A night at the opera

Tonight was opening night of Wounding Song, an opera full of gorgeous music by Jeff Galea. Houston was the musical director (and the conductor), and bunches of our friends were involved (directing, voice coaching, playing in the pit, doing tech, etc. etc.). Margaret and I enjoyed it very much (despite the plot being a tad obscure), and the uni students in the cast did a great job with extremely challenging material.

And now, back to working on my current opus. I'm encouraged that so far this month I've already written almost half as many words as I did during the whole of May. Although May did include the revising of a different full-length script, which covers some of my sins. If I can get the first act of this script done in the next few days — and, if I'm being brutally honest with myself, there's no reason in the world I can't — I can move on to revising Mud and Glass. This is a task I'm dreading, as I wrote the whole thing, 100,000 words or so, in the sum total of nine weeks. That's fairly fast by anyone's standards, and it leads me to suffer great waves of terror that I'll have to face, and own, its true horribleness when I finally go back and look at it with a bit of deliberation.

In other news, my friend Jason posted this on his blog, and I had to have it for my very own: