Going underground
The last two weeks have been manic.
The good news is that I have a spot at one of the most renowned venues at the biggest theatre festival in the world this summer. I will be bringing my solo show, Dead Air, to Bunker 1 at The Pleasance Courtyard at Edinburgh Fringe Festival for 25 days between 30th July – 24th August. Yay!
Only one problem: I haven’t written the show.
Rewind, Let’s Talk About This
I have had an idea for a play for the last two years. The original premise was a comedy about grief based on my own experience of losing my beloved pabbi (dad), Gis von Ice.
The last show he saw me perform was as a burlesque act where he and my mum shared a table at the basement venue of the National Theatre in Iceland with two unwitting tourists. They must have been a bit surprised that my parents had come to see me jump up and down in a thong with blonde curtain tassels attached to it.
He said I belonged on the stage and that it was the best he’d ever seen me. He was known for his wry sense of humour and it wasn’t lost on him that this was a silly situation and could seem seedy to those who didn’t know us — but he was being genuine.
He’s never complimented me like that. He’s always told me his true opinion and there was always a sandwich, you know, the good and the bad. But this time, he just thought it was great.
Looking back, he had to leave early because he was so tired. He was always tired in the last few years. Weirdly, pabbi, who hated being the centre of attention or performing in any way, had done his own burlesque on national TV — a story for another time.
I thought it was all somehow a funny premise for a show about death and a father-daughter bond forged through burlesque.
Real Housewives of Procrastination
I had this idea and I have been sitting at a desk trying to write it at least since the end of last year.
As is so often the case, other things got in the way — in fact, anything else I could think of…
I started recording a podcast, The Romance Files (coming soon), I took on little writing and translation jobs, I went to the gym… a bit too much. And mainly I caught up on Real Housewives and knitted jumpers.
Hashtag mental health days.
A Pile of Unused Ideas
By the time April came around, my dream of taking the show to Edinburgh Fringe was passing me by.
With the deadline a week away I decided to apply anyway — and only to two of the biggest and most sought-after venues: The Underbelly and The Pleasance, knowing that it probably wasn’t going to happen.
I would book some work-in-progress venues over the next year… probably, and see how it went.
Maybe next year. Or maybe I would just put this in my pile of ideas.
Let’s Do It
On the Monday (deadline Wednesday), I emailed the venues to ask if there was any chance I would be getting an offer — I wanted to be prepared with everything needed in the application form, mainly the art.
To my surprise, on the Wednesday, at 3:30pm, I got an email from The Pleasance offering me a place — a 46-seater venue in a morning slot.
They said they had to move quickly.
I spent the evening talking it through with friends:
“You put it out there and the universe is answering, Alf!”
“It’s a shit time.”
“How will you pay for it?”
“Are you really ready for the pressure of it all?”
I emailed back at 7pm: “Let’s do it.”
How I Wrote My Application
In the application, they ask you to give them a short summary of the play, a script, or a video.
I sent a document that was more like a treatment and a marketing plan.
In the Google Doc that I shared with the venues was:
- A logline
- A mock-up for the poster design (I made one with ChatGPT)
- A synopsis
- An extract from the play
- A character breakdown
- Themes and underlying questions
- A press release
- A social media plan
I like to work on Google Docs as it is shareable, and it keeps the version history.
Most importantly for me: a CONTENTS TABLE so that you, and the person reading, can navigate.
Screenshots of my Google Docs
Room for Change
Not all of this will make it into the show. For example, when it came to submitting the blurbs for the programme, I didn’t want to define whether the death was supposed to have been an accident or natural, and changed the wording to be a bit more obscure and give me flexibility to write whatever I want.
The 100-word blurb that will be published:
Since Alfie’s dad died, he’s visited everyone’s dreams but hers. Rude. Desperate to talk to him, she turns to AiR, an AI chatbot designed to reconnect the living with the lost. What starts as a simple conversation between daddy and his little princess spirals into chaos. Each chat uncovers more about her dad’s life — and death — than she ever bargained for. Was his death suspicious or is it just a glitch in the machine? A heartfelt and darkly funny dive into grief, technology, and the consequences of talking to ghosts.
Alfie, Are You Okay?
Why didn’t you write the show and then apply? Like a sane person?, I hear you cry.
Okay! Okay! Stop screaming at me! So I would have liked to have had the show written by now. It would be better, and I highly recommend doing it that way, if you can.
It is well known that most people, especially comedians, apply to the Fringe without knowing exactly what their show will be — and I felt that I had a strong enough idea that I could sell it.
From a producer’s point of view, they want to be able to visualise the concept clearly and know that you know what you are doing and are realistic about your capabilities.
I don’t have much money, so I pitched it with hardly any tech and had a few strong marketing ideas. (More on that later.)
What can I say, I need an immovable deadline and a mild sense of panic.
I Love to Talk
I have spent two years conceptualising the show.
I first pitched it to a teacher that I had at university in a one-on-one session that was about something else. He encouraged me and told me it was a great idea.
I have since been talking about it to friends and family. Along the way, I went to hear the successful Icelandic writer, Andri Snær, talk about his process — which is that he will tell people his idea at any opportunity, talking through it and changing it over time, honing it that way.
Writing isn’t a linear process and it is not only committing pen to paper — it is thinking.
I have realised that I am a talker. I like to talk, and that is how I connect to my intentions.
There are a lot of “how to write” books out there, and they are helpful, but there is no writer or creative that doesn’t have community.
In any case, this is where I’m at.
Things I have done to hone my idea:
- Talk to anyone who’ll listen
- Bullet point, journal in a notepad
- Create a document called “junk pages” where I write all sorts of bullshit
- Read solo shows by other people
- Read around the subject
- Watch documentaries
- Take an online workshop at Theatre 503 with writer Brad Birch
- Soundboarded ideas with ChatGPT (don’t come at me — my show is about AI and we’ll go into this another time)
Game Plan
My take on it: I gave myself an immovable deadline and I work well under pressure.
Luckily, I had already produced a show that I took to Edinburgh in 2015, so I knew what needed to be done.
I had also already made a document for the application, which gave me a game plan.
Applications can be annoying and long-winded, but they are also useful because they are an opportunity to think about your audience.
What are you selling? What do you want the outcome to be? How are you interesting?
Crashing Back Down to Earth
When they accepted my application, on the day of the deadline, I had two hours to accept their terms.
I didn’t see the email.
The next day they withdrew the offer, and I crashed back down to reality.
Oh well, it wasn’t meant to be.
I sent a semi-polite email saying that I was disappointed but understood and would leap at the opportunity if something else came up.
Two hours later, it did.
Someone had cancelled — would I like a slightly bigger venue with the same terms? Yes.
Then I waited, and waited for them to tell me what to do… but they were obviously so busy that they ended up sending an email on Friday at 4pm stating that I had to get everything to them by 5:30pm.
Fuck. Again.
I didn’t see it til 8pm. And everyone was out of the office.
A Banana and a Vision
I only had this AI-generated mock-up of the poster and I really, really wanted a photo.
So I held my nerve and called my talented friend Alda Valentína Rós, who agreed to do an impromptu photo shoot for my poster.
I got to her studio with a huge bag of props that I had bought from Tiger on the way. A plastic tiara, a wand, a couple of easter chicks, a box of origami paper, two sets of PJs, a nightgown, a lot of eyeliner and three meters of black tulle that I planned to use as a mourning shroud. For an hour’s photo shoot. Let’s just say I had to kill a lot of darlings. Explode them all at once. Boom boom boom. Make room.
Alda indulged my every idea and I tried to speed up the process by showing her the prototype poster – “why the banana?” Alda asked a legitimate question. “I was worried it wouldn’t read funny and everyone knows bananas are funny.” Sometimes you say things out loud and you realise how ridiculous it sounds but you can’t quite let go… just incase there’s something in it. I reasoned that it might be a talking point.
It wasn’t the easiest premise I could have asked for — and in retrospect maybe I should have just had a zany picture of my face.
We live and learn.
Nevertheless, Alda is a consummate pro and went along with my fantasy.
And I approached it like I do all collaborative work: well prepared, but ready to be flexible and make quick decisions.
After a good half an hour of me holding a banana in one hand, the phone with a small green light in the other, and draping a nightgown over the plastic tiara on my head, we lost the banana and the nightgown. Boom boom banana.
Alda went home and worked the images for me, elongating my pinky in Photoshop to give a nod to AI — which I didn’t notice until three days later and loved! Honestly even if I hadn’t I’ve come to understand that controlling every element of a project is toxic. Collaboration requires you to trust other artists’ instincts as well as your own.
That was all on a Sunday.
At this point I already feel like I’ve won the friend lottery and am aware that I am super lucky to have such loving people around me who are prepared to take the leap into the unknown and go with the rapid crazy flow that is like a burst pipe leaking bananas from my brain.
My Prototype Made with ChatGPT
Photo by Alda Valentína Rós
My Fate
Monday morning came around and I called seven times before I got through to The Pleasance office.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself how crazy busy they must be.
“Hi, I’m Alfrun, I know you’re crazy busy but I was just wondering — is my application still going through? I didn’t want to make the payment in case I lost my spot again.”
“Hi Alfrun, yes, the Fringe are waiting for it.”
YES! Thank fuck I don’t have to tell my mum she has wasted her money booking flights to Edinburgh in August.
Relief. Luck. Blind faith.
This has to work.
Standby…
Standby for the next installment of How (Not) To Produce and Write a Play, Part 2: Recycling Ideas, AI and Themes.
Thanks for reading my first long-form post! Let me know what else you want to know by leaving a comment.
Substack: https://alfiewrites.substack.com
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Thank you!
Alfrun Rose 
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