this is the title of the play that i am currently working on.
“nick, i didn’t know that you were a playwright.”
thank you, panel — but i’m not.
i’m a student that attends st. john’s college. and in my search for truth and good times, i considered grad school and ended up attending the 3 day, national playwrighting convention (slash conference, because i’m not really sure of the difference) in fairfax va. you can read about it HERE and HeRE, put on by the dramatists’ guild.
you’re welcome.
and
you’re welcome.
and apparently, it wasn’t a conference or convention: it was a symposium. and despite my idea of symposiums — there was no boozing, or sex, or even a single toga. but there were plenty of older men looking to give advice to younger men. and, lucky for me, i was the youngest fucking person there.
which was awesome.
i can’t tell you the last time that i was in a group of people who were all older than me. and the same, hopeful, bright future kind of feeling that i got from hearing the durang, himself, say to me: “how old are you? you look so young.”
“23″ i told him (sort of second guessing it.) “but it’s feeling pretty old.”
“oh 23′s not old; 29 is old.”
and meeting marsha norman so many times that she actually started to identify me, but i have yet to actually ask her anything of what i wanted to ask her.
i learned some facts, though, about playwrighting, and life, and theatre, and theatre-going folk, and texas. apparently repression breeds theatre — which worried me for two reasons: (one) i don’t find myself particularly repressed. (or even troubled, really). (two) hmmmm. i don’t remember what i was going to say now. [there is this strange bologna smell outside that is distracting me.] i’m also rather sleep deprived and hungry. i know that Hollins is over 4-5 summers, but you still have to pay loans because: you’re not in school during the year. and that george mason is not really driving distance for an annapolis based student. i mean, i handled the four hour round trip of driving because it was only three days. but i would definitely have to move if i wanted to go there.
i can ALSO say that i haven’t been this inspired and hopeful in…
[calculating]
…i’m not sure.
but if it takes me that long to figure out: it can’t have been too recent. so i’m really glad to be where i am.
everything’s bubbling under the surface. i’m thinking of the marsh:”let it simmer boy-o”.
did i spend money that could have been put towards paying bills? yes. was it money that i had to spend in the first place? no. am i glad that i went? yes. was i inspired and directed in a really helpful way? yes. did i make insane kinds of contacts? yes. does sara feel good about our future? i think so, yes! –[can i just dramatically aside for a second and give a shout of her being stupendous?]– am i weighing the pros and cons of an expensive 3 days of my life? yes. are those 3 days stacking up to priceless whirlwind of meeting a community that was so small that i felt like i was back in iceland? yes. do they make up and outweigh the monetary cost? quite. did rockstar call me for the first time in 7 months of not a single return call? yes.
can i just say a thing about the iceland reference?
“is that where you’re from?” he asks.
“no” i coyly reply, “but, thank you.”
[i grow shy.]
what i mean about the icelandic thing, is that in iceland, there are celebrities all around. and nobody really says anything. they’re listed in the phone book, and they go get coffee, and have families, and nobody goes fanatic about them. (except for me, maybe)
[golf kaart?]
but the point that i’m making is that in iceland, the kings/queens of the scene, have to eat. just like the students who do it in their spare time. and it was a small, intimate community.
they put their pants on, just like the rest of us: one leg at a time.
and going to this convention, not only did i feel like we were all wearing pants, but we were all wearing the same pants. and then i found out that they weren’t the same pants. but i did find out where to buy them, and how to make them myself.
