Just needed to write.
Deserted at Sea might be the title of my next play. Luckily, I have Scrivener to help me sort out all of these things associated with this story I’ve had for a very long time, maybe since October. Again luckily, I have a deadline to meet to at least get one scene done to share with my Incubator group.
I’ve been reading a book lately called Outrageous Fortune. It’s about the state of the New American Play. Pretty good in that it goes through the process and thoughts of getting a play actually produced. Or more times than not, not produced. I’m about 66% through and for the most part I’m learning a great deal of what makes playwrights do what they do and not get paid for it. It made me think a lot, let me emphasize A LOT, about just how much can I commit to having a life as a writer. I have a good job that pays the bills, which is a necessity at my age, and when I look at the statistics on how much a playwright can earn – well, it’s like HALF of how much I earn now. I straddled that fence, but this decision, if I can even call it that, isn’t one. I wake thinking about a story. I dream and hope that the play will write itself in my sleep.
But I know that the only way to get this done is by work. It’s real work! It’s not going to write itself.
Truthfully, after I finished writing and producing Esperanza Means Hope, I’ve been tapped out. The entire writing process of writing that play, though fulfilled me in every way, had made me tired… and lazy. Facebook. Twitter. A laptop. All of these things are crappy excuses to not making this story happen. But, as I mentioned earlier, I’m getting back on the writing train and started to jot down my notes and do research. I have my theme and following the steps I laid down in writing EMH, I’m tackling this new play.
I’m a writer. I don’t think I even have an option. And that’s fine by me.