2003/11/27

I am successfully avoiding working on my one-act script. I'll have to buckle down and start soon. I'm in that terrible I love my idea, but I can't seem to get my enjoyment/enthusiasm across place.

What I've written so far was read in workshop last Tuesday. Uhm. Perhaps I should outline the idea -- as I'm rabbiting on and on about it -- take "Incident at Owl Creek", mix with a taste of Death from Neil Gaiman, a slew of bad date movies and plays, a dash of disaster, and a soupcon of "His Girl Friday." That's the stew pot from which I'm ladling. It's a story that's been told a bazillion times, a date with death. It's never been told after filtering through my imagination, so in that it's unique. Hell, I got's to try.

I'm scared that my writing skills aren't equal to the story that I want to tell. Then again, them's that don't ask, never receive. I'll keep on asking for the ability to tell stories by continuing to write. Maybe that's the trick? I don't know. *laugh*

I suppose the older we get, the more we realize that there are no absolute answers. It makes the world more terrifying and more lovely than we can imagine.

Happy Bruce Lee's birthday.

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