Well, the script’s out with six readers. Two have given feedback already.
It’s strange, the experience of sharing writing with others. It’s much better now compared to the first time I did it, when I fell into a deep nausea and depression. And this from a creature who laughs through puddles and sandstorms.
It’s like writers are male praying mantises, built to seek out the very exposure that will kill us.
But once you’ve survived death… death changes its face. All you need to do is walk over the wreckage of your ego and your naked secrets.
So be it. Let that be my morning walk. My constitutional.
Was that my rib I crunched? So be it. Was that my face, underfoot? Why, yes. Walk on. Walk on.