My characters are walking around in circles. They’re still talking in my head but this time they’ve morphed into characters in a play. I can fully see them moving about, downstage and up. I used to write plays in a weekend in college. I would write them for the fun of it and shove them under my mattress because I was mentally ill and really strange at that point in my life, not wanting to share my writing with anyone for anything. Do not name your price. I’d just as soon slither back into my oily cave then show you my beating heart.
Anyway…and how American is the “Anyway…” in writing and conversation? I love how it transitions and insinuates that the writer/speaker is mildly exasperated with themselves. So, anyway.
I wrote plays like I now write emails and facebook updates and haiku. Quick and light and with great joy. Adam, Justine, Blake, etc showed me their faces and their movements and exited their own heads for a while and shared themselves with the world. Should I experiment with this? Should I run with it? Will have to check out some of my favorite plays again from the library. Stuff from Shepherd, Stoppard, Simon, Kushner, Beckett. Will also have to look over everything I’ve written, edit and add, and see if it is meant to be a short story (which is my solemn hunch). After it’s a fully baked loaf of short story bread I feel like I can slice it up and look at it possibly falling out of my head as a play. Which would be a return to my deepest roots, as I was brought up and came of age in the theatre and majored in performance in college. But no – I don’t perform anymore. After writing lots of secret plays and taking lots of tech classes and appreciation classes I realized I’d rather be writing and creating the beautiful worlds, not pretending to live in them out loud. Because then it became all about me, and that’s exactly the person I wanted to avoid. Typical late childhood early adulthood bullshit like that.
Here’s a collection of my favorite playwrights in all of their pensive glory:
But look here. There are too few noted female playwrights. Only nine women have won the Pulitzer for drama. Research for modern female playwrights comes up dreadfully short and usually references women who lived and died a hundred years ago. I guess women have just looked elsewhere; Miranda July would be a wonderful playwright, but sadly her main mediums are print, film, and performance art. I wish she’d write some plays. I wish I’d write some plays again.