As I go through last revisions on the novel, I’m seeing again (or should I say hearing?) that there’s great value in reading aloud the words you’ve written, or, more precisely, hearing them read aloud.  Tricks of speech that sound natural on the page reveal themselves as mannered once they hit the air; rhythm, pace, alliteration – and any attendant flaw or pothole – are revealed. Even though the final experience is silent – words on a page (paper or virtual) read by a reader – it’s invaluable to get those words alive and pulsing into the open air.

And of course you can read them out loud again, once it’s all finished and done, and when I’m invited to do that I happily do. I used to be very nervous about doing readings, until I realized that giving the work in this way was both a new conduit for interest and pleasure (I hope!) in the text, and a chance to experience it as a live thing together with live people, which can be a lot, lot, lot of fun. This book in particular should be a blast to read, because it’s so inherently theatrical. So look for me next year on a stage near you.

This is what you see on the outside, approaching Punchdrunk’s Sleep No More. What you see on the inside – or, more properly, what happens to you on the inside – I wouldn’t dream of spoiling by commentary.  What I can note is that the experience had all the immediacy and menace of a dream, and that I’ll remember the moment of being put out of the elevator to stand alone in the dark, echoing, but very much inhabited hallway, as one of the most exquisite and fantastical I have ever had at, in, the theatre. What a performance. We aspire – and plan – to bring the same level of fiendish detail and passionate immersion to the stage version of Under the Poppy.

Off on Wednesday to Boston, to see Punchdrunk’s Sleep No More – been avoiding all reviews, etc., though I did reread Macbeth last night, and I’ll be wearing shoes suitable for walking, as advised, and leave the sexy stilettos to Lady MacB.

And I’ll also be seeing Kelly Link and Gavin Grant, yay, and discussing next year’s publication of Under the Poppy. Currently I’m thinking of art, cover artists, laudanum bottles (as objets, natch), and the pleasure of exchanging editorial notes with Kelly.  Sometimes this business is a real joy.

I had no idea laudanum was such a party drug.  And adding it to absinthe..? Beneath their cravats and corsets, they totally knew how to tie one on, pun utterly intended; and it cures the female hysteria too. [Image from Victorian Lowbrow.]

From Clive, friend and patron of puppetry, the theatre, and Under the Poppy, comes this genial fellow, whose holiness lies cheek-by-jowl with his taste for the vivid; not always the case, right, with your garden variety saints, some of whom would possibly prefer to be flogged by thorns than hang out with the backstage crowd.  So all hail St. Simeon el Salo!