NOW.

　

Muses didn’t visit me last night and I am sitting here with a blank page and a ticking clock.

MUST write a One Act.

NOW.

Why on earth am I dry of ideas? Workable ideas? Is this block because I disagree with the form I am told a one act should take? Is it because my “creativity” is all focused towards my little girl? Is it because I’ve been too far-removed from theatre which I actually do find inspiring?

I make a point of keeping up with my colleagues across the states and abroad via Facecrack. I get production notices, show reviews, casting calls, and event invitations. I see production photographs and read posts about my artist family’s challenges, victories and other show-related musings. In this way I try to stay vicariously connected to work that is meaningful, high-quality and IN the MOMENT.

In some ways, this interaction is soothing. I am at least reminded that there are engaging things going on every day and that people I know, respect and love are at the center of these things. In other ways, the cyber-quality of my connection to these people and their art only serves to make me feel more isolated and further removed. It is a bit like looking at a picture of a feast…it looks fabulous but you know you can’t smell it, can’t taste it, can’t share in its preparation.

I would HATE to be disembodied. The senses are SO important.

So…blank page. Clock ticking. MUST write a One Act.

NOW.