Okay, you may or may not know my deal with writing-related deadlines. I’m not talking about grant writing for work or writing in this blog – those things just happen with little-to-no pressure. I’m talking about writing for the theatre. I rarely finish a script without having some sort of deadline. The more absurd and ridiculous, the better. For instance, in the past we’ve booked a space and started rehearsals before I’ve finished writing the show. It’s some sort of masochistic tendency that makes me put myself in this situation over and over again. I hate it, but at the same time I fucking love it. Because I always manage to finish, no matter how brutal the deadline. And the exhilaration I feel once I’ve finished…it’s like running a marathon with my brain.
The latest installment: there’s an awesome three-week play development workshop in Philadelphia during the summer for which I applied. You send the first ten pages of your script, and if you advance to the next round they ask for the full script. So I gambled. I’ve been trying to write this particular play for two years now. My first full length. For whatever reason, though I think about the play all the time, I can’t finish the fucker. I had about 15 pages. Sent the first 10. Got an email a couple of days ago that they want to see the whole thing. And they want it by Monday.
When I initially applied to this workshop, I figured if they wanted to see more, I’d have a bit of warning. Didn’t expect it would be five or six days. So in the past 36 hours, the 15 pages of sort of finished has turned into 35 pages of done with another 30 pages or so to write over the weekend. I’ll get this bitch done by the Monday deadline, come hell AND high water. Will it be good enough to get me in? Who knows. What I do know is that I’ll have my first hour+ play written. That’s no small thing. Fire up the coffee pot, mama’s got some writing to do.
(unrelated) (or is it?) (isn’t everything sort of related?)
It is now cold enough in our house that the little dog needs a bit of help staying warm. She sleeps under a blanket in the middle of summer. She’s just that kind of rat dog. So I broke out the sweater tonight. She doesn’t like wearing anything – because she’s a DOG – but I can’t stand to watch her shiver. My grandmother made a sweater for my dog Maggy (RIP) that was always a bit too snug for her but fits Stella great. I think the big dog is a bit jealous. See stand-off below. I love the “looking off into the distance but I will bite the shit out of you if you fuck with my sweater” stance.
I love dogs and can’t/don’t want to imagine life without at least one good one.