The Table Read...or, "Deep Breaths"

Tonight I attended the first 'table read' for Daft in Death, the short play I penned which will be performed later this month, and which I'm sure ALL of you will attend. ALL OF YOU. (arms crossed, foot tapping) I wanted to check in and make sure it wasn't going to be an unmitigated disaster and, after a bit of a bumpy start, I'm quite relieved to see that it's in the capable hands of two good actors and a good director who will, no doubt, keep me from looking like an ass---apart from the blasphemous, misogynistic parts which I won't be able to blame them for should it blow up in my face.

As the table read was taking place in a conference room, the (loud) synchronized breathing of several pregnant women drifted in from an adjacent room. It was an apt metaphor for the birthing process of a play. This baby is coming...and there's no stopping it now. And, like a birth, I think I prefer to be involved in the conception process more than the delivery. This baby looks like it'll have ten fingers and ten toes, so now I'll just nervously wait to light up the cigar.