Just at the moment, right this second, I don’t know what I’m doing. I should be a bit clearer about that. Usually, I’ve got about six projects on the go – writing one, directing another, acting in a third .. and so on. Since all of that is in my spare time, it’s anybody’s guess as to whether my attention and energy is actually productively used having been split in so many directions (you hush now), but I generally find that even in my exhaustion, one project very often feeds into another.
Right now, though? I find myself with evenings off. Ridiculous. I’m not even using the time productively. I’ve been catching up on old episodes of 24 (season 6, even, which many – including the production team – think is the worst. I’m enjoying it so far, but then I am only four hours in). That’s not to say I’ve been totally wasting my time. I’m prepping for the next performance of Cast Iron, the regular short play night which I curate. (yes, that clunking sound you hear is me trying to casually do a bit of promotion in the middle of a blog). I’ve started reviewing again, which I haven’t been able to do for quite a while. I’ve been doing quite a bit of re-drafting on some short stories, which strictly speaking isn’t new work, since I’m simply going over stuff I’ve already written, but it feels like work, so that’s alright then.
Having said all that, there’s still a helluva lot of projects looming on the horizon, certainly enough that some are going to have to fall to the wayside. But I’m still full of the wistful naive hope of the new year to think that I’m going to better organised and get some of these things done. There’s got to be a first time for everything, right?