Of Dastardly Dictation November 12, 2008
Posted by Jen in : A363 Open University , 23commentsAhem. Studying, as I am, play-writing (the writing of plays, for those unfamiliar with such wizardly technical terms) the lesson has turned to speech. Dialect and accents. Now, I’m finding this a bit tricky. Any characters I write with an accent sound like halfwits. And to add to the wordy woe, apparently – when speaking colloquially - we’re all tripping our tongues tightly over iambic pentameter*. Erm… I’m not. I’ve checked: I’m mostly spouting crap. Oh dear. So far, so bad. And, spending all day as I do typing words that my boss has said with his mouth, I’m quite sure he isn’t talking iambically pentameter-ish either. I wonder whether I should point this out to him? I’m sure he’d want to know about such dictatorial shortcomings. No, maybe not then.
I have, of course, tried listening to lovely bf but he is from the North and therefore unable to speak properly anyway. Hmmmmmm. The course book suggests eavesdropping adventures. But, with all the studying and obsessing about play-writing, I am looking rather scruffier than usual which, combined with my lack of stealth-like stealth, means I am quite likely to be arrested for looking suspiciously sinister. But in prison, at least, I will learn some good lingo. And I will fit in well, the lack of time also producing what lovely bf lovingly refers to as ‘prison legs’. This play-writing lark is becoming more hazardous than I could have imagined. I bet Big Willy Shakespeare never had this trouble.
But (and don’t tell anyone) I am utterly bloody hooked on the idea of dramatization. It’s never occurred to me before that it’s something I could do. And at my A363 tutorial on Saturday, as I sat huddled up with 2 strangers and the motley collection of characters we’d just invented in our Brians, we wrote a play. And laughed and laughed and laughed… I am addicted. Obsessed with teasing tiny nuances out of simple sentences. Even when I sleep, my characters are cartwheeling and clattering about in my mind.
I think this lark will make me slightly mental. (Iambic pentameter, that. Hope you noticed.) Gawd. Pass the posh characters. I feel a touch of the luvvies coming on.
* Lovely bf is insisting upon referring endlessly to pant-ometers, i.e. the measuring of knickers. I, on the ther hand, am mindful of panto-meter which could be useful in working out whether there’s room for that fully dressed horse after all.
