Back in Serviss

So it's been an interesting couple of days--spent trying to figure out how to write a play and also wondering if that's what I really want to do anyway. The conflict arose when I had what I think would be a really good, funny book about depression and its sibling, anxiety. I have what I think is a really good title, but I don't want to tell all just yet. Why do I write? To see a thought in print, to express an emotion. I don't really know. It just seems easier sometimes to write things down rather than speak them out loud. Especially when doing so may upset a partner. I need to spend some time in this brain of mine to see what I really want to do. So far, the play hasn't inspired me. I tend to get bogged down in the technical stuff. Which means, to me, format and structure. When I let those fears encroach they slam the door on my creativity. If that's what you call it. Need to find a true niche that might be fulfilling and possibly lucrative. So far, my earnings have been ridiculous. Enough.