Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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Words of a different nature
I've loved writing each month for the last two years. I've loved relaying my life back in monthly installments. It's something I've found both entertaining and cathartic. I love seeing words that are mine on a page, in a neat little line, punctuating all my little insecurities and triumphs. And as much as I've enjoyed writing, the greater joy comes in the reception I've gotten from each month's article.
My father, who I know is one of my biggest fans and therefore terribly biased, keeps pushing for me to extend my writing into the theatre. It seems like such a natural fit, between my need for the stage and my love of written words on a page… and yet I've never really tried. I've always excused my lack of interest in my incapability to write effective dialogue (which unfortunately is a terribly integral part of any script, right?). I think it would be closer to the truth to admit that I'm afraid. Besides one timid attempt in theatre school to write something that's my own, I've been far too nervous to really put my heart into another script. And it's funny, because I know I lay my heart on the page every month.
This is different. This means… more, maybe, and in a different way than my monthly tales. This is more than decadent thoughts of an indulgent and struggling actor, it's what I have to say artistically. It needs to be important. It needs to be a part of me, a slice of myself written onto a blank page.
So I've decided to take my first step into that terrifying world of playwriting.
The pitch: a twenty minute script in six weeks; two dramaturges, six workshops, and one script to show for all the hard work by the end; scary, intense, but hopefully terribly fun.
Sounds simple, right? Well, I'm three weeks in and the lure of being a writer is addicting. Working evenings to pay my bills, waking up each morning and drinking my essential morning cup of coffee while I listen to my computer (suitably nicknamed 'the Turtle' for pretty obvious reasons) hum slowly to life. Strolling through the quiet of an empty house, figuring dialogue and rising conflict and subtext in my mind, I can see this lifestyle becoming dangerously addictive. The leisure of sitting down to type a few words, shake out my restlessness, put out the laundry then come back with a few more words for the page. I can feel myself falling in love with the pace of it already.
But the words are coming slowly. And often painfully. I feel disappointingly juvenile, unsure of myself, doubting my writing, erasing so much. With every word that manages to stick to the page I erase four. As I try to write authentic dialogue, I feel like so much is just rubbish spilling out of me. Bryan, my dramaturge, is terribly encouraging and brilliant at supporting my buckling knees. And as the words etch themselves out into a real play, I feel myself grinning at the tedious process. Writing isn't easy, and it's not glamorous, but it's rewarding, and my very own little baby is growing. He's getting bigger and fast, and I'm so proud to watch something I made develop day by day.
I love the influence of Ireland that I can taste in the lines, but what makes me the happiest is that the flavour of my writing is distinctly Canadian. Bits of the show just scream of home, and it makes me hoarsely proud.
It's not a play to change the world, and it won't end up on Broadway, I know that. But it will be mine. So sure, we'll see, maybe it'll be worth a read by the end!
