A good day at the office. The reading I've been doing about the Mary cult is chiming in with the action of the play. I don't want to jinx myself but I think I'm on to something. Play has a new working title:
The Empress of Hell.
But I'm uncertain as to how much to put down here. It's a conundrum, those of you active in the blogosphere might agree, when sitting down to write a new post: how much to say? Self-editing is an odd business. With the play, do I post a full synopsis of the unfinished piece and invite comment? Do I put up a couple of scenes? What if people hate them? Best to keep completely shtum? And as regards people - whom to name? Will they feel uncomfortable? Should I use initials? Will they feel left out if I don't mention that great conversation we had? Will they care... does anyone care? Is anyone there?
A procedure I suppose is to determine to write for oneself and the people who've let you know they're reading.
Blimey, I'm sorry about this. To write about the writing is, I fear, to be heading up one's own blogosphincter. Mea culpa, and I'll desist. (I wonder if there's a recognised blogo-syndrome, Fear of the Fifteenth Post. The blog gets a nose-bleed.)
Talking of which, B and I finished watching the 3rd season of 24 last night. We're ever so slightly suffering from adrenalin comedown.
A couple of bargains: a CD of John Adams' Grand Pianola Music, and a Dover Thrift Edition of In Praise of Folly by Erasmus (£2).