Even after they live

Talking to Myself on This Thing Again

The reason I'm stalling on the play I'm writing is, I've now realized, that I'm actually not stalling, 30 pages out. No. What I'm doing is downshifting and now turning the nose of this plane straight down to go barreling through the earth since what the characters are about to endure, while the product of environmental destruction, is pretty grim, physical in the psychological damage it will inflict. What a weird, non-paying job this is. I enjoy it. At the same time, I cannot wait to be done with this play, alongside that other play, but the thing about this particular play is time feels elongated, rather than truncated as in the other play, and that's part of the trap, so it's like I'm experiencing that just in writing it. A satisfying yet glacial pace, now turn and pivot straight down to go barreling through the earth. No one gets out alive. Even after they live through it.