Another victory for science

Yellow

Volunteered

Tonight I got volunteered for another task on top of a previous task I had been volunteered for the last time CTAC met (name changed to prevent random search hits). These are not brutally difficult tasks or anything, and I don't mind doing them. I guess I just feel like they are a little thankless. Or at least that I won't be getting any thanks for them. Or maybe that I will be thanked but that it will be token. Or something. Maybe I just don't like other humans. Hmmm.

Also, my blog appears all screwed up on my home computer.

Also, I'm rapidly approaching my birthday and it's depressing me up the wazoo.

Walk Away From The Light

So I had this reading the other day. A play I had written largely so I'd have something to be read at the reading. I wasn't sure how I felt about it and so I didn't really invite too many people, which was for the best because it wasn't exactly an awe inspiring night of new works. My play seemed to go on and on, and when the hostess cut it off I thought she was doing it for time, but she had just gotten her cue wrong.

The whole play stemmed from a discussion I had with a couple friends about how it was "easy" for people like David Eggers to write autobiographical work because they've had dramatic things happen to them. I asserted that most everyone had a life that could be dramatized. I believe I have been disproven quite soundly.

I've spent a lot of time this fall on play writing in one way or another. I think its time to be done with it.

Does it seem odd to anyone else that even though I have a draft of a novel done, that I could and should be editing like mad and trying to get published, still I'm obsessed with a style of writing that I'm only thinly adequate at. Why can't I be happy with what I've got instead of pushing for something else?

Just a quiet Friday ponder.