Apology

Well, I must apologize to those of you kind enough to read my missives for "venting" in my last one.
I'm presently reading "Village of Secrets" by Caroline Moorehead, and it's curious, but I tend to see myself in one of the figures of the story. Not that I've ever done anything heroic, but in Magda Trocmé, the pastor's wife and teacher in le Chambón, I see an uncomfortable side of myself. She is given to very changeable moods, and I must admit that fault in myself. Hence, my last entry.
Controlling those moods has been a lifelong struggle. The old advice about counting to ten before reacting is something I must learn to master.
Sometimes before I sit down to write, if it's going to be a challenging part of the story, a cloud will seem to form; until I actually sit down and do it. If it comes, it comes with a feeling of exhilaration. It reminds me of something I heard Sir Lawrence Olivier (or Lawrence Lord Olivier) say about hating acting. Yes when you think about it, because you want to do it perfectly. When you actually are in the midst of it, however... Once, after a performance he stormed to his dressing room in a fit. His dresser, I suppose it was, knocked on his door and said, "Sir Lawrence, are you aware you gave the perfect performance tonight?" His answer was "Yes, damn it, and I don't know how!"