Fiona Peek

How did you write your play for the Bruntwood and why did you enter?

In 2004 I took a leap and with no previous writing experience, started a 2 year part-time MA in ‘Dramatic Writing’ at Sussex University. My background was in theatre – performance and a small bit of directing – but for a number of years I’d been doing other things. The MA was a potential route back and in the course of it, I began writing SALT. It was my first full-length play and to an extent I regarded it as an ‘exercise’ in naturalism (any work I’d attempted up to this point fell into the lyrical/surreal category!) Because it never occurred to me that it might be produced on a real live stage with real live actors and most significantly real live stage managers, I didn’t worry overly much about the practicalities of conjuring a 4 course meal every night (which said real live actors would be called upon to eat). So at the end of the course, I had a difficult-to-produce play, which I knew to be unfinished and no real sense of what to do with it. I sent it out to a couple of the bigger new writing theatres and had positive feedback. But none of them was in a position to take it further. And that’s where Bruntwood came in. What the competition offers is immensely attractive – the chance to work closely with the literary team over a period of time to develop the piece to its fullest potential, to have one’s work produced in one of the most highly-respected regional theatres in the country, alongside the possibility of the piece actually being published through Nick Hern’s close association. And then of course, there’s the money, which often goes politely unmentioned but for a new writer can mean the difference between persevering or returning hangdog to the day job…

So I was hugely drawn to the idea but still, I don’t think I would have entered had it not been for Ben Musgrave’s blog in which he talked about having ‘Pretend You Have Big Buildings’ lying around in a drawer for a couple of years and his sense that it was still unfinished when he sent it in. In the end, I did exactly what he did – whipped the play out of that drawer and submitted it last minute. Glad I did.

What advice would you give to a writer entering the prize this year?

I struggle to give advice of any sort to writers – I’m still struggling with the idea of being a writer myself – but what I would say is do it! Hold on to the belief that something good is always potentially about to happen, work on the principle that you have nothing to lose and much to gain, take advantage of that anonymity, get the piece as good as you can but don’t worry that it’s not perfect – if there’s something there the chances are that someone will spot it – and if you’re experiencing self-doubt, bear in mind the salutary lesson of Piers Morgan (Hadley Freeman in the Guardian 18.1.11) – ‘If there’s a moral to the story of Morgan, it’s to never doubt yourself, no matter how many others do.’

How did you find the process of developing SALT and seeing it produced?

What an incredible experience. It kicked off with a session in the Wellcome Trust café of all places – Sarah Frankcom and Jo Combes (who was to direct the play) came down, expressed their confidence in the play and gave me their initial notes. It was a great meeting and I went off brimming with excitement. A couple of weeks later I went back to them with a new draft. ‘A little… conservative’ was the response. A challenge. So off I went again and toddled back a short while later with a draft that was (thank god) significantly better. But there were still huge issues with the ending – issues that I’d wrestled with alone for a couple of years by that stage. Jo immersed herself completely in the piece – to the extent that there were many instances when she knew the script better than I did – and continued to push me with the shrewdest lines of questioning, character observations and notes around plot and story. Until the day when the directors committed to SALT’s inclusion in the Autumn/Winter programme 2009/2010.

Rehearsal was wonderful. We agreed that I should be present in the rehearsal room for the initial week and return in the last. Few things more exciting (and alarming) have happened to me in my life than that first week of watching actors get to grips with my text. Everything about the production was as I would have chosen and in that I think I was extremely lucky. From the director to the casting to the design to the production, every element was exceptionally realised. Any flaw in the piece was down to me and that’s actually a bizarrely comfortable place to be – few things more excruciating to a writer than feeling that your script isn’t being treated as it deserves.

All in all, the Royal Exchange provided an extraordinarily nurturing environment – I enjoyed the whole process hugely, learnt masses and gained so much confidence, experience and profile.

In fact, the Bruntwood has basically changed my life. So heartfelt thanks to everyone!