I've been racking my brains and attempting to remember whether the gestation period for SSoB was quite as intense as the gestation period for Four Chords has been. Maybe the fact that when I was writing SSoB my only overriding commitment was to the magical red button and its tortuous reality television show meant that I didn't notice the sheer bloody minded all consuming nature of it. The fact that I've been juggling two jobs, the wheeze (much better now that it's no longer a wheeze and more of a regular phlegm inspired morning cold. Just don't make me run for any trains. Thank you.) and a couple of other things that I really really should be doing seems to have contributed to the fact that if I'm awake and not in the vicinity of a theatre or a photocopier, then there is only one thing I'm doing. It's probably not conducive to my well being as a social creature, how many people - other than me - are interested whether Jude (my drummer) has enough motivation to do what he does in the final moments of the first act? No one would be the answer. But it interests me greatly. And the intensity of the experience is only making it more so. Those little characters, siphers, names in my head, have turned into people some where along the line. I've become rather fond of them, even when they annoy me, wandering on stage unannounced, wearing only their pants.
In some ways I suspect that Four Chords, at least in places, is too indulgent. Both of the pants waving of my little people and my own. There's a snippet of a scene that I feel odd about putting in, not because it doesn't work - it works rather well - but because there's a point when I have to chose how much I want of myself up there. And it scares me slightly. At least until I read a message on a writers list I'm part of [it must be the zeitgeist, the original message was nothing to do with me] that said you should write of what scares you, what embarrasses you, what you wouldn't want people to know. And - for all Four Chords current problems - it has that sense of skinny dipping at its heart.
Which is probably all a long winded way of saying that the first draft is complete and ready for its little reading on Saturday. So I'm towards the end of the period when it belongs to me. Which is liberating given that it might make me a more exciting dinner companion. Not to mention blogger.