Picture the scene. I’ve just wrapped a brutal 70-hour rehearsal week for Lightning Boy. I’m finally heading home for a grand total of twelve hours – to unpack one suitcase, repack another, and get me and my seven-year-old ready to go abroad for four nights to Efteling, the most incredible theme park in Holland, for his birthday weekend.

The job was done. I’d clocked off.

And then the phone rang.

Could I turn around four high-level creative concepts for Cirque du Soleil – in four days?

I mean… of course the answer is yes, right?

Because this is the job. And weirdly, it didn’t feel like a crisis. Not because I wasn’t tired (I was), or because I had time (I didn’t), but because I have a process; one that works under pressure, in motion, and when the rest of life is still happening around me.

A system for finding the heart of a show

Over the last few months, I’ve been spending a lot of time with my brilliant colleagues at Balich Wonder Studio, Disney and Cirque du Soleil developing and leading large scale creative work – moving between pitches, concept development, original and IP projects and fast-turnaround dramaturgical world-building again and again across multiple formats.

What that’s given me as well as confidence, is rhythm – the more I’ve done it, the more the muscle has strengthened, to the point where now, I know how to aim straight for the target.

My friend Stewart has the perfect analogy. He says it’s like What3Words.

You know the app? It breaks the entire world down into 3-metre squares and gives each one a unique combination of three random words. Say: period. Silks. film. That’s the Public Theatre in New York. Or thigh. Snake. rungs – Supertree Grove in Singapore. The point is: three words, and you’re exactly where you need to be.

That’s how I approach this kind of creative development. Find the perfect combination of three words to locate the specific emotional, sensory, theatrical experience. Except unlike the app, I’m not matching three words to a location – I’m using them to create one. It’s less GPS, more dramatic cartography: connecting emotion, rhythm and format, audience feeling, style, and arc until the work sings!

Recent Coordinates

Here are some I’ve made already (and when they open I’ll post the ACTUAL WhatThreeWords locations – just in case you want to visit..!)

Waterpark – NightTime – Neon

Partytime – Digital – Glitchcore

Pirates – Stunts – Circus

Market – Maritime – Winter

Cabaret – Resort – Premium

I went to Vegas recently and had a go at W3W-sing the shows I saw there.. a few of those, just for fun (let me know what you think!)

O – Fluid Human Dreamscape

Absinthe – Audacious Intimate Variety

The Party – Immersive Wild Cabaret

Hope Road – Reggae Music-Video Legacy

Ka – Epic Battle Mythology

Awakening – Visual Fantasy Spectacle

Atomic Saloon – Naughty Western Mayhem

So what’s the process?

I start with one poetic, punchy line that captures the world we are building. It doesn’t go into plot or format but locates the atmosphere and the pulse. It’s something that would make me read on, if it was the first line of a novel:

“An evening stitched together from the scraps of collapse.”

“It smells of burnt sugar, gin, and second chances.”

“A mermaid walks into a bar. The rest is cabaret.”

Even if it doesn’t end up in the pitch, it tells me what world we might be building – and how the audience should feel when they enter it.

That leads me to the emotional engine.

Where’s the heart? What shifts? Even the biggest spectacle needs an emotional core that moves.

From there, I layer in sensory logic, dramaturgical texture, maybe a central figure (not always a person), and the shape of the journey – how it starts, what it builds towards, how it lands.

I always map the show into 3 – 5 defined beats. Even if I don’t write them all down, I feel the pacing to understand the payoff.

Last step – title it, pitch it, make it sing. This is where clarity counts – and do does the ability to edit – get it onto ONE PAGE, MAXIMUM. I try to think of it as an invitation rather than a show bible – something to make the reader want to step in and help build it.

And then – I iterate.

Even with four concepts in four days, I make time to reread, reshape, question.

A good idea rarely lands fully formed (unfortunately!) – but reveals itself over time. I test the image under pressure, shift the centre of gravity. I cut clever lines that don’t serve the pitch. I make sure what I thought I was saying is actually what’s on the page. I practice the one line version on whoever is nearby and catch the reaction.

It’s rigorous, disciplined – and repeatable.

Making Worlds in Motion

So yes – I boarded the Eurotunnel to Holland with my son, my parents, my laptop, and a head full of circus.

I wrote in my notes app on trains. In hotel lobbies. While we queued for rides. And honestly? That theme park – bustling, beautiful, full of story and illusion – wasn’t a distraction, it was fuel. When your job is to imagine new worlds, being in one is a very good place to start!

I cracked the fourth concept just before the park closed on the final night. We watched the fountain show shimmer across the lake, lights dancing through the water mist.

Then I went home, opened the laptop and wrote it up. A champagne fountain featured in that one!

A good reminder: imagination doesn’t run on silence and stillness, staring at empty pages.

Sometimes, it runs best on motion, music and life. Another classic combination of three words right there – which, come to think of it, describes Efteling perfectly!