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Thursday, September 02, 2004

Cold Comedy Concoction

It's probably best not to reveal this publicly. So, of course, I'm going to. (As I've said before, filters are for coffee makers. Not Toaster Ovens.)

Nobody has ever paid me to write anything. I do it because I love it, and because I need attention desperately since I wasn't born an Osmond, which I've always felt was my unrealized destiny.

This summer, I was offered a chance to write for Stark Raving Theatre and actually get a little dough in exchange for my words. Now is the time where I should be exhibiting supreme confidence to inspire the Portland Theatre Community, and stir excitement about the upcoming production of the Cold Comedy Concoction.

Instead I am trembling on a ledge with a gun to my head and questioning whether I should jump or take the bullet. I am paralyzed. I can't write.

I worked on the draft of my play last night. It reads like a very special episode of Seventh Heaven. It's not funny. It's sappier than the episode of Little House on the Prairie (click the link - it's worth it to hear the sappy Casio keyboard rendition of the theme song) when Half-Pint spent the night on a mountain asking God to take her away and return her stillborn baby brother to Ma and Pa.

What the hell am I going to write?

I have to deal with the theme of cold or winter. Should I write about a penguin family Christmas? Or a bride with cold feet? Or tell the story of the Titanic from the iceberg's point of view?

Every artist has failures. Will this show be my Gigli? Will the actors hate me for giving them a crappy script to perform? Will the whole town mock my play and exile me from Portland theatre?

I am so desperate for ideas that I was actually trying to find material from this morning's conversation with The Handsome Prince about having our gas oil tank filled to heat the house. As we discussed heating our home, I found myself silently pleading, "say something funny, Handsome Prince. Please, god, let him say something funny about cold weather to inspire my play..."

Pony talked me down off the ledge last night. He said I was brilliant and would think of something. We'll see. He also told me he's helping me out with a design for a new look for Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven, which made me very excited. You should see the logo he designed. It's awesome. I stopped sniffling and whining and felt much happier after we talked. But I'm still scared.

I think my muse is still in a coma. Here's hoping she wakes up before this weekend.

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