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The cast was really on last night, an even tighter ensemble than the night before. We had a smaller audience, and this time we had an audience who laughed on the inside. Ouch. I always remember that line from an old sitcome "I'm laughing on the inside -- where it counts!" No it doesn't. Not at all. It does make for a shorter show though.
Feedback still says they want to see a full production. Love the show, love the cast. One feedback sheet I haven't read yet because it is definitely for the playwright: covered front and back. I'm not quite ready for that this morning, but I know it is well-intentioned and meant for a playwright who is open-hearted and ready to rewrite.
It was delightful to watch the relationships develop between the characters onstage, even though these were staged readings, and the actors had scripts in hand. They rehearsed enough to be able to look up from their lines and deliver them face to face with feeling, they stepped out of each other's way at particularly heated times, their body language was beautiful to watch. This is one of those memories I feel so lucky to have, one of the reasons I am primarily a playwright instead of a novelist. It is the playing that brings me to the stage. Let's pretend. As the playwright I get to watch the players.
Live theater is a gift to the world and one we must remember to give to ourselves and friends and families. I bring my friends out to see live theater at every opportunity, proselytize constantly. Theater doesn't exist without an audience, it is a living, breathing thing, and the audience makes that so. Opening night, closing night, every night is new and different. There are moments when the world stands still inside the theater building and you can feel the oneness that we all are. You want to be there when that happens. I've been there, more than once. It's why I keep going back.

Envy can hold us back. I don't believe in "sin" per se, so I'll call it a gift. If we are willing to look at these feelings that plague us and get in the way of our progress on the road to getting what we want in life, then they can be gifts, even envy.
The other day I met up with Ivy* a long-time friend whom I've only ever known online, until now. She and I have many friends in common. Several of them live in my home city. She started our conversation by exclaiming "Glinda* is magnificent, isn't she?" *names are changed to protect me and them from embarrassment.
I said that Glinda and I had gotten off to a bad start. Ivy encouraged me to "let it fly" or words to that effect, but I said that's not who I am. I really don't have anything bad to say about Glinda.
I could have recounted the way in which Glinda and I got off to a bad start TEN YEARS AGO, but what would be the point of that? If we haven't resolved or forgotten that by now, we never will. The truth is, and now that I've been made uncomfortable by meeting up with Ivy face to face and finding out she likes Glinda AT LEAST as much as she likes me (maybe more!), I have to examine what it is that keeps me from actually liking Glinda.
I could -- and have -- fall back on the fact that many of my local playwright friends don't hang out with her, don't like her, supposedly because when she first started writing plays she padded her resume. Lied about her productions. Maybe she did. The truth is, she sure doesn't have to pad anything any longer. She has productions -- real ones, not just readings, like most of us get or hope to get these days. And she has them frequently, and everywhere. She is well-loved (see above example of Ivy) and well-respected by people from other cities, as well as from my own. Clearly other playwrights and other theatre folks in my city do love and respect Glinda, and if they ever had a problem with her, they've moved on.
As for me, I've been wallowing around in ENVY. Feeling that it is unfair that Glinda should be getting productions, getting respect for her work, getting readings in far-flung corners of the earth, winning awards and grants, having actors clamoring to read her scripts, directors asking to read her new works, producers wondering when she'll have something just right for their theatre companies. Unfair that SHE has it, and I don't.
Ironic because when anyone else ever said anything remotely like that to me about her, I said "No, it's great that she's being produced! Any time any woman is produced makes it more likely that another woman will be produced." What's more, I believe that. But somewhere inside, I wasn't believing it about myself.
It's a new day. I do deserve it. I have a reading coming up next Friday in New York City. I have a new play that will have a reading in Fertile Ground in January. I'm writing a new short play right now. My work will be seen. I will receive useful feedback that I will incorporate to make even better work. And I am finished with Envy of Glinda! Thank you Ivy for showing it to me and helping me clear that up!
Readers, are any of the deadly gifts getting in the way of your progress to your better life? Do you feel like sharing? Please, do tell!

I said I'd finish the last scene today and I did! Look, it's barely noon and I just wrote those magic words: The End. 100 pages. Ten short of what I thought it would take, but actually that's good. That's a good amount of pages. I can still add if I need to, or cut if I need to. Ninety minutes made a full evening and can be run without an intermission. Or if I need to add, we can have an intermission. Either way it's all good. I did this one so it can be rated PG. You could perform this one in Middle Schools. Although it's an adult drama, I'm just sayin'. It could be performed in churches. Maybe. There are a few hells and damns.
There is conflict, both inner and outer. There is soul-searching and there is character arc. There is social change going on. I'm not saying this is a perfect first draft. I'm saying this might be a good play after I get some feedback. It has potential. It has a table read coming up, and it has a staged reading scheduled for Fertile Ground in January. Now to send her out into the world so other readers can lay their eyes on her. Bye bye baby!

Jessamyn D. Rae IS the Godmother Tomboy McCorkle. Her nemisis? Patric Callahan plays Chee Chee di Mayo. Brother Billy is played by 16 year old Miles Thoming-Gale; Sally by Shoshana Maxwell. Watch this space for more names in coming days. The full cast will be named very soon!
See a picture of The Godmother in the current of Just Out magazine, Portland's GLBTQ newspaper, where Fertile Ground made the cover for January. Fertile Ground will also be the cover on this week's A&E section of The Oregonian. We are the happening event of the month, people! Over 50 events, including world premieres of full productions, staged readings, dance productions, music, you name it baby. Come get out of the cold, see what's H.O.T. Buy your pass for ALL of it, or tix for The Godmother HERE: www.tinyurl.com/tomboygodmother

WHAT TO EAT, AND WHAT TO DRINK,
AND WHAT TO LEAVE FOR POISON

I.
Only now, in spring, can the place be named:
tulip poplar, daffodil, crab apple,
dogwood, budding pink-green, white-green, yellow
on my knowing. All winter I was lost.
Fall, I found myself here, with no texture
my fingers know. Then, worse, the white longing
that downed us deep three months. No flower heat.
That was winter. But now, in spring, the buds,
tiny and loud, flaring their pettaled wings,
bellowing from ashen branches vibrant
keys, the chords of spring's triumph: fisted heart,
dogwood; grail, poplar; wine spray, crab apple.
The song is drink, is color. Come. Now. Taste.


from What to Eat, What to Drink, What to Leave for Poison by Camille T. Dungy. Copyright 2006. Red Hen Press.

haiku
for Bernice
sonia sanchez

now i move in the
blood of women who polish
pores a cappella.

Illustrations by Ana Juan and Roz Chast