Un-well-made.

Last night I worked on my play from this balcony in Miami Beach. It was lovely. After awhile I was distracted by the moon rising over the ocean and put down my pen.

I’m piling up a good word count with my rewrite, but still, THE PENTAEON is proving difficult. I’ve become really good at the “well-made play,” meaning one that has a nice narrative arc, rising tension, a denouement, and all that. But like always, I don’t trust what’s easy for me. (See: forsaking writing for science for ten years.) I want to make an un-well-made play. After all, the entire point of THE PENTAEON is that the universe is a-narrative. I want to manifest that alien aesthetic. I at least want to be brave enough to try.

But I’m afraid it’ll just come out looking like sloppy writing.

There’s nothing to do but keep going, and hope that I write my way into the answer. The universe usually rewards such acts of faith.