An Open Letter to My NEOMFA Mentors and Colleagues

When I started my degree, it was August 2020. My classroom was my dining room, or living room, or bedroom. Sometimes even outside, on the porch or the deck. Classes were held via conferencing sites, or asynchronously on Facebook.

I saw your rooms, the art on your walls, but mostly I saw your faces. And we spoke in turn and our thoughts were considerate. Knowing that I would have a certain amount of time when my mic was on to share my thoughts, I took notes and strove for a clarity of expression that I was not used to. There was no cross-talk, no chance to make verbal utterance of agreement, or even to laugh. I had to get used to not knowing whether my asides were landing.

And that was significant. Communication was more important than ever those days, and I looked forward to each class, so much. I had and have so much respect for each of my colleagues and professors, and class was a celebration of togetherness in a period of great isolation.

When my friends learned that I was pursuing a degree I was often met with surprise. I didn’t already have a Masters degree? And why now? Why playwriting, for which it was assumed I was already a professional.

As a young man, I was a terrible student, and I wanted to correct that. I wanted to be a good student. And in spite of a lifetime of reading and writing, I felt my continued studies were limited. Narrow. I want to spend my future days knowing where to look, I wanted an idea of what I was missing.

The courses that were offered, and the courses I chose, helped me appreciate the current moment, where we are and where we are headed, by looking back; to Wheatley, Baldwin, Jackson, Whitman, Lorde, and Strindberg, Churchill, Gray, and the contemporaries, Abdurraqib, Beilin, Walden, also Hunter, George, Harris, Ijames, and so many more, writers all, poets, journalists, and playwrights. All the inspiring words.

What did it mean, to jumpstart my anemic education? I’ve spent over twenty years narrowly focused on Shakespeare and also Christie, not bad company but they did not lift me up, they have not provided context for society in the 21st Century. I feel as though my education has only started, and in the years to come I hope to keep up after falling so far behind.

I am grateful for all of my NEOMFA colleagues, especially Eric M. and Laura B., who have been a constant source of support and inspiration, and Gabby D., with whom I passed electronic notes during class.

I thank and honor my professors, particularly David T. and Michael O. for driving me to create new theatrical works, and especially Hilary P. and Chris B. who agreed to join my thesis committee, for attending Scenes From a Night’s Dream, for laughing in the right places and sharing such kind and supportive thoughts after.

And most significantly, many grateful thanks to Mike G., a mentor and a colleague, someone who I have known and written alongside for many years, but has been instrumental in pushing me and my work in new and meaningful directions through the NEOMFA.

Ohio State Thespian Festival (2023)

Painesville (2023)

Paul Feig tells this great story in his memoir Kick Me about how, as a high school student, he volunteered to announce a home football game. He loved the sport and also thought of himself as witty and a good talker and of course, he was entirely unprepared and the whole evening was a fiasco.

The first time I led a workshop at a Thespian conference (they used to call it a conference) was as a college freshman. I was going to teach improvisation, and this was also a fiasco. I imagined myself as this elder statesman of theater, with plenty of wisdom to provide. But that was, in fact, entirely in my imagination.

Looking out over the gathered and interested Thespians, I saw people my age – I was still only 18, after all – and they were not impressed with my attempts to engage them in acting exercises, because, like Paul Feig, I was entirely unprepared. I had no lesson plan, and as I spoke my voice rang hollow, drifting to the ceiling of the band room in which we were working.

I thought I had something to offer, but hadn’t given a moment’s consideration as to what that might be. That was thirty-six years ago.

Hilliard (1994)

Four members of Guerrilla Theater Company led a workshop at the state Thespian conference in Hilliard in 1994 called “Adjustments: Surviving the Rehearsal Process.”

(Photo: Torque ignites the imagination.)

“Students will work with scripted material written by GTC members… with the GTC members taking the part of directors. The focus of this project is to get the student actor used to the notion hat no part of character is meant to be performed in a specific or “right” way, and that the process of discovering the character requires concentration, imagination, and most importantly, the ability and flexibility to try a lot of different choices before settling on one."

To wit; we were teaching acting. I don’t remember much about the day except it felt like there were more of us in the room than students.

In 2020, the state conference was canceled (of course) and plans were set in motion for how to engage motivated Thespians in creating something "virtual" in place of a conference in 2021. Great Lakes Theater arranged for online workshops, and Chennelle Bryant-Harris as the primary organizer and director for those, while I played a small role as script coordinator.

Virtual (2021)

The All-State show that year was the live-streaming of that video, Time Capsule. My main contribution was the suggestion that the song one student wrote and performed, extolling all the hopes and dreams this teenager had for the year 2020, which was written to open the show, be put at the end. It was a brutal conclusion, and I stand by it.

Because the State Thespian conference is supposed to be one of those transformative events in the life of a young theater artist. Our high school hadn’t attended one until my junior year, and then because it was being held in the next city over, in Rocky River. We all loved it so much, we asked to attend the next year’s, which was held at Fairborn High School, outside Dayton.

It was at that festival that I met at least a half dozen or more high school seniors who would join me as a freshman at the Ohio University School of Theatre that fall. That was where I saw The Crucible for the first time. I took workshops in improvisation and audition, and saw several one-acts and cuttings from full-length plays. It was thrilling. It was intimidating.

This weekend the Ohio Thespian Festival was held at Riverside High School in Painesville, and the offerings have been nothing short of epic. Yes, there were fully staged performances of not only Rent and The Prom, but also (ta-da) the Cardinal High School production of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee which was first pulled by the school, and then reinstated after the controversy became national news.

The All-Ohio Show on Friday night was Moon Over Buffalo, and the students also received an hour-long talkback via Zoom with playwright Ken Ludwig and – as if that were not enough – a live presentation and Q&A with composer Andrew Lippa!

Hilliard (1994)

As for me, I offered a playwriting workshop called How to Write a Play a Day, for which I tried not only to describe the techniques I used to write every day, but to address issues like writer's block, and how to develop small ideas as well as big ones.

(Photo: Tower rocks the 90s jeans.)

Pre-pandemic, I once offered a forty-five minute writing workshop at a regional conference, which I wasn’t satisfied with. There was no time for writing, just talking about writing. So I asked for a ninety-minute block, which was a little presumptuous. With so much to see and do, I knew it was asking a lot from the students. But then I also figured, not all kids are actors, dancers, singers, directors or designers. Some of them want to be writers. I was there for them.

And they were there, and we wrote, and read what we wrote, and even then it didn’t seem like we had enough time. But in that good way, you know?

369 Short Play and Monologue Festival

My wife and I passed through Asheville, North Carolina back in 2000 during a wide-ranging Southern road trip. It’s a lovely town with a well-established reputation for supporting the arts and artists. We had lunch at the Laughing Seed Café, which I am glad to learn is still in business.

This month, the Different Strokes! Performing Arts Collective presents their 369 Short Play and Monologue Festival at the Wortham Center for the Performing Arts in Asheville. Part of the mission of Difference Strokes PAC is to “confront issues of social diversity in a provocative way.”

As they were scouting new works to present as part of this festival, they tapped one of my short plays and one of my monologues for inclusion, and I am grateful to have my work selected for such a inspiring endeavor.

“3-6-9” represents three weekends of works, consisting of six short plays and nine monologues.

May 30, 2020
Cleveland, OH

My short play Protest, which opened last night’s performance, was written during the George Floyd Uprising of 2020, representing two sides of an argument (though there are always more than two sides) regarding the value of street protest. 

At several points in my life I have been involved in “civil disobedience” either as a participant or witness, since 2016 this has included our children though by the pandemic they were no longer children.

Protest was written before we attended the May 30 event in Cleveland, which began peacefully before the police attempted to force the crowd to disperse. We had gone shortly before things turned ugly, and I wrote another play, Should, a day later, inspired by a conversation with our kids about our feelings about what happened. You can read both plays at New Play Exchange.

My wife in Asheville (2000)
"Flat Iron" by Reed Todd

The monologue Whiteboard will be familiar to anyone who watched Savory Taṇhā during the lockdown. The 369 Festival will be the first time it has been performed in front of a live audience. 

Whiteboard is about a teacher discovering a hate word - meant for them - written on the board in their classroom at school. The word is never identified, so ideally the monologue could be delivered by anyone. Different Strokes will present this monologue twice, both tonight and again on the closing evening, and by two different actors.

In other news, I successfully defended my thesis yesterday. Next up: Commencement!

"369 Short Play and Monologue Festival" produced by Different Strokes! Performing Arts Collective and presented at the Wortham Center for the Performing Arts continues through April 22, 2023.

Assessment

April is the coolest month.

The come-down from a major project can be very difficult for me. All that energy and expectation and yes, anxiety – when it is gone, my body can feel it, like the after effects of an adrenaline rush. That, and all the spare time.

The closing of my thesis production, Scenes From a Night’s Dream, brought to a conclusion my graduate studies. No other classes this semester, just my thesis defense (it’s not really a defense, we’re just going to talk about it) and then I walk. Three years of aggressive reading and heavy writing, complete.

Rather than loaf or mope (see: My American Poetry Summer, 2021) I decided to be proactive and to use the month of March to change some unhealthy habits. Over the course of the pandemic I have added and maintained some twenty to thirty pounds, and also taken to drinking every single day.

Not heavy drinking, mind. But consistent drinking. And some might argue that is a lot. Certainly it must be frowned upon to drink during class, but Zoom made that not only easy but downright encouraged. I hid my beer in a coffee mug, other students just drank their wine from a glass like it was no big thing.

So, for March 2023 I decided not only to attempt to take a run every day, but also to limit the consumption of snacks, and to drink no alcohol whatsoever. The wife called it “March Mildness.”

And it was, I believe, a success. I dropped ten pounds in that month, presumably those excess calories that were constantly cycling through my system in the form of sugar and carbs from cookies and chips, beer and whiskey.

I was more productive, at work, in the home, in my writing, on the road. There was only one day I did not run last month, due to inclement weather. I documented the experience on my running blog, Daddy Runs Fast.

And speaking of productivity, the first of April marks the commencement of End of Play.

End of Play.® is an annual initiative, created by the Dramatists Guild, to incentivize the completion of new plays, scores, or songs over the period of one month.

Last year, I was working on three scripts, two of them for a class. This year, just the one. Last night I attended an online kick-off event which included some excellent writing prompts and a panel of playwrights sharing insight into their own particular process. 

My own plans for the month involve an adaptation, and not even a very long one. If I were to write two to three pages a day, my first draft would be complete well before deadline.

Anybody want a drink?