beginagain

I've tried to start this five or six times already. This time I'm going to stick with it. The thing is, everything always sounds better in my head. Taking the time to put it down, something interferes or judges or edits and then I go off in directions that I never intended. What I was thinking was that I feel jittery and unsatisfied most of the time these days. The only times I don't are when I'm medicating with food or books or tv or work or the internet. I keep my mind off the fact that I'm traveling forward in time without choosing a direction.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy as buttons about the baby. I'm pleased about the book. I'm fairly thrilled at all the money I've made this year by making myself sit down at this computer at night. Those are all good things. And I think I can appreciate that.

But I'm not really happy with myself, where I am right now. Emotionally and creatively I'm stalled. I'm in a holding pattern. I'm not moving. You get the drift.

I re-read the first complete draft of the Time play that I started working on a couple years ago — the last big project that I attempted before petering out. (Unless you count the lobster girl musical. And the fairy tale movie script. But that's not important right now.) And I found some bits, some scenes and passages that had some fire and some interesting things going on in them. It made me think that, perhaps, I actually could work on the play again and exorcise it.

I think about it every night before I go to bed. That is not an exaggeration, or said just for effect. I spend a few minutes before I drift off, trying to figure out how to re-imagine it, or start over again. How to fix it. How to make it not a failure.

Somewhere along the way my world has gotten smaller. We go out less. I am less comfortable in unfamiliar situations, with unfamiliar people. I don't extend myself like I used to. I used to force myself to try things, or to be in difficult situations. Now I tend toward couch. Couch has become my basic state of being: comfortable, not forward-moving, safe.

I'm trying to fill that hole that I always feel aching. I'm using the food. The tv. The work. What ever I can grab. I've been trying to plug up the hole, when what I really need to do is start blowing shit out of it. I've been inhaling for far far too long. Taking life in. Taking other stories in.

I wrote last night for the first time in a long long time. Just about a page and a half. And I really liked the first line. I think I may have figured out a good first line to start the play. It's about the story. It's about the main character. It works. Or at least it works for now and I can move forward on it. I did run into a snag about one of the other characters. I've never really decided how I want to handle her. So tonight I ate too many crackers and then went for a walk. Just around the neighborhood. Tried to focus my mind on the problem, and not the scary guys giving me the eye on tenth avenue as I walked by the bodega they were loitering with sinister intent in front of.

I think I may have come up with a way to deal with her so I can move forward. But I'm too afraid to write right now. So I decided to percolate up here, to resurrect B&G, which I have missed very much at times.

In fact, I'm going to make a commitment right here and now: I am going to write every weekday on B&G starting today until we go away on December 27th to Michigan. There may be bonus postings on weekends, but I'm not making any promises.

So, I'm sending this link to you people. Yes you. The people reading this. Hopefully that'll help me keep my promise. I gotta shake things up and get things fizzing and get it out.

Boggles & Cockles is back. Thanks for reading and responding.