It's been a while...
So yeah. Hi, LJ! I've been doing the Facebook thing lately and thinking about dabbling in Twitter (I've signed up but haven't done a blessed thing yet). Enforced shortness speaks volumes about life and society, but it fits a little better with where I am right now.
So I've been awake for a while and wanted to hit y'all up with a dose of introspection.
MUSING ON MUSES
I’ve felt her pass through me. I don’t know why and I don’t know how to make it happen again. I’ve spent so much time wishing for her to come back, but I realize the wishing is getting in the way of the doing.
Lemme esplain:
In the summer of 1988, I went to Edinburgh with WPI Masque to perform in The Fringe. I had been steeping in theater for 2 weeks and already felt like drama called to me in a way that not much else could. Like writing did. There’s something about taking a blank page and arranging words on it that speaks to the creator god inside of me. I had driveled poetry and stories-as-essays on the page since high school, but nothing prepared me for the plane ride back home.
I don’t know if the altitude made a difference - maybe flying at 35,000 feet cut the resistance between me and the heavens enough to let me receive my first play. Maybe my subconscious mind finally had things in order. Maybe I wanted a piece of what other students had done after experiencing my first New Voices festival with all the student-written plays. Maybe the Why doesn’t matter as much as the How.
I had a yellow pad of paper and a pen to jot notes on. I relaxed for a moment. I didn’t hear anything pop. I didn’t feel anything change. I turned my mind just enough and uncovered a fully-formed play. No edits. No questions. Just a whole script, soup to nuts. I saw it and heard it and felt it and =smelled= it performed in my head like the ghost image of a flash camera at Thanksgiving. I knew I had to put it on paper before it left me.
So I wrote.
The Muse came down from the heavens and breathed her words through my heart onto paper. The Divine had been made flesh using me as the conduit.
And I came back to myself because my hand cramped. I checked the time - 3 hours had sublimated and left 19 pages of that yellow pad filled with all the rising action and stage directions - only the monologue about Darwin to go and then 30 seconds of chaos at the end. And I decided to take a break and get back to it after landing.
I regret that decision.
I remember trying to get back in the writing groove in my little apartment on Bowdoin St. so I could finish the monologue and tie everything together just so. I tried so hard to weave a serious message into the comedy so the audience wouldn’t notice it until it hit them days later. I tried so hard, but I had left the Muse on the plane. None of the drafts of the monologue really satisfied me. I never edited the parts I wrote on the plane, and the monologue beat the crap out of me for months.
In the end I went with something I found the least banal and let it go. The play got into the next year’s New Voices festival and went off really well, but I felt like the script started to meander when it got to the monologue. It didn’t punch, it just sort of delayed the ending for a few pages. I let it go - it was what it was.
I felt bitter and resentful. I went to the proverbial mountain and screamed at the heavens, “God! Why hast thou forsaken me?” All I wanted was a Pepsi and the Muse wouldn’t give it to me. I felt like I had a glorious one-night stand with the Divine who had slipped me a bad phone number and told me to call. All the rest is drudgery and disappointment.
To some degree I still carry that bitterness and resentment inside me. I’m working on it.
Why write about this now? I’m not sure. It’s 5AM and I’m listening to my 3 year old daughter coughing upstairs, so there’s your immediate answer. Maybe the Muse will come again if I just write about her first visit.
I’ve learned so much in 20 years. After reading Flow I understand exactly what a state of Flow is and what it means, if not how to get it back and ride it whenever I want. After being involved with a church and hearing about various quests for Divinity I know I’ve had a taste but can’t seem find the rest of the feast. After reading Tanya’s writing blog I feel the need to write something - anything - to start the juices flowing and keep them flowing. After being in my dead-end “manager” job for 19 months I realize I’m starting to live from a place of fear and I can’t stand it any more. After listening to Hot, Flat, and Crowded I know that hoping for a jolt of inspiration won’t save us if it doesn’t come in time, so I’m inspired to do what I can right now.
I write at a Confluence Point right now. I just hope I can find more and keep them interesting.
To all the aspiring writers out there: keep the faith and don’t try too hard. The Muse found me and I never even heard her coming. I think it’s like finding love - as soon as you let go and stop imposing your expectations on life, something wonderful will find you.
Now go forth and do what you can.
...And all in less than 1000 words. Yay, flash introspection!
So I've been awake for a while and wanted to hit y'all up with a dose of introspection.
MUSING ON MUSES
I’ve felt her pass through me. I don’t know why and I don’t know how to make it happen again. I’ve spent so much time wishing for her to come back, but I realize the wishing is getting in the way of the doing.
Lemme esplain:
In the summer of 1988, I went to Edinburgh with WPI Masque to perform in The Fringe. I had been steeping in theater for 2 weeks and already felt like drama called to me in a way that not much else could. Like writing did. There’s something about taking a blank page and arranging words on it that speaks to the creator god inside of me. I had driveled poetry and stories-as-essays on the page since high school, but nothing prepared me for the plane ride back home.
I don’t know if the altitude made a difference - maybe flying at 35,000 feet cut the resistance between me and the heavens enough to let me receive my first play. Maybe my subconscious mind finally had things in order. Maybe I wanted a piece of what other students had done after experiencing my first New Voices festival with all the student-written plays. Maybe the Why doesn’t matter as much as the How.
I had a yellow pad of paper and a pen to jot notes on. I relaxed for a moment. I didn’t hear anything pop. I didn’t feel anything change. I turned my mind just enough and uncovered a fully-formed play. No edits. No questions. Just a whole script, soup to nuts. I saw it and heard it and felt it and =smelled= it performed in my head like the ghost image of a flash camera at Thanksgiving. I knew I had to put it on paper before it left me.
So I wrote.
The Muse came down from the heavens and breathed her words through my heart onto paper. The Divine had been made flesh using me as the conduit.
And I came back to myself because my hand cramped. I checked the time - 3 hours had sublimated and left 19 pages of that yellow pad filled with all the rising action and stage directions - only the monologue about Darwin to go and then 30 seconds of chaos at the end. And I decided to take a break and get back to it after landing.
I regret that decision.
I remember trying to get back in the writing groove in my little apartment on Bowdoin St. so I could finish the monologue and tie everything together just so. I tried so hard to weave a serious message into the comedy so the audience wouldn’t notice it until it hit them days later. I tried so hard, but I had left the Muse on the plane. None of the drafts of the monologue really satisfied me. I never edited the parts I wrote on the plane, and the monologue beat the crap out of me for months.
In the end I went with something I found the least banal and let it go. The play got into the next year’s New Voices festival and went off really well, but I felt like the script started to meander when it got to the monologue. It didn’t punch, it just sort of delayed the ending for a few pages. I let it go - it was what it was.
I felt bitter and resentful. I went to the proverbial mountain and screamed at the heavens, “God! Why hast thou forsaken me?” All I wanted was a Pepsi and the Muse wouldn’t give it to me. I felt like I had a glorious one-night stand with the Divine who had slipped me a bad phone number and told me to call. All the rest is drudgery and disappointment.
To some degree I still carry that bitterness and resentment inside me. I’m working on it.
Why write about this now? I’m not sure. It’s 5AM and I’m listening to my 3 year old daughter coughing upstairs, so there’s your immediate answer. Maybe the Muse will come again if I just write about her first visit.
I’ve learned so much in 20 years. After reading Flow I understand exactly what a state of Flow is and what it means, if not how to get it back and ride it whenever I want. After being involved with a church and hearing about various quests for Divinity I know I’ve had a taste but can’t seem find the rest of the feast. After reading Tanya’s writing blog I feel the need to write something - anything - to start the juices flowing and keep them flowing. After being in my dead-end “manager” job for 19 months I realize I’m starting to live from a place of fear and I can’t stand it any more. After listening to Hot, Flat, and Crowded I know that hoping for a jolt of inspiration won’t save us if it doesn’t come in time, so I’m inspired to do what I can right now.
I write at a Confluence Point right now. I just hope I can find more and keep them interesting.
To all the aspiring writers out there: keep the faith and don’t try too hard. The Muse found me and I never even heard her coming. I think it’s like finding love - as soon as you let go and stop imposing your expectations on life, something wonderful will find you.
Now go forth and do what you can.
...And all in less than 1000 words. Yay, flash introspection!