It was such a brilliant idea. A monologue a day. For 28 days. Only nine lines. What could be easier? A 9 am email, with an exciting new prompt. An idea that could become anything I want it to. New imaginary friends, new words and phrases, none of which existed before. But real life hit. Monologues had to be squeezed out between work, exercise, meetings, calls. Written in bed first thing. Pounded out at my desk in the evening with the deadline looming. Some felt like a joyful creative spark lighting up a day. Some were written in grief and pain. Some went well beyond the nine lines and have potential to become their own thing. Some were forced out, word by word, pleading with the line count to increase. It's been a tough ride, sometimes. Now it's just one day more. And I am going to miss it so much. So. What's next?
Writing short fiction, monologues and plays