I'm not sure why I feel ...

... like a crumpled-up paper bag today. My sketch-writing class on Saturday at The Pit went well and the sketches I pitched went O.K. At the start of the class we wrote character traits and actions on tiny pieces of paper and folded them up. At the end of the class we were randomly assigned writing partners for the next week. The assignment is to write a sketch on our own and one with our partner--and we should start thinking in terms of something that could be a video. The springboard for the cowritten sketch was two little strips of paper, which I let Grace, my writing partner this week, pick at random. I am depressed because in the 48 hours since Saturday evening I have not had even *one* idea. None!

I have to digress: No one likes the title of my novel. It's called "The Golden Age of Quarryville." Quarryville is the fictionalized version of the agricultural town in California where I grew up. The book is a black comedy about the absurdity of human existence and it contains references to writings by Camus where he talks about the stars looking coldly down on us and so on. I call that my working title--it perfectly describes the book--however, not one person has told me they think I have found the right title yet. The manuscript is a little under 400 pages long, and I'm in my 7th draft. I've been working on this thing for two years. I think I've just about ironed out this one section that has wracked my life for the last 4 months. Almost done.

It's 5:42 p.m. on Monday and I'm tired because I stayed up late last night. I saw "Running with Scissors" on Sunday. I enjoyed it, partly from an adaptation perspective. Inevitably characters and scenes get dropped in adapting a book to the screen and some shaping of the story gets imposed. The book is richer--and Augusten Burroughs writes with a line that has a voice and that can sing. The movie has the great visuals, the music, the acting. I thought about fiction during the movie, which is based on Burroughs's memoir except you could experience it as fiction if you wanted to. It's got a "Royal Tenenbaums" taken up a couple of notches feel to it. I was thinking about fiction and my place in it. Steel magnates make steel, Donald Trump makes buildings, I want to make up things that are made up. Yeah, except at that point I had had no ideas whatsoever for 24 hours. My final comment on "Running with Scissors": The next time I see a Harold go off the rails, I will have to think about what it would be like as a movie--there's a good chance that it might not be as crazy as "Running with Scissors."

Then I went over in the dark and the rain to The Pit to see The Project. It was The Ghosty Teen Mysteries, Super Breakout, and Team Fernandez. I think every team was short at least one member and there were quite a few substitutes. No matter: Very strong performances; I'm glad I went. I could have said “Wonderful show!” to most of those performers--but I tend to be incapacitated in anything resembling a social situation and I was already starting to feel like a crumpled-up paper bag. I handed in my ballot and slipped out to the pleasant warm drizzle of W. 29th St. and headed for the subway. And maybe my regrets are ridiculous: What if they don't know they turned in wonderful performances and I didn't tell them? This morning I sent MySpace friend requests to two team members. They don't know who the hell I am. Doesn't matter, I suppose. But for that hour, I was captivated, charmed, entranced and those actors were brilliant successes.