You Come From My Inkwell

I just realized that I actually started the last post by talking about CHURCH DOORS. Man, I am boring. My life is very small. I should not share it on the Internet!

I took a workshop for the past two days. In the Distillery.





So pretty.


It was a writing workshop. My continual desire to be a writer will not be quenched! These little two day workshops are hard, they just seem like the beginnings of things, but this one was actually very helpful. It's kind of amazing in Canadian Theatre how the people you emulate and grow up wanting to be and are the people you want to work for are just kind of around. It's not THAT hard to find them. You see them on the street. So you can just sign up and take a writing class with Judith Thompson. NBD. And Kurt Browning shops in Bloor West Village and Sarah Polley takes the subway.

One of my favorite things in the entire world is when people have crushes on low-level Canadian celebrities. I just find it hilarious and heart warming. Like my crushes on Felix King and Gus Pike.

More than anything, I was looking for something that forced me to write. Really, I'm interested in some small elf or gnome who sits on my computer or bedside table with a stick and prods me and goes, 'Write!' in some kind of elfin or gnomish tongue. I don't have the self discipline to continue to pour out writing in to my computer with some vague sense that it will never see the light of day. It just seems sad. Like pouring my tears into a bucket. I know that writing is its own reward and that everything I create may have a home one day, but with no feeling that I will ever get a play on, or get into a writing program, or feel like a writer, it sometimes is just too hard to do. So this was nice. We didn't even get through half the material Judith wanted to, but I still came out with two monologues and a scene, that are at least something to start hacking away at and hating, you know?

It's amazing how everyone can write. Humbling. Everyone was kind of amazing and I am continually cowed by how much other people have accomplished and can do. It all makes me want to take a nap. Creation is so easy, in a way you know? You just write for fifteen minutes and something comes out and part of it is kind of usable. Because it can be so easy it's infuriating when it can also be like pulling teeth.



Toronto was beautiful and warm and I had hope for the world, but now the snow is back and it is cold and if I was a groundhog I wouldn't leave my hole ever. Man. I would get that shit pimped out and freaking reeeelax.

So the attempt will now be to continue this sense of momentum I feel from the workshop, and at least keep writing a bit. I have the Fringe show thing, that I wrote, so that is something, and I will have to keep writing that and some other projects, so maybe this can be a little pre-take off prep. I hope so.

It's all in the search of this:


My other favorite thing (other than crushes on Canadian celebrity) is finding text written out there in the world. Everything always seems profoud when stumbled upon in isolation on a whiteboard in a church basement.

Ingenuity.