braindrop fiction

I recently reread my first play. My only play. The act of the only play I ever wrote. Are you a writer? If you are then you understand what it's like to go back and read something that you wrote back when you didn't know a thing. Not that you know anything now, but at least you know that much.

Anyway. You read something that you wrote an eon ago and most of the time it's pure masturbation. The main guy? It's you. It's always you. but wealthy if you're a sucker. or poor if you got too much. or in a dress if you're trying to do the opposite of you, somehow. Maybe it's you getting you a better gig or a bigger stage--either way, it's you playing with yourself.

Well i recently read the first act of my only play and i had to laugh. It's at a wrap party way off broadway where a merry troupe of players just ended a run of A Midsummer's Night's Dream. See? Shakespearean masturbation. The whole thing centers around the Don Juan who plays Puck and spends the first act shirtless in outrageous woolly pants. The nuns told me i'd eventually go blind you know. By the unwritten end, Heartbreaker gets his own heart broken yet love sits on the horizon. aaand, denouement.

When I finished, I actually heard a voice in my head say, "Why yes, Mr. Lucas. Of course you can make a movie of my life, and I'd be honored if you think Han Solo would be a good fit."

Sitting here. I find myself torn between dying of wizened embarrassment and starting the next act.