Curtains down....

Last night was final night of performances for my play... at least for now. A full-house and 3 curtain calls for the actors. Last night was a good night... I had people I loved and cared for around me, and I think that they may have started to form a new opinion of me. After all writing a play and exposing yourself in such a way is scary but cleansing in so many ways. I feel ... I am not sure what I feel, perhaps that I have spoken without saying anything, that I have managed to bring to fruition a year-long project. Well not I alone but I was a part of it.

I have found my calling; there is no mistake about it. Should not try to hide it or think twice about it. This is it.. On the eve of my 35th birthday, the truth is inescapable: I want to be a writer... just let all of it pour out even like smudges on screen and paper. That's what I want... I might never do it but that's ok... this is big in itself...

A friend of mine, a good friend of mine I believe, sent me a job posting in a production company which is seeking to recruit script-writers for a new daily series. I smiled when I read it; I am of course not qualified in the list to be seeking script-writing commissions but I was amused to think what urged him to write it. It signals a shift; a shift in perception. And a shift in possibilities. The financial crisis has long wiped away any potential jobs that might be of interest to someone of my 'level' (God I hate that word and what it carries with it) so as we struggle with sanity, survival and the dreadul sense of what is to come we look inward to pools of new skills and talent. I daresay some of us have struck gold, perhaps not in real terms but in terms of finding a niche through which to express ourselves.

It might not pay the rent, but it does not cost me anything either. I will go write to my friend and thank him...

Opening night + 2

Not sure what makes a writer who he is, but there is a certain brain connection that fires up when someone asks you: "And you are?" "I am the writer".... there is a lot to be said about the way we define ourselves and how we are perceived. I am not a writer, I have written a play which I was LUCKY enough to see on stage.. it was a feeling like no other, putting words in people's mouths like that.

And this morning my son asked "Dad have you got rehersal tonight?"... as I was pouring his milk at 7 am... what a question!! I wanted to laugh; rehersal tonight... I don't actually, and nothing is planned for tomorrow evening either, which means we can go back to our routine and be there for his 7pm swimming class. And you know what? that is fine with me. I may never be a writer, I will fight for it but I will be there for his swimming classes and that to him is important and that makes it important for me too...

The week after the week that passed. Even though the hell that I refer to as last week was a premeditated crime, I still feel drained and exhausted. I gaze upon life with a fresh gaze this Monday morning. As we are nearing final rehersals, people are getting more stressed; not me.. I am getting happier. I want to scream and explain that this has to be a joke but it is not, it is happening and I once again am grateful. I am also suprised; some have come out of nowhere to cheer me on, others who should have been cheering already have somehow vanished into the background.. there you have it I guess....