Mojo!

I've really been down about playwrighting lately, to the point where I was ready to quit my playwrighitng group and burn all those unfinished plays which torment me with their unfinished-ness.  I've been sort of chipping away at one of them for a while, but completely uninspired, not much idea of what to do next, couldn't see it, couldn't get to its meat.  I've cycled through my other full lengths-in-progress, and although I love them all and see each one's promise and potential, none of them lit me up.

I suppose part of the problem is that my creative energy is being satisfied by acting right now.  But really these writing doldrums came before that.  I was pretty sure I'd simply lost my mojo.  Not incidentally, I recently read an article that talked about how many of us do our best work in our 20's and 30's, and that our brain's creative power fades after that.  Even though we most often see photos of Einstein as a white haired old man, he came up with his theory of relativity when he was still a young man.  Had I simply reached a stage in life when the best I could hope for would be finishing the Sunday crossword and maybe scribbling a new 10 minute play now and then?

That wouldn't actually be a bad life.  There are times when I have longed to have the mixed blessing of being a writer lifted from me so that I could just be a person.  Being a writer means that a very particular sword of Damocles hangs over one's head, a sword named "No matter what else you are doing, you should be writing".  I love my plays, love them intensely, the bad ones, the perfect ones, the unfinished ones, the unproduceable ones.  I love them as a parent loves a child, wanting to make each one strong enough to go out into the world and survive being manhandled by others.  I see in each one the possibility of a brilliant story which, if well told, could enhance life on the planet, at least for those few dozen who might see it.  But it would also be lovely just to wake up in the morning and think "I'm going to have breakfast, do a few chores, exercise, get together with a friend, hike in the mountains, make supper for Sweet Hubby, and watch a movie."  That sounds like a superb life to me.  But no, every morning I wake up thinking "I should be writing!  I should be writing!  I should be writing!"  So it was with a mix of relief and sadness and confusion that I very seriously considered giving up calling myself a writer and just being a person and sometimes actor.

And then, two nights ago, I had one of those breakthrough revelations that no amount of wishing will cause but which arrives of its own mysterious free will.  I had just a small thought about one moment in my unfinished full length play "Santa's Little Mrs."  I decided to write down the thought so that I wouldn't lose it by morning.  And as I was writing, the entire play suddenly and quite naturally revealed itself to me.  I knew the purpose each character served.  I knew the sequence of events and the emotional arcs of the characters.  I knew the final moment, the one that makes this a Christmas play, when hearts are opened, wounds are healed, love is gloriously shared.  I could see it all.  I know exactly how to write this play.  I GOT MY MOJO BACK!