Here is too much info for you:
My kids have bubbles, because I found some in the summer section of the store last night. We went to the nicest Italian restaurant yesterday, and I’ve been playing Lego Harry Potter (the second one).
I don’t feel exactly like not writing, but I am feeling left out of the theatre scene. Where we live is super inconvenient for directing, and I don’t have a great rooted system. Cut off, as it were, from resources. I keep thinking about posting an ad for the park, but the lure of the future is too strong for me. If I wait, I can get a car. I could save up for quality weapons. I could pay my actors. Hmmanannun, paying actors. That’s like, the holy grail of theatre production. Paying actors well. Like, no one pays.
Really? Yes, Really
Somebody (very small time) produced a so-so homemade morality play in my old town, and the director and producer stiffed the actors a full third or more of the promised pay. Even the professors wanted to do the work, because holy party store balloons, Batman! I could get paid to act!
Which, I think, is sad. If you’ve spent your entire life getting a BFA, and then an MFA, and you still don’t have the balls to be doing legit work, and you’re willing to sell your soul for $80 in a pro-insular three-hour monstrosity of didacticism? That’s just sad.
You’re Just Jealous That You Don’t Have An MFA!
My boss (back in the day) thought I should go and get an MFA. And I was like, not today. Nope. I looked twelve back then. I’m in my late twenties, and I’m starting to look more like an eighteen-year-old now. I figure I’ll look twenty-five when I’m thirty-five, and by then my life will have mellowed.
I have at least that much vocal work to sift through, anyway.
I just feel so redundant, you know? [More writing redacted for adult content. Read chapters 21-22 in Kingdom in the Sky when it comes out in a couple of weeks to find out what I shouldn’t put on my blog. My father is actually like that. In real life. And he works with little kids. Which is disturbing.] Anyway.
It’s like a waiting game. I feel like I’m waiting for things to happen, and it isn’t the kind of waiting where you’re like, “Things will get better someday, if I just close my eyes!” but the kind of waiting where you plant an acorn, and you fertilize it and water it and then sit down in a nice lawn chair with your handy laptop and write a few novels while you’re waiting for the sapling to get taller. It’s like that.
Apparently the bugs here are in mating season. There are clouds of butt-joined insects drifting busily through the air. Eh.
Back to writing, I guess.