The Verdict

Nine screws
and a plate.
Stainless steel.
Lifetime sentence.

Break a Leg!

...and this time I actually did.
I have now officially had my first major stage injury. Who knew theatre could be such a dangerous profession?
Quick recap: Right now I'm touring with the BYU Young Company Shakespeare Troupe--We perform a one hour version of Pericles: Prince of Tyre for elementary schools to give the kids what we hope will be an exciting and entertaining introduction to Shakespeare. For some children it is the first play they will ever see.

For whatever reason, most elementary schools have a set of wide stairs that lead off the front of the stage. We set up a big, colorful curtain at the top of those stairs and use multi-leveled space to perform on.
At the top of the show, I, Pericles am fleeing from the wicked King Antiochus. I burst through the curtain, fly down the stairs and stop just short of barreling into the kids to give the show an energetic and attention grabbing start. Only yesterday, it was perhaps a little more attention grabbing than I would have liked.
I burst through the curtain, flew down the stairs, caught my foot on an edge, and hit the ground with a solid thump. I looked up to see my left foot twisted nearly ninety degrees outwards away from my body. This did not look right. It did not feel right either. It felt loose and wiggly--like it was disconnected. I couldn't move it and the weird angle was putting a lot of strange pressure on things, so I reached down and -griiindCrack- yanked it back to the right angle. Sadly this did not solve the problem.
"Guys, I think we're going to have to stop the show..." I said in front of a crowd of wide eyed grade school kids.

I showed up at the emergency room still in costume. After getting checked in onde of the nurses asked: "So what were you doing?"
"I was performing in a play and..."
"Oh, we were hoping you'd say that. The outfit was a little strange..."

Turns out I fractured three bones near the bottom of my leg and it's going to take a surgery on Monday to put everything back together again. Probably three or four screws and a plate.
Then it will be crutches for the next six to eight weeks until I can get the cast off. Yikes.

I figure after years of well wishers telling me to "Break a Leg!" my body finally obeyed.

Dabblings

While it may seem that I have taken a hiatus from the world of writing, nothing could be further from the truth. I am writing my brains out. There they go--splattered all over the keyboard again. Yuk.
In fact I'm taking a course on writing for stage and screen. And I'm loving it.
I'm forty-six pages into my first play. Take a peek if you'd like. Any suggestions on how it should end?
(But if your attention span isn't that long, you can just tell me how you like the first scene--it's only seven pages)

I've also written a couple of shorter ten minute pieces if you're interested:
A Comedy and a Drama.
I'm really not all that proud of those two, but I'm really too proud to make any sort of formal apology here.

Cheers!

Decision 2008

"The whole modern world has divided itself into Conservatives and Progressives. The business of Progressives is to go on making mistakes. The business of the Conservatives is to prevent the mistakes from being corrected."

--G.K. Chesterton


My two cents:

Sure, Barack Obama is bound to make a few mistakes as president. Contrary to popular belief, he is only human. He's got my vote all the same.


Also, I'm pretty sure I'd move to Canada if Sarah Palin ever got elected.

Keep it Like a Secret

For a long time now, I haven't been sure what to write.
I struggle with this.
I think part of my problem is that I'm not quite sure who it is I'm writing this for. For awhile I kept trying to package and sell it, like it was a product.
But I don't think that's the point.
I'd like to write--there's something so intrinsically satisfying about writing: seeing thoughts crystallize on paper. Perhaps I'm writing this for myself? But that never seems to be motivation enough for me--I think I lack the foresight for it. There's no need for me to communicate to my present self what I'm thinking and feeling, and I never feel like my future self cares--I want more than anything to connect deeply and immediately with someone here and now in the present.
I rarely bring myself to write until I feel that need.
I don't think I've ever taken more pleasure in writing than on my mission when I would write ____. Nothing has ever felt so urgent, so important. I have never felt before or since that I was so entirely understood and accepted. I feel like I know a good deal about who I am, what I want, etc. But yet I am always changing, re-examining, being shaken up. Not that any of that is a bad thing. It's almost always positive in the end.
In any case, I think the only remedy is one that I've come to time and time again. I just need to sit down and spit it out--and trust that good things will develop.

Ellipses

"Where have you been?" she exclaimed, spilling the armful of books she had been carrying with a cascade of paperback thumps on the pavement.

He felt sheepish and could do little more than shrug quizzically in response while walking over to help her with the mess.

But they were happy to see one another just the same.

For those who stop by every now and again to have a look in this peephole of my brain, it must appear to you that nothing much is happening. It seems I have not been entertaining visitors in quite some time.

But I am happy to report that good things are happening!

Come see my play: Pericles

Intrigue, Famine, Murder, Pirates, Shipwreck, Love, Jousting, and Adventure--all packed into a one hour adaptation of Shakespeare's lively Romance. It's theatre especially adapted for young audiences, but the humor and brillant direction from Chris Clark is certainly not lost on the more mature members of the audience.

ps--I get to play Pericles. How cool is that?

Or, if you catch "Seussical: The Musical" at the SCERA theatre, you will get a good eyeful of my handiwork. I did props for the show--watch out for the Pillberry Bush that Gertrude McFuzz steals from--my pride and joy for this show.

Coming up next month will be another terrific and innovative piece of theatre from Chris Clark--a stage adaptation of the 1922 classic film "Nosferatu" just in time for Halloween. I put together the storyboards that will be used as blueprints for the show--so while you won't actually see any of my work on stage, it's a project that I am really excited about and was grateful to be a part of. I have not been this

excited to see a play in a long time.

Also next month, we start rehearsals for Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night" at UVU--I'll be playing Count Orsino. More details to come on that one.

In the meantime, school is going well, and one of my youth theatre classes will be going down to compete in the Utah Shakespearean Festival competition at the end of the week--I wish I could go with them, but Pericles conflicts.

I'm also working on writing a play for the New Script Workshop at UVU. More details as that develops.

And my roomates are really awesome. Carl is studying Italian and Physics, Andrew is a History Major, and Joseph is in Music with an emphasis in Vocal Performance--Opera. He practices every morning in the shower and I love it.

'True Love Won't Find You in the End'

"How about that" she said under her breath.
And he sat there, numbly saying nothing.
It was the first time he had ever really told his story aloud to anyone. It had been rolled over and over in the churning tumbler of his brain countless times before, but until now had been only a collection of images, sensations, disconnected patches of emotions--nearly all of them wordless and without any sort of real organization. This was the first time he had attempted that difficult transition of stored memories to dry, breathy words and the exchange had left him less sure of himself and of his story. Just hearing the words dissolve into the air had made the images and events behind them seem less substantial. He was worried that she hadn't understood and that she wouldn't understand when he continued. His tongue still felt stiff and his throat was dry and he heard himself mumble something about a drink of water.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked.
"Water" he said.
"Sure. I'll be right back." she replied as she slowly got up from her chair.
He wondered again if he should have said anything at all. Perhaps it would have been better had he kept his mouth shut and kept her out of it. Then again, he thought, who better to tell?
He felt her hand on his shoulder and realized that he hadn't noticed her return to the room. She handed him the glass, which was already sweating, and sat down again.
"So," she began "What happened next?"
He hesitated briefly and considered fabricating the next part. He could make something up--anything to save himself from the shame that would come next, from the look she would give him after he was finished, and most especially from what it would mean for the both of them. But the air in his lungs exhaled on their own and something in his mouth formed the words and strung them into sentences without his volition. Part of his mind wandered away for that part. A small piece of him sat outside and listened while he told her what he never thought he could tell.
After that, they both sat in silence. After a few moments when the echoes of what he had said stopped ringing in his ears, he became acutely aware of the steady ticking of a clock above the mantel.
He looked up at her for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. He searched her face for any clues as to what she might be feeling, but her eyes were still searching the floor as though she might find the meaning hidden somewhere between the woven patterns in the rug.
After a time, her eyes slowly found their way up from the ground and stared back into his.
She may or may not have said something at that point, but he couldn't remember either way because it was all he could do to keep from being swallowed by the depth in her eyes.
"We'll talk more about this in the morning." he finally managed to to whisper.
But he knew full well that they wouldn't, he knew that this was the last time they would ever speak of this. It was in fact, the last time they would ever speak to one another at all.

Latent Images Developing

Dear Friends--
Developments coming soon! Tomorrow is our last day in the UK. We're in Edinburgh performing in the Fringe Festival--I couldn't be more pleased. This has been a long time coming.
In any case, I'm flying back on Thursday and will hopefully have some pics up for you sometime next week!