Throughout the history of writing there has always been, and always shall be, I would imagine, the bane of the menacing critic. I have heard and read there have always been critics of the theatre, but more recently an explosion of critic weed has expounded our psyche with their brilliant and, at times, intellectual commentary.

Critics began as such a quiet and well-read breed. But, now, they have emerged in every facet of our lives. We see them in our theatres still, but also in movie houses, public forums, and the most sinister of them all -- the self critic. This kind of critic is not just an interior type of beast, but it roams the halls and streets of our daily lives. We see the self critic in the hallway on our way to the bathroom. We see this critic at work, both in the reflections of our computer monitors and on the face of each individual we meet. It is terrible. We can't seem to escape the self critic.

This critic is always a negative force. We are not able to find a single shred of existence that will make it happy. We can brush our teeth asnd see it talking to us or hiding from us only to strike when we least expect it. Imagine, sitting on the toilet and having that little critic tell us we were doing our business wrong! It is always nagging and sucking the creative force out of us. I wish I could invent a device to quiet our critics. Very powerful, it is.

This self critic takes things we hear and makes them different. The words are the same and you may hear them a few times a day, yet the person who hears them will, for some reason, think they mean a different thing. Did that make sense? Well, it was supposed to...

I guess what I am trying to convey, and as usual have not made a whole lot of sense but that is what I get for writing this stuff late at night and spending no more than ten minutes or so, is that I have been trying to ignore or quiet my self critic. I am sure I will be able to speak more about this later.