For the third time, in two years, a stage play of mine has
been produced.
One night only, with paid actors, and every time, the difference
between being read, performed and heard, rocks me.
Every time.
The
first time felt so weird to me. I was used to writing
and sending the piece into the ether as a contest entry or query letter.
Written feedback, acknowledged or ignored was
de rigueur. A live audience was a
new experience. It made me nervous.
The second time, with the same play, DRIVER’S ED, I learned,
how the actors generated some of the laughs and the script did the rest. I
lamented (only to myself) that the most important line got lost in the laugh
previous. Interesting. But the audience started laughing at the first line and
didn’t stop, so nerves be gone, and honey, that was WAY COOL.
This last time was different. The short play, titled ACTIVE
SHOOTER, was not funny at all. It is about sexism and how we react to violence.
How, I wondered, would I be able to tell if they liked it?
They leaned in.
Not as quantifiable as a laugh, but a work on its feet is a different animal.
