We went to Firelight Theater’s reading of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s play Aria da Capo. She wrote it in 1919 and one of the most impressive aspects of Aria da Capo? It is timeless. Written over a century ago, yet it is entirely applicable to our current reality.

Another month gone and my mind is still on holiday. Or maybe it’s just stuck half-way up the wall I went splat against when we got home from the Cal/Can trip. That’s how it feels, I guess, when up against one form or another of writer’s block. As if you are getting nowhere even though those little gray cells in one’s mind are probably working hard, be it for or against you and your fabulous concepts.

They aren’t called sh*tty first drafts for nothing. The writing process, it ain’t easy. At least for me, the daily quest to express myself frequently feels like a muddy slough through a morass of ideas that seem so stellar, only to note their fall into a pit of snakes and swampy doubts. For the past—has it been four years?—I have been attempting to write a play.