The sun is shining and after the coldest Easter ever, it finally feels like Spring is coming. It should have been a happy day but perhaps it was the change in weather, an excellent but tiring hennight weekend or just generic come down of after a rollercoaster few weeks: this morning was spent paralysed in front of the computer with crippling fear. Despite being way too old for this shit ( as Sura once said: “The Fear is sooooo 25”) the pixies of self-doubt managed to nibble away the hours.
I tried to distract myself but kept being aware of the hours wasting away, while desperately trying to find a new structure for my play that is hopelessly stuck. At the end, these wasted hours had accumulated in my head to my entire life wasting away without any achievement, after which I would die alone, forgotten and unwashed in a London gutter and only cleared up because of people complaining about my decomposing body. Drama indeed, nevertheless a little distressing for a Monday morning.
How come everything seems better at 5.30pm? No, not because Margaret Thatcher died, you cynic. Not having lived through the Thatcher years in the UK makes me reluctant to publicly discuss opinions. She did achieve something in her life, whether good, bad or ugly I leave up to you.
The pixies of self-doubt disappeared when I gave up and by releasing the pressure of doing something, I seem to have unhooked my brain and suddenly creative ideas kept pouring in. New structures for a play, new formats, new angles, all in the spirit of wasting time. It’s the writer’s equivalent of doodling I guess, the writer’s equivalent of play.
Let achievement go, let structure go, play and see what evolves. This is fun. This is why I write.
PS: Pixies you can suck my…. lalalala…my mother reads this.