Playwriting

Note to self: never leave the house without paper. Bad writer! Bad!

It’s been one of those dreadful work days. Nothing is getting accomplished. It should be easy: I have the place to myself. The temperature is moderate. I have a list of things to do so it’s not like I’m writing in a black hole or something. (Ahhhhhh the black hole of writing ahhhhhh) But oh, it is not happening.

So of course, the guilt seeps in. I mean, as I’ve said before, this is not coal mining. I love my job. So why aren’t I doing my job? Cue the violins, cue the moping, cue the wandering aimslessly about the apartment weeping in to a hankerchief, draping the mirrors in black crepe. If only I was exaggerating. (ok maybe I am a little. But alas, only a little. I don’t have any black crepe)
Now, I do know how to solve this. (Because it happens a lot!) Leave the area immediately. Get out of the apartment. Go out. Doesn’t matter where or for what, go for a walk. I do and have done some great thinking while I’m walking. My brain just clicks into a nice creative space as I’m on the move. It’s why, I suspect, I’m a terrible driver. My brain clicks into that space and all of a sudden I realise that while I’m looking forward, I haven’t been actually looking at the road for the past five minutes. Hmmm. Have to stop that.

So I go out and literally within five minutes my mood lightens. I’m enjoying being out, there’s a lovely breeze, my brain clicks into place and I get some lovely thinking done. At this point, what usually happens is that I pull out my notebook, jot down what I’m thinking and carry on. More moving, more enjoying the summer air, more thinking. I have to jot things down as I go. My brain does not retain information. It comes in, it leaves. It does not pass Go, it does not collect $200. And once a play is on paper, it’s like it was never in my brain to begin with. Sometimes I look at things I’ve written and I think – who wrote this? Who came up for the idea for this? Oh yeah….

As per usual I dip into my satchel, pull out one of the seventeen pens I have stowed in the eyeglass case holder and….no notebook. No nothing. This is not good. I’m in creative brain mode. The ideas are in the hall way with their coat on. They have to get home to relieve the sitter. I frantically search around and this is what I come up with:

One post it note (used). One napkin (used). One grocery store receipt.

Ok. Not a lot to work with. And I write big too. I’m always been amazed at tiny writers. I am not one of them. The scraps of mostly used papers are enough, barely. My creative brain moment has been saved! And now I’m back at home, all happy, ready to get back to work.

One last thing. On my walk I saw I saw this 60ish year old guy wearing a t-shirt that said (and this is by my shoddy memory) Coed Naked Mountain Bikers. Why was this man wearing this t-shirt? And did he buy it? Or did some one buy it for him? Why? And was he happy to get such a shirt? I have to say wondering about this took up a good twenty five minutes of my walk…..

About the author

Lindsay Price