Friday, November 28th., Cadogan Square, London.
I am now in a state of much desperation. Perhaps I oughtn't to have finished "Dance Club". Still it is finished. Anyhow the reaction after writing it has been too much for me. Two bad nights; last night awful; depression, indigestion; the usual phenomena after a 'work'. But "Prohack" tortures me all the time. I worked hard at it yesterday and nearly all that I did was no good. I hoped for better today; and lo! in the night from 2.50 onwards I watch the hours go by; get up, smoke, drink, do exercises at intervals. No sleep; and I watch also the hope of a day's work gradually destroyed. Looks as if I will not be able to work today, and every day is precious. I feel harried to death in a triangle of which the sides are fulfilling my engagement to Knoblock, fulfilling my engagement to Dorothy, and my financial worry. I can't see a way forward but know that a good night's sleep would work wonders.
Every hour of the day-time is precious, or seems so, and I have cut out all social things from all afternoons. People who must see me have to come to lunch and leave at 2 pm. I feel sometimes just as if I should go off my head and I remember that at exactly my present age my father's brain gave way. I know that I am getting near the end of my mental and physical resources. I have had a terrible autumn and I daresay that I am perhaps not quite so much of a stoic as I think myself, or am thought to be.
Showing posts with label The Dance Club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Dance Club. Show all posts
Thursday, 28 November 2019
Thursday, 22 November 2018
A recovery
Saturday,
November 22nd.,
Cadogan Square, London.
Depression,
because I saw no prospect of finishing “Dance Club” play today or
tomorrow, as I had hoped. I gave up all notion of finishing and
couldn’t think of any of the ideas necessary for the final scene
between Flora and Clair. When I got home from the Empire I was, as a
consequence of neuralgia pains, a bit sick. This sickness at once
relieved the pain. Instantly I felt better and instantly the hope of
finishing the play miraculously returned, and ideas for the last
scene came into my head and I became actively creative again. I have
noticed this before: return of creativeness immediately upon surcease
from pain. I felt well enough to go out for a night walk, turning the
ideas over in my mind. Lovely evening for that: cold, rather misty, but
still, quiet, a halo around the street lights, echoing footsteps,
visible breath, exhilarating!
I have sometimes wondered if there is any sort of link between creativity and physical or mental problems; does the need to overcome difficulties enhance the artistic temperament? It is easy to point to artists who have succeeded against the odds but of course the sample is skewed - by the nature of things those artists for whom life is simple and free from problems will not attract the same attention.
Depression,
because I saw no prospect of finishing “Dance Club” play today or
tomorrow, as I had hoped. I gave up all notion of finishing and
couldn’t think of any of the ideas necessary for the final scene
between Flora and Clair. When I got home from the Empire I was, as a
consequence of neuralgia pains, a bit sick. This sickness at once
relieved the pain. Instantly I felt better and instantly the hope of
finishing the play miraculously returned, and ideas for the last
scene came into my head and I became actively creative again. I have
noticed this before: return of creativeness immediately upon surcease
from pain. I felt well enough to go out for a night walk, turning the
ideas over in my mind. Lovely evening for that: cold, rather misty, but
still, quiet, a halo around the street lights, echoing footsteps,
visible breath, exhilarating!I have sometimes wondered if there is any sort of link between creativity and physical or mental problems; does the need to overcome difficulties enhance the artistic temperament? It is easy to point to artists who have succeeded against the odds but of course the sample is skewed - by the nature of things those artists for whom life is simple and free from problems will not attract the same attention.
Wednesday, 4 October 2017
A good story
Saturday, October 4th., Cadogan Square, London.
I finished the final (2nd.) writing of the 1st Act of "The Dance Club" yesterday at 6.45 p.m. This act seems to me to have more emotion in it than anything dramatic that I have written for a long time. Some of it I rather enjoyed writing, and looked forward to the labour of writing. Who but a professional writer such as myself would describe writing as labour? Most manual labourers would scoff at the idea that writing might be hard work, but it is so nevertheless.
Tavia and Evelyn Forster dined here last night and Arnold Bax and Mr. and Mrs. D.F. came in afterwards. D.F. seems more decent than I had thought. But he is really very simple and provincial. He is a member of the Dail and apt to refer to that and to address you as if you were the Dail. He forms his sentences too elaborately for conversation.
Mrs. D.F. told a good story. About some semi-swell who was at a village party. A girl who had come from a village a mile or two off cottoned on to him and at the end said "Will I lay with you tomight, sir?" "Certainly not" said the visitor. "But I'll walk home with you." Long dark walk. Cold night. The girls hated it. A neighbour said "Sure, and that was what she wanted but she didn't like to ask for it."
I finished the final (2nd.) writing of the 1st Act of "The Dance Club" yesterday at 6.45 p.m. This act seems to me to have more emotion in it than anything dramatic that I have written for a long time. Some of it I rather enjoyed writing, and looked forward to the labour of writing. Who but a professional writer such as myself would describe writing as labour? Most manual labourers would scoff at the idea that writing might be hard work, but it is so nevertheless.
 |
| Arnold Bax |
Tavia and Evelyn Forster dined here last night and Arnold Bax and Mr. and Mrs. D.F. came in afterwards. D.F. seems more decent than I had thought. But he is really very simple and provincial. He is a member of the Dail and apt to refer to that and to address you as if you were the Dail. He forms his sentences too elaborately for conversation.
Mrs. D.F. told a good story. About some semi-swell who was at a village party. A girl who had come from a village a mile or two off cottoned on to him and at the end said "Will I lay with you tomight, sir?" "Certainly not" said the visitor. "But I'll walk home with you." Long dark walk. Cold night. The girls hated it. A neighbour said "Sure, and that was what she wanted but she didn't like to ask for it."
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