Intermission
a creative coffee break from writing the play

Parked this morning at Day’s Espresso and Coffee House, where I am only occasionally setup with my pad, pen or laptop. I try to rotate my welcome at all the neighborhood coffee shops during the week. I was at Day’s yesterday, and I came back today because I needed some familiarity in my routine. While I love living here in Louisville, I am a little overwhelmed by the newness of everything. Each day brings a “first time” for the majority of experiences.

“Each day a new beginning” aside, I long for September in San Francisco, the quotation cards taped to the window of the yellow Victorian on Church Street, my elderly friend RS, with his beret on his head, stopping for a chat as I begin my walk to 24th Street, and he returns from his, the cat on Sanchez who always blinks at me as I pass by, the comprehensive magazine shop on 24th, and the coffee geeks who know my name. All the things, experiences, which are familiar, that have years of recurrence.

A couple of weeks ago, on the drive home from a weekend in Chicago, a new play began. The end of August, I had made a list of all the ideas nudging at me, wanting to be sculpted into plays, and this particular idea was almost an afterthought, near the bottom of the list. The play came in a rush, with one beat leading to another until I had what I call a rough scene sheet. This sheet contains notes of the images, and emotion that carry major scenes. The ending of this play came to me very clearly. When I can see and hear the final moment of a play, I know it’s time to write it. Usually plays mull for a period of months, some even for years, before the images become crystallized in my mind.

And so, I am writing the new play, amazed by its ferocity in spewing forth onto the page. There are elements which my Editor’s Mind balks at, trying to dictate other ideas or directions. I know my muse well enough by now, to go with where the story and the characters take me. They are usually right. My Editor’s Mind is usually wrong, wanting to go someplace familiar and safe. MBH wrote me recently, he was pondering two different paths for a play he was writing. He wrote, “both get me to the place I want, in different ways,” and he needed to decide which one. In my fashion, I couldn’t help but eWrite back, “pick the one that’s scariest path.”  That’s the best advice I give myself as well. When in doubt, choose to write about the thing that’s uncomfortable, that’s new, that’s scares the hell out of me because what will people think if I do that?

I always do that when I’m writing. Shove the Editor’s Mind aside, and choose the path that’s scary. You know scary, don’t you? It’s the thing in your stomach that churns when you are not in control.

Re-parked myself at a Cafe I’ve never been.

Enough of this avoidance now, I’m going back to writing the play.

Our Dog had major surgery this week. No one knew it would be major until it happened. A simple removal of a fatty tumor, we all thought. Said fatty tumor turned out to be 1.2 lbs! My friends are sick of me talking about this, so you my blog friends are now being subjected to the massive tumor story. The Dog is wearing the requisite cone. Her outside stitch is Frankensteinian-Monster in size. She has a tube extruding from the inside, to drip “stuff” outside her body, so that she doesn’t develop an internal pocket of “stuff.” We’ve sacrificed some t-shirts for The Dog to wear to help keep some of the “stuff” off the floor. For me, that’s no sacrifice as I have t-shirts yet do not wear them. For the Beloved, the t-shirt is a very serious fashion item, and I’m pretty sure she’s crying on the inside for the shirts she’s given up for our Dog. We’ve turned the kitchen/great room area into Dog Recovery Central, with tables and chairs turned upside and sideways to prevent The Dog from jumpiing UP on things and splitting her monsterous stitch open.

Okay, that said, during my break from Dog Watch, I’ve spent a good deal of today organizing my notebooks.I do a considerable amount of playwriting by hand. That’s especially true during the writing of the first draft of a play. I keep my notebooks because the packrat part of me can’t let them go. Some of them contain all those darlings that never made it to a final draft. Anyone ever use their darlings in a different play? I have yet to do so. And still, I have the notebooks.

I found I could easily group notebooks by play script, and was surprised to find how many notebooks a
single play could span. My very first full-length play spanned eight notebooks. My fourth play spanned only three notebooks, which seems to be my average number of notebooks for a play. Film scripts (three in total) spanned four notebooks. These numbers include only the 8 1/2″ x 11  11/2″ size notebooks. I have a ridiculous amount of pocket size notebooks containing random notes. Tomorrow is another day for those.

I have a twelve-year cluster of notebooks made by Rediform, under the name National Brand Porta Desk. I like them because they have a thick cardboard back flap, making them easy to write on if I don’t have acess to a table or a desk. They also have the wire binding at the top, like a steno pad does. I find side binding gets in my way and interrupts my thinking because I am constantly annoyed by the wire. The top binding keeps my simple brain clear of binding thoughts. My inventorying uncovered that for the last two years, I have used the cheap yellow notepads. I don’t know why, other than they must have been on deep, deep discount, because I do not like lined, yellow paper. I am not a yellow pad writer. Sue me. I don’t like the flimsy, floppsie backboard. I like white paper, with a firm backboard. Yeah. And none of this “legal” pad business either. Those days ended when I was twenty, and thought legal pads were sophisticated or something.

Another favorite notebook is by Apica, imported from Japan.
I found them at a bookstore in Calistoga. The bookstore no longer exists, and I rarely see these notebooks anywhere. The paper holds ink well, the notebook is thick, the size is 10″ x 7″. There’s no wire binding on the side. The cover is thick cardstock. So, uh, yeah, the backboard has no stiffness to it. I just really like how this notebook feels to the touch.

The Beloved had never seen the notebook collection before we moved to Kentucky. I used to store the notebooks behind a closed door. In the old house I could do that. Can’t in the new house. There’s a lack of doors. My notebooks are out in the open, displayed on bookshelves next to my desk. The Beloved registered some shock at the sight of all my notebooks. I didn’t have the heart to show her all the tiny notebooks stored in drawers.

Now that’s more than you need to know.