Life has gotten crazy. Good crazy. Great crazy even. But as I type this I’m too tried to feel my face. Which is unfortunate since I’m backstage at a show. I’m currently having trouble balancing dead stage face with creepy, too big smile face. It’s an issue.
I finished a novel today. Writing one, not reading one. I wasn’t supposed to finish it for three weeks but… poop happens. I need to revise and edit and all that jazz, but it’s written so yay! And Girl of Glass comes out in less than a month. Also in crossover for shows, which basically means doing ten shows a week while learning a new show in fourteen hour days. Soon I’ll start working on edits for The Chronicles of Maggie Trent with Curiosity Quills Press, and then the first official round of official The Tale of Bryant Adams should be coming down the pipe.
There are times, usually when I’m about to kick my face and I’ve been working for ten hours already, that I think to myself, “Self, you are crazy. You don’t need to do everything. For the love of all that is holy sit down and watch a movie.”
Occasionally the voice wins, and I spend an entire day on the couch vegetating and refusing to get up for anything but food. But most of the time I think of doing nothing and I cringe. If I don’t write my words for the day, my story will never get told. If I don’t edit, my book will never be published. If I’m not in the play, hundreds of other girls will gladly take my place onstage, and my home won’t be under the stage lights anymore.
All of the things that drive me to distraction, and numb my face with fatigue, are the things I love.
I won’t give up writing or acting. Not going to happen, not until the universe makes me. So, I’ll keep letting coffee destroy my stomach lining and put on a little more mascara when I’m too tired to keep my eyes open onstage.
If that’s the price to pay for the glamorous life, so be it.
But if you find me in a corner sleeping, please wake me up with coffee in hand.