Waiting

I hate waiting… Especially with my imagination… It runs wild… Two respected drama types are ‘reading’ my work… What have I heard…? Nothing…!

No… That’s a lie… One had the polite decency to email me that I was on their reading list for the weekend and hoped that I was still writing for all I was worth (and in truth I haven’t been, what with the inquest looming and the trepidation of people who know what they are talking about reading my work!).

So where is my imagination taking me…? In two directions. One: There I am, attending the professional premier of my play, photo’s taken, critics shaking my hand… Two: ‘I can’t believe this idiot written this trash and has the balls to think I would want to read it’.

Reading that back to myself – I feel like I’m living an alternate dimension’s screenplay of Sliding Doors… Unfortunately I’m nowhere near as attractive or rich as your lady Piltrow!

As you can guess, I’m not to pleasant to live with a the moment… Hell, name me a writer that is!
Time to go and torture myself again!