There is something to be said about standing in front of a wasted printer, with grey-on-white stack of script pages in your hands. It's not finished, I hope some day it will be, but at the moment I can't help feel proud when seeing the 39 pages that came out from 1-2 weeks of work. It was worth it. It was really worth it: to ignore sleep, common sense, homework, holidays; everything and to simply write. It sound more romantic that it was. It was hard, and daunting, and exhilarating and I stopped, didn't reach the finishing line, gave up; gave in. But not before 60 pages of work. 39 of those being this newly printed script.

In these pages you can track my everyday life, the events that influenced me scene by scene; here let me show you:

Scene Three: We danced in the rain that day. It was the last day of term 1 and it was raining. The school got flooded in the end. After science, me and Sarah run about in the rain until we were breathless and our legs were covered in mud. We attempted to dry our clothes and hair in the toilets by the canteen. Yesterday Amy remembering that day, called Matt a hobbit. Rita was sensible and a boy from year 11 -takes my bus from my station, Nick-gave us an odd look as we ran past. In Maths the sky was purple, or maybe another fantastic colour; no work was done: naturally. The boys (year 8?) corridor was flooded. Arriving at writers workshop (R1) I stood in the doorway letting rain drip on me, the I sat by the doorway, took of my socks and attempted to squeeze the water out of them. We made a trip to get our bags from the locker room, and I returned with an umbrella. We watched Rowan Atkinson talk about humour.

Scene Four, A few days before I've been browsing youtube, and one song got stuck in my head. Relativ, by Wise Guys. It was in German. My amusement could go a long way. I wrote it in two scenes, only one was in this play.

Scene Seven, we went to the Casino, that day or the day before. The one on south bank, near the river. It was grand, no specific decorations for Easter. There were lights however glittering from the celling in front hallway/grand staircase. They had a chocolate shop with painted wooded eggs, they reminded me of Russia. Mum too. I couldn't breathe in that place, my thought were morbid, and somewhat tainted by the unobservable sleaziness of the place. I realized it was due to the fact, that there were no windows, no wood. Only stone, metal and people. I hated it.

Scene Eight, we were in Adelaide. We visited a garden there, a gift from a twined city in Japan. There was a African wedding leaving, bright colourful clothes. It was the first time I've seen a zen garden, but what forced me still was a deer scarer. I'm not sure why.

Scene Eleven, I've been obsessing with one phrase that day, attempting to remember it right: "Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there, He wasn't there again today, Oh, how I wish he'd go away". For some reason those words remind me of the stairs leading up to my grandparents flat. More memories. I also mention the bush fires. Then quickly make up for that mistake.

Just a small insight in my writing process. A small glimpse in to my memories of times past.

I'd make a good serial killer, he said.
She was amazed they thought I was quiet,
Because to her, I never shut up.

It got me thinking on Identity?
On the question of who am I?

I have so many masks.
Sometimes they get lost,
Or forgot in my absence.
I just paint a new one.
It's no bother,
A habit.

Some hide
Behind words, behind humour
Some get an image, and no longer are seen.
I don't hide.
I show everything.
Everything, you want to see.

I'd say I'm a whole person,
Got a soul, a mind and a body,
I do.
My consciousness isn't split,
It's just too vast to be one personality.
In your eyes, in your eyes it is.
When I'm alone I'm whole.
I am safe.

We evolved because of society,
It's too complicated to understand.
I evolved above all.
Or maybe with all.
I understand, so I hide.

I am no hamster, no gerbil,
To lift up by the ears and laugh.
I'm no sister, no brother, no bother.
I just fill the spaces you never knew you had.

I love you truly,
Don't take this as a confession of disdain.
I care, and I care always.
But darling let me have my secrets.
Let me fib and lie to you.
Let me protect myself from you.

Let me be.
The way I need to be.

Let me believe that too.

I shall probably fall of the electronic map for a while.

A hush settles over the crowd
PERSON 1
(reverently) It's beginning!

It was a warm day, which makes me assume it was either spring or summer; summer I personally suspect, as the event was for children so either a weekend or a school holiday. The Lab (MSSL- Mullard Space Science Laboratory where my parents worked) was having a children’s science day; young children mostly. My mum was one of the organizers/helpers and wished me to come along. I dragged a friend, J. One of the things we could do was a treasure hunt, for planets I believe. Each planet had a specific colour marker next to it, in which we needed to mark of our finding. Having done that, and with a barbecue yet to begin we began exploring.

Now before I continue, I believe a background setting is important. MSSL is set on a hill among sheep farms. The building used to be a private boys school and some of such assets have remained. (Like the old wooded sweeping staircase, football field and outdoor swimming pool). The actual research facility was modern, but adjusted to the atmospheric surrounding. But in places the old school was left untouched.

And so, as I said above, we went exploring. More precise I gave a guided tour to my friend. One of the places I showed was odd to say the least. It was a tiny toilet on the top floor. Nothing fascinating by itself you see, but it had a window that led to the roof. You can probably see where this is going.

We sneaked past a scientist next door, and got inside the small room. Now I told her that I already climbed out of the window before and naturally J wanted to go on an Adventure. With a capital A. We locked the door. Unlocked the window and made sure it wouldn’t close and trap us outside. And climbed outside onto the roof from a toilet window. I would love to excuse our actions on young age, but we were in high school and from my memories about to go into Yr 9.

This part of the roof was actually a small courtyard. No actual plants, but a small walk way of a fire escape, still shining metal, but dusty and spider-web covered in misuse. The walkway lead to the next building in a bridge-like fashion, and then later turned and led towards the ground. The bridge part, had large wall rails so they were easy to hide behind if we kept low.

Surprisingly there were pebbles on the roof (or at least they were, we may have went down and got them from the path below). I’m not sure how we reached the idea but we ended up sitting on the bridge and throwing pebbles if anyone passed by – to scare them off/ or did we pretend to be a ghost?- We also tied a red ribbon that used to be in my hair, onto the rails flay in the wind. We probably thought it would appear to be spooky.

And then we talked undisturbed.

I'm in the mood to write. Just am. So going to write about books. (Don't look so surprised! If you're reading this you know me well enough.)

Book 1. The Mystery of the Blue Train by Agatha Christie (Finished)

"In an Empire where rats ruled, he was the king of the rats."- pg9

"It was raining, not violently, but with a quiet, well-bred persistence."-pg327

""The squirrel, my good Georges, collects nuts. He stores them up in the autumn so that they may be of advantage to him later. To make a success of humanity, Georges, we must profit by the lessons of those below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the cat, watching the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, my good Georges, I have been the squirrel. I have stored away little fact here, and little fact there. I go now to my store and I take out one particular nut, a nut that I stored away - let me see, seventeen years ago. You follow me, Georges?"" pg296

You know it's good writing when you pick bits to remember for later.

Book 2. Was Napoleon Poisoned? and Other Unsolved Mysteries of Royal History by Peter Haugen (unfinished and will probably remain so)

Sounded interesting. Got it out of the library. Haven't gotten past the introduction but currently it sound much less interesting.

Book 3. Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (unfinished)

On the First Chapter. I left it for a day. Didn't remember names. Damn. This is the type of book one needs to read in one go. Double damn. It thick and I'm not good with graphics novels. Plus Rita wants it. (Well she cant have it, it's mine for three weeks and she read it already.(I think I'll give pretty soon don't you?))

Book 4. Tales of an Urban Werewolf: Howling at the Moon by Karen MacInerney

On chapter 7 or so. 1. I likelove this author. She introduced me to 'cozy' mysteries with her first series, so I was very glad when I saw this book on the library website. So far, not as good as the first series which is a great shame. The third book in that one came out but the library is yet to get it. (This author and her first series are on my 'personal library' list).

Despite all that. It's still good on the whole-or at least so far.


Book 5. Freedom of the City by Brian Friel. (unstarted)

Ok, so yeah I haven't read it. I've been away. And you really don't want to know the amount of books I read in Russia. Lemme do and approximation count:

Ahem. Looked in my Diary Found the Following Poem:
The dark night settles,
Her frost-ridden cloak,
Crunching the armchair .
Leg over leg, hair flapping back,
She smiles at the circle around her.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Dawn, in her little silk dress,
Waves her feet in the air
and smiles her baby girl smile.
Twilight, snaps her filed sharp teeth
and flicks chapped nail polish.
"We could do with out you..."
Midday is asleep, snuffling slightly,
and the rest carry on
with their own affairs.
A day's gone by,
-and another begins.

I really should keep track of what I write. Should try the idea again.Found some other snippets of poems. Not writing them down.
So books: 15. And that's the ones I remember, and have written down + finished (and I also didn't read the first two weeks there). So school books? Not that much time.

When I go outside, and it's 46 degrees- I think I'm in hell; and nature agrees with me.
Yellowed dull grass, lifeless shrubs, and the landscapes all flat and motionless.
Falling red leaves in February. That's neither here nor there.
I wasn't made for such climates...
Mine is cold winters and cool summers. White landscapes, harshest in beauty.
Where plus 7 feels warm enough to think about forgoing the coat,
And people forget to add minus in front of the number-they are understood either way.
Of hot, passionate hearts and cold, cold logic.
People see summer as flimsy, see-through dresses,
Short bright mini-skirts and walks on the beech.
Now when I think of summer I see is death,
Heat rising from the ground, hot air refusing to fill lungs.
Mirages, and wet pavement, hot drops drying up on the eyes.
Yellowed landscape and brown people, wrinkles and less and less water.
Yellow is the colour of wall in Russian asylums,
Van Gogh painted his house yellow also.
Sunflowers, were they about death too?
The heat is unbearable and sleep elusive.
In better times, in childhood, I remember the summers worth living.
Cold lakes, early morning, fishing and scrapes.
Wars, village on village, bows -made with string - wooden swords, plant spears,
A play untheath the apple tree.
Ground cold and stomped till concrete hardness.
No communication, no phone lines. A white dog; Belka.
Those summer weren't hot. They were filled with rain-storm and
keeping a fire going inside the house, because it was damp and cold.
A hail, holes in the umbrella, hail size of white fists.
I feel nature keenly, and can't sleep when hot, wake up when cold.
Life is monotonous and yet it all changes.

Old Post - 27th April

Right,
I've got somethings to put right even if I dont want to, desire to or need to. But you see if I don't a chunk of history will be missing from you. Now that wont do any of us good. So... I'm not moving to australia. I wont go into it. Just dont ask me to.
Two, I'm planning to do a challenge. Songs of May so to say. I will for every day in may, tell a story or write a poem. Well to be truthful be very creative. I know I will probably fail, so no need to give me that look but it worth a try.
Three, I seemed to be quite lonely in my journal. No one comments and no one friends. Oh well this is as much for me as it is for you.

Here's a poem for you because I'm already regretting the challenge (mind you can I add that it doesn't mean that I'll post every day! I may write every day and post all of them once a week!)

Dark stream mixed with sorrow runs far bellow,
My heart keeps beating, not that it shows.
Its hard to remember but memories flow,
If it will happen, no-one will know.

Why don't I jump,
In waters so sweet?
Why don't I fly,
To waters so deep?
Why don't I die,
Just to forget?
Why should I live,
Just to regret?

My soul has died so long ago,
And yet I'll live at the moment I go.
I will remember and honor the past.
I'll say good bye and all shall pass.

Well my work for the day seems to be done,
Пока!