But it may come three, two, one, two*

It's been several months since I updated this blog.  My last blog entry was written after the attacks in Paris.  I hit publish, but didn't post on social media that I had written anything.  I wasn't sure then and I'm not sure now that what I wrote didn't trivialize something of tremendous pain to so many.

My life and my writing has been in transition for the last year.

Last summer I wrote 90 short plays in 90 days.

Before this I had been working on a play about my experiences as a foster parent.  The play seemed artificial and forced.  I wrote thirty pages that I didn't like.

During the 90 in 90, I found myself writing a large number of short plays about my experiences as a foster parent.  When I returned to the play I was working on earlier, I realized that I had already written a play about fostering.  I gathered the best of the 90 in 90 and compiled them along with a one-act I'd written two years ago for FronteraFest into the play I had dreamed of writing about foster parenting.

I was struggling.  Trying, again, to force the words out.  To make it be a play with "internal logic."  A classical, traditional play with a beginning, a middle, and an end, in that order.  A "well-made" play.  A play with a coherent plot and character development presented in a normal chronological order.

Maybe that's just not me.

What I have is once again... not surreal.  It's not a dream.  Most of what is on the page is autobiographical... very autobiographical.  But as you can imagine for a play made of 30 or 40 smaller pieces scrambled together... it's surreal... with touches of Brecht... just for fun.

I also wrote a high school play.

And then the desert.  I have written nothing for four months.  Some of it was life (household repairs, health, etc.) getting in the way.  Some is just lack of... motivation... or rather focusing on a different area of my life.  Focusing on the practical, the everyday.  Things I often neglect.

I have dreamed of projects.  I've made notes.  I've done research...
...but I have not written more than a few words.

Nothing has inspired... yet.

But I can hear the Siren's call.


*The Monkees - "Ditty Diego - War Chant"