Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two (aghrivaine) wrote,
Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two
aghrivaine

  • Mood:

Pricking of Thumbs, and all that

Writing is a funny process. I was on a tear yesterday - I wrote a good chunk of "Mercier and Coupeau are Dead" - a sort of in-joke for myself and the other guy who plays one of crapdaddy's henchmen. It was modestly droll - but I got a lot done, and forged on even when I'd gotten past the point where I had a clear idea what I was doing. Historically that leaves me feeling wrung out the next day, much as C.S. Forester described in his autobiography. Write too little on any given day, and one feels unfulfilled. Write too much and one feels drained. Hitting that sweet spot is the hard part, I guess.

Add to that rehearsal last night; which went very late, was incredibly wearying - and for the first time left me feeling like the show was worse off than it was before the start of rehearsal. Tempers flared, time was wasted - I've tried to stay cheerful, helpful and useful at rehearsals, but last night was just too much.

Today I have an ominous feeling - something slouches towards Bethlehem. I'm afraid I've left my +2 stick of rough-beast-whomping at home.
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