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I still get HSC nightmares.
Had one last night.
And it's always the same...
I'm at some house party and everyone is having a great time except me. The problem is i'm HEAPS drunker than anyone else. Like paralytic drunk. Literally crawling on the ground, begging for people to help me drunk.
The dream gets crazier and crazier, eventually building into this beautiful crescendo of humilation, pointing, crying and vomit until I eventually black out.
Only to wake up in my old drama classroom at Newtown High.
My Final Individual Performance is due in a few hours. That's a whole monologue i learnt FIVE YEARS AGO. Obviously I can't remember a word of it. Freak out. And wake-up.
Point of that story?
I'm an anxious mutha-fucker.
When you share writing with people you instantly think they're are gonna hate it. Jokes won't work. Emotions will sound contrived.
Having people read out Zetland for the first time made me learn one thing. It's hard to write something good but it's easy not to write anything at all.
There was some praise and there was some criticism.
It could've gone either way.
One of the reasons I kept writing Zetland was the enthusiasm of a wonderful young director by the name of Mark Pritchard.
He liked what I had done and suggested that it would be great to see it workshopped at Off the Shelf, an opportunity for directors to hothouse a script in early stages of development.
After many trips to the pub we eventually put together an application and sent it through.
The person in charge of Off the Shelf (among other things) is the all-round Queen of everything Augusta Supple.
I'll talk about her more a little later but it was Gus who granted Zetland it's first ANYTHING.
Off the Shelf gave us rehearsal facilities, access to Fraser studios and a big-ass program showing at the end of it all!
But what happened next?
CONTINUED IN PT.4
Yours,
Jasper
ps. that 1st photo is of me in better times
