My Next Project

The title of my new play is "Are You Goth Enough to be Haunted, Fall in Love With the Wrong Guy, Get Revenge, and Burn Down the Mall?" 

And I'm in love with it. 

I've been struggling to write. And not just a little bit. Like...a lot. And I know during the whole pandemic everyone was putting out very kind vibes about how you don't have to create during this time. You don't have to make new things. And I agree...you don't have to. But the thing is...I haven't written anything in a much longer time than that. I have my reasons. Here are a few.

My desk is in the wrong part of the room. I'm busy with so many other parts of my life and there is no time. My brain is dead when I come home from work. I'm not inspired by any of the things I am reading or seeing. My past creative partners broke my heart and my spirit. My current creative partners are fulfilling all my creative needs. I want to learn to write a new genre. I need to learn how to write in a new genre. I am writing for my job. I was fired from the job I had where I was writing. I don't have time. I have to much time. I don't know how to structure my life. My life is too structured. I'm not hungry enough. I'm hungry all the time. My stomach hurts. My hair is turning grey. My eyes aren't used to glasses. I have an iron deficiency. I have to dust. I have to swim. I have to walk. I have to dream. I have to stop dreaming. I need to get high. I need to stop getting high. I need a new job. I need to do better at this job. I need my enemies to feel my wrath. I need to crawl into a hole in the ground. I need to wash my face. I need to wash my face with better soap. I need to stop washing my face. I need a good long cry. I need to stop crying. I miss my cat. I love my fish. I miss my fish. I never should have gotten a fish. I should get more fish. I need to read this specific book. I need to lock myself in a void where there is nothing to read. The dishes are dirty. The dishes are clean. I need a new tattoo. My tattoo hurts. I have to travel. I can't write while I travel. I have to sleep. I have to wake up early. I have to stay up late. I need to go to sleep early. My heart is broken. I only think about one thing. My heart is healing. I think about too many things. I am not myself. I'm becoming myself. I'm more myself than I've ever been. I'm lost. I'm so lost. I'm more lost than I've ever been. I don't know how to write when I'm lost. I only know who I am when I'm writing and I can't write so I'm lost. I'm lost. I'm lost. I'm lost.

So...you know...things are going really really great.

I refuse to update any reader who might be reading this on all the things that have happened. If you can imagine what anyone has gone through during the last few years then maybe I've gone through that. Maybe not.

Whatever.

All you need to know is...I've written something. I wrote something. I am writing something.

I've written and turned in the first draft of a new play and my body has just utterly sighed. 

Whatever is broken isn't fixed, but maybe it's been washed and set aside to dry and then will be prepped for glue. A bunch of the pieces have been lost and the plan is to fill in with a mosaic of a kind. One step at a time my friends.