i am in the process of trying to finish the first draft of one play and editing another play.
there are so many deadlines. so many things i'd like to submit to in the coming days and weeks. i've felt the pressure to finally get these plays done so i can actually submit things and actually try this game of playwriting.
one of the plays, the one i am editing, has been submitted to several opportunities now. mostly opportunities focused on new play development because i know the play needs work. i'm not sure it works as it is--in fact, i'm pretty sure it doesn't--and i feel as though i need help in getting it to where i could, should be.
today i decided to pick this one up and read through it, trying to see where the story starts derailing, so i can pick those scenes apart.
i got to page 40 and had to stop.
i can't read it.
or rather, i can read it. it is just that, as i read, there is a voice in my head that is saying "oh my god, this sucks. oh my god, this sucks. oh my god, i think i hate this. oh my god, you sent this out to people?"
i still feel queasy.
i know a lot of us writers, artists, creative-types, feel this way about our work. when i was more of an actor, watching any film of me was torture. who was that girl and what was that voice coming out of her face?
i'm not very polite to myself.
anyway, i know this is our thing sometimes. to hate our work. to be convinced we aren't talented. to wonder why we are chasing this dream. to look longingly at friends who seem to have actually figured out a way to be successful (but who we also know are freaking out the same or more than we are). i know so many of us feel this way and then work through it.
i know i just have to have some calming tea and ignore those voices.
but instead, i've been imagining what it would be like to give up, move someplace near a lake, and somehow make money by doing nothing <---to be fair though, this is a dream even when i like what i am writing.
or imagining what would happen if i just ate hummus and crackers on my couch until sundown.
or just procrastinating by writing a blog post and lamenting how easy it is to write imaging instead of imagining.
i should tell you that this blog post doesn't really have a point other than to express my frustration and anxiety and seeming hatred of this play i am writing.
stay tuned for part 2, when i've overcome my queasiness and remembered what i love about the characters and write fiercely into the night until i have an amazing draft that gets me noticed by "important people" and is made into a movie starring Quvenzhané Wallis who is almost 20 years younger than me, but since people think I look sixteen, may be the perfect fit.