kerouac says

my piece at the performance art workshop did not go well last night, and i felt like a boob. everyone was nice about, it, though. except one girl who is shaping up to be the One I Don't Like gave me all these "suggestions" for what she would have done that totally made me want to pelt her with plastic forks.

i was in a bad mood by the time i left, which was a first. my piece was underwhelming, and then i started noticing that other people, who had done better-recieved work, had not followed the rules of the assignment. call me prissy, but the text was to be found text, not more than fifty words, chosen from a random spot in a magazine. there was to be no repetition of the words. this was spelled out very clearly. lots of people paid no attention to this at all, including the One I Don't Like (whose piece was dumb and self-indulgent, I thought), and this flagrant disregard for the premise of the project was never brought up in the feedback they were given. huh.

i realize that there is possibly more to life than following the rules, and probably more to successful and fulfilling playwrighting. still, though. working within the restrictions was part of the deal. perhaps my own piece would not have sucked so much if i were a less diligent obeyer.

or maybe i'm just bitter. or maybe they're just cheaters.