I wrote my first play when I was 16, starting putting them on about 19, and somehow managed to start making a living from it at 24. Brilliant Adventures is my first ‘major’ production, or however you want to say it.

This means that every now and then I look up and see six actors, a director, an assistant director, a stage manager, and, depending what day it is, another three or four people milling about, and wonder how on earth I got to this point from when I first wrote the play, a process that involved me sitting on my own in the middle of the night, often only in my pants, trying to wrestle the idea out of my head and onto the page.

I finished the first draft of Adventures in September 2010. It’s a bit of an odd play, a mix of social drama and science fiction, and for some reason it feels like a Western as well. It’s set in a town 20 minutes down the road from where I grew up, so feels hugely personal, and when I finished it it felt like the closest I’d gotten at that point to what I want theatre to be – an experience made essential and exciting by the ‘liveness’ of it. I want to make sure anyone coming to see the play doesn’t feel like they could’ve just watched the same story on telly.

Anyway.

Once I’d finished it, I sent it out, and it was then promptly rejected by a whole host of wonderful theatres. Everyone seemed to like it, and everyone wanted to meet up and talk about it, and they said all kinds of lovely things and sometimes even bought me a lunch. But no one seemed to quite fancy doing it. Eventually, it was awarded a Bruntwood prize in 2011, which was a massive honour, and an incredible stroke of luck and good timing, as I was totally skint at the time. Looking at some of the writers who’ve won it in the past (Duncan Macmillan, Andrew Sheridan), it was a real joy for me to be a part of that family, and my emails suddenly started getting replied to a bit quicker. But even before that, the play had become my ‘calling-card script’ which means it was sent all over the place and ended up getting my foot in the door for various other bits and bobs.

One of the biggest things it got me was an attachment at the Royal Court, where I was given a little room and a wage, and set about writing a fairly terrible play. Hats off to the Court, they didn’t banish me, and instead invited me to be part of their ‘Supergroup’ of writers, and programmed Brilliant Adventures to be part of the Young Writers Festival in early 2012, as a rehearsed reading.

The reading was directed by Caroline Steinbeis, who would end up directing the full production because she is incredibly brilliant and ‘got’ the play immediately. It was great to be able to carry the same relationship with the director from the reading over to the full production, having become friends in the process. This means we now have a highly effective shorthand where I’ll only have to kick over about two tables for her to know I’m not happy with something.

Now we’re just starting week four of rehearsals for the show, and it seems like a long time ago I was sat in my undercrackers at one in the morning wondering if a comma was misplaced or not.

I feel immensely lucky to be in this position, staging a strange play with a strange title in two major theatres in two cities I love. I feel hugely attached to this script not just for its content, but because it’s been a companion for three years, taking me to all kinds of places and introducing me to all kinds of brilliant people who are now friends and colleagues. It opened doors to relationships with buildings like the Royal Court, where I’m fortunate to be working again this summer as part of their ‘Open Court’ summer rep season.

I hope the audiences respond to it – when you spend so long having meetings and talking about a play in an academic way, it can be very easy to forget that the ultimate aim is to put on a show for a group of people who’ve paid for a ticket, given up their evening, and are really hoping it’s not shit.

I hope they like it.

Brilliant Adventures runs in The Studio at Manchester’s Royal Exchange Theatre from Wednesday 8 May to Saturday 25 May. It then transfers to Live Theatre, Newcastle from Thursday 30 May to Saturday 15 June.

This morning, the Royal Court Theatre announced Open Court, its summer festival (10 June – 20 July) of plays, ideas and events chosen and suggested by a group of over 140 writers.

As well as being the first project of its kind for the Royal Court, it is also the first programme to be led by the theatre’s newly-appointed Artistic Director Vicky Featherstone, who took over from Dominic Cooke earlier this month and whose first full season of plays starts in September 2013. Featherstone began this morning’s press briefing with a few words about her artistic vision, not just – as she was keen to stress – for the landmark building on Sloane Square, but for the community of writers that makes the Royal Court what it is. She said: “the new vision for the Royal Court is that the writers are going to lead the way – so nothing ‘s changing.”

But if the principles are long-standing, Featherstone – with her self-professed dislike of routine – will be doing all she can to keep them fresh. As her vision for Open Court unfurled, the sheer scale of the project became apparent; half as much would have been impressive. It includes Caryl Churchill’s suggestion of a weekly rep of six new plays in the Jerwood Theatre Downstairs in six weeks, with one company; Surprise Theatre (a hugely exciting sounding project about which not much could be said!) in the Jerwood Theatre Upstairs; and Playwright @ Your Table – a suggestion from the Royal Court Writers Tutor Leo Butler which will see playwrights such as Moira Buffini, Caryl Churchill, Simon Stephens, Roy Williams and many more, read their own plays aloud, to small audiences of five or six people in secret locations around the building.

That there were so many writers gathered at this morning’s press briefing is a testimony to Featherstone’s commitment to placing writers at the heart of the theatre’s programming. David Edridge, whose career has so far spanned three artistic directorships at the Royal Court, spoke about writers growing most when they get “outside the garret and think of theatre in a holistic way”, for instance by painting the set or making the tea. This collaborative spirit is what Open Court is all about.

Next up was Anthony Neilson, who will be working with six writers over the festival to explore collaboration through his unique devising style. He spoke elegantly about what he sees as the need for theatre to adapt: “The world is changing and I don’t think that theatre is changing fast enough to keep up with it […] It seems to me that new writers are being rewarded for writing like old writers.”

Other projects include a theatrical treasure hunt with headphones, a soap opera written by Royal Court playwrights (to be  performed in nightly five-minute episodes at the Bussey Building in Peckham) and The Big Idea – Friday night events exploring the big themes of sex, age and death through plays and talks. There’ll also be a series of events and verbatim reports, called The Big Idea: PIIGS, which will focus on those countries in the EU hit hardest by austerity (Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece and Spain). Plus, a writers’ group for the over 80s and a week of plays, workshops and special events curated by young playwrights aged 8-11.

As she hands over the keys of the Royal Court to its writers for this six-week festival, Featherstone explains that she hopes the events will be taken “in the spirit in which they are meant, which is playful, serious, open, honest and ambitious.”

There’s certainly no questioning the ambitiousness of Open Court. “It’s a huge unknown,” says Featherstone, “That’s why I’m calling it a summer fling.”

A narrative is any account that presents connected events, usually with a certain structure. When we read/hear/tell stories there’s almost always a beginning, a climax and an ending. Even if these are not clear, our brain will try to find them in order to make sense of the story.

Narrative opens with a video sequence showing a cave painting. It depicts a dying warrior in a fight with a bison. This could mean anything. It doesn’t tell us who the man is, why he’s fighting the bison, what has happened before or how the scene is going to end. Still our brains try to make sense of it – we interpret the picture in order to make sense of the story in our heads.

Director/writer Anthony Neilson deliberately experiments with narratives and the ways of telling a story in his new play for the Royal Court. It messes with its audience’s head with a myriad of short scenes that are only related in little details and with no obvious order. It’s all messy and against the proper style of story-telling. We are introduced to characters who appear and re-appear whenever they chose, and as random video clips and sound effects interrupt the action your brain is furiously trying to put everything into order, without success.

Who sent Oliver Rix the picture of an anus? Why is Zawe Ashton having panic attacks? And why are Christine Entwisle and Imogen Doel wearing massive horns? It’s all a part of Neilson’s plan to question the way we perceive stories and how bending the structure can make you focus on just the words – for even though it’s a mad, mad play there are heartfelt moments of truth, friendship, love and jealousy.

As a play it’s a bit too messy for me – I find comfort in the old-fashioned beginning-climax-end-structure – but Neilson’s incredible cast ensures you to have a great night with lots of laughs, even though you’ve lost track of who’s who and what is happening. The whole cast is fantastic, but Fresh Meat’s Zawe Ashton particularly shines with honesty, emotional truth and a comic talent that deserves more praise than this review. She is a versatile actress who no doubt will get very far.

Garance Marneur’s set design is cold and modern but fits the purpose of the play very well, and the pieces of glass on the floor that serve puddles of fresh water are beautiful to look at. Nick Powell’s sound effects are hilarious and Susan Kulkarni’s costume idea with the cast all wearing a white t-shirt with their childhood photo on it gets the brain working again as we keep asking ourselves why we are allowed a glimpse of the actors’ real lives – and of course we don’t get an answer.

In this way Neilson’s play works brilliantly. We might not get an answer to our questions and most of the action doesn’t make sense, but the play is sure to haunt you long after the show has finished. It’s like solving a very hard puzzle – how annoying is it when you can’t make the pieces fit? So even if it doesn’t make sense, go see Narrative at the Royal Court. It’s a great exercise for your brain.

Narrative is at the Royal Court until 4 May. For for information and tickets visit the Royal Court’s website.

The Queen’s Theatre was my first experience of the stage, regularly accompanying my family to the various pantomimes and children’s shows with a great deal of excitement each time I stepped through its doors. As a local landmark, it is incredibly dear to me and this is why in recent years I have felt increasingly conflicted about its artistic choices.

Built in a place of great cultural heritage and spawning a huge number of home-grown talents such as David Eldridge, it remains in the difficult position of straddling both choices that convey its artistic strength and, simultaneously, pull in the loyal crowds that keep it alive. And so while Eldridge’s fantastic In Basildon, a play that is essentially about the audience at the Queen’s, plays at the Royal Court in West London, the Queen’s must showcase crowd-pleasing productions in which its audience see what they want to see and not always what they, perhaps, should in order for this great theatre to survive.

They’re Playing Our Song immediately highlighted this dilemma. A musical comedy set in the 1970s, it tells the tale of a composer and a lyricist on the bumpy road to true love, and is based on the real life relationship of composer Marvin Hamlisch and lyricist Carole Bayer Sager. With the garish lights and a live band in the corner, the set was akin to be that of a cheesy 1970s chat show, the perfect example of the way in which the Queen’s relies on the past to target its elder audience. The sight of it was enough; I wanted to hate it.

And yet what I learned as I looked around the packed auditorium is that not only are these kind of productions vital to the Queen’s survival, they are crafted with such skill that it is incredibly hard not to warm to them. Sarah Mahony and Dan de Cruz as the loved-up couple are utterly charming, completely capturing the bouncing energy of their witty exchanges and conveying a fantastic chemistry. They are ably supported by Greg Lusk and Barbara Hockaday performing the live musical accompaniment – it is a testament to all the performers that they carry the pace with ease despite their small numbers.

I arrived feeling conflicted about the upcoming performance but left feeling reassured that the Queen’s can hit the balance between audience numbers and integrity. With the help of a Neil Simon script, with a sharp wit that refuses to allow it to dissolve into sickly sweet fluff, They’re Playing Our Song feels like a girly night in and its quality ensures that there is no aftertaste of guilt to its simple pleasures.

They’re Playing Our Song is playing at the Queen’s Theatre until the 30 March 2013. For more information and tickets, please see the Queen’s Theatre’s website. Photo by Nobby Clark.