Playwriting gets into your blood and you can't stop it. At least not until the producers or the public tell you to.

I'll have you know, the play I wrote for my Theatre Appreciation class is going to be performed at the end of the semester.

When the group decided to produce my play, I was overwhelmed with immediate terror -- not pride. I did not want the play I was so far from being proud of to be put on stage for all to laugh at. I'd dealt with some kind of stage fright in sharing my 2008 NaNovel with my friends and family, but this was different. All the other students in the group had written plays for our class, too, and some of them were even involved in the theatre department. But now, they were going to be carefully reading through every line in my script, pointing out flaws in the stage directions and holes in the almost nonexistent plot development. What in the world was I supposed to find in that process to look forward to? (Not to mention the fact that I was going to have to act!)

So, last night we met for a read-through. I'd been dreading this hour the whole day, and I told the other team members upfront that I was terrified; I was so glad our meeting place had low light, to mask my blush.

But then, we just got right down to it. The four of us who would be performing read through our lines, and we fixed the few parts that were awkward or mistyped. Our "director," the fifth member of our group (and a theatre major), gave advice to the one person who was having trouble reading the lines smoothly, and then we were finished.

I couldn't believe how natural everyone sounded -- even me! Granted, the character whose lines I ended up taking was one I had written with myself in mind. She's sharp, catty, and only dares to reveal the least bit of compassion. The others sounded really good, and finally, I felt that bit of pride I should have known all along in hearing them bringing to life the characters I'd imagined. Isn't that something?