If you're over 30, you probably remember reading those choose your own adventure books as a kid.
Uh-oh, you've encountered a deadly rattlesnake. Turn to page 37 to fight it or page 86 to run away screaming like a little girl...
Somehow, I always made the wrong choice. The snake would bite me. The boulder would crush me. My boat would capsize. Name it, and I'd end up dead. And while my brothers and sister would sit in the back of our parents' Buick and keep their adventures going for hours at a time, I'd sulk, pout and eye the roadkill, feeling a new empathy for these stupid, dead creatures.
At 34, life continues to feel like one of those books. But instead of impending death, making the wrong choice results in failed relationships, financial hardships, suffering through an awful job where your boss is grade-A cunty.
So, I find myself at yet another crossroads. My production of Acts of Love, an evening of one-act plays, ended last Friday (to a sold-out house may I add; nothing boosts a playwright's ego like the words "sold-out"). I'm happy with the show, and the audience reactions, but I no longer have the excuse of "so busy with the play" to guide me, and I'm left to wonder, "what next?"
I just hope I choose the right adventure this time. Maybe you can help?
Mark Jason Williams
I find trouble wherever I go