Dead Authors redux

I spent some time yesterday away from writing and took the time to get my entry ready for a competition, a pretty nice one too, in Manhattan. My big quandry was which play to send. A hard decision. I have my newer stuff of course, not the solo stuff, the two handers (mostly) but somehow I figured that a competition by an acting studio, T. Schrieber Studio, might like the idea of many parts . . . for men and women. That was the ultimate decision maker for me.

I was tempted at first to send Damage Control, which is an edgy edgy piece, but it's two guys and a girl who never speaks. I thought of the miners pieces, specifically Where the Rain Never Falls, but it's two hander and the technical requirements would be daunting (I've convinced myself that the technical challenges were an element in Abingdon not moving forward with it); and I thought about my newest piece Not All That Much to Ask, but again two hander, older actors . . . so to make a long story short, I decided on Dead Authors.

Dead Authors has three nice parts for women, and three for men, and that doesn't take into consideration the four title characters. I also think the piece could benefit from a healthy dollop of development, which it has never had. A couple of readings, yes . . . and valuable feedback came from them, but as far as the kind of work Rain had or Damage Control, where you can really get in there and bust your knuckles a bit . . . no. So I picked a five page sample, and sent it off . . . and we'll see. It's a crap shoot to say the least, but aren't they all!

I also had an idea for a new play this morning. I was thinking about family and how it's all well and good, or at least we think it is, while we're all in the same place . . . but then it becomes something else when distance is involved . . . that would be one character who has moved away and comes back as he can; then there is another character who has stayed put and is pulled more and more into religion . . . and then there may be the parent with dementia . . . I don't know it's all ideas right now . . . but it's percolating in there. It may not end up being the title, but the motivating thought behind it is best stated perhaps by a line from a Neil Young song where he talks of an ancient civilization that was 'poisoned by protection'. I remember when I first heard that . . . it stuck with me and was something of a rallying cry for my ultimate move to NY.