A Scrap of Paper and a Title

I've heard this question a couple of times: How's the play coming along?

Well, it's now got a title. "With You".

And here's a snippet of a monologue:

"... I went downstairs in my dad's house... our house. The one that we all lived in together, but we hadn't for a few years...

I had no logical response yet for what had happened. I had yet to, other than the exact moment I heard the news, react at all. So I forced myself. I pushed myself to be normal, to be human... and respond.

I went downstairs into the shower, clothes on. Shower off. Lights off.

And I called to her.

Mom. Mom?

And I got louder and louder. I was sure she would respond. And when she didn't...

I remember hearing about John Lennon, something about shouting therapy... and there was a song where he shouted, like a release, so I released.

Why did you do that? Can't you see? I was just about to make it! You would have been here to see that and be proud. So why? Why?"

And that's a little taste of it. It's been good, trying to write this. I put a lot of pressure on myself to come out with a masterpiece right away, and I'm afraid to write anything that isn't good. So I'm confronting that fear, but now I have to learn how to keep the shitty things I write instead of throwing them away. Because I'll never learn from them if they keep going in the trash.

Also, as you can imagine, writing about something deeply personal is quite cathartic, so don't worry about the intenseness of the above monologue having a negative impact on my mental state. I'm good.

And don't worry if that whole above monologue didn't make much sense, I'm sure it will with the right amount of surrounding context.

So that's that for now. Wish me some sort of writer's good fortune, eh?