The fact that the wifebot was in a show recently meant that I was at a Theatre a lot over the last three weeks. This is something I’ll rarely complain about. I love the vibe, passion and energy that flow freely at a theatre when a show is up. Strangely the audience was usually made up of older adults.
(Strange in that it wasn’t the traditional plays being performed.)
I rarely miss a show of hers and this time was no different. I was at every single performance even the preview show. This means a lot of time around actors and directors, which for me is always a little strange. I dig them; it just always feels a little weird.
This also (generally) means I’m going to field the “you’re a playwright?” or “what are you writing over there?” questions. You can throw in the paranoia that I’m writing what they are saying or writing about them.
Now I’ve been known to steal conversations and clearly there is overheard Ohio but come on people. Not everything is about you. One night I was talking to an actor and they asked why I didn’t submit to the fest.
(And that is a story of my idiotic messing up of the deadline.)
As I talked over my glass of complimentary wine a dude who had been eyeing me as I wrote made his way to where I was sitting. As I returned from the wine table/my conversation he asked if I was going to be sitting there again. I told him he could have that seat as I was gonna walk around a bit.
He frowned and said “I was hoping you’d have a seat with me. I’d like to ask you some things.”
Jimi: Fuck that shit can’t you see I was working on some writing?
Jimi: Sure why not.
I sat. He peered at me.
Him: I heard you’re a playwright.
Him: How does one go about becoming a playwright?
Me: Write plays? I mean I found my passion there and see things on the stage now.
The conversation went on from there. Mostly about how, what and why I write plays. He asked if I could talk about the play I was working on with him.
You may or may not know that the play I’m working on is a struggling playwright (ha ha) who gets dumped, fired, and rejected on the same day. He gets drunk and wants a simpler time. He remembers (and longs for) the time fondly when he was young and had an imaginary friend. His friend’s name is Percy T. Whale and yes he is a walking talking whale. He wishes for him and he returns. The problem? Percy is a drunk, annoying jerk who only causes trouble.
So I tell him this and he starts to get into it. He‘s asking questions and throwing out suggestions. He asks if I’ve considered letting someone writing a scene or two for me.
As the conversation continues it seems more and more like he’s hoping I’ll ask him to collaborate with me. Luckily Lindsay came and I was saved. The next week an older lady heard I’d seen every show—I help out the theatre doing whatever I can—and asked me why. When she found out that my wife is an actress and I’m a playwright she began asking questions.
I talked all the while hoping she’d ask me how I became a playwright.
Origin of a playwright:
When I was twelve I hated reading and loved math. I wanted to grow up and do something in the math field. One day while walking around and solving math problems in my head I came across a dog. I went to pet it and it bit my arm. I passed out.
When I woke up I was in the hospital and the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I had a fever and just started writing and writing plays. I wrote until the fever went down and I’ve been a playwright ever since.
She didn’t ask but that will be what I tell the next person.