Last week, playwright and playwright wrangler
Matthew Everett asked me to be a backup writer for
Theatre Unbound's 24-Hour Play Project. He assured me that it had been a couple years since they'd needed the backups.
So, of course, when I got to work Friday I discovered a frantic email saying that someone had dropped out, and was I still available? I was, indeed. I kissed my wife good-night, poured a lot of coffee, and headed to the coldest church on Earth.
My partner, Nichole Carey, was new to TU's 24-hour plays, but not to 24-hour plays in general, which was cheering. I was also glad to see that she had taken the warnings of Epworth's frozenness to heart: she was wearing fleece pajama pants and the biggest, thickest sweater I've ever seen. We chatted a bit and then went to stock up on pre-writing sustenance. When I saw the bag of Bugles in the spread, I said what I always say: "Out of body experience? Have a Bugle." Nichole stared at me. "
That was my favorite show." All was well.
It was reassurance I needed, because this year's common elements were a bitch. I blame
before and will make him suffer for it, as soon as I figure out how.
- a fanny pack
- the line "Why does everyone hate me on Wednesdays?"
- intrigued revulsion
- a virgin or murderess
- a character who speaks only in lines from Casablanca
I hate you,
before. And it's not even Wednesday.
The writing part of the night was blissfully uneventful, except for 15 minutes spent staring at the ceiling and whining, "Why are titles hard?" But by 3:15, I was on my way home, and TU was in possession of "The Water's Fine".
Tomorrow morning, Penelope will offer herself as a virgin sacrifice to propitiate whatever angry god has withheld rain from her village for the past year. Tonight, she prays to Athena and Demeter to bless her sacrifice. But when the goddesses arrive, they come not to bless her but to talk her out of it. Regal Athena appeals to reason, romance, and the sheer joy of living; drunk Demeter throws out Casablanca quotes. When Penelope expresses surprise that a virgin goddess wouldn't support her, she learns that she's not really talking with Athena and Demeter but with two "lesser" goddesses sent in the Olympians' steads (but whom we kept calling "Athena" and "Demeter" for continuity's sake). Athena finally convinces Penelope to return home to her life and not worry about the drought. Penelope leaves, and Athena and Demeter bring the rain.
When we were done, Nichole and I looked at each other and said, "Wow. We just wrote something...profound." I'd almost forgotten it could be done, and I was glad to have done it.