My book, I Always Wanted To Be A Dad: Men without Children, came out in August 2023, well before my play Empty saw the light of day. But I started writing the play well before that. My notes tell me that its first iteration came on 27 November 2021.
Its no-holds-barred approach was the inspiration behind the later collection of writings and probably made that venture easier to write. I had already broached the unusual topic of unwanted childlessness – particularly male childlessness – and my mind was able to continue in that raw vein. But the play was always the thing and I kept it close to my heart, even though for quite a while it languished in a dusty loft of my laptop.
One of the many early versions of the script saw it take the form of a radio play. An Alan Bennett-type Talking Heads manuscript quickly followed. And, after that, stage versions became the most common format.
In all those three genres, it soon settled down into being a 40-minute offering, with a cast of four, five or six, with one or more disembodied voices off. I see that the subtitle for one version was: ‘A play about male childlessness’, although that was the only time I spelt it out. More on that later.
For each format I researched on the internet the various ways of laying out a play. The system in the UK is far more relaxed and flexible than it apparently is in the US. I followed one of the suggested styles and it never became an issue for later readers.
Two actor friends gave one of the stage versions a read-through in my front room. And, as a result, I got my first ‘notes’. One aspect of my venture into writing a play was having to learn some new vocabulary or, at least, nuanced meanings to words I already knew. One of these was ‘notes’. This is actors, directors, readers and others in the trade giving the playwright feedback about the script. These mini reviews, based on participants’ reading, observation and listening, point to the play’s weaknesses, seldom its strengths. This is the norm. The received wisdom of the theatrical community seems to be that the strengths can look after themselves but the deficiencies need to be spelt out. Improvement is the name of the game.
This is a type of honest communication that I was not used to and on one occasion it really was a chastening experience. Lesson number one: writing plays is a collaborative process and even the Beckets and Pinters of this world wrote many of versions of their blockbusters before they were deemed ready for the stage.
I sent Empty off to a few competitions for new writing but got nowhere. So many hopefuls go in for these that it really isn’t worth the bother. Better to focus on specific, often local, opportunities, where you can meet a theatre’s artistic director and discuss the ins and outs of possibly mounting a play. The Fringe theatre in the UK is unbelievably open and helpful in this regard.
While I wrote, published and promoted I Always Wanted To Be A Dad: Men without Children, the play remained untouched for more than a year. No bad thing, as my thoughts crystallised and a more thoughtful approach was free to develop.
Near to where I live there was a community venture called Applecart Arts, which, towards the end of 2024, was in dire financial straits. I went down to the venue in London’s East Ham for a coffee and to make a donation. Sitting at the next table was a guy who, I thought, looked as if he might be the boss. I introduced myself. He was indeed the boss and his name was Peter Moreton.
We got talking and he said he’d love to see my play – its unusual theme interested him. I sent it to him and we met a second time. He liked it, estimated the cost of putting it on and went into the ins and outs of performance on Applecart’s stage. By chance, Applecart was one of the venues for the Voilà festival and I went to see several performances, which, it has to be said, were no more than mediocre.
Anyway, Peter pointed out that, for budgetary reasons, a two-hander would stand more chance of being put on than a five-hander. I offered to make the necessary changes and spent the whole of December doing just that. In the meantime, sadly, the centre was forced to close down for lack of funds. But Peter did me a huge favour by persuading me to turn Empty into a two-hander: it tightened the script, it became more focused and the drama more direct. It also took the theme away from male childlessness and created a treatment that was equally balanced between the sexes.
I was back to square one. I set about finding out the names of Fringe theatres, visited as many as possible and had discussions with staff whenever possible. I made submissions to the Royal Court, Windsor Fringe, the Bush, the Space, BBC Writers’ Room, White Bear, Reboot Festival, Dark Unicorn, Woodhouse Players and the Pound at Corsham. I attended a course in writing for performance at City Lit with Brian Mullin and another at Barking and Dagenham library run by emerging playwright Kelly Jones.
I was slowly learning about the theatrical avenues that new playwrights could explore. Every theatre has its own approach and what applies at one place doesn’t often fit another. The system is haphazard but a common thread runs through it: the search for quality and a lack of money. For very little outlay one can create some kind of staging for a play without too much hassle.
The advice I received from people who had read the script was always generous and helpful: playwright Kelly Jones, Kimberley Andrews at London Playwrights, Aimee and Meg at the Space, Sarah Simpson at Jellyfish, Amy Clare Tasker at the Cockpit, Jessica Hepburn, formerly artistic director at the Lyric Hammersmith, to name just a few. All women, who are the driving force in Fringe theatre.
One of my worries was that the dialogue was slightly antiquated and reflected the vocabulary of a man in his seventies – me. I asked a female friend in her late twenties to check out the language, give it a mark for up-to-date colloquialisms and to suggest some changes. She never did. When my actors, who are both over 40, got hold of it I shared my concerns with them. They said the language was fine. I did knock out the word ‘courting’ however!
Things happened very quickly. I paid a nominal sum for a 30-minute Zoom meeting with Amy Clare Tasker, the Cockpit’s theatre-maker. She suggested that Empty was just the kind of play that the theatre would love to have as part of its monthly New Stuff programme. I made the application and before long was accepted at a cost of £20. The play is about to get a rehearsed reading. I was overjoyed and can’t wait for the big day.
But I still needed Empty to have a read-through and needed a director and two actors for the parts of Amy and Dave. As a childless man myself, I am a member of a number of support groups on social media. One of these is AWOC (Ageing without Children). I advertised on its Facebook page for those positions. I was recommended and then contacted Dannie-Lu Carr, a director, and Melanie Dagg, an actor. They both agreed to take part for free (expenses paid) in a read-through I had booked at Theatre Deli. It cost £30 to hire the studio space for three hours. The male actor, a friend of Dannie-Lu’s, made up the numbers.
It was the first time I had heard my words properly, let alone received any professional feedback about what worked and what didn’t. Clearly, there were changes that needed to be made – although they had some complimentary things to say, too. Nevertheless, I wandered out into the City of London somewhat shell-shocked, with much work ahead of me. The thing is they were largely right.
The notes I received from various people convinced me that I had to take out all references to Amy being a feminist; cut the interior monologues of Dave; reduce the amount of explanatory dialogue; aim for intrigue rather than information; tone down the graphic descriptions of IVF; improve the relationship between Amy and Dave; ‘soften’ Dave and give him greater depth; add more humour; explain more clearly why Amy got in touch with Dave after five years apart; turn the three scenes into one continuous act; devote more time to the periods of conflict and when a character or the audience receives new information (this made the play longer not shorter, which was interesting); add the background music of Erik Satie at beginning and end; and add more stage directions. All of which I did.
Writing two-dimensional journalism, which had been my stock in trade for 30 years or so, is a completely different beast to writing for the stage. For the latter, you are writing with your eye on at least two layers of meaning, probably more, all at the same time. You must be aware of the hidden agenda and must give the actor room to explore emotional truths behind the words. The words should be an invitation to revealing deeper issues. The early months of 2025 were devoted to this re-shaping of the play. I believe I succeeded and each draft saw an improvement.
By way of light relief from this careful, highly disciplined project, I squeezed in a performance of my own at Islington’s Old Red Lion Theatre occasional slot called Monday Monologues. Empty has an eight-minute speech by Dave, which lends itself to a stand-alone reading. I was accepted along with four other playwrights and I was pleased with the way it was received.
Funding remains an issue. If, after the Cockpit and Storyhouse performances I feel it’s worth mounting a full production, then I will have to start spending some serious money. I will make an approach to the Arts Council, apply to various trusts and even attempt some crowd-funding.
I have one more thing to say to myself: break a leg.