...the Martians are landing on a statue in the Bay/ but I didn't get a chance to watch the news today/ oh yes, we're being invaded....
"Would it make you feel better to know I gave up writing for ten years?"
Ten years. Now I wonder why I didn't just hack off my writing hand.
(Not that it would have stopped me picking it up again when I was ready. Taught myself to write left handed a couple months ago.)
"Yes, it would, actually."
She thinks that she is not a "real" writer because she doesn't feel "compelled" to do it every day.
I have a restless, itchy, gnawing feeling that I hope means I'm ready to start working on Posthumous Cafe. I set it aside when I began Watergate! the Musical. Two years ago.
It started as a novel. I cut myself off, because I want to finish. I know it takes about nine months to write a play, but have no idea when I might finish a novel. I can (probably will) novelize it later.
I put into his hands my traditional birthday gift to him, ( I wish you wouldn't, says he ), a new script. I felt badly that it was "only" a revision of Watergate!
When I expressed again my plan to present him once a year with a fresh script, he said, "No, Cyb, that's not ambitious, it's just crazy."
I've been called worse.