I realized the other day that if I wanted to be a writer (as I always have), I really need to...you know...
This blog doesn't count anymore.
I'm not getting any younger.
Life is passing me by.
I don't have an agent.
I haven't written a bestseller yet.
Nothing I have written has ever been produced on stage.
I am not making any money off of my writing, nor am I making much money from my dayjob, so I'll most likely never have any money. Ever. I would be okay with that, if I felt I was more actively pursuing my art.
I feel like it's all over before it even began.
I need to change things.
On the train home one night, I jotted down 20 possible taglines and figured as long as I had 20 pieces to work on, I could never have Writer's Block because something would always be popping into my head for at least ONE of them.
I don't think that is the best approach to take, as now I just have notes all over the place and am mixing up character's names and using the same funny lines over and over and everybody is starting to sound exactly the same. I am dizzy. And very, very tired. (Last night, I took four midol, which has as much caffeine as about 12 cups of coffee. I slept for five minutes. I could have used all of that insomnia to write all night, but I stared at the wall instead.)
A bunch of them illustrate that I am trying to "write what I know."
Things about stage actors...people who work in bookstores...death of a parent...a show about a professional wedding speechwriter (inspired with my speechwriting and delivering experiences with my sister's wedding last month.)
Some of the taglines were rather odd, and I wonder if I am losing my mind!
"Shy young woman inherits magical yarnshop."
I don't even know how many yarnshops are still out there. Do people just go to AC Moore and big craft places for their yarn now? Have the small, quaint yarnshops of yesteryear been completely forgotten? I realized yarn is virtually impossible to find in New York City. I think city people are just too busy to craft most of the time. I have been big on yarn since I was about 8 and my aunt taught me how to crochet. My current office has a yarn club (who knew?). I guess this show can't really take place in New York City, since it's rather yarnless here, and I seem to place all of my fiction in my beloved city. (I consider myself much like Woody Allen in that respect!)
I am not sure WHERE this "shy young woman inherits magical yarnshop" storyline is going to go exactly. I was thinking about giving it a Midsummer Night's Dream feel, but with bewitched yarn instead of fairies.
(It could work...right? Shakespeare is retold all the time!)
I also started one about a young gay guy whose mother died of AIDS in the early 80's after she got a blood transfusion when she gave birth to him. His father has had issues accepting him, because he blames his wife's death on "people like his son" and actually ON his son. (Longtime Companion was on my brain.) Then, of course, a freespirited woman enters their lives. I was thinking that the guy had been quite young when the son was born, and the woman can be somewhere halfway between the dad and son...like, son is 23, woman is 33, dad is 43. Of course, she'll become best friends with the son, fall in love with the father, the two will resolve their issues, and everybody will be very very happy. Then I started thinking it might be weird if she ends up with the dad, so maybe they'll all just become close and he'll end up with somebody else and she'll end up with somebody else.
(Think Debra Messing is available?)
And another about Frank Sinatra and how he touched the lives of three generations of an Italian-American family...(the target audience of that one might be pretty limited, though.) It begins that May day when Frank passed away and is told in flashbacks of the older two generations.
I feel overwelmed.
I want to get things DONE.
And when I do get them DONE, I have no idea what I am supposed to do with them!
If anybody would like to get me some kind of an agent right about now, I would really apprecaite that...