Today while thinking about revising Shadowpaint (my latest play, which I’m submitting on Tuesday), I realized that I’m scared. Afraid to finish revising it, because I’m afraid it won’t be good. I’ve already written seven of the eleven or twelve pages, even, and yet still I’m up against this wall. Subconsciously I think I’m waiting for the deadline to draw nearer — because once it’s here, the pressure will squeeze those last few pages out of me anyway. So why do it beforehand? (Quoth my subconscious.)
Not to mention the time I waste. I tell myself I don’t have time to finish the play, because of everything that’s on my plate, yadda yadda. Except I do have time — I just fritter it away surfing the web or checking Google Reader or “sharpening pencils.” Anything but writing. (Or anything but anything, it sometimes seems. Wresting my time out of the hands of entropy and back into my own control is something I plan to work on hard this year.)
More positively, I have written seven pages so far. (Seven doesn’t sound like a lot, but for a short 15-minute play, that’s long past halfway. :)) And I’m going to write another page tonight if it kills me.
Throw in your two cents