I planned to write about perfecting a hat trick. But, instead, these last four hours I wrote about my artistic fantasies…my way of avoiding the work that’s in front of me to do. Sigh. How my life would have been different if I’d fallen in love with mastery instead of fantasy. But alas, I was a dreamer from the git go. For your amusement, here are my three favorite writer/ performer/ choreographer fantasies…
a) writer – I curl into a ball on a cold day in my breakfast nook. My pen is a Pilot Precise rolling ball V7, FINE. My composition book has a cover I made from Bradbury and Bradybury wallpaper…
I scribble a chapter a day that makes me laugh and cry and solves world peace without rewrites!
b) performer – I recite 90 pages of script after 10 minutes of reading then magically transform myself into hundreds (if not thousands!) of characters at the speed of light. I’m forever in the transcendental transforming moment. I make heart-to-heart contact onstage.
My audience transforms along with me even when I become a white whale–no problem! Audiences laugh, suck in their collective breath and cry out in wonder at the magic I create onstage. Then me and my entourage drink (French!) champagne from a (clean!) shoe after the show.
c) choreographer – my dancers (below we see Rosa, Becky, Natalie and Elizabeth)
flawlessly execute my twisted pretzel, (but brilliant!) moves and beg to be in my sell-out shows without pay! While I create effortlessly, they execute and remember each movement pearl of wisdom that exudes from my svelte body…which is great because I’m no longer svelte and I’m the world’s worst memorizer of dance moves, my own or anyone else’s.
Okay…back to my real work or the day, perfecting inner monologue, pretty much the one thing left that I’m a big fat, consistent failure at when it comes to novel writing. I give myself a month. If I don’t improve by my mid-January, don’t resuscitate.