I’m on a beach on the island of Koh Pha Ngan. To get here involved basically every form of transportation, the final leg a long tail water taxi. It’s very hot. The ocean is clear and the warmest I’ve been in. I’m in Bungalow #11.
I’m writing while I’m here. Slow work on two new plays, and faster work on an adaptation. I was talking with a friend who always imagined she would be a writer growing up, and now fully grown up she finds that she is not a writer, and wonders how that happened. She said now when she tries to write she has nothing to say. She does write beautiful emails – she feels to me like a writer. I’ve sometimes wanted my job just to be writing emails to friends and colleagues. I guess sometimes it is.
I find it so hard, the actual doing of it. So many distractions (I’m drinking my early morning coffee, it’s already hot, and a lithe woman is slowly walking into the ocean to the right of me in a bikini). The voices in one’s head, especially when it’s early on a project that keep saying, Stop, Stop, it’s not worth all the effort.
I’ve brought various notebooks, so I that I can write on whatever different paper I want. I seem to have three going. I have this tiny junky laptop that I can use when I want to type. I’m finding the new plays start out often in longhand. The adaptation I’m already typing. Often it’s hard to “see” the larger play when it’s going into a computer so I’ll need to make hard copies to look at and spread around, something that isn’t possible here. I also found that I wanted to be writing a series of emails that are better left unsent, so I’ve created a document for that. I also work better with a looming deadline – I just emailed some actors asking if they will do a reading for me when I get back.
No pics yet, as I don’t have the technological capabililies here.