“it’s a Monday, it’s so mundane” – 15/02/16

Alaskan brown bear stands ceiling high at the University of Alaska’s museum | National Geographic | June 1956


I haven’t written on here for nearly a month, which is NOT cool. How to persuade myself to post more? Become a vlogger? I would, if I could come to terms with my wonky tooth (jussssst joking. Not joking about having a wonky tooth – I have a wonky tooth – but I’m oke with that. I just hate vloggers. Sorry Zoella). Post a daily pic of my #OOTD? I would, if my #OOTD wasn’t a week-old, unwashed jumper dress with leggings, on all the days. So what you get instead is infrequent old twaddle. Enjoy!

I presume that somebody was listening when I prayed to not be bored ever again that one time. It was probably a day in the summer holidays when I was eight or nine, kicking around a quarry bored out of my mind – praying for something, ANYTHING to happen – when I sealed my burnout fate forevermore.

I’m so busy, and I haven’t been able to post on here. But I’ve had some really excellent, exciting news in the past seven days that make all the hard sloggin’ worth it. Kinda. Trying to be in so many places at once (both mentally and geographically at times) can make everything feel so fragmented and judder so slowly that everything almost comes to a halt. I’ve tried to push past the biggest to-do list of my life this last fortnight, and everything is – terrifyingly – coming up Milhouse. Trying not to allow cynicism to nudge its way in and just be proud for the work I’ve achieved over the past few months. Happy snaps for me, or whatever.

I’ve also written a gazillion and one draft blog posts in the past couple of months that have not passed draft stage. My mind has not been in any one place. My writing at the moment seems to go off on so many tangents and thoughts that  makes me sound irrational, hormonal, and very (soon-to-be-no-longer) teenage, whereas I am in fact a very cool, calm and collected serious woman. Might change my Twitter bio to that, as some kind of self-deluded joke to myself. Tara Lepore, Cool, Calm, Collected, Serious Woman.

I get pissed at myself sometimes that I don’t write on here as much as I’d like to, but then I quickly stop caring. Sometimes the internet, with its billion eyes and sneering opinions, feels like something I don’t want to share anything with. It’s too vast; noone cares.

I still keep my journal and am writing every day, more or less, for ‘pleasure’. What a word-stain, though. ‘Do you write for pleasure?’ Do you breathe for pleasure, PUNK?

The more I force myself to write for pleasure, the more I end up wanting to paint, or go to the gym, or watch every episode of Grace and Frankie. Forcing yourself to do something ‘for pleasure’, or thinking that if I you do it, you’ll feel better as a result – is a bit like eating an entire tub of ice cream when you’ve been throwing up all day. Sometimes you don’t want to do something for a reason.

I’d tried to convince myself to post everything I write, whether it’s ‘done’ or not, with the argument that I shouldn’t be ashamed of churning out shitty writing – and tag it #formative #writing – no matter how bad it is – in the hope to be seen as a more prolific writer who can prove that they’re constantly writing, rather than scrolling through Twitter or watching every episode of Grace and Frankie.

We’re encouraged to share everything we have to share on the internet, but I’m no longer going to beat myself up for not writing on here for sometimes weeks at a time. I am writing anyway. Some of the things I’m working on at the moment, alongside my day job of editing a magazine for 3,000 coach drivers every month (not a joke), include:

  1. I’m working on a longer version of a short play I wrote last year (with some exciting plans to maybe do something MORE with it! With a proper company! MORE to FOLLOW! MORE SOON (guhhh) !!!) Woohoo! MORE MORE MORE!
  2. I’m thinking about writing a 10-minute piece for the radio. Thinking about writing is basically the same thing as writing. Am listening to lots of radio drama to try and get the ol’ brain cogs working, and delightfully surprised at some of the gems out there (particularly the huge archive of Steptoe and Son radio adaptations – such as this episode where Harold joins the local am-dram society and worries about his inexperience/says loads of things about class divides re theatre. There’s too many quote-worthy things in it. If you’re curious, have a listen.)
  3. Seriously really want to produce another zine this year, following this tweet from Kanye West. Pronounced Zeen short for magazine.  A lot of people pronounce it wrong. I’d love it to be on paper, like this one was – but I’m mad into the idea of getting some contributors on board too. I will let this bounce around in my brain for a while I think. Perhaps it’s something for the autumn.

I’m trying to be a little more realistic with what I can achieve with the time that I’ve got. I’m too quick to get involved with every SINGLE thing that excites me the slightest bit. I found myself looking at a job as a Trainee Camera Assistant on BBC’s Eastenders the other day, like: “Ooooh, better brush up and adapt my CV!”

It’s like, yo, girl – you can be excited that something like Eastenders is a thing that exists, but you don’t HAVE TO BE INVOLVED WITH IT TO APPRECIATE IT AS A CULTURAL PHENOMENA! Let someone else do it man, you’re too busy!

In other news, I was in Manchester for a few days last week and had a lovely ol’ time. I had a few pints, bought some CDs, went to the Museum of Science and Industry and slept a lot. I love the North of England; it has my heart.

I bought Courtney Barnett’s first double-EP-turned LP, A Sea of Split Peas, which has lyrics like “The paramedic thinks I’m clever cause I play guitar/I think she’s clever cause she stops people dying” on Avant Gardner. I also bought Station to Station, cause I didn’t have it previously, and can now hop around my room pretending to be the Thin White Duke at all times.

Until then,

T.A.L x

Getting angsty about things out of my control, again, and a quick catch up & hi & hello!


I’m in this horrendous mood lately where I am always, always wanting to be writing (most usually) or painting, or scrapbooking or scrolling through the internet aimlessly looking at things that I will not remember tomorrow (ha ha, not that one) – there lies a constant urge to be churning out all this stuff- but where do I begin?

The thing is, it’s not getting me down, I am feeling instead optimistic about the realm of possibility, of things I could do with my time if only I put my mind to it. I went to a really interesting workshop last Monday about playwrighting, and it did really open my eyes up to the kind of things you can do as long as you can dedicate enough time and energy into it, without checking your phone every 20 minutes thus interrupting the creative, natural flow of whatever you’re making.

What I find most aggravating about all forms of art, is how much of it is really art? I’m not saying that this blog is by any way, any form of art, nor am I sneering down on other, enthusiastic young people currently questioning and creating their own stuff- obviously I 100% support exploration and funding towards anything that makes people stop and think.

I only ask this question because I personally struggle myself , reacting to the sorts of things on our TV’s, in our magazines, and on the internet – with the amount of content being produced- so vast and constant, that I often wonder if there’s much point of me writing a scene between a group of friends complaining about their lives, as so much of this has been done before.

I have problems with the internet. Obviously, it is an AMAZING resource for so much, and we can learn pretty much everything if we wanted to. Thanks to the internet, we produce more information in 2 days than our ancestors would have ever known or something. ( ! ) Is that awesome or really fucking terrifying?! I am so torn. Anyway, I recently saw an art exhibition that was essentially screenshots of someone’s Instagram feed blown up in size, printed onto canvases and shown in a gallery? Am I being really narrow minded? Am I allowed to cry yet?

It is not that I don’t feel passionate enough about writing, it’s just that I tend to have a fairly cynical angle towards these things. If I didn’t have the time to sit down and type up my thoughts in a vaguely cohesive manner, I think I’d be asking myself the question, “Where the fuck do I begin?”

I think I know the answer, which is, again, really frustrating. You just f***** do the thing. You pick up the pen. And work and work and work, get people to read it, edit, work, edit, work and FINISH. Don’t rush it, but finish it.

I am at the stage currently where I am endlessly trawling the internet and eavesdropping on people’s conversations and anecdotes for a starting point. You could call it research. Inspiration is everywhere, obviously, that’s what life has to give us. I am currently living amongst physical mood boards and mood boards in my brain and unread books and blank notebooks in the hope that I find something that will resonate very strongly, and hopefully, combined with my tools I already own and with a shitload of resilience, I believe in the fact that I could create something of worth and value, something to be proud of, if I worked hard enough at it.


Hello! Well, that felt theraputic. Anyway! This evening I begin a new job at my local theatre, which should be fun and I’m officially working 2 part time jobs so as long as I can train myself to avoid mini-breaks with best friends to Paris (LOL I can’t) then I should be raking in those coins.

Also, have an audition Thursday for a Saturday course to hone my audition techniques. Ironically having an audition to get into an audition class. Looking forward to it, feeling much more prepared than I have previously for similar things. Still though *head in hands*. It’s easy to do at home but I have to learn to act the same when under intense pressure. All in preparation and self-belief. People do it, though.

Also, going to London tomorrow to see First Aid Kit with a matey. So excited. Check out how perfect this video is.

SPOILER ALERT: There are NO spoilers, and that’s why I like it so much.