I’m somewhere in the midst of draft three, and it feels like the play is squishy. Push it in here, it pushes out there; work on this section to get definition and texture, turn around and it’s all melted together into a glob. Advance this character, these other three diminish.
In the beginning of the writing process, I included everything plus the kitchen sink—it was all possible. Then some huge decisions needed to be made as the play tried to focus. And now, still, three drafts in, major plot lines are emerging, banging into each other. There doesn’t seem to be enough play to glue all the stories together. It’s three plays in one.
And the rhythm, the rhythm! Where is it? I’m hopeful it will emerge if the story will just settle down and gel.
I’m at my desk at Touchstone, 7:42 p.m. Downstairs it’s Dr. Horrible’s final dress. I’ve been drafted to take Bad Horse to and from the stable. (Yes, there is a live horse in this production. Thank Christopher Shorr and his secret desire to own a horse. He’s taking it out on us.)
Too tired to work on Whitman, I write here (where I don’t worry about the consequences, sorry.) But on squishiness, not much to say really, other than, that’s where it’s at with Whitman right now. That’s where it’s at; it’s all Bad Horse.