Today was not a good writing day. I produced nothing.
I made some notes. I made more notes, etched out the scenes that won’t turn or shift as I’d like them, but…still, I produced nothing.
Moving forward. I tell myself things like, “If so-and-so can write a first draft in a weeks time, then certainly I can accomplish a rewrite in that time.” And I think, “if a gun was put to my head, and the threat was ‘finish it or die’ — would I?”
Well? Would I?
Sighing. This is not what is bothering me. It’s other stuff. More childish stuff. Unrequited love stuff from a long ago past that even then was strictly within the confines of my imagination and not at all a real possibility. Ridiculous to admit, but I’m still pining over what can never be, what would never be, what could never have happened — not ever.
But since I can’t shake it, I think I want to write a story about it. I’d like to start on it now, but — I have to finish this rewrite first. And I want to do it well, not half-assed.
The day is not over. I must finish this script.
To the left, she reaches for her glass of cheap wine atop of the old filing cabinet serving as a side table. She clicks on “publish” and closes the site. All that remains is her open file of a story. She stares blankly at the tangled mess of a so-called script. She thinks to herself, “who the fuck cares? Then answers herself, “No one. Not one fuck.” Yet another self-absorbed blogger with nothing of interest to disclose, teach or advise.
Now. Get back to it.
I’ve not been to London to see the Queen, but I’ve been busy. I auditioned for a play in January, got the part, and now April 1st, it’s over and done.
I feel guilty for not writing, of course, but on the other hand what’s the use of regretting what I can’t go back to change? I am here now. I am here again. Writing. It’s not as though I was doing nothing creative. I was an actress in a play, you know? That thing I used to do — Acting. The show was Steel Magnolias. I played the part of Truvy ( Dolly Parton played the role in the film version). The fact that I showed up to audition and made it through a successful run, with my kids and my voice still in tact all the way until strike, is plenty to be proud of. And then, on Easter Sunday (yesterday), I finally returned to church. The play had ended on the previous Palm Sunday, but I had not been to a service since January because of vocal cord problems. That, and I managed to catch a cold the first week of rehearsal that lasted until opening-night. After the service, however, a woman approached me as my kids and I were nearly to the parking lot. She grabbed my arm and said, “I just want you to know, you were brilliant…” Her out-of-context statement shocked me. I had no idea what she was talking about. Then she added, “in the play. I saw you in the play and you were brilliant.”
She elaborated about not just my character but the whole cast. She thanked me for being in it. She told me she had not wanted to go to the show — wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about seeing the play. But she said after she saw it, she wept, so unexpectedly moved by the play and our performances.
I was amazed. And grateful. It felt good to be acknowledged for something I do well. Something I have hidden away for too long. So. Maybe I will act again. I am considering renewing my S.A.G. card even though I live in Timbuktu or something like it.
But for now, I am back here. Writing. But this time, I have a sense of renewal, a sense of ability and confidence that I’ve not felt before. I think I can do it this time. After all, at least one person in this world says I’m brilliant.