(no subject)
I'm writing a play and it's intoxicating. I never knew it would be so fun and so difficult. It's about isolation and the feeling of not belonging. About not speaking the language. Three people meet at heathrow that doesn't know each other. They are forced to stay together because of a storm. Violence, a man cutting himself and nice shoes. We've got it all.
But I need to write a critique on it and it kills me. Shoot my creativity down you bastards.
I'm also writing a short story. I can post it here. I will post it.
Bought way to many things in London. The shopping here is something else. The amount of loveliness is overpowering.
Now more coffee and writing nonsence about my play.
But I need to write a critique on it and it kills me. Shoot my creativity down you bastards.
I'm also writing a short story. I can post it here. I will post it.
Bought way to many things in London. The shopping here is something else. The amount of loveliness is overpowering.
Now more coffee and writing nonsence about my play.