| The vacillation between acting and writing reflects the choice between the transient and the eternal. It's the wavering between instant gratification and slow work, between hunting and farming, between a chance affair and a relationship, between sketching a quick silhouette and carving a rock. Of course, acting requires work too. But even with work, the gratification of being on stage is so immediate, so intoxicating, it entices so irresistibly that no joy from a book published a year after it's written can match it. He who has tasted this inebriating fruit is forever addicted. The limelight pulls; he wants to stay there and never leave and he keeps coming back at every opportunity. Look at the face in the pictures: happy, heady, almost drunk from being the center of attention--all those looking at him, all those listening to him, all that energy and love directed at him. And the applause, the flowers, and the eyes of women. It passes quickly. The night is over, the lights are out, the audience is gone. The theater is empty and quiet. The warm memory of tonight may linger tomorrow; then it evaporates-- warm breath on a winter window. A few years later, who remembers that show? Who remembers the episode where the proud coat was so prominently featured? It was good while it lasted, but now the silhouette is blurry, the lines are smudged. He doesn't remember what it was; the audience doesn't remember what it was. Was there anything there at all? He'd better get back to the rock and start carving again. With a tiny pin, on a big rock. Scratch, scratch. A pin and the rock. Scratch, scratch, scrape, scribe, scrabble, scribble. Rasping, squeaking, filing. Letter, syllable, word. Letter, syllable, word. Sentence, paragraph, page. Back to writing. |
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