Day twenty-eight

As much as I would have liked to sleep until I woke up this morning, the alarm had to be set to get me up, able to see off my visiting friend. No alarm tomorrow and I expect at least ten hours of sleep. I am officially knackered.

The panto was a huge success (opening night not withstanding) and the wrap party was a blast. I am seldom at a loss for words, but I was last night when presented with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a lovely bottle of sauvignon blanc. Struggle as I might to find a typically pithy comment, the best I could come up with was, “I fucking love you all!”

There was a lot of love in that room last night and a lot of that love was for me. Lovely.

Now what?

Based on many of the conversations at the party last night, a lot of people seem to think directing a panto is like giving birth. When it’s over you swear never again, but after some time has passed you forget what an ordeal it was and are ready to give it another go. How, they ask, can you stop after three huge successes? There is an element of truth in this. I said after the first panto that it would be someone else’s turn the following year, yet somehow I ended up directing two more. But this really, truly is it. I’m not saying never again, but I am saying not next year. Not on your nelly. If for no other reason than I want to be in the next one.

So again I ask: Now what?

Well, hopefully I will get back to the gym this week. (No, make that I will definitely get back to the gym this week.) And hopefully I will be looking forward to doing my play in the new year. (Fingers crossed on that one.)

Fourteen days to go on the Black Dog Diary. This morning’s routine was thrown out by needing to see my friend off, but overall I would say this exercise has been a success. I get out of bed generally eager to sit down at the computer to start my day writing something, even if what is written is little more than meandering ramblings. That is good. But what do I do on Day Forty-Three, the day after my six weeks are up?

I’ve just gone to my website in preparation for posting today’s entry. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I read the text on the home page, which claims I am working on another novel. Really? Which novel would this be?

There are, scattered about my computer, three or four bits of possible Tilly/Roger novels. One actually got to several chapters before being abandoned long before I set up the website. Others are a chapter or two. One, which was nothing more than a few snippets was used as the basis for the on-act play I did actually write last year and hope to perform next spring. (Yes, if it comes off, I will actually be playing Tilly, although that just seemed too strange, so I changed her name to Maggie.) Which novel did I think I was working on when I made this home page claim? Let’s be honest. It was wishful thinking.

Do I have another novel in me? God, I’d like to think so. Could I find myself on December 13^th (Day Forty-Three) sitting down at the computer to write fiction? Could I get the creative juices flowing again? I guess we’ll find out.

In the meant