Mountains of Work

I got a chance recently to spend some time at my parent's mountain house in western North Carolina. It was 8 degrees outside with snow on the ground, and ice on the trees, but inside I had a nice warm fire, and my laptop and ergonomic keyboard. I got to spit out a first draft of a new play that's been bugging me about family drama, American Literature, and nudism.

First drafts are always fun, heartbreaking, because the ideas are now in black and white (not watery gray matter), and you're forced to see them for what they are - the first step in a long process of revise, read aloud, lather, rinse, repeat.

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