All By Myself

Since Monday, I have been trying to come up with something interesting to write about. My brain, however, seems to be on an early summer holiday. I hope that it is enjoying itself and will share its tan with me when it gets back. Out of all the scary things that have ever happened to me (to be fair, there haven't been that many - seeing an unidentifyable snake slither past my tent in California, getting lost in a skanky part of L.A., losing my way and finding myself snow plowing down a black slope last month are the top contenders that spring to mind) - the most heart-stoppingly terrifying situation has to be a blank computer screen and no thoughts.

The odd thing, is that I have thoughts all the time: they cheerfully zoom around my brain as though they have nothing better to do, distracting me when I should be listening to someone talking to me, or working, or figuring out what train I should get on. But when I need them, when I am sitting in front of the computer with an hour before I absolutely have to get ready for work - all of a sudden they are nowhere to be found. And I literally mean no where: I don't mean that I think up stuff then decide it's a bit crap or not what I want to say, I don't mean that I can't think of anything to write about because I am preoccupied with a conversation I had with a friend or an email I must remember to send. I mean that suddenly there isn't a single thought to be found in my entire brain. The echo practically resounds around my entire study so loudly that I am convinced it will wake everyone in the house. I've heard that we use approximately 2% of our brains, or something - so possibly all my thoughts shoot off to the dark recesses of the 98% that I don't use therefore don't know my way around.

I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that I am entirely alone when this happens - while I prefer to write early in the morning, when (in theory) my brain is fresh and there are few distractions, sitting at a computer at 5am watching London's murky sunrise and listening to the dawn chorus creates a slightly disconcering feeling of being the only person on earth. Incidentally, this rarely happened in Vancouver - even at that ungodly hour my West End neighbourhood was teeming with life, from street residents to late night clubbers to certifiably insane joggers (I don't mean that they were jogging while running from aliens, simply that anyone who would get out of their bed at that hour in pursuit of fitness frightens me.) One of the things that I always loved about working in theatre is that it is so collaborative: if we were stuck on a scene and I couldn't come up with an idea, there was always an actor with a long winded ha'penny's worth that would at least scare my thoughts back from my brain's version of the outer hebrides, or an SM or playwright or someone around. It is amazing how ideas breed ideas. But now, having realized that I work best in a team and immediately decided to pursue writing - the most solitary activity I can think of - as a career... it is just me.

Excuse me while I dive into the dark recesses of my brain to try to find some thoughts. I may never return.