I’m ready to come back to this blog, with a bit of a rejiggered focus.
The core of it is: I’m a writer. And yet, writing isn’t enough.
That sounds needlessly depressing, doesn’t it, like I’m about to jump off a bridge or something. Not the case.
For the past year most of my productive, non-job time has been dominated by Unicorn City, a musical that I wrote and that opens this Friday.
This is the biggest production I’ve ever been involved in. Working on it has driven home something that I knew without knowing: just how much bigger the project is than words. The script is important, maybe even most important, but every prop, or costume, or musical cue, or uncategorized adjunct piece can add to or detract from the awesome.
I’ve also realized that I have to take responsibility for these additional bits, something that I have been afraid of in the past. That’s obviously stupid—I’ve long known that the difference between a writer and a non-writer is simply the act of writing—but such is the power of self-definition.
I suspect that my dream job would be to make and share cool stuff by any means and technique appropriate. Publishing should be that, although it frequently isn’t—it is far too often self-shackled by its print roots, and far too often shackled by the whims of advertisers. Many other jobs could be that also, although I’m not sure how many actually are, or could be.
So to sum up: Writing remains my core, but other making can and should supplement. “Omnicreator” has a nice ring to it, no?
Well, I’ll think about it.