wondering

I'm in a terrible mood

if I go too long

without writing.

I wonder about you.

Like when you'd be at the dark wood desk

back to me,

in a storm cloud.

I'd wonder if you were angry

because you were writing

or if you were angry because you hadn't

gotten to write

sooner.

I wonder if you feel connected to something bigger

like I do. I wonder if you feel you were put on earth for it

like I do.  I wonder if you know what will put you in a good mood

like I do. And I wonder if you remember when you knew,

like I might. I was at the gray box,

just like you.

I wonder about you--

like what you're working on now and why and inspired by what,

like what pieces are your all timers and which are your duds,

like what part of the process always annoys

like what part of the process always delights

and what would you approach differently

if you could rewrite anything,

or all of it. There's still time to revise.

some happy holidays

I remember as I was falling asleep, thinking, specifically, it was such a nice Valentines. Puhg got me a bouquet and we went to our cafe nice and early so we could don bright road vests for the annual neighborhood clean-up. We ungunked gutters and sorted trash and ended around noon at the burrito hut. I wrote a while then napped on the balcony, in a little spot of sun, before an evening showing of Wuthering Heights. We picked up a pizza for dinner.

Summer solstice was my favorite things! A true celebration of the day! I was up early writing and spent some hours lizarding at the pool and then the trio of gal pals gathered our partners for the first time. The six of us had such a bright pineapple night at the tiki patio. Good matches, good matches. Only downside was I was having so much fun I didn't notice the sunset. I looked up and suddenly, it was night. But even that is a little solstice magic.

Didn't do a good job prepping for 4th of July. Puhg masterminded tickets for Jaws at 10 am, the old timey theatre down the street. I suggested leave at 10:15, Puhg said 10:20 would be fine. I was at my desk a little too long, showered a little late. The two of us realized, wordlessly, we didn't do the math right. Puhg had to hike out on his own, but even if got there in 20 minutes flat (closer to a 25 minute walk, especially in the heat), that means too late for a really good spot and concessions, good luck!

I got very hot and laid down. Suddenly, I leapt from bed and knew--I could fix it. I called a Lyft, which would arrive in 5 minutes. I shoved my wallet and keys and comb and peanut m & ms in my purse, ran downstairs. Would be on fire if I had to hustle, but I barreled into the back of an ice cold Tesla and the guy floored it. I saw Puhg on the sidewalk, miserably hoofing. No time to stop. I called him, "I'm here, send me my ticket." I arrived at 10:35 and reserved four perfect seats in the third row.

Once Puhg made it in I was like a pig in mud, showing off my bounty. I got us each mini popcorns and sodas, happened to be in the lobby right when E & T got there. During the movie, there was a little rustle when the holiday was mentioned. A perfect film in that red, white, and blue theatre. The marquis. When the guy said, "You're gonna need a bigger boat," Puhg did the faintest, most humble golf clap. So I gave a loud, "WOO!" The crowd erupted in applause. Sometimes people are looking for a reason to applaud.

my first world premiere

Dizz clarified last night on our FaceTime, "Oh so a World Premiere isn't just a thing you say. It's an official title." Yes, I informed, a play must be produced 21 times, invite press, and be presented "professionally"--with memorized actors and sets and costumes etc--to be an official WP. This summer my play will finally World Premiere. I've been working toward this for 20 years. I feel almost relieved but not quite yet. I'll celebrate in 32 days.

I've been saying this thing a lot lately, when people ask me about my career: "It's a miracle to even get one." And I believe that. It's an honor to ever create a single work of art that holds significance to others. I know I've done that with this piece.

But if World Premiere weren't an official title, then what would my world premiere have been? I think my world premiere was in my childhood bedroom. My family called it the "triangle room" because it was inside the eve of the house. Steep angled walls with blimp wallpaper. A tiny red desk. Glow in the dark stars and a moon. I think I was about six or seven years old. The play didn't have an official title. Maybe, in hindsight, I might call it The Magic Muffin.

I set up my favorite toy set on the floor--a collection of cups and cutlery and muffins that all changed color with water. Like, if you poured cold water into the juice glass, it turned orange. If you dipped the knife into water, a smear of raspberry jam appeared on it. Then you could wipe the smear on a muffin half and voila, a smear of jam appeared there too.

The show had, I believe, four or five characters and was created for an audience of one. The main character was large bunny with a Southern accent. She had a little sidekick, a bear I think. There may have been one more stuffy, but I don't recall who. I played the fourth character, a waitress. Twist, the fifth character was the single audience member.

I wrote the script, then recorded the three animals' lines into a tape recorder. I left long pauses for the waitress (me) to deliver her lines in real time. If the play went according to plan, the fifth character would never actually speak. I cast my father to originate the role. He accepted and sat dutifully on the floor to attend.

There wasn't much plot. Basically, the big rabbit was a chatterbox who overtook the whole conversation, while the bear yes'd all her opinions. The other stuffy chimed in occasionally with comic observations. I would zip in, ask everyone for their orders, and interact with each critter. However, whenever I asked my dad a question, the large rabbit would interrupt and order for him or speak on his behalf.

I remember I was overjoyed when the whole ordeal went according to plan. I'd rehearsed several times of course, but you never know what will happen once you premiere. My dad beamed through the whole thing. I'd leave the room and peek in at him through a crack in the door. I remember thinking it was funny he would look at the stuffed animal who was supposed to be talking even though all the sound was actually coming from the black tape machine.

I think the play was a hit, but it opened and closed that very day. I remember thinking next time I might try to take a risk and add space for the audience member to improvise. But we never remounted. And that's show business.