in the wake of certain psychic events, have spent some quality time with myself, drilling to roots and getting myself together (trying to get myself together). also: writing faux-porn for fake orgasms (more about which when it ceases to repulse even me from me quite so much). i swear, last night, the early hours in this chair, too scared to sleep, heart fluttering as i typed a long stream of evil. once again the blank page revenges itself on me.
more positively: we’ve been offered what would be an extremely attractive proposition by a completely enviably desirable venue. whether or not we take up the extra burden – for something that could be a poisoned chalice – is still under debate. i dunno. would you go to a midweek pretensionfest called ‘hearts&skulls’?
the other side of my reconnection with the old rails grown almost over is in putting together an intro to my four unperformed plays and counting, for immediate distribution to theatres in the BN area, and, perhaps, agents. i can see no good reason for not, it shouldn’t take long, have already done the hardest part (hatching the eggs, natch). my four monologues masquerading as a single short story is still occupying my time in much the same way as a sketchbook might. i think this might be the healthiest way of approaching it. there’s another mid-term project, too. something i need to talk to certain people about. all this geared toward turning to at least facing the right direction, before i submit the big play.
last night i had a dream i was at some monolithic glass cube of a theatre, talking to the technical crew, unable to conceal for long that the set they were unloading was for my first production. i don’t believe in omens, but if focus returns, i’m enough of an optimist to think what follows can only be good.