This month I have, again, been doing quite a lot of research on the Scarborough Brontë connection. I’m reading book after book after book about Anne Brontë. This is mainly because in March my play, To Be Undone, about Anne Brontë’s last days in Scarborough, is going to be performed as a script in hand reading at the University of Huddersfield as part of their Anne Brontë 200th birthday celebrations. I’m going to be talking about Anne and her death at the event and I’m a little worried that some wonderfully enthusiastic Brontë enthusiast is going to leap to their feet and ask me an obscure and difficult question about Anne. For nonwriters, this is a similar sort of worry to those anxiety dreams in which you turn up naked for an exam, or you realise just before your piano recital that your fingers are actually bananas.
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