful of my final degree assignments I declined the chance to read for a part in this production but watching it from the wings and confined to carting props on and off stage, I must confess to envying the actors. The part of Norman gives particular scope for theatrical showing-off.

Ayckbourn's Table Manners

Stage directions. Less is more? This has been vexing me a little as I construct scenes. Because I can see in my mind's eye what I intend, it is very tempting to inscribe the page with every little preferred twitch and nuance. But that is heavy on the word count (remembering that I have to have something vaguely interesting to hand in six weeks from now) and also ignores a beguiling feature of theatre,

When we work in the other direction - that is, from the telling to the showing mode, especially from print to performance - a definitional problem potentially arises. In a very real sense, every live staging of a printed play could theoretically be considered an adaptation in its performance. The text of a play does not necessarily tell an actor about such matters as the gestures, expressions, and tones of voice to use in converting words on a page into a convincing performance; it is up to the director and and actors to actualize the text and to interpret and then recreate it, thereby in a sense adapting it for the stage. (Hutcheon, p39)

So, yes, less is more. But then again I need to communicate my decisions as to how the cast should be arranged on stage. I do want some entrances and exits but I think I also want the players to return to the stage when not participating. These conflicting desires are a recipe for muddle. It's make your mind up time.

For a brief flavour of the labour, here are the Prologue and Epilogue extracted from the Outline,

 PROLOGUE


A is back at Shepheard’s and Lottie presents him with his bill for £76. He writes a dud cheque. Ginger then arrives to confront A about his carrying on with N. They haggle and A sells his share in N to Ginger for enough to cover his cheque. A telephones N to admit the transaction – ‘Goodbye Adam my sweet. But I think you’re rather a cad.’...

EPILOGUE


V regains his lofty perch but now sports a tin helmet and films with a cine camera. On a splintered tree stump in the biggest battlefield in history Adam sits and reads a letter from N (p186). Around the stage lie the dead. From out of the gloom a figure looms. A is wary, as is the approaching figure. However they recognize each other as English. In fact the newcomer is the drunken Major, now sober and promoted to General. He gives A a cheque for £35000, now practically worthless (quantitative easing). As they leave to search for the Major’s car Vanburgh approaches them. They are, he announces, heroes and he will report their gallantry to those still alive at home. The Major laments war, but both V and A assert that they have done worse things.