Write, Fucker, Write

“take your broken heart, make it into art.”- Carrie Fisher

It’s 7:12, my scalp is tingly, the dishwasher is churning, my dogs paws are clicking on the wood floor that I swept this morning, though I can already see new dust bunnies being created. I have the urge to stop writing this, get the broom and dustpan, and sweep it up. But I’m not going to do it. Fuck it.

I washed towels today.

I walked the dogs today.

I played with the dogs today.

I swept today.

The sun is setting and the house is silent….

I should be in my office writing, not on the couch….

I should be in my office, with the door closed, writing my play. But, I’m not, I’m here, writing this...

I’m so close. I am so goddamn close and it scares me.

My mentor once said to me, “Fear is excitement without the breath”….

But, when I start to breathe, really breathe, my eyes well with tears and my heart feels as it might break………….

I have a writing deadline: April 23rd.

The death date of my birth mom. (Ironically and quite morbidly, this is in fact how my birth mother did die- her heart literally ruptured, aka, broke apart. Myocardial rupture, to be exact)

I gave myself the deadline because I’ve been working on this play for what I feel like is too fucking long, that and it felt/ feels poetic….the play is loosely based on her……I also promised myself that I would give myself a day of Guinness once I finished the first act-but American Guinness tastes like shit compared to Guinness in Ireland, so am I really all that excited? No…..

This play started as one thing and is now something completely different.

I’m completely different. Do I still want to do it?

Yes.

No.

Fuck it.

Finish it.

You’ve worked how long on this thing?

Fuck it.

Keep going.

Fuck it.

Do it.

Fuck it.

Write it.

It’s there.

Fuck it.

Let it be bad.

Fuck it.

Let it be great.

What are you really so scared of?

What’s already happened…..

Losing my mother.

So, I’m going to end it here, cause now I know…. I’m gonna finish it.

I’m going to make the deadline.

I’m gonna have some shitty American Guinness on April 23rd.

To celebrate… the woman who broke my heart and the art that continues to mend it.