Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Another letter of complaint about me, signalling that I could have made it into the columnist's stratosphere - as far as single-column columnists used as fillers ever make it, that is ("ooh, he's no Gill Adams, is he?"). Feel proud of myself for other reasons too. Wrote another scene of the play last night, despite being on the verge of mental collapse. Spent some time analysing what I'd done so far, in an effort to work out where I'm going with it all. Hopefully, there'll be another creative flurry before next week, paving the way for some actors to read what exists thus far. I'm back at the workshops tonight. Explaining to people how to start writing has made me realise how much I ignore the rules and how easier life would be if I sat down and used some of techniques I'm trying to impose on others. Must get round to reading those marvellous handouts I've put together for my little group, and doing as I say rather than doing as I do.

I wonder if...on the nights I dream about them, Danielle, Scott and Sam are dreaming of me too. I hope so.

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