Thursday, May 15, 2008

The Blank Page

spring.jpg, originally uploaded by zombiecoterie.

Yep, along with Tennis Elbow and Golfer's Elbow, I've got writer's block. Block. Yep, not the condition where writers damage their testicles by shirking work in favour of perpetual masturbation until they accidentally jizz out their prostate like a little butter bean. No, I'm not in that dire a need of a Muse just yet, just of stuff to do.

It seems the world's not ended yet, none of my Deaf friends have died because I couldn't be there to interpret for them and everyone's been fine about me cancelling work, so my days have been filled with reading too much about Greek Mythology for a Year 6 group's tour next Tuesday (I might post some notes here) and trying to do chores. That's not really terribly busy, so I'm facing the writer's greatest fear - the blank page.

Not the blank of a computer screen waiting for me to talk to it or type in short bursts (like now) but the great white expanse that is my diary! Well, it's more a warzone of struck-through interpreting bookings that I have cancelled. I don't have much work for a while. Even assuming everything goes ok with the National Gallery, that'll take a few months to get started and longer still until it provides a living wage. I've got bits and pieces of consultancy, performance and the like coming up, and it looks like I've got an exhibition in July (woo! You're coming and buying stuff, yes?), but other than that, it's a whole empty ocean of possibility ahead of me.

I keep oscillating between being terrified and terrifically excited. I've got a reasonably sellable skill set, even without the sign language interpreting stuff. It's just a case of making sure the right people hear about it before I start wondering if I can get benefits for being a mentalist or start on the game. I think RSI might be a problem, so I can't really jerk off old men for cash. Lucky escape there.

I think tomorrow, I should update my CV. That'll be exciting!

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