I love feeling creative and burgeoning with ideas, but when the time + mental space to properly engage in bringing those ideas to life is limited, one must choose.
Revise or create? Cleanse the metaphorical palate? Relax and renew? Get inspired?
Yesterday, I finished a draft of the short play that is most likely to get submitted to this competition/workshop at the end of the month. I admit, I am still wanting to glow from that feeling of completion. And I want to let the idea cure a bit more.
The full length play has started, like the eyes of potatoes, to sprout ungainly reaching roots in every direction. I want to write actual stories about the lives of these characters before they came on stage. Those themes are inspiring other prose. And the play. It’s gotten big enough that I need to start formatting it.
I started to read James Joyce’s Ulysses (blame the BBC). To say I love it would be a vast overstatement. But there are times when that sort of reading is a great comfort to me. The lyric movement of the text seems far more the point than the meanings of individual words, or even sentences or paragraphs, so it is possible to go into a bit of a fugue state while reading it, like driving on a sun dappled country road.
Due for a blog post. Check. The letter that needs to go in that box that I need to mail tomorrow or not til Friday. Bills.
Time. Responsibilities. Desire. Spin the roulette wheel. See where the ball comes down.