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Welcome to my world of panic attacks.
I can see that they may become a daily occurrence.
I had one today.
About my play.
It goes up in just over a week, guys.
A year ago, the play was only 30 pages I wrote four years earlier.
Now it is 101 pages...but, don't worry, won't be longer than 90 minutes.
And now people are going to see it and judge it and hate it and like it and misunderstand it and get it too much and forget about it and talk about it and everything in between oh my god why do I write again?
I write because words have such a tremendous power. I write because Shakespeare, Sarah Ruhl, Toni Morrison, Stephen Dunn, William Faulkner, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Jose Rivera, Suzan-Lori Parks and so many more have sucked me into their words and changed everything. But I know for every me, there are people who have read those very same words and hated them. Who prefer Charles Dickens or Tom Stoppard. Just ask pretty much everyone besides me in my Fall term high school English class. They voted to stop reading Faulkner's Light in August because most of them just didn't, well, like it...?!?1?1!@!!@?
(Have I mentioned this before? I think only two of us voted to continue reading it. Have I mentioned how I didn't talk in class for like a week in protest and that my English teacher totally knew I did it in protest? Have I mentioned that I met up with another English teacher to finish it and then read The Sound and the Fury because as a senior in high school I didn't already have enough stress and enough reading to do? Did I also mention that I think this is all apropos because my play has some Faulkner-inspired things going on and maybe those things are in there because I can still feel the frustration and anger from that moment nearly a decade later?)
I guess the lesson I need to get through my big head is that some people will like my play, my words and some will wish they'd spent their $15 at the local ice cream shop.
And I have to be okay with that.
I have to be okay with the fact that the show may not sell out or that it may get bad reviews, if any.
I have to be okay with the fact that some people may not get it.
Because if I am okay with that, I can be okay with the fact that some people may love it and come back for seconds.
Because if I am okay with that, I can be okay with the fact that maybe one day someone will list me as one of the reasons why they write.
But, really, I have to be okay with this because panic attacks are serious bad news.
Seriously. No me gusta.
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Something else that I don't like...but I am not going to write a whole post on this because, quite frankly, I don't have the brainpower right now to write something coherent and intelligent: I just want to put it out there that watching how the media and individuals discuss Gabby Douglas vs. the other members of the Gymnastics team has been interesting. Others have wrote about what I'm referring to in some fashion here, here, and here, but I just wanted to say that I am noticing, world. I am noticing and taking notes.
Gah! Which class was that??
ReplyDeleteAlso, between the racism, sexism, and jingoism of this Olympic coverage, my blood has been boiling for a week.
Ms. Moore's. In her defense, I am pretty sure only two or three of us were doing the reading and therefore only two or three of us talked in that class. Still, I was so angry that she'd let the non-readers "win". I also remember someone telling me I'd probably read Faulkner in college. I remember responding, "What if I don't?" And guess what? I didn't read Faulkner in college. So there!
ReplyDeleteWow. I'm still really angry about that. I need to work on my anger issues. Clearly.
I was reading an article about how Volleyball is depicted and...well...I wasn't surprised, but disheartened to say the least.