The festive season seems to be in full swing, and I’m struggling to keep up. Bryan is a dancer in the panto at Sarah Thorne Theatre (his dance school – Masque – supply the dancers every year). This is his second year, and there are quite a few rehearsals he (rightly) has to commit to in order to be ready – Sunday mornings became panto rehearsal season, while I sat quietly in the corner.
I was glad to see that the theatre in Broadstairs has been bought by the Sarah Thorne Theatre Company, who operate from there. Having a theatre in Broadstairs has been a real boon, and putting on a local panto has always been fun (they do a lot more, it should be said). Well done to everyone who made this happen – it’s great to know the theatre will survive.
In the meantime, we usually keep a slow pace of life at Christmas. We have our routines, of course – the panto at the Marlowe, a trip to the lights down at Ramsgate harbour, taking a look at the Christmas trees at St George’s Church (although when we’ll get the chance to get there is another question; we’re running out of time). But most importantly, it’s a time to settle down and just spend time at home and with each other.
I’m a man obsessed with my story. Absolutely obsessed. I’ve spent a lot of time writing a back story to the entire world; why it is the way it is, what the cultures are like, etc. That’s something that always used to bug me with a lot of sci-fi / fantasy stories; the cultures we’d encounter were the same all over the world. There were examples, of course (think Middle-Earth – Tolkien was a legend when it came to creating as many cultures as there were stories), but so many episodes of Star Trek met alien worlds that were mono-cultural. There was some conflict there, of course, between the mighty Starship Enterprise and the Aliens of the Week who were all the same.
My world is different. I’ve created seven different continents on this world, each with a different culture and outlook on the world. This takes a lot of planning and a good memory; the first point is fine, but the second is more of a struggle. I have a passable memory, but not a great one; names are a particular sore point for me, whether in the real world or on the page. So often, I talk to people I know, but I can’t for the life of me remember their name. It becomes so awkward after a while, but names just don’t sit still inside my brain. Even my characters’ names aren’t always very securely lodged in the confines of my brain, and I have to keep checking back to my notes – which doesn’t always help with the flow when I’m in “the zone”.
I was also delighted to have a poem published in an anthology called Seen, which is a book of poems all about disabilities. It’s the brainchild of a local chap called Michael Isaacs, and he deserves a lot of plaudits for being the driving force behind this lovely book.
He asked if I would contribute, and I was glad to. I have dyspraxia, which is a disorder that affects messages from the brain being transmitted accurately to the rest of the body. It makes me clumsy, forgetful (perhaps that’s where my inability to retain names comes from), and unbalanced. I’ve had it from birth, so I’ve never known a life any different – and I don’t have a problem with the condition.
It’s made me more creative, as I need to think of solutions to issues that come up. How am I going to get down those steps without a handrail without falling over? How will I remember the sequence of events? It’s made me more creative, and I tried to get that over in the poem. Do keep an eye out for the anthology; it’s raising money for a good cause as well.
To everyone who reads my column, have a lovely Christmas and New Year from myself and Bryan. I hope it’s what you want it to be, and I’ll talk to you in the new year.
