Is this all there is?

Dorothy Parker wrote that she hated writing but loved having written. I'm the opposite. I love the work itself, especially near the end of the process when things come together and the work really takes shape, and nothing that happens afterward is as satisfying. Not money, not popularity, not awards, not rave reviews, all of which I've experienced (as well as their opposites) -- nothing comes close to matching the intensity and excitement and satisfaction of seeing the work finally take shape. Often this happens alone, a solitary writer, a solitary film editor, but sometimes the moment is shared with a small group, a playwright in late rehearsal. When the work is done, it begins a new process of change by social and political forces within which it now must exist. It changes for the worse. Nothing again will match the creator's joy in seeing the work come alive. Now it's a corpse poked at by strangers.

This is why I never liked opening night receptions in the theater. Here I am, the playwright, and I always felt like I'd crashed a party where I don't belong. In my drinking days I got through it by feeding a constant buzz that removed me from the scene. I smiled and said thank you a lot. Oops, my glass is empty, excuse me. Without this crutch, I try to avoid the occasion entirely, which of course happens less often than in the distant past.

This is not to say I won't have a good time on November 10th at the showing of The Farewell Wake. I'll enjoy the actors. But I'm not sure I'll enjoy the film. I may even have to escape to Starbucks up the street while it's playing. First, we are not watching the version I prefer -- my choice because at a party staged for the benefit of the actors, it's not polite to put some on the cutting room floor, especially for no fault of their own. This evening will be a celebration of actors, my cast, first and foremost, and I will be delighted to be there for this part of the program. But watching the film, which I've already seen dozens and dozens of times? We'll see. Of course, I hope they like it. It's so much theirs. I think they will.

On November 11th I'll have a blank slate, which I really look forward to.