Fever Dreams

Rabbit rabbit, March first.

So, it would appear, despite my best intentions and boasting, I've managed to find something to upset the delicate balance that is my thermal control.

I think I have a fever.

I also have two plays to do this week. Not good. I mean, they're weird plays in any case, this feverish state might increase the oddity of my output. But when confronted with the idea of sleeping vs writing, sleeping seems more attractive to my beleaguered brain.

So, two plays for next week, "Gift Giver" and "Faux Real". Spencer and Baker respectively.

Oh, and Mr. Scuzzy has provided a delicious graphic thermometer I will post on here with all due haste so we can all track my march progress.
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The Hinterlands

I am a prolific writer. It's something I'm proud of. However, sometimes I find myself in what I think of as the Hinterlands.

It's a place where I try and find a new play to write. Where I explore ideas, mull theories and basically stress out over the concept of being a writer. I ask all those ridiculous questions, should I be doing this. Can I do this?

I'm there now. I have a few things boiling on the stove, but nothing feels done, and (to continue in the metaphor of food) some of it might not end up being edible.

On a side note, I've decided to send out ten plays in the month of March. Time to get my work out there. Hold me to it.
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