I Hate This (The Silver Collection)

Photo by Anthony Gray Photography

Since 2002, I have performed I Hate This, live and in-person, forty-four times. Is that a lot? I was put into the company of A Christmas Carol in 2024 and over the course of four weeks I put in twenty-nine performances.

A long time ago, I realized this was a piece I would return to for the rest of my life, whether I wanted to or not. But how? I mean, it’s supposed to be a personal piece of storytelling, but the subject matter, stillbirth, is challenging. I’m not afraid of it, the audience is. I cannot blame them.

And how do I make reproducing the play relevant? How do I tell it again, in a manner that is honest, that isn’t just a reproduction of the original? To tell this story so that it is helpful, edifying (edify: instruct or improve) and also entertaining? That attending is not a chore, but a worthwhile experience? And might I suggest, an enjoyable evening?

Every five years since the birth of our first child, I have been able to retell the story in different ways. In 2006 we broadcast a radio drama. In 2011, I paired the piece with another solo performance. In 2016, I had a one night only performance with a few new adjustments. And in 2021 we created the film.

For this year, the 25th birth anniversary of our first child, and to commemorate Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month (October) I will be embarking upon a project I have been desiring to create for years – a house performance.

I Hate This (The Silver Collection) will feature:

• An intimate performance for an audience of ten (10) members only, each evening. 
• A revised, updated text, to reflect the time that has passed. 
• An open bar and homemade refreshments 
• 10% of the admission will go to the Preeclampsia Foundation, whose mission is to “improve the outcomes of hypertensive disorders of pregnancy by educating, supporting and engaging the community, improving healthcare practices, and accelerating research.”

I will be reaching out to interested audience members in September. Please drop a note in the comments if you would like me to contact you.

Forget About Me (The Breakfast Club Play) (staged reading)

Before the summer gets away from me completely, I wanted to reflect upon one of the highlights; a live staged reading of Forget About Me (The Breakfast Club Play) produced in Westlake and Canton on Saturday, June 13 by our friends at Seat of the Pants productions.

Not too long ago, “live stage reading” would be redundant. But I had a virtual reading of this script a few years ago, and while that one was also well produced and performed, I could not hear the audience. Oh. Does it make a difference to hear them.

Under the outstanding and thoughtful direction of Katherine Nash, actors Jeannine Gaskin and Diwe Augustin-Glave were tremendous as Moms and Dots, as we returned to the quarantine (for the moment) to address isolation, anxiety, and the modern generation gap.

And what did I hear? A lot of laughs, and also groans, sympathetic sounds, and one very audible FUCK during a tense silence right before one of the characters also says, “Fuck.” I took that as a win.

I also didn’t hear a laugh that I had expected, which falls shortly after one of the most upsetting moments in the piece. I was surprised, but I shouldn’t have been. I should be grateful. It means people cared. I learned so much, from everyone. There will be changes, but now I know it comes together.

I’m working on a new script, an adaptation, for which I created a synopsis of the novel upon which it will be based. And it occurs to me that I could take that synopsis, feed it into any so-called “artificial intelligence” plagiarism machine and have created to my specifications a new (you couldn’t call it original) two act play, in moments. Just knowing that is demoralizing.

However, I often re-read my own work – for pleasure. I can surprise myself, I make myself laugh. And on those occasions when they are produced for an audience, and they laugh. Or, you know, suddenly blurt, “FUCK.” Well, I’d like to see the billionaires try to take that from me.

Many additional and deeply felt thanks to project producer Michael Glavan, and SOTP artistic director Craig Joseph.

See also: "Demented and Sad, But Social"