Tuesday, March 14, 2006

The Ballad of Alan Smith

The Ballad of Alan Smith

Getting to know you games all over in the first week last night's SYWTBAW? session was more about our writing. And what animal we see ourselves as (as a side point I hate those kind of questions, predominantly because I'm useless at them and ended up largely plumping for things that amused me rather than having some reflection on who I actually am).

First up for disection? Monologues. We rehashed some of the important rules that are relevant to monolgue writing ('don't write on the nose', 'subvert expectation' etc etc) then Cately read a couple of cracking examples out - including one of his own from Sunbeam Terrace which I rather loved. After a bit of analysis it was over to us to write a short monologue in ten minutes.

After talking round three of the monologues that had been written we were sent home to polish, re-write and generally produce a little bit of wonder on a side of A4.

For record purposes - and indeed my own amusement - here's my ten minute, pre-polished monologue. And, me being me, I didn't work out what the twist was until I was half way through it:

So I'm late. And it's not something that I usually mind but this time I do. Big time. It's not like when I slept in and missed the train to see Charlotte that time. Because that was alright. And Charlotte didn't mind. She said she didn't. So being late then that didn't matter.

This time it's more like when I was late going to Elland Road and I missed Smith's goal. Can you believe it - I'm sat in the back of a taxi with Jamie on the mobile and the next thing I hear is this fucking massive roar. And Smith's only gone and scored. And not just any goal. We're talking once in a lifetime, wonder goal stuff. And I'd paid forty pounds to miss it.

So this time - it's just like that. Only Smith's not scoring goals. And Jamie's not on the phone. And I've run out of battery on the mobile so it's not like I can call them and say - look, I'm going to be late - will you wait for me.

If I had a story that might help. If there was a reason. I could say someone got knocked down at the junction at the top of my street and I had to wait and help the Police. 'Cause there's always an accident happening up there and I'm sure the Police would make you wait. Maybe I could say it was a kid. A kid might get the sympathy vote. He was on his bike - delivering those free newspapers that everyone gets and nobody wants and one of those huge people carriers came round the corner and hit him. Head on. Messy. Bits of kid all over the road.

Yes, I think that will work.

God, I'm really late now. Do you think that the kid's going to be enough? I could throw in an OAP for good measure. That little grey haired man who plays bowls in the Park. Yep. The paper kid and the grey haired man.

I can see the door. This is it. Now or never stuff.

Shit.

They're all looking at me. And Charlotte - her dress, it's...lovely. And I know that this is where I should say about the police and the free papers and the little old man who plays bowls but I can't. And even though I know this might be the place but it certainly isn't the time - I can't help myself, it just comes tumbling out -

I DO.


Needs a bit of work, but I kind of like it. I think.

2 comments:

gayle said...

I interviewed a man called Alan Smith today. He was 100 and still had all his own teeth, which is quite remarkable according to his dentist. Oh, the glory of being a local newspaper reporter!
Nothing to do with your blog but thought I'd mention it lol.
Nice monologue btw. x

Corinne said...

Lmao! That really made me chuckle, Gayle...I might have to steal it!