Lost in the woods

It's been a long time since I've written, and a lot has happened.

Today, I'm drawn to write because I'm terrified. We're several weeks away from the opening of my second Fringe show, and all afternoon I've been feeling something akin to panic. Like I'm not prepared, like I don't know the way, like the golden thread is eluding me and I'm lost, lost, lost.

The irony is: we're taking Red Riding Hood as our point of departure, so the feeling of being "lost" is laughably appropriate. But standing in the thick of it with no path in sight, it feels like no laughing matter.

There's so much inspiration, is the thing, that the problem more than anything at this particular moment may be that I have too much information, and it's obscuring the story that needs to be told. I have this gnawing feeling that I'm overcomplicating matters by falling in love with so many stories, so many themes (Demeter/Persephone, La Loba, Skin walkers), and trying to shoe-horn them all into one. But I don't know what to strip away when they all seem to speak to me so strongly.

I know that I just have to suck it up and make a choice. I know that I need to swallow the paralyzing terror of being lost in the woods and just strike out into the wilderness, move forward, choose a path. I know that is the next step.

So... Take it. Take a breath. Take a step. Start to tell a story and see where it takes you. Right foot, left foot, breathe breathe breathe...