Solo no go at the mo: A diagnostic.

September 8, 2007 at 3:54 pm (Bloom Status: Sideways)

 

When people ask me how my solo show is going, I always hesitate and then I come out with some bullshit like:

It’s…you know…in transition, at the moment.  It’s….yeah.  It’s…things have sort of shifted with it, where I’m not sure if I think what I wrote before is true anymore.  And so it’s sort of…there, but in the void?  The humming sort of void?  There, but like, not overtly active?  Kind of thing.

Where what I should say is:

Oh, fuck, fuckers, I am blocked!  Block-ed!  I can’t go write it.  I’m not writing anything at the moment.  What is this show again?  Why am I doing it?  What the fuck was I talking about?  You know what I like?  Eating Doritos.  I’m just on my way to buy a bag so I can’t talk to you anymore.  Bye.

I had come very far, too.  I had written like 90 minutes of material.  And it’s true, some of the bullshit I say when people ask.  It’s true that the meditation class has changed my perspective on my show a great deal, and that I feel like I’m sort of half starting from scratch.  But I never mention how…what is the word?…repulsed I am by the idea of sitting down and working on it.  And that is probably because I don’t enjoy even thinking about how I feel about it.  I like to stay away.

So, fuck.  So, at least I’m going to try to find out, here, what my problem is.  What I am so afraid of, that I refuse to work on it.

Well.  I’m thinking.  Let’s see.

Some thoughts.  Perhaps garbage.  Let’s start with the queen doozy.  Maybe I’m not supposed to do it?  Not supposed to, like in the sky?  Like, this God or the divine I’m talking about or like my dead family members, they don’t want me to?

(Have I even, on this blog, gone into what this show is, that I am theoretically making?)  (I go back and check later.  I write now.)

I’m afraid to hurt some deceased people’s feelings.  And also some living people’s feelings.  All right.  This is true.  Ding ding ding.  This is some of it.  It’s not that I’m not supposed to, by some divine decree, because come on, but that the subject matter feels delicate and I’m afraid to do it wrong.

Delicate subject matter.  The relatives, the Theosophists, don’t wish to hurt them.  And also, I’m talking about God, for lack of a better word.  I want to get it right in the same way that when you’re visiting some church that isn’t yours, or is yours, you want to be right in the temple or space, you want to hold yourself respectfully.  So, the delicate feeling is pervasive. 

Also, somewhere, is:  how do you make a play again?  Because I’ve never made one before.  I want it to be well-made.  Now, I have a great director and guide.  My friend Kristen Kosmas.  She’s on top of that shit.  She can help me there.  So, this shouldn’t get in my way, this fear.  But who cares if it shouldn’t because it is!  I don’t want to make something that is boring or self-indulgent or irrelevant to the people.

I took a class from Mike Daisey about storytelling from your life, and he opined that you best make your show better than the average episode of Law & Order otherwise you have ripped off the people who can stay home and be well-entertained for free.  So before I even go back to revisit my material, I’m like, Law & Order, okay.  I’m gauging it from the inside, how good it is.  The bar.  Where has Law & Order set it?  And then I’m trying to feel the quality of my show, and weigh it next to the quality of Law & Order.  This one is this… good…and this one is this…good?   Hmm.  HMMM.

I like being alone on stage.  I’m doing a little show that Kristen wrote right now, which is mostly just me talking.  I like being with everyone face to face, without the fourth wall.  I also enjoy having the floor, as it were.  So, I don’t think it’s so much fear of being alone out there.  If I can get my material right, I think I’ll be happy out there.

Maybe if I just can let myself write it as poorly and offensively as possible, do a This Would Get Me In Trouble draft.  That might help.

Also, I am tired.  There’s that son of mine.  He’s a toddler.  Enough said.

This is at least something.  At least I looked it in the eye a minute.

Ah, you, you person who has come by.  Thank you for listening.  Thank you for reading.

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