Afraid of the dark

I feel like my writing life is on hold. The dreaded ‘shortlist day’ for The Play’s The Thing is looming and I’ve found myself positively not promoting my work.

I have the opportunity to forward my manuscripts to a theatre that promotes new writing – but I have told myself that I won’t send them anything until ‘shortlist day’ passes. Why? Because I don’t want to jeopardise my entry to the competition.

Okay, so this theatre wouldn’t use any of my manuscripts, as if they were interested in my writing, they would commission me to write a play (it’s cheaper to do that!), but it’s the doubt of what the competition runners would make of me saying “By the way XXXX is reading that play at them moment”.

Paranoia is rife! The Production Team tells us not to rule ourselves out, but my gut tells me they’ve already made their minds up – and I’m just sat here wasting precious time!

I told you that writers were a pessimistic breed!

But all this waiting is diluting time. It’s a matter of days until the dreaded day – but each day passes slower.

I feel like I have been placed in a pitch black room and told to wait for someone to open the door. If no one has collected me in an hour, I’m to leave of my own accord. But if I leave before the hour has elapsed, the consequences will be severe. But sat there in the dark, I can’t see my watch – so, just how much time has elapsed? Will I be sat there for 6 hours, desperate for someone to open the door?

It’s at times like these I wish I had brought my torch.