Last night was the opening of the Mary Lou Burkett Texas Playwrights Festival. (It's hard to have a playwright's festival of any kind without a long title. I mean look at that thing. ^ It's huge. And there are many more just like it.)
My play The Sofa was performed and I have no idea how it went. If you saw the play last night or you have seen it or you are in it, don't take offense to this. I really enjoyed it. It is a bit of a high to see the word you wrote down becoming life. John Eubanks and Clay Ratcliff, both good friends of mine, were excellent together and each brought something extraordinary to the parts that had not pictured when I wrote the play. Someone asked me last night if it was hard to allow them to take "my baby" and do what they would. The answer is no. I know that some people have a problem with it, but it was exciting for me. I have come to realize as a director and an actor and now a playwright and simply as a human being that nothing will ever turn out the way you plan it to. In fact it is usually better. That is why theatre is collaborative. So that many heads can come together and add to the pot of creativity. I believe that art is better when egos are out the door and people can just add to the creativity without worrying if your idea wasn't as good as someone elses, and if it's not then saying, "Yeah, I like you're idea better." Last night Clay ad-libbed a line, completely changing the script and it totally affected the moment. Instead of a high tension, suspenseful moment the line (and to Clay's credit, the way it was delivered) became a hilarious, high tension, etc. moment. It was everything that I had written into the play, and more. I was really disappointed that I wasn't a part of the process earlier on so that I could pick up on more of that kind of stuff.
The reason that I say that I have no idea how it went was because, while I enjoyed it, I'm a little biased. I know what's going on. If it's completely confusing, I wouldn't know it because I get it, and that's all that matters. I would like to read an honest critique on this play from an outsider. Someone I don't know. People who I know are going to be too polite to me I'm afraid and this doesn't help me. I'm not saying that the people who said they liked it were lying, but they probably don't feel it's their place to give me a full critique as soon as the play's over. And they are right, I'm sure I would have been quite annoyed if someone would have approached me after it was all over and told me everything that was wrong with the play. I need to sit down with my dad who I know will give me some good, honest feedback if I ask him. He's not exactly an outside party, but if I ask I know he'll be honest. Amanda was disappointed that no one gushed after me lauding me as the next Arthur Miller and telling me I was a genious. This didn't bother me, as I understand that even geniouses may not get it exactly right the first time. What is a genious anyway, aside from the I.Q. score. I think they are someone who takes other people's advise and don't buy into thinking that they are the ultimate and foremost authority on a play just because they wrote it. That's arrogance.