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WRITING

Award-winning writer for stage and screen. Currently: Hampstead Theatre INSPIRE programme & alumni of Soho Theatre Writers' Lab

For Stage

This Little Earth 

Arcola Theatre, 2019

Long-listed for the Women's Prize for Playwriting 2021

In development supported by Arts Council England.

Wilding 

Long-listed for The Women's Prize for Playwriting 2020 & shortlisted for the 2019 Papatango Award

Unremembered

Hampstead Theatre, In development as part of INSPIRE Writers Programme 2022

For Screen

Embraceable You

Lockdown Lives Shorts, dir. Ben Caplan, 2020 

Winner, Best Isolation Short, LA Motion Picture Festival 2020

Love in Lockdown 

Kick It Down Productions, 2020

TV Pilots Unremembered and Office Bitch

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PRODUCING

I have nine years' experience as a creative producer, making innovative new work & consulting for the UK's leading theatres and production companies across live & digital formats.

Recent clients include: UK Antarctic Heritage Trust, Lewisham Borough of Culture 2022, Complicité Theatre Company.

I was Creative Development Associate at The Old Vic where I developed new work for the theatre, including: the One Voice monologue series, working closely with artists including Russell Brand, Maxine Peake, Lolita Chakrabarti and Adrian Lester; and the Voices Off talks programme.

Previously, I worked at Sonia Friedman Productions on over ten musicals and plays in under two years, including the development of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

 
 
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DRAMATURGY & SCRIPT READING

I'm also dramaturg and script-reader for theatre.


As well as four years' experience establishing and running The Old Vic's literary department, I've delivered dramaturgy and literary support to  The Donmar Warehouse, Stage EntertainmentChichester Festival Theatre, The RSC and The Bush.


Freelance projects include the Olivier-nominated The Phlebotomist by Ella Road (Hampstead Theatre) and, while at Sonia Friedman Productions, I supported the development of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

I offer a tailored service and competitive pricing to writers looking to develop their work. This could be a one-off read, or more sustained dramaturgical support. 

 

TESTIMONIALS

What They’re Saying

Jessie is absolutely brilliant. Incredibly supportive and insightful. I couldn't recommend working with her enough.

Charlie Fink

Jessie is a patient and supportive dramaturg, great at giving creative and pragmatic notes.

Matilda Ibini

Jessie is lovely and whip-smart. Her generous dramaturgy will help you fulfil your vision for even the most challenging play.

Tom Wright

 

CONTACT

If you have a project or just want to connect please get in touch!

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when they came to cut the trees down.

I. When they came to cut the trees down They brought dogs to keep us in line. II. We stood behind fences And watched the trees bleed Sawdust and sap. We heard The sound of metal Biting through bark And the inaudible screams Of a massacre. III. Afterwards. Vertical cities gone in a blink. Carcasses scattered No time to decay; Instead, earth cleared to make way For concrete and towers And boxes for people to live in. IV. Did the dogs know what a sin They were committing? Are th

Time to Stand and Stare

I made a friend today as I stood and stared by the riverside stock still, one meter tall, not half as wide, without a care he stood my heron friend, beside the stream: light dancing over leaves above we stood together; standing there I watched as he, without a care bent down his neck and caught a fish a glistening, red, wet shape: a dish fit for a King or Queen, thought I, enriched by regal dusk light, which began to fade into a velvet night: but then as wind brushed through

she leaves in the night.

She leaves in the night With a passport and an empty suitcase. She walks for hours: And as the dawn rises, the city grows to meet it, Stretching out before her Like an open book. Look: at the people: For whom today Is just a normal day - She hears Words she recognises In foreign tongues - Puts her ear to the ground And swears that she can hear the city’s heart beat A thrilling screech, The dull thud of metal on metal. She laughs as she thinks of the stranger She was yesterday

One Hundred Self Portraits

Rembrandt painted close to One hundred self-portraits In pencil and ink and oils and chalk - Brow etched with lines And glazed eyes That gaze into a world So far beyond their canvas. Was it for Saskia, Those lines were drawn? No-one’s sure Which portraits are yours - Married for love at twenty-two And dead by twenty-nine But not before you bore Four, and lost three babies - Noblewoman to a miller’s son, Later, he would sell your grave to pay his debts, And yet They named an a

Time

Another year old and not wise Wishing to grow younger with age as I watch time run past outside the window. Autumn overstayed its welcome And Winter wouldn’t budge Until suddenly Summer ambushed me Caught me off-guard: and dislodged me from myself. Time heals, only because it forgets An extraordinary thing - Filled with that much pain I’m surprised we get up in the morning And yet we do Again and again. Because: Time is an ocean, Time is a train Time is a dance, a marathon, a

Library

Do not think That you can read me - Curl up with me and bend My pages back To keep your place. That’s not your right to do - I am not bound and hard-backed My pages are not paper thin But they will rip: My spine will snap, My ink will run. Do not think That you can file me Alphabetise me Index me Or toss me away When you have finished. I am not built to entertain Or move you. I am not yours to read And throw away. #poetry

A Scattering

We scattered you Under the fig tree So we could feel your touch On the wind And bite into your fleshy fruit. Some of you we threw Into the lake where we spent last summer. I don’t know Which part of you it was - Your liver, your spine Or maybe your ears (my favourite bit of you) We scraped you Off our shoes where we left you at the end of the garden We wanted you close. They’ve gone now, the fanfare The house is quiet Like lead. Things rustle, and I think of the day I ran ten