from our correspondent in the South … missives from Melbourne #1

By Jennifer Vuletic 

(JV is a fabulous actor and singer – and now, a writer.  She has written before, of course, just now is the time to focus on the craft)

I have made so many things in the last weeks. I have stripped (multiple times), scrubbed, wire brushed, sanded, etched and then repainted my balcony. Then, having at last understood what furniture I needed to have, I ordered that. I built it. I put little protective rubber soles on its little wooden feet and put it out there, on the newly teal-coloured, softly glowing balcony, to fend for itself. I constructed my hardware cabinet, in my favourite green, surrounding myself with that beloved, nurturing, creativity-inspiring colour. I packed everything neatly into it, clearing away all evidence of my stripping, scrubbing, brushing, sanding, etching, painting behaviours, in preparation for the great creative tsunami that was sure to hit me. I removed the old caulking from around my kitchen sink (it’s a two day job if you’ve never done it before, I’m telling you now, pulling out the old stuff is the hard bit) and then re-caulked. Not only did I recaulk, I filled, sanded, painted and then re-caulked on something that will, like as not, end up on the scrapheap. But at least it’s holding my sink together…. and I still haven’t written the next bit of my piece-of-theatre work…. which is likely to have an outing at TheatreWorks in the early part of next year. If I ever write it.  

I do want, very much, to write it. I have written, already, fragments. Bones, heart, skin. It’s been curled up inside me for a while.  

I want it to touch, intrigue, fire, resonate. It will be a tale. Of me and of the world. Of sex and suits of armour. Of human identity quests, the allure – and threat – they carry. Of rage. Of triumph. And green. Lots of green.

My terror of getting it wrong, or not finding any creativity, or sitting blankly in front of a screen is ultimately enormously productive…..productive in terms of manual labour. The process of writing is fraught, fraught enough to make me go in an entirely different direction. Namely, DIY. 


…also ….

when I start to do it, to actually let the thoughts come, it’s enormously satisfying and then sometimes another tsunami occurs and the floodgates open and suddenly there’s a piece in front of me and of course it’s going to need honing and I will send it to my favourite director to garner his opinion but suddenly, there is Something There. So. Let’s get started.

There will be song. There will be stories. There will be swords. Some purple. And green. Lots of green.