I’m sitting in the local pub in a highly neurotic state. No worries – I’m not drinking, and perish the thought. But when the clock struck 4:20 a few minutes ago, I must admit I experienced more than a vague inkling to dip into the dubious diversion of delectable desirability, duck into the nearest dark alley, and burn one. It’s hard for me to deal with anxiety; and as I expressed quite emphatically earlier, taking a valium or a klonopin is no longer a viable option for me.
Since the previous post, I actually went back to the beginning of the script and wrote up to p.53 a second time, making adjustments – some minor, some fairly significant. I got into the “zone” at one point and completely rewrote the intro to the female antagonist’s first song, which I call “Midnight Screams.” I sent it to my brother and my daughter hoping for feedback, haven’t heard from either, and am feeling a bit pathetic on this whole feedback thing. I hate it when I become “insistent” that people peruse my work. It never works in the first place, not to mention it makes me feel like an annoying pest.
There’s no getting around it. I’m going to have to break out of isolation here, and present myself as best I can to the world of other artists and writers engaged in projects of equal importance to them. So, I more-or-less boldly wrote to the fellow who teaches the current undergraduate Playwriting class at the University, even though I could already feel the stab of rejection slicing through my heart over the Intraweb — pseudo-prophetically, as it were. My confidence is at an all time low.
But – it was a baby step. If that doesn’t work, I’ll see if there’s a Meet-Up group of some sort. Either way, I’m going to have to stop bugging my friends and family members for feedback. I need to go about this decently and properly. Bottom line is, the idea of sitting around a table in a classroom and sharing all my crazy ideas with a bunch of other writers is scaring the living daylights out of me. But that’s all the more reason why I’ve got to take the plunge. You don’t learn how to swim, after all, by avoiding the water.
Opening up to p.53 and the current minor impasse. The wheels are starting to spin. Obviously, a twisted love song is in order, both lover and lovee a bit on the delusional side. Welcome to the wonderful world of Musical Theatre. Maybe if the owner of the pub steps in, she’ll let me play the piano for a free meal like she did last Saturday. Here’s hoping.