Journal
23 September 2016. Okay, this is a less-than-inspiring beginning but I was in the bathroom this afternoon, reading the Illinois Times article on the Springfield “Mature Mob” show while I was being and I got this idea. . . how about play revolving around one of those senior citizen bus trips? There are more romantic places to get literary inspiration, but at my age some of the great moments begin with small movements.
6 Nov 2017. Geesh….over a year later. Been an interesting year. Diagnosed with cancer in March, then radiation, then chemo, then surgery. . and now, by the grace of God, alive and cancer free. Only a couple of scenes done. Just can’t make myself write after getting home from Barnes. Strange. But I must.
26 July 2018. Has the writing of a play ever been so strung out? Good grief. I keep asking myself. . . Are you going to write this show or not? Been wrestling with a new Lincoln show and it’s a project that actually pays. Today I’m putting a title on it and sending it out into the world. . . or at least into the hands of a Lincoln actor.
22 Sept 2018. Good grief. Two years in the making . . . sounds like a Cecil B. DeMille epic. Yesterday morning my orthopedic doc called to tell me that I have a lesion on my lip, probably cancerous. I don’t need this. I just don’t need this. But for reasons I can’t fully get my head around, I returned to the Branson script last night. At times like this I need a purpose. Maybe this is it. Lord, I’m scared.
2 October 2018. As summer returns with a sweaty vengeance and the temperature outside tickles 90 degrees I type the words, “Blackout. And I truly think it is. . the end of Act I, I mean. I like it. I really like it. At this point a truly brilliant playwright would say, “Now you’re just going to love what’s going to happen in Act II!” However, instead of the aforementioned genius writer of plays you have me. . . and I’m not quite sure. But. . . thank you, Lord, for Act I. After yesterday’s PET scan and with a biopsy facing me this week it’s been great therapy to work on this show. 7:30 p.m. The play seems to have a strange relationship with the bathroom. . . I mean other than Floyd’s affiliation with the toilet. Just as I stepped out of the shower tonight an idea hit me on how to deal with Act II. . .and I like it. I really like it. And now I know where to go for further inspiration.
10 Oct 18. Ugly prognosis today. . esophagus cancer has spread to hip and maybe to a lung. . need surgery quickly on the hip then radiation then chemo. I don’t want to go through this again. I don’t know if I can. But our bus is headed toward Branson and tonight I’m in the middle of a soap opera. A good idea is good medicine. I love you, Lord. Help.
15 Oct 18. The DeMille epic might instead run. . “Decades in the Making!” . . or at least it seems so. Only one outcome that would bother me more than a play that takes forever to write: A play that’s finished but I’m not happy with the product. In the case of this show I’m extremely happy with what’s on digital paper. I’ll take that to a “done” show any day. Surgery looms in a week. . . no idea what the playwright will be up for by then. . perhaps ready to pull his bus into Branson.
19 Oct 18. I sent the script off to Chicago for a professional evaluation this morning. Actually, that’s not as thrilling as it sounds. John Love wanted to see what I had done so far and he had a chiropractor’s appointment this afternoon . . . needed something to read while waiting so I sent him Act I and part of Act II. But he was in Chicago, and he is a professional. I told John to either tell me how to finish Act I or make a musical out of it. I am truly anxious to see what a couple of fresh, honest eyes think of it.
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Road Trip
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