SIGH. Not writing is booooooooring. Nothing's coming, nothing's getting to me, everything I come up with seems like I'm egging myself on to return to an unfinished project, which for whatever reason, I'm avoiding like Coca-Cola. I come home, I check my inboxes, and tool through done scripts as if trying to force myself into the creative arc once more. But it ain't happening. Thankfully I have a strange Florida connection who allows me to write expansive emails about nothing in particular, so I don't suddenly forget how to type. Peace unto you, little sister, and all your good tidings.

I will be flying to Germany in September to visit my parents and to visit a proper beerhall, the kind you really only get in Milwaukee. And The Keller Theatre has graciously (under duress) agreed to perform to of my shorter works, CHARLESTON'S FINGER and TRY NOT TO STEP ON THE ANTHROPOLOGIST. Oldies but goodies. Thanks once again to David Turner.