The Splatterverse now includes excerpts from some of my plays, in case anyone wants to do some casual reading.
Rather than pick the most dramatic points in the works, I thought it more interesting to find moments that caught the flavor or spirit of the play, the characters, or the situation. If nothing else, I hope they’re vaguely entertaining:
For a change, money is not the answer.
Oh, one can make a buck or two writing plays, and there’s a refreshing point in one’s career where the contracts rise to the four- or five-digit level. And, if you write a hot play that does well at the Humana Festival and becomes a favorite among the regional theatres and you get a write-up in American Theatre magazine and make a dozen other perfect bank shots…you could see a pretty good year or two. Until the next flavor comes along. Winning a Pulitzer helps. Maybe.
But even the folks ostensibly making it usually have to supplant their incomes, often through teaching or, lately, writing for television…which is one reason why the writing quality for non-broadcast programs has increased so…well, dramatically.
What do you have left if you take money out of the picture? Control. And love.
As noted on the Splatterverse home page, this site, like the universe after which it has been named, continues to expand. To wit, new territories have been discovered in The Writer’s Life section:
Here’s hoping you find something worthwhile out of the new material. Shoot me a note if you have suggestions for other, applicable listings.
No sites were harmed in the gathering of these resources.
Nicholas Kristof writes in the New York Times this morning that one of America’s first priorities this year should be seriously addressing mental illness because it affects everybody to some extent, and we won’t talk about it openly. A noble premise, certainly.
But, when he’s talking about how it touches all of us, he offers this paragraph:
“A parent with depression. A lover who is bipolar. A child with an eating disorder. A brother who returned from war with P.T.S.D. A sister who is suicidal.”
And, honestly, no disrespect intended, I thought: there it is–the modern American play. Just add a catalyst. They buy a dog–a comedy. They lose their house–a drama. Or, on the Pattersonian stage, they develop shape-shifting abilities. Which is why my plays get called weird.