Attempting the Fantastic
An extract from Journeywork, A Creative Life by Dave Duggan (Nerve Centre, 2024)
Self-doubt is an underlying, viral condition of being human, possibly a social and evolutionary dampener on hubris, though it is not entirely successful in keeping contemporary political louts in check. For writers, it appears at different times and with different foci: bad reviews, work ignored, other work neglected. It accompanies rejections by agents, publishers, producers and broadcasters, no matter how kindly they are phrased.
Self-doubt is an underlying, viral condition of being human
I once sat with a small group of writers at a residential artist centre, enjoying a mid-morning coffee break. The conversation was lively and warm, even though none of us knew each other. One woman described a play she had recently seen in The Project Arts Centre, a Dublin theatre. It was based on the life of the poet-soldier Francis Ledwidge in World War I. She recalled, with pleasure, details of the action, the language, the characters, the use of props, the design and setting, and the quality of the acting.
When another member of the group asked who wrote the play she named a well-known Dublin writer. Others in the group said they’d love to have seen it. I asked a couple of questions—was there a young woman doubling as a boy soldier and a serving girl? Did it close with the squad of soldiers going over the top into a cacophony of shells and firing? She couldn’t remember the name of the play, but when she answered ‘yes’ to my questions, I was stumped. It was clear she was referring to my play Still, The Blackbird Sings.
Do I speak up? Do I let it ride?
Was this a test of my self-doubt? Maybe it wasn’t me who wrote the play she admired? But it was. I gently said the play’s title and that I was the writer. The chatter stilled. It was a simple mistake and a minor embarrassment. A chill of awkwardness descended.
People got up and moved away. I refilled my coffee cup and returned to my work.
‘Full of love for his craft and insights into a life well-lived and travelled…essential reading for any writer hoping to stay the course.’ —Jessica Traynor
‘A perceptive manual about how to navigate the artistic and medical challenges that life throws at its author. There are lessons here for everyone.’ —Dermot Bolger
A specific focus of my self-doubt grew from my work in short forms. Plays got produced, stories got published, radio talks were broadcast and short screenplays became short films. It nagged that, while this was very good, and contributed to making a living for my young family, all the works were short. I questioned myself: would I ever write a long-form? A full-length play? A feature-length screenplay? A novel?
That self-doubt is long behind me. I have written long-form pieces, some of which have reached readers and audiences, while others have not. I no longer doubt my ability to make such work. Nowadays, with age dulling the acuity of all my senses and capabilities, and underlying medical conditions impacting in complex and negative manners, I doubt I will start, never mind finish, much of the work I sense emerging.
How do you write a novel when your lungs can’t hold the breath you need?
How do you write a novel when your lungs can’t hold the breath you need? When your blood is so anaemic haematology specialists are alarmed? When skin cancers scatter across your arms and face and must be cut and burned off? When orthotic boots cramp your truncated feet and ulcers form? When your pancreas fails? When cataracts occlude your vision? When muscles weaken and strength ebbs away as medical conditions age in time with your body and mind?
You adapt and persist, with that motto emblazoned on the T-shirt you wear to work. It has the tone of a logo, perhaps too glib, yet sage enough, to be a brand.
Adapt and Persist. Don’t Doubt.
After writing a flurry of short plays that were collected as Plays in a Peace Process and an Oscar-nominated short film, a producing theatre commissioned me to write a full-length play. As ever, I drew on matters in the world around me. I listened to radio news reports of textile factories being closed, in order to shift production eastwards and southwards, to secure state subsidies, lower wages for workers and increased profits for shareholders.
I grew angry and anger often impels me to create.
What is the human impact of such closures? How does a family cope? I outlined an idea of a comedy drama set on the day the textile factory in the town closes, making a father, mother, son and daughter redundant. They are devastated and strangely excited, each with their own heartfelt urge to grasp an opportunity. Spike, the precocious teenager in the family, announces that an asteroid he has been tracking is heading towards their corner of Earth. His father replies that it has already hit. Spike doesn’t hear him. His head is in the stars. The family’s struggle for their Spike Dreams drives the play.
I assuaged my doubts by writing a long-form work, but self-doubt lingered. Could I write another one? Would other theatres commission work from me?
The production enjoyed a good run and a nationwide tour. It was well-received, wherever it went. The story was relevant across Ireland. The characters were believable and relatable. The comedy was affecting. The story worked. Audiences and reviews were warm. It was a success for everyone involved.
I assuaged my doubts by writing a long-form work, but self-doubt lingered. Could I write another one? Would other theatres commission work from me?
I turned to Shakespeare.
Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we
oft might win, by fearing to attempt.
He put these words into the mouth of Lucio, whom he labelled as a fantastic, in his comedy Measure for Measure.
I attempt the fantastic every time I write.
