It's so glamorous, isn't it? You tell someone you write and the response is, oh cool. No. No, it's not cool. It's bloody hard work and it's rarely that enjoyable. And that's the way it's always been for me, and for just about every other writer I've ever known.
I've been struggling with this script for I don't know how long. I have different files of different scenes, just trying to make the damn thing work, trying to break the logjam that's in my head because I do believe it will work: You just know. And you don't really care if no one else knows or cares. I've had people laugh at this one. Do you know what it's like when people laugh at something that you believe in so dearly? I've had other friends just politely remain quiet. But you can't care what they think. My best defense has always been, if you don't like it, then there's a very good chance I'm on the right trail. You have to be that obsessed with doing something so new and different, that most people won't recognize it for what it is. You have to be that bloody arrogant.
And suddenly, at the kitchen table, after you've been working all afternoon and the apartment grew dark without you noticing it and the sink is overflowing with dishes and your wife isn't home and you've eaten a bowl of soup alone, reading it while you eat, and suddenly...you were right. It's going to work.
For all of the talk about how collaborative theater is--and it is, don't ever for one minute think otherwise--it can still be awfully lonely work. You're the playwright, and it's just you and the page. Just that thing that resides inside your body--your soul, your spirit, you. And you've lived too long not to trust it. It's really all you have.
I've been struggling with this script for I don't know how long. I have different files of different scenes, just trying to make the damn thing work, trying to break the logjam that's in my head because I do believe it will work: You just know. And you don't really care if no one else knows or cares. I've had people laugh at this one. Do you know what it's like when people laugh at something that you believe in so dearly? I've had other friends just politely remain quiet. But you can't care what they think. My best defense has always been, if you don't like it, then there's a very good chance I'm on the right trail. You have to be that obsessed with doing something so new and different, that most people won't recognize it for what it is. You have to be that bloody arrogant.
And suddenly, at the kitchen table, after you've been working all afternoon and the apartment grew dark without you noticing it and the sink is overflowing with dishes and your wife isn't home and you've eaten a bowl of soup alone, reading it while you eat, and suddenly...you were right. It's going to work.
For all of the talk about how collaborative theater is--and it is, don't ever for one minute think otherwise--it can still be awfully lonely work. You're the playwright, and it's just you and the page. Just that thing that resides inside your body--your soul, your spirit, you. And you've lived too long not to trust it. It's really all you have.
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