#London creatives

[doraminatook]

We're About To Get Playfully Blasphemous Here (or...The Metaphorical Death and Resurrection of Me)

2023 was the year I turned 33, and in case you didn’t know, many religious scholars cite that as the age Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead.  Now, within literature there’s a trope called the Christ-like figure in which a character sacrifices themself and from that death, something happens in order to advance the plot.  Usually that something is either the “dead” character rising from the ashes and obtaining new powers (think Gandalf the Grey battling the Balrog and then coming back as Gandalf the White) or the protagonist being so moved by the death of this secondary character that they are reborn in some way (think Red Badge of Courage’s Jim Conklin (JC…get it?) whose death changes Henry’s opinion on war.)

Because I’m a storyteller and have a dark sense of humor, I began to wonder if I would somehow have a Christ-like-figure-moment within my thirty-third year of life.  (Not long after my birthday, I told my mom that I just had to make it to 34 and then I would have “beaten” Jesus; being a good Lutheran woman, she did not appreciate this joke.)

Now, I may be reaching or forcing figurative imagery into the literal world (isn’t that what artists do?), but I think I did have a “death” and consequential “resurrection”.  

I’m at a strange place in my writing career in that I am not famous (by any means) but I’m also not considered emerging.  Recently, I was told by a theater that I should “sit this contest out” and give someone else a chance but at the same time my work has not been produced enough to catch an agent’s eye.  (It doesn’t help that theatre companies have an intense fixation on world premieres.  They want to be the first one to do the show, apparently assuming that as soon as a piece gets produced once, that means it’s finished.  But that’s a rant for another day.) 

Currently I live in Milwaukee and for a long time I thought (or at least hoped) that I could maybe just make it work here; it is technically a theater town.  Add to that the fact that my whole family lives in Wisconsin, my financial situation was not ideal, and my best friend (platonic soulmate) had made it fairly clear to me that she did not wish to move away from Milwaukee.  When I was honest with myself, I knew that I wanted to get out, but there were so many things holding me back from making the jump.  

As soon as the thought of moving away entered my head, Anxiety would perk up.  Always eager to be the backseat driver, it would shout things like, “Isn’t life here good enough for you?  You’ve got a roof over your head, a job that allows you to pursue your passion, and you’re perfectly healthy.  Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting something more!” 

I attended a workshop for other playwrights from the area and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I didn’t have a lot in common with many of them.  Discussions and questions whirled around about how we find time to write, where we get inspiration, and how we format a script properly.  Some of the writers present had never even finished a full script.  I certainly am not bringing this up in order to shame anyone, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.  Was I a proverbial big fish in a little pond?

My anxiety had an opinion for that, too.  

“Wow!  Way to be egotistical, D!  You think you’re so much better than everyone here?  Get over yourself!  You’re not special.  You’re just another ‘artist’ who thinks they’ve got something special to say!”

A few weeks later I was at my cousin’s wedding and after the ceremony, he approached me to offer congratulations for all the success I’ve had…only to then immediately cut me off guard with the question, “So when are you moving to New York?”  As the groom, he was quickly called away for photographs and I never really got to answer his question.  

If this moment had been in a play, the spotlight would have hit me right then and there and I would have begun some contemplative soliloquy where I openly pondered, “New York, eh?  Maybe I should go to New York!”

Obviously, as a theatre person, the idea of moving to New York had crossed my mind; it’s the theatre capital of the US for obvious reasons.  But, at the same time, New York just didn’t feel like me.  (I have a lot of opinions on NYC, especially when it comes to the outrageous ticket prices.  When it costs a small fortune to see a Broadway show, art becomes a luxury rather than a necessity.  But that’s a rant for another day.)  It certainly seemed daunting, and every good dream should be at least a little daunting.  But New York was daunting without being exciting.  It felt like something I should do…something that was expected of me.

LA didn’t do it for me, either.  Nor Seattle.  I considered many locations, but nothing really made me sit up and take notice.  I wasn’t about to dive headfirst into debt and throw away a good thing unless it was something that truly excited me…something that was enticing enough to spark a change.  

Again, Anxiety spoke up, “Calm the fuck down, D!  New York?  Even if that is what you wanted, they’d eat you alive there!  You’re a soft midwestern girl who can’t take criticism and cries at the drop of a hat!  You really think you could handle New York or LA?  Also, the cost of living in any of those places is way more than you will ever hope to make!  Stick with Submission Helper.  Stick with the contests and the festivals.  Go back to dreaming only as big as The Milwaukee Repertory Theatre.  Sit down and shut up!”

It may have gone on like this…if not for the summer of 2023.

Close your eyes and picture it: WGA strike, Barbenheimer, The Eras Tour, OceanGate, the Grimace Birthday shake…and in the midst of it all, I was having an epiphany.  

A favorite television show of mine dropped its latest season and I eagerly pulled out the Chardonnay and the popcorn to binge it all.  The vast majority of the show takes place in London and features several actors whom I admire greatly.  Between the giggles, sobs, and various twists and turns of the emotional rollercoaster that was Season 2, something all at once occurred to me.

This is what I want.  

That’s where I want to be.  

I want to move to the United Kingdom.

Was it daunting?  Hell yeah, it was daunting.  

And it was exciting.  

It was a dream that excited me.  

It burned inside me.  

It raged.

It burned so hot that I didn’t know what to do with it.  I paced around my tiny apartment, simply stunned by the prospect of it all.  

Anxiety was in the process of drinking a quad shot espresso con panna and promptly did a spit take upon hearing this new idea.  In a frenzied panic, it bellowed, “Are you nuts?  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  YOU can’t move to the UK!  It would be so difficult!  You’d need to apply for a Visa…or something like that!  Do you even know how to apply for a Visa!”  

“No,” I metaphorically replied, “but I could learn.”

“I bet it’s super difficult!” Anxiety shot back, trembling in fear, “I bet it’s expensive and complicated and you’ll never figure it out!  I bet your sense of humor wouldn’t translate!  I bet you’d end up broke and living under a bridge and crying because you threw away this good thing you had!”

For a split second, Anxiety almost won…but somehow, prompted by the promise of this new dream, I dared to ask, “But what if it worked out?  What if I could figure it out?  What if I somehow scraped up the money and did the research and filed the paperwork and just made it work?”

If it were a play, I would have been standing center stage, staring out into the audience like some kind of dramatic hero and whispering hopefully, “Yes…what if…?”  

It has been a long road to get here, but, despite what Anxiety likes to tell me, I did figure it out.  The process has been stressful enough to induce atypical Shingles and a few anxiety attacks, but it’s happening.  It’s actually happening!

This October I’m going to grad school at the University of Essex where I’ll pursue my masters degree in Scriptwriting.  I’ll hone my skills as a playwright while learning the ins and out of writing for film, television, and radio.  I’ll take the train into London on the weekends and see every show I can at the National Theatre.  I’ll get new life experiences.  I’ll do my best to explore every inch of that beautiful island.  I’m going to do something new because it’s scary and, most importantly, it’s exciting.  

(To add to the awesomeness of this new adventure, my best friend (platonic soul mate) is moving with me and pursuing her own dreams of studying acting…also at the University of Essex.)

My “death” was not as dramatic or world-changing as Jesus’s, but it gave way to a new life for me.  The power of storytelling combined with a newfound confidence was enough to catapult me into something new, something different.    

And I know you’re wondering what show I was watching that prompted this sudden change; if you know anything about me, you’ve probably guessed it already.  

Along with seeing as much theatre as I can on my visits to London, I also plan to have surreptitious meetings at The Bandstand, feed ducks some frozen peas at St. James’s Park, and maybe help avert an apocalypse (or two).  My birthday is in January and it just so happens that Season 3 is scheduled to begin filming around that time; perhaps on my winter holiday, I’ll put myself onto a train and take myself up to Edinburgh.  I have so many thoughts on what could possibly happen next to my favorite angel and demon…but that’s a rant for another day.

(Fun fact: I say this line at least once a week...if only to myself.)

[11oh1]

[soundrooms]

D E P E C H E M O D E | Martin Lee Gore

Macbeth Studio System Elements , Moog Modular , Doepfer Modular , Swarmatron , transparent Gleeman Pentaphonic synth.

[galina]

I need auto writing, I need touching my pen to the world

[bramblesramblesintoshambles]

Trying to include a werewolf in your story often causes an expectation they will transform for your audience. You have a lot of options for this, but once you've committed to one it's said something about the nature of a werewolf.

Painful transformations can make us feel horrified while watching it, and hope we never endure that kind of agony (AAWIL);

A swift and controlled change can emphasize the power a werewolf has, making this curse more aspiration (Underworld);

Instances where the transformation is very gradual over days leading up to the moon can be fairly tragic due to the loss of autonomy these characters experience (Silver Bullet).

It can be tempting to commit to an aesthetic, however it's essential to ensure the themes of your werewolf story match it. A werewolf who transforms relatively quickly and painlessly isn't going to mesh with a horrific and tragic narrative. They can still work. For instance, the emphasis on how easy it is to let go of their humanity, to indulge, how hard it is to keep the beast at bay. These are themes you can explore in a quick transformation. Perhaps, full moon changes are slow and painful because the human side is fighting their beast trying to tire it out before it gains control. In that we see a more heroic element to the lycanthrope.

Please reblog with your favourite werewolf transformations! Pretty sure my fav. is from Hemlock Grove, just so visceral!

[neathyingenue]

if you have a fallen london oc, i want you to know they are canon to me. are they in a situationship with a master? are they building a railroad? are they the poet laureate at the palace? do they have a bone market stall or an orphanage? literally whatever it is, it's real to me and it populates my version of fallen london as well

[marisol-holme]

[Ad for myself because I back myself]

Might be shouting into the void, but if anyone is looking to hire a freelance experienced writer for their business, and happen to be on Tumblr, then lucky you!

Reach out to me on here, or follow my instagram (linked below) and we can do a quick zoom and a haggle over service charges.

Serious enquiries only please, I am a busy human.

I am UK based.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/marisolholme?igsh=MTBib2ZnYTNzYjAxaA%3D%3D&utm_source=qr

[persy-r-bozo]

Everybody's going RIP dictator duck. And while he will be missed.

Nobody's sending respects to wild man red guy and yellow guys Punk Phase

And that's what's wrong with our society today.

[nr1-logo-design-inspiration]

"Castle + book" logo concept ☆

Contact & inquiries:

Creativelogodesigns01@gmail.com

[cocoabuttavasa]

flood came in…heard there was a drought 📸

#YouthClubKids x #NationalHoliday

[blackswaneuroparedux]

London is a city where everyone is reaching out to create a future.

George Gissing, The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft (1903)

Piccadilly Circus, London, 1910.

[moosical]

Amazing Day

Just home from seeing Starkidinnit

Great show, great fans, lovely community and Lovely to see all the creations behind exchanged

[soundrooms]

D A N I D A S E R O | London, UK

Got to love the cords & cables…

[qquinzze]

Commute Back Home.

Stuck between strangers, I balance myself on the orange pole on the carriage by holding on to it tightly with my other hand close to my body, to bring my handbag closer to me as my contribution to reducing my space usage percentage as a fellow train user.

My stop arrives, and I must now hold on to the bar on the side, to land safely on the platform edge. Mind the gap, or else.  My route is up the stairs, alongside a bevy of humans, all with headphones in and their bags strapped to their backs, trying to end the day like me. After a long day of adulting, working, studying, and existing in the capitalist structure, we all return to our abode, our home.

I walk up the wet stairs, trying to keep up the pace with the rest, while avoid the wet remnants of the London weather. I scan my pass, I walk quickly as I can to meet the only one in the world that matters. Him. I get out of the station, and I look around to find him missing. Where was he, he said he had already arrived at the station and would wait for me. My heart drops slightly, before I see him from the corner of my eyes.

With his overgrown tussled chestnut hair, wearing his newly bought grey Uniqlo raincoat that he has been obsessed with, he walked towards me with a smile on his face, a smile that made my heart flutter, just like how it did the first time we met. On his left hand was a bundle of fresh flowers, in a beautiful bouquet with the colours that we called ours, yellow and purple, the symbol of our love. My face turns red as I grab his hair and plant a soft kiss on his lips before gazing into his honey eyes.

"Thank you so much, I love these flowers."

[msbeanfl]

You await the morning after on a sun that never set, and you'd rather be shackled with grief than riddled with regret. But regret is a call to action; grief: a self-satisfying pyre. You mistook your chains for worship, and you couldn't see the forest for the fire.

[dannyfariiia]

Graham Little, “Untitled (Athlete),” 2019, Gouache on paper, 13 3/4 x 9 1/8 inches (35 x 23.2 cm) (unframed), 25 3/4 x 20 1/4 inches (65.5 x 51.5 cm) (framed), Private Collection, London © Graham Little, Photography by Michael Brzezinski