I intended my next post to be about the difficult balance of having a child and writing a play, which basically comes down to the nagging or very immediate feeling that you are always ignoring one for the other. Like my recent experience in hurricane Sandy where many writerfriends of mine touted the forced time to write. I spent it keeping peace between myself, my two year old, my wife and my deadline.

I feel like no one won.

But at 11:15 at night, standing in the colder than chilly but not bitter November weather, after completing a 12 hour workday and missing my bus by about ten paces... I don't want to talk about that.

Because I am angry.

Maybe it was the political back and forth I had avoided with my Dad until today. Maybe its pre-election jitters. Maybe its the 14 hr. day I have tomorrow. Maybe its missing my kid and wife...
But I should be happy. I made headway today on a tough section of the script, and used tools I rarely do. (The impossible for one: throwing a flaming cow head through a window) My daughter has been happy to see me lately, and that hasn't always been the case, even at two and a half. But my J-O-B wears me down. Missing the 11 pm trolley added 30 minutes to my commute, missing the 11:07 bus by ten paces.... that just sucked.

So how does a playwright survive? (both as an artist and a person) Tonight, I have no idea.

-BGD