A Kid In The Hall

DAY TEN: The Pauper Lights a Fire

This past week has been a creative resurgence.  The majority of my time outside of work was spent at Second City, either taking class, taking in a show, listening to Dave Foley talk about writing, or watching my very own co-creation be brought to life by some fantastic actors.  This life?  This is the life I want.

So what a bummer my Saturday was when I came down from all this motivation.  I finally told my parents about my decision to leave my job, and I heard nothing that even remotely sounded like criticism.  I was showered in praise, support, and admiration.  And perhaps the best thing I could have heard, "You made the right decision."

After that, it was time to get down to the writing.  But I sat in front of my screen with my scene from our new show searing its blandness into my face.  It desperately needed a rewrite like a desert needs the rain like this guy needs a mountain of ice cream after indulging in some durian.  But nothing was coming to me.  And I remembered Dave Foley quoting Dorothy Parker in the writer's salon, "I hate writing, but love having written."  

Why can't you just be better, words?!

So I did what any self-respecting writer would do during a blockage.  I ordered and ate a Papa Romeo's pizza, added toppings until my order reached the delivery minimum, watched some reruns of Friends, and called it an early night, hoping tomorrow would bring a fresh take on the obstacle at hand.

And this morning, I took another piece of Mr. Foley's advice.  He had said that he would do his best writing in the morning.  He would wake up, and lay in bed thinking about what he wanted to write, even falling in and out of sleep.

And that's what I did.  I allowed myself to think about it, and forced myself to write before I did anything else.

Though only now have I remembered there was one other thing I started this morning.  Oops.

Something glorious happened.  My brain was firing, and I completed the daunting task of a rewrite in less than an hour.  If you think about it, it makes perfect sense.  Your brain is firing like crazy while you are dreaming.  (I myself dreamed that I was pregnant with triplets.  I am to believe the father was Papa Romeo.)  So why not take advantage of those energized synapses and write the moment you wake up?

To this, I say, happy funemployment to me!  How much more satisfying will life be when I wake up and churn out work product than when I wake up and am a product of work?