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Kavyasiddhi Mulvey

Kavyasiddhi Mulvey

 

Profile

Born in Salford, I studied English, then worked & signed on as an actor, until I discovered you could be paid to read scripts. I started to edit and stage new plays in London and was Senior Reader at the National Theatre until I returned to run North West Playwrights .

I started to write and came second in Manchester Poetry Festival's 2001 poetry-drama competition: that idea became my first radio play. What I like about writing is that everything can be used. I love writing that reconciles me to the ridiculous, painful, tiny details of being human.

I write what I feel and what I feel is made up of what I see and hear, so Manchester & Salford are in my rhythm and language, little flecks of attitude from the pavements to the pigeons, breathing through my work.

I'm very proud of what was built and thought and made in Manchester; like many cities of the industrial revolution, it keeps building and creating. I love that life in the city & try to express it in two plays, Cross My Heart and Turner's Field .

 

Creative Work

DISTURBED BY IMPENDING FATHERHOOD, DAN ESCAPES TO HIS CHILDHOOD BEACH. HE MEETS A BOY & HIS DOG; THEY ARE UNUSUALLY FAMILIAR...  

THE BEACH, LATER THAT DAY, DAN HAS JUST RECEIVED A TEXT FROM HIS GIRLFRIEND

DANNY Why isn't she here?

DAN She's at work

DANNY Why don't you go away together?

DAN It's complicated

DANNY Grownups always say that when they don't want to tell you something.

PAUSE

DAN I did something, we did something, that made something happen.

And now, she wants me to do something else.

But I'm not sure.

DANNY It's a bit mean, making you do something you don't want to do

DAN What if it's good for me, like brushing my teeth?

DANNY She wants you to brush your teeth?

DAN It's more… we had an accident and she's in more trouble than me. But we both did it.

DANNY Was it like playing football and it accidentally goes through a window and one of you kicked it but one of you was in goal, so it's both your fault?

DAN Pretty much, yes.

DANNY Have you got to pay for a new window?

DAN Oh yes.

DANNY Why don't you split it between you?

DAN She really wants a new window, and she says she'll pay for it on her own.

DANNY But you broke it together.

DAN Yes – and if I don't, she won't play football with me any more.

DANNY Is she any good?

DAN Yes.

DANNY Was she in goal?

DAN Yes

DAN INTERNAL MONOLOGUE

When she told me, I decided not to panic. I remembered O level maths and analysed the situation. I made a table – not a real one, just a chart – and wrote down; ‘money, responsibility, loss of freedom, end of life as I know it'.

When Claire saw it she went mad; said it proved I had no feelings and her and the baby'd be better off without me. That really hurt. I was livid by Bristol.

It takes time to get used to things. She's got all these hormones egging her on: I've only got me.

PAUSE

DANNY Is the window still broken?

DAN Yes. We've not told anyone

DANNY You should; you need to sweep up the glass, someone might cut themselves.

DAN Fair point.

DANNY My Dad once put a window in all by himself.

DAN He was good like that.

DANNY He got a book from the library.

DAN I better take you back.

DANNY Let's stay here

DAN Mum & Dad'll be worried

DANNY I stay out loads

DAN They worry loads

DANNY No they don't

DAN Come on

FX DAN WALKING OFF

DANNY Hey, can I have a go of your car?

DAN You can't drive! Your feet won't reach the pedals

DANNY I can steer: I'm really good on the dodgems

DAN Dad doesn't let you drive

DANNY You said I gave very good advice.

DAN You're nine years old

DANNY I haven't broken a window! And I don't think other people are me!

C'mon Sheba

FX DANNY AND SHEBA RUN OFF

DAN Danny!

DANNY And I bet you set your own bedtime

DAN DANNY!

 

LATER, ON THE WAY HOME DANNY SEES HIS DAD & GETS OUT OF THE CAR

DAN Danny ran to his Dad, delighted to see him.

I saw him throw his arms around him and cling to him like he was holding onto life itself.

I remembered the scratchy feel of his tweed jacket, his strong forearms that could fix cars, throw balls, open jars

Danny looked so small next to him; he was just a kid, not even half grown. I wondered if I would be taller than my Dad, but I didn't move in my seat.

It was a moment for the two of them. I'd said my goodbyes already.

He had shrunk with the illness, and I had grown, of course. He didn't want to be buried in his best - 'waste of a good suit' - but Mum didn't like the strange satin offered by the undertakers. Pyjamas, that he'd lived in for months, were the obvious choice, but a little informal, in the circumstances.

He was dressed in a jacket and tie with the collar pinned behind his neck, so you couldn't see how much weight he'd lost.

I kept his tweed jacket.

In the pockets were a handkerchief, an old ten pence and an excerpt from a dog's ear.

 

Reflection

Dan's girlfriend is pregnant. He's never owned so much as a goldfish: how can he look after a child? As he re-enters his childhood landscape, physical and emotional, he wonders, “can you find happiness where you last left it?” What he finds is himself – aged 9

This grew from my friend Steve's description of epic car journeys on British B roads and the death of my own father. I wanted to celebrate trying your best and not being cool, in the tradition of Britain, Dads and my friend.

 

Publications

Excerpt from a Dog's Ear - Radio 4, 2007
First of the Holidays - Wigan & Leigh Theatre Festival 2007
‘Passing Tides- Radio 4 2003
a superb two voice drama…tantamount to beautiful poetry' - Radio Times
I n the Library- Wise Monkey Theatre 2003

Poems in A Poem for Manchester & Peace Poems , Commonword 2003/4
Regular broadcast BBC Radio 2 Pause for Thought

 



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