This was supposed to be the recap (finally) of Oktoberfest post but somewhere along the way it changed. I’ve been having trouble writing (pretty documented in other whiny posts) as of late and recently it’s been combined with trouble sleeping. I determined that this lack of sleep would fuel a resurgence of writing, but a few things have happened instead. The first night I put this plan into motion instead of writing I ended up watching Voltron on youtube. The second night rolled around and more Voltron? Nope. This time I watched the Transformers animated movie from 1986, and when that ended I followed Kevin Smith’s 24 hour tweetathon.
*Full disclosure: both of those nights spent up but not writing were spent naked too. I’m sorry but I sleep naked and it would take way too much effort to continually try and put clothes back on.
Needless to say they weren’t very productive. Then today I see an ad for Pandemonium at Cleveland Public Theatre this Saturday night. That means a year ago I was had two short pieces done at Ingenuity Fest and then CPT’s Pandemonium. Professional productions what a playwright craves. This time last year I was sure this would be the moment. I’m not delusional enough to believe those two events would propel me to stardom, but I did believe it would give me the push I would need to write more effectively and submit submit submit. Momentum! Did it? Let’s go to a conversation that took place that night .
A fellow playwright and I waited in a long line in the back where the various artists were set to enter. When we reached the front of it the door guardian asked us for our names and the name of the piece. After telling them they searched the list, only to come up with nothing. They then spoke into their little head piece, as others grumbled. Eventually this conversation took place.
Door guardian: What was your name again?
Me: James Remick.
Door Guardian: I don’t see it here. What is the piece?
Me: We have our plays being done. We are the playwrights.
Door Guardian: So you aren’t artists?
Me: Well that’s debatable.
Eventually someone we knew passed by and let us in. That sums up how my year has gone writing wise. A lot has been accomplished and yet nothing really has. I lost an entire script—I won’t get into how now—too painful. I recreated the script from scraps of notes and somehow made I longer and I feel better. For the most part though in the year since nothing has really occurred. The momentum eventually faded away, and I know that is mostly my fault (read as my entire fault.) Somehow that play though finished on time was not submitted to Big Box like it was designed and now as I sit on the cusp of finishing another full length play I continue to ignore it. I’m not even sure where this post is going anymore (and I’ve a sneaking suspicion that it is simply to avoid working on the script). I did however probably because of this post from Linzi realize that I have a clear fear of failure. I have about 2 scenes to go and The Devil comes to Dinner will be done, but I’ve not worked on it for three weeks now. I think it is very likely because once it is finished it needs to be offered up to those who can reject it. I use to be the one other writers pointed to as the one to be like. I submitted everything anywhere I could with no fear. Now I can’t even bring myself to finish it. It’s been 3 weeks since I’ve worked on any script or poem. I can try and point to the stuff at work as the reason but right now I’m not sure I believe that is so true. And now I end this borefest because I don’t care how it happens I will write today.
I intend to stop being this (when it comes to writing):
and be more like this:
You might want to wish me luck.