The Flow

30 Days of Development: Lindsay is writing every day for thirty days, and submitting every day for thirty days, and blogging about it every day for thirty days. Whew! Can she do it? Stay posted…


Writing: Still at the Spelling Bee play, which just a week ago I questioned my decision to spend this time on it. Now I feel rather excited. My little has-bees have been very productive today. They’re starting to grow and develop personalities. Flight of the Bumble Bee has been playing in my head all day, which lead very naturally to an opening scene, which was unexpected and nice. Bees moving about the stage, one group of characters texting each other, another IMing each other. Snippets of conversation, here we learn something, there a character reveals something and movement, movement. I can see and hear the action which is great. I actually may move from random conversation to scene writing. I have two on tap for tomorrow, we’ll see how it goes. No pressure. Yet.

Thoughts: When I haven’t written in awhile, there’s always a small worry at the back of my brain (but let’s be frank there’s always a small worry about something in my brain. My brain is very busy making me nuts) that the thing that makes me a writer won’t snap back. That because I haven’t flexed my writer muscle, it won’t perform. That there won’t be any flow. That it’ll cramp up and hobble to the side of the page, whimpering and asking for ice. Maybe a couple of aspirin.

And is always the case, I really shouldn’t worry so much. Yesterday was such a lovely writing day and today was the same. Great flow of ideas. The flow is everything. The flow of thought. The flow from my brain to my pen. The flow of ink across the page. Flow is the be all and end all image in my writing persona. It’s all around me, through me, on to the page, out through the production, into the audience, back to the stage. The circle begins again.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that I’ve been doing this for awhile and knew how to pre-empt my worry loving brain with a couple of specific writing tasks designed to make flow. I’m not a complete idiot. Flow is great and all, but it’s not some airy fairy, artsy fartsy let’s thank the tree spirits thing. You gots to work to gets the water running.

But who cares? What matters is that writing happened. Flow happened. The only cramp I have is from a bum hamstring that just won’t relax no matter how much I stretch it. Hmmm. Another story for that amateur runners blog I’m sure to start any day now.

Submission: Abstract one act about death, love and loss called White to Alloy Theater.

Thoughts: This piece is ten years old. Some days I read the old stuff and I cringe. Some days it just comes alive off the page. I wonder how it is that plays can be so different. So dead and so alive. But if we knew that all the kids would be doing it….

About the author

Lindsay Price