I’m not sure exactly how many hours I put into my writing today. It seems I didn’t really get started till about one in the afternoon. Let’s say there was an hour break for dinner and bathroom stops. So I guess I wrote for eight hours. All I know is that when I wrote the words “End of Act Two, Scene One” at the bottom of p.104, I looked down at the computer clock — and it read 10:00pm exactly.
I had a feeling today would be a good day. I awoke in good spirits, feeling relaxed and relieved after having resolved a difficult situation at work. I also knew I had the day off — and I knew what to do with it. Most of the writing of the 17-page Scene consisted of refining the six pages leading up to the song called Hunted, finishing the lyrics to Hunted, writing all the dialogue between Hunted and the following song, writing a new monologue called the “Mainstream Monologue,” and finally finishing all the lyrics to the song Children of the Universe. (If you happen to listen to the music of that song, you can easily discern how writing its lyrics was no small task.)
Obviously, I felt very pleased when I finished all that work. But there’s something gnawing at me.
If you’ve been reading me much at all lately, you’ll know that I’ve been contemplating the different stages of the creative process as well as the different spaces of Bipolar Disorder, and how they seem to coalesce in order to yield long periods of time when nothing gets done at all — at least not consciously — followed by long periods of time when all kinds of work is steadily produced. Even though I only have two Scenes left to go, and I can actually even see the light at the end of the tunnel, I have this horrendous fear that the next period of depression – or incubation – is going to last even longer than the last one, which was damn near seven days.
For the sake of balance, I want to stop writing now, and rest my weary head and bones. But for the sake of getting the show finished, don’t you think it would be better if I forged forward, while I’m still on the roll? I’d hate to plunge into another week or two of dry vacuous nothingness.
But no – I must seek a more healthy balance here. I have tomorrow off as well, so I might as well get some rest, and have at it once again in the morning. I’m starting to get the feeling that God is actually going to allow me, after all these years, to finish the damn thing. I need to ride on that hope. There’s no turning back by now.