It’s strange enough, for me at least, having someone else read something I wrote. I belong to a writing group and, naturally, the whole point is to have other members read your work and make helpful comments/criticisms. I appreciate all of it, of course, but since I’ve always been a little weird about other people reading/hearing my work, it makes me a little uncomfortable. Stupid, I know.
So imagine how I felt when a short play I wrote was not only read but also performed at a recent play festival in Houston. Which meant that not just producers, directors and actors read it, but real, live audience members SAW it. Got dressed up, walked/drove/cabbed their way over to the swanky new theater in which the festival took place, plunked down $20 and sat in their seats waiting to be entertained. Of course, mine wasn’t the only production in the 10-play festival. And it certainly wasn’t the best (I mean, I liked what I wrote but several others were pretty amazing). But as I took my seat I felt my nerves tingling. I was about to be judged. Again. Yet, an amazing thing happened. Everything was great. The actors bleeping nailed it. They took what was in my head, and without specific instructions from me, made it real. The staging was perfect: sound effects, lighting and setting captured the scene and transported it to the world I created. It was pretty astonishing to see. After both performances I attended I could not refrain from telling the director and actors how grateful I was for what they accomplished. And the audience. They laughed at the lines that were meant to be funny. Applauded loudly at the end. I believe it also got a “whooo!” or two. Writing is almost always a lone process. You come up with ideas alone. You write alone. You self-edit alone. You decide if you’re done alone. But eventually, if it’s your goal, it sees the light of day and is judged by the public. Sometimes it doesn’t accomplish what you intended. But sometimes…
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August 2015
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