Being gripped by the twin forces of impatience and fear is not a pleasant feeling.
I don’t want to write the play as much as I want the play to be written.
That will hopefully change once I’m in the process. My best plays are the ones I enjoyed writing down- not just having written.
But right now- I want the play to be over already. I want to do the shortcut. Write an outline. Throw together a structure. And blaze it out. Skipping the pre-writing work.
I’m also terrified to start actually writing.
So my page count is at 0. Not entirely through choice.
Writing to me feels like looking at a panorama through a pinhole. It’s why what goes down on page is never what we see in our heads.
Maybe it’s better, sometimes. Because all we’re really capable of is zooming in on one small, tiny object in the vast panorama. But it feels like the struggle is to select- for every detail we select, we are forced to choose. Prioritise. And decide on what to leave out.
And often the struggle isn’t about selecting. It’s about creating. Because as we zoom in closer and closer we realize we don’t even know what we’re looking at. And we have to make that up.
And I hate that. Because I already made up the goddamn panorama. And it looks so GREAT in my head- why can’t you just see it like I do?
But you can’t. So I have to just describe it.
One pixel at a time.