I'm uploading a video to youtube, and it's taking forever. Perfect time to write, I suppose, since i'm doing nothing but sitting and waiting; watching the little navy bar lengthen across the screen. And so I write...

but what about?..........
once again i find myself needing to move my fingers. hoping that at some point inspiration will hit me and I will begin a thoughtful rant about something interesting. i should hope some of my rants are interesting... if not, that doesn't speak much to my writing ability. not to say that i'm a writer by any means... although i have written a play and am 'writing' a few others currently... that does not necessarily make me a writer. I am an artist. I am an artist who writes. I am an actor who writes plays. I suppose, I can label myself whatever I want. there is no quota of plays one must write before they can bill himself as a playwright. if i have written one, i suppose i am. whatever that word means....

whatever it means to me...

stream on consciousness writing is good. its currently not getting me anywhere but i might as well do it every now and then just to keep in the simple habit of writing. of moving my fingers. of thinking.

because when you are unemployed, and you spend most of yours days in a house alone, its difficult to find inspiration for your writing. particularly when the play you are focusing your energies on is about relationships. hard to write about them when you are alone. i can think back, sure. i can imagine ahead, sure. i can build off of what i have heard, what i know. but it always seemed so much easier when i was writing Inferno to write after an actual event in my life. something would happen... then i would write. then i would edit and turn it into something usable in a script. but right now, with nothing happening... i have nothing to write rants about except the fact that i have nothing to write rants about.

so here i am. still writing about having nothing to write.

we begin again.

.break.