I Don't Intend To Simply Go Away

As A Writer You're Holding A Dog. You Let The Dog Run About. But You Finally Can Pull Him Back. Finally, I'm In Control. But The Great Excitement Is To See What Happens If You Let The Whole Thing Go. And The Dog Or The Character Really Runs About, Bites Everyone In Sight, Jumps Up Trees, Falls Into Lakes, Gets Wet, And You Let That Happen. That's The Excitement Of Writing Plays-to Allow The Thing To Be Free But Still Hold The Final Leash.

I Sometimes Wish Desperately That I Could Write Like Someone Else, Be Someone Else. No One Particularly. Just If I Could Put The Pen Down On Paper And Suddenly Come Out In A Totally Different Way.

I Was Brought Up In The War. I Was An Adolescent In The Second World War. And I Did Witness In London A Great Deal Of The Blitz.

The Past Is What You Remember, Imagine You Remember, Convince Yourself You Remember, Or Pretend You Remember.

I Can't Really Articulate What I Feel.