A brief digression...

...from the "triathlete" part of me to the "writing" part:

My last two play-going experiences have been intriguing ones, if not for the reasons that play-going is usually referred to as "intriguing." In each case, I went because I knew someone affiliated with the production, and thus both wanted to show my support for their work as well as see what they've been working on. In both cases, the acting was superb: there were people on those stages doing some simply wonderful work.

The "intriguing" part had to do with the material those actors were working with: in each case, it was, to say the least, problematic.

Play #1 went something like this:

Character 1: Monologue monologue monologue monologue.

Character 2: Monologue monologue monologue monologue.

Character 1: Monologue?  Monologue monologue monologue monologue.

Character 3: Monologue!  Monologue monologue monologue monologue.

You get the idea.

Play #2 began with a semi-realistic premise, then spun it in ever-widening and ever-wierdening circles until the characters were no longer consistent, believable, or even fully human. For three hours.

What was intriguing to me wasn't just the heroism of the actors in each case doing remarkable jobs with such stuff, but the fact that both playwrights in question are well-known, indeed celebrated. And neither play was a 'minor' work of said authors.

Hmm, thought I to myself. If these two can write this sort of thing and get away with it, is it possible that the stuff I write (and almost immediately condemn as dreadful schlock) might not be quite so bad as my inner critic invariably insists it is?

I'm not claiming my writing's necessarily as good as that of these playwrights, or that of any author at the top of her or his profession: far from it. But perhaps there's a chance that I should persuade my inner critic to give myself just a bit of a break at the outset of new projects-- at least enough to let things sit for a while and see if they'll become something more useful.