Post show ----

Hey.  I've been somewhat depressed.  And I think it's a combination of things.


One: The Child, Handel completed its first run.  I didn't realize how much I was enjoying working on the project until it was over.  And it's like this every show I'm part of, only I had forgotten.  The joys of drama.


Two: I've been listening to too much Radiohead and watching too much Lotus Flower dancing.


Three: I live in constant captivity to the expectations of others, especially those of men.


Four: I make too many lists.


People are getting married.  Classes are ending and I still have a capstone paper to finish.  The people I most want to connect with are the ones I avoid.


I'm only writing about this because I actually had peace again today.  Maybe it was the sunny weather, that I carried boxes all the way to church, that I was able to have communion, that my friend preached about the man born blind, that I baked bread, that one of my roommates and I got to walk down to the bridge and actually talk about life.


I want to extend the script for The Child, Handel so that I can submit it to the Tarragon Theatre Playwrighting Competition at the end of April.  Seeing it onstage was definitely a high point of this year, and to have it so well acted was a blessing.

Flowers from One Acts ~ oh thanks Supinas

Maurice, Mildred, and Handel
Opening Night!

Erika can't watch - her hair is being 80fied!

We're having a reading for our short story class Thursday, April 7th in the Concordia library at 4:30pm.  There will be refreshments and awesome writing to be shared by all.  I think I'll read the one about the punks on a bridge...

Editing Blues and Reds and Greens...

The class I was most looking forward to this semester was Creative Writing: Short Fiction.  So far, it has been a lovely course with literary discussion and reading a plenty.  Also exciting, someone back from when I was 12 happens to be in the same class - reality is stranger than fiction at times. Actually, I think much of the time. Anyways, we got our first batch of manuscripts last Thursday - it's a workshop class, so every week a different group of people submit their short stories for the rest of the class to take home and look over, with the idea that when we reconvene the discussion will be focused on each of the stories; some are afraid people aren't going to be critical enough of their work, but with a cynical satirist, a psychologist, and an outspoken gamer in the group, I don't think that'll be an issue.It has been bliss, looking these stories over.  I really do think editing fiction is one of my callings in life.  It's a safe place to have an opinion, an opinion that matters and is working towards making people better writers and making sure that the fiction getting out there is of solid quality.And then there are stories like this one.  A good friend of mine wrote it.  I had never read their work before, and was looking forward to hearing their literary voice.  But horror of horrors, as I read through, I was reminded more and more of an already extant version of the same story.  Could it be they had, not plagerized, but extensively borrowed from this story? And the character of most interest is thrown away with no explanation.  It made me sad, to say the least.  But, with any kind of creative process, there are up days and down days, and I am of the opinion that this person was writing this the night before and for lack of material tried to write a satirical commentary on the other story that didn't quite come across. Possible, yes. In any case, our class meets tonight to discuss the manuscripts and get a new slew of texts!  I suspect I'll be up late tonight reading them, and getting my own story ready for next week...