Not sure what's triggering it. Maybe because I'm out of pot, and craving. Or because I've had a summer cold all week. But feeling under-loved again, hypersensitive to slights, imaginary or otherwise. Bleh. Not a fun mood.
I'm wrapping up a writing session at Write Club. Just read somebody's comments on a chapter I showed him. Funny thing, I wasn't asking for comments, but he gave them anyway. Mostly questions. A big negative on my tendency toward preachiness. Ha. Preachy, me? The Kung Fu Evangelist?
Last night I read a different excerpt from the novel to a group of Radical Faeries. They responded favorably; some were surprised even, I suspect. I may read/perform the same excerpt in a couple weekends at Bacchanal, a wine store in the Bywater, the neighborhood where I live. Bacchanal has an outdoor cabaret in back.
Lately trying to re-plug into the local literary scene, especially since I'm not getting cast in any theatre roles. There are quite a lot of writers in New Orleans, but not much of a "scene". Writers don't tend to get together. The literary events here, as in most places, are not for writers per se, but lovers of writers. Could stand some external inspiration to keep writing, instead of always relying on my personal motivation.
Ugh, I'm feeling professional jealousy, wanting, grasping, craving. Hmm...
Just got home from Soul Rebels Brass Band at Le Bon Temps Rouler. MUCH better mood.