Just finished the 14th official-overhaul-rewrite of "Summer People." I need to hear it aloud and tweak it before it can be sent out the door...this month marks two years that I've been working on this one play.
Granted, there have been two-and-a-half plays in the meantime, and each has taught me plenty. Still, when I think back to the original "gee, I think I'll do a writing exercise" that got the "Summer People" ball rolling, I have a hard time recognizing that writer.
This has been the semester, here, where I've started to have growing pains. I still absolutely want feedback on my work from my mentors, and I'm still learning a tremendous amount by teaching...but some of my classes have frustrated me. I've started to resent the time they take away from writing, rewriting, talking things through with collaborators. I'm hoping this is just a sign that my time here is almost finished, and that I have taken/given what I need to. I think it's more a referendum on that than the classes or teachers per se, whom I've liked.
It's also true that the longer I'm here, the more I'm in production rather than simply writing, the more aware I am of the politics at work around me. Now, this can be a good thing...I'm aware of them, so can behave accordingly, so can move through the systems, official and unofficial, with more ease and success than I could initially. But it also makes me more aware of, and wary of, the politics that are at work within any institution, be it educational, arts-related, or a for-profit business. That, too, has been part of my education here. For better or worse. I don't like going back to the lessons of Macchiavelli to get things done. But I will if I have to, with the best of intentions. Which is a bummer.
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