TheBanyanTree: Blue Spring

[TL Wagener]

I am so stupid.  Well.  I'm not.  But I do have too much imagination, which
is a lovely quality -- if only I could turn it off.
I was in the finals for three big playwriting honors this spring.  THREE.
 Can you believe it?  Me, neither.  Except that I did submit a really good
play, about the Iraqi translator of a journalist killed in Iraq, she comes
to NYC to live with his widow.  True story.  And the academic who spreads
the word online that the journalist was killed as part of an honor-killing.
  A play about honor and pride and love and friendship and grief and the
Internet.

Then I got two rejections last week.  BAM! BAM!  One was hand-written, which
I know was supposed to be nice, but I felt like growling "Don't patronize
me!"

Mostly, I am bitterly disappointed at how disappointed I am.  I resolved
that, this time around writing plays (as opposed to in my 20s), I would
write for the love of it and just send them out and not care if they did
well or not.  I was going to try it for 20 years, and see it as a hobby,
like some people knit.  Then I blew it right away with the whole finalist
thing.  I cried, and, a week later, am still a raw nerve, over-reacting to
things and personalizing events.  Happily, I'm older and know I am doing
this, and I also know feelings are not facts, and this will pass.  But it
feels horrible.  Just horrible horrible horrible.  And so damn narcissistic.
 I hate being me today.  I just can't shake the blues and be a ray of
sunshine.  And I have no one to call to cheer me up.  How did this happen?
 That I have no friends?

Oh.  Right.  I have the Banyan Tree.  Those who have known me for years.
 Both up and down.  Yes.

So. Hi.

And in a couple of weeks, I get to go to Bloooomington to meet Julie!
 Hurray!  That's worth a whole lot.  We'll see my play, but it might be
sucky -- who knows?

I know I'm not going to expect anything.  That's for sure.  Except hugging
Julie's neck.

xoxosidda