After having read so many plays in the last month and having seen at least three during the past week, I have begun to write one of my own. It is my first effort, and will probably be very short and have an intolerably lame ending; this is the price an addict must pay for reading Oscar Wilde and J.M. Synge, W.B. Yeats, and the whole Abbey Theatre group. I will maybe post it in anstruther when--if--it is finished for the perusal of willing innocents. I'm really rather dubious about the whole thing, because I didn't mean to write it. I bought a new notebook for writing my midterm study guide in (I've run out of spiral notebook pages for drafts, and I do really like them for try-outs and ideas) and when I turned the page after having written down the definition for synecdoche and suddenly my pencil took control of the situation and wrote two lines of dialogue without my knowledge. I added to them their obvious answers, and then the next bit seemed obvious, so I wrote it down too. I've gotten three pages of dialogue down as well as the setting and some of the ending. Maybe I will never finish it; it is a little embarrassing. The premise was an idea that someone I know was enamoured of Byron's Don Juan, but I bet she wouldn't like him if she met him. I've put it in more playful terms, I think, and softened the blow a bit. It isn't based on Don Juan. I could not bear that. Instead, it is based on something popular by John Donne. Very adventurous and impertinent for me to write about, I know. I may not finish it. To tell the truth, I'm rather shocked it is sitting so easily in my notebook. It ought to be ashamed of itself.