Only I am not an actor. I accepted a role as Iago in Romeo and Juliet, once. That was not me.
Signed, I would be a little authorial "character" in some corporate stable. As long as the work sold my clients would not judge me. Indeed, people would take strange relish in watching me self destruct. And attend conferences to hear me pontificate about something I know little about. The mysterious muse.
Or is that the way it used to work, when the heavy curtain was still present, the barrier between writer and audience? How about we dispense with curtains altogether? Let my words ease their way from multiple directions into whatever receptacle of cognizance happens to be present.
To risk a Jimi-ism, let it wash over me in true human feeling.
I just want to focus on the words and life as I perceive them. With the way my mind works and the stresses that naturally occur, any more than a small coterie of casual-to-middling interested readers would throw me off my game. I have not avoided the literary world by accident, though aspects of it* fascinate me.
Now hear me. Arisugawa Park 1.28 - Hooded Cloth is coming.
* The hidden reveals within complex writing.