Having a few hours to spare at the Baltimore AMTRAK station yesterday, I made several pages of notes about a new play, very loosely inspired by this rather beautiful essay by Emily Rapp in the 15 October New York Times, an essay which is devastating when I think of my own two young daughters, and even more loosely inspired by this film, which, I confess, I have not yet seen. Beware: I am in no danger of turning realist or naturalist, by the way. In the cold light of Friday morning the notes remain promising, and it does seem to be a play which my body is telling me I am carrying around within me (I experience a heaviness in the throat and the heart about things like this, a heaviness that becomes more pronounced the more I think and write about the play), so I best should let it out — though this essay from Hal Brooks does its best to discourage, I never let such situations stop me before. Besides, I don’t seem to have much in common with that crowd. But of course inquiries about the play from all comers are welcome.

To that end, I will be suspending my writing here at Superfluities Redux for the next short while to concentrate on getting a first draft finished. Of course, I will be back, but when I am, I will have a new play — if not to talk about (for I’m not sure I want to do that so early in the process), then to remind everyone that I’m still in the game.