When it rains it pours. Bother.
Yesterday I heard from two friends about two great writing competitions. One in DC for plays, one on-line with Gulf Coast. Both have Aug 31 deadlines, or near enough as makes no difference. So, I have to make a decision.
I should warn you, I’m bad at making decisions. I usually suffer from analysis paralysis. And it can get very silly, or painful, depending on your perspective.
I took the time and looked at both competitions. Now I have a buddy who I would love to work with for one of them. A bit of mutual “So, how’s it going over there?” You know, someone to keep your feet to the proverbial fire. And that is for the prose competition.
But my heart is screaming for me to finish the play. And this opportunity will make me sit down and write. Too many things are tumbling over in my head, it’s making far too much noise so “the play ‘s the thing.”
I can’t promise this will be “happy, happy, joy, joy” time. Actually, I suspect it will be quite painful for me. I’ll be visiting the Greylands again. Oh, that’s one of the ways I refer to my depression. I’ll have to give a tour one day. Interesting place, if you don’t have to reside there.
I’m going to be pulling up nettles with my bare hands. In a way I’m not looking forward to that, and at the same time, I am. Strange. I’m not usually masochistic. The thought that makes the task bearable is that I hope, by pulling those weeds I can somehow remove them permanently. I’m hoping that writing all this down will be like applying some mental weed killer.
We shall see.