Sometimes, after a workshop, and I am sitting in the car, with the other coaches, on the drive back into the city, I pretend that this is my real job; that I actually work one on one with teens and coach them into writing plays. If it was my job it would be a great job, but it isn’t. So, let it go.
I live in a lot of half-truths.
The workshop will be ending soon, and then I will go back to working full-time at the store, where my job has absolutely nothing to do with what I want to do, but let that go too.
Since I last posted, I went to another Write Bloody small house reading, it’s always nice to hear the poets from Write Bloody, and I received some information regarding the attic; and what to expect from the upcoming meetings with my writing group. I have not done a letter of writing since the day I read publicly in front of my peers. I suck. I do. Oh well. I’ll either be some dynamic amazing writer/performer who busts out of my shell and changes the way people view the writing world or I will disappear; it’s a 50-50 chance. I love how I am so dramatic. It’s not, “oh I may get my book published some day or I may not finish it,” it has to be “affects the way the world works or death!” I mean seriously.
Oh, and I am trying to sew a skirt which is crazy funny because I don’t know how, but I am trying, and in my mind, this skirt is awesome.