‘There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.’
– Ernest Hemingway
March. You big weird month.
I had to look back at my diary to see what I had done. Here is a snap shot
– Taught a lecture at Glasgow Uni
– Done an unofficial reading of a play of mine with three REMARKABLE actors.
– Had a reunion with the cast of CURED. All of whom I love dearly.
– Heard a new play of mine read at the National Theatre Studio down in London
– Had my 27th Birthday.
– I also had a hair cut and bleached my hair twice.
It’s busy here at Stef HQ. I haven’t had enough time to see my friends or fellow team efforters. I’ve given myself some afternoons to think about new things but it’s not been quite as ponderous as I would have liked. My diary from here until July is full. That fills me with glee but it also makes me widen my eyes in slight disbelief.
I’ve had several moments over the last few weeks where I’ve said to myself – I actually write for a living. I don’t have a day job.
I don’t have a day job.
So no matter how much I bitch about being busy. Bitch about my low income. Bitch about what I did or didn’t get. I want to remind myself right here, right now, I write. I might not always. These things are feast and famine. This time next year I might be starring a day-job in the face. It’s a realistic prospect for a lot of us. I don’t feel entitled to what I am doing or what I have done. A specific set of circumstances and genetics got me here today. I still find it remarkable that I am not anyone else. Even though I spent most of my day living in someone else’s world, finding a way into someone else’s voice, figuring out someone else’s life.
I could have easily been a lot of different people. But I’m not. I’m me. I’m very specifically me.
There is nothing like reformatting your webpage to make you look your CV in the face and between birthdays and the loss of friends. Well. It makes you consider things differently. It has made me be very purposeful with my time. Even if only for a little while.
I suppose I have felt very empowered by my writing of late and that’s a nice feeling. One I don’t always have. I’m going to seek out joy in the next few months. Be with people who make me happy. Do things that make me feel happy. No matter how small or trivial they maybe (the things not the people). I read somewhere a while ago that in order to get happiness you need to give out happiness, and I think somewhere along the lines that’s true.
As ever. This blog is a fumble through my head. I look forward to reading it back.
I wish you more wilderness. Sx
“There is only one plot—things are not what they seem.”