P.S.

Apologies, but until I chisel my way out of my own inhibitions and start really doing something in the theatre community around here, I'm the only thing I've got to talk about.

Adventures in Commission...and Beyond

Ah, well, if you were naive like me you might have expected that after months without a post I'd return with tales of accomplishment. Long nights and exponentially flowing words. Things finished, heart strung out and brain over-tapped. Continuous dialogue like the ends of a malfunctioning fax. The eccentric progress of a writer's habits. The gravitational pressure of deadlines and ever refining drafts. Hard-won ends. You wouldn't be entirely wrong, but you'd like to see more...oh, I don't know--GLORY--in these tales.

But nay, what I have to show is an unresolved plot in the kind of realife story you're forced to end unnaturally (i.e. by your own hands). The script has been turned over to a production team who are scheduled to begin rehearsals now. Believe me I would like to be done with the affair, but not with this sense of things left to do hanging over me, a cloud of black emotional smoke. However, I've been told that, "Everyone is impressed by your skill and ability...trust that we are just continuing with the shaping process." I just have to move on and await further instructions. How can I do that if the script's not finished? I want to keep working of the damn thing. This is worse than the blank page.

There is some kind of strange irony here; I grind my axe at the stone of structure, letting something with an actual goal emerge from my random bits of teenage life, and then I'm forced to endure a tangible lack of resolution in the drama that is this commission process.

Here are some highlights from the past few months:
*I had to invert gender roles again when casting took place for real and they found out they had two men, three women
*While my family went on vacation I stayed alone in our house to crank out the second draft in the course of two weeks
*Everyone who read the script complimented it
*I had to lose my guitar-playing, blues-crooning character
*The ending changed three times
*Suddenly most of the characters are related
*I was late to my second script-reading and they all waited for me to start...man, I felt important
*Based on the quality of my work, I was offered a season dramaturg position at a theater here in Seattle
*Without any insistence by me, people have started to refer to me as a writer
*I now have about 500 myths engrained in my head from constant reading
*I've realized that comic books are bastions of dramatic structure

Now I know what you're all thinking: he's upset about reaching the final pages of Adventures in Commission because then he's left outside the bright land of writing-what-people-tell-me-to.

Ah, the abyss.

Ah . . .

Well, fuck.