I just finished the first draft of my play.
I’m so disgusted with it’s flaws, that I don’t think I can look at it for a week.
But I have a draft! A skeleton of potential.
It’s called Without Light, and it’s messy, epic, bloated, and bombastic.
There are dead people and living people hanging out together all the time, scenes that make decade-plus jumps forward-and-back in time, and “orgiastic” light shows.
I’m actually pretty proud of it–as a first draft.
I included an epigraph, and that’s the only part that I’ll let you see until it’s picked up by a theater and in production.
—
This craft of ours, sacred and bright,
Has lasted too many years to tell…
The world is lit by it without light,
But, still, a poet has yet to dwell
On the thought that there’s no wisdom or no hell
No age and, perhaps, no death as well.
–Anna Akhmatova, 1944
—
I’m ambitious, surely–but Kushner says that “pretentiousness and grandiosity are [one's] birthright as an American.”
I’ve been feeling particularly patriotic lately.
