I’ve mentioned in an earlier blog that retirement has given me the opportunity to write a play. I’ve completed and semi-polished a mid-length first draft. Despite an encouraging online reading, it is clear my effort is too long to be a one-act play and not quite long enough to be a true two-act, full evening of entertainment.

The play is in the hands of my dramaturg–a much more experienced colleague who I am sure will have great recommendations and suggestions to rescue the piece from its unproducible length. I anticipate that he will tell me to add this character, delete that one, and change the focus of some of the scenes.

I have one problem. I have fallen in love with my characters. I love the way they act, how they talk, how they interact with each other. That is not to say the characters are paragons of virtue. In fact, Barb could not believe how unlikeable I had made one of three protagonists. (On the other hand, that was my daughter’s favorite character.)

Each persona has been living inside my head for quite a while now. They are at least as real to me as some of my Facebook friends that I know only by their icons and an occasional social media posting. I hear their voices and their accents, I know their favorite diversions and the things they detest.

I suppose this is an occupational hazard that many (most?) writers face. It doesn’t get in my way while I am writing a short blog piece–no characters to create, no scenes to set. But a lengthier piece gives me too much chance to fall in love.

So I know my dramaturg will break my heart. But it will mend and the play will be better for the tears I will shed over it.

And I hope there will be an opening night when I can shed my tears of joy.

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