Isn't buried treasure great? I don't mean just the kind at the bottom of the ocean. I mean A bottle of Naked you forgot was in the fridge. $20 bills you didn't know you had (yep, I found one last week. It bought me a new pair of flats, which I would be thrilled to show off if it would stop freaking snowing already). A theatrical morsel you wrote but never published.
You guessed it - I found one of those, too! Enjoy and comment. Your literary critiques are more valuable than forgotten Naked. Maybe even more so than free money... convince me ^_^
(MARCUS and JADE walk into a messy bathroom. JADE has an empty grocery bag in one hand and is dressed/groomed nicely. MARCUS is wearing sweats, hair uncombed.)
JADE: Wow… everything looks exactly the same. It’s like I never left.
MARCUS: Sorry it’s such a fucking mess. My dad lives like a–
JADE: Like a frat boy. I know. Don’t worry about it; I just want to grab my stuff.
(She opens the bottom drawer. MARCUS stands in the doorway and watches, shifting his weight uncomfortably.)
MARCUS: I’d really like to clean this place up.
(Beat; JADE moves pajamas from drawer to bag.)
MARCUS: Dad just gets so pissed when anybody touches anything, y’know?
(Beat; JADE grabs a handful of make-up and throws it in the shopping bag)
MARCUS: But, y’know, he goes to New Orleans in February, so maybe then I can…
JADE: Yeah. (She throws a tube of toothpaste in the bag and shuts the drawer, stands up)
MARCUS: So you’re doing OK? School and everything?
JADE: Well, you know. I like it about as much as I did last year…. (Beat; then, brightly:) But I have an internship now.
MARCUS: That’s great! What are you doing?
JADE: Channel four news.
MARCUS: That’s fucking great!
JADE: Yeah, it’s been fantastic so far. How about you? Written any good songs lately?
MARCUS: No, work’s been kicking my ass. That's what sucks about Christmas. The post office looks like a fucking bomb went off. Hey, you wanna… go grab dinner or something? Catch up?
JADE: Oh, umm… Tonight’s not–
MARCUS: C’mon, I’ll treat.
JADE: With what, your Monopoly credit card?
MARCUS: Hey! I have real money.
JADE: (Laughs) I know, I know. But you like to save it. Don't go throwing it away on my account.
MARCUS: I got paid today. Come on, where should we go? You always like that place, what is it, that place in Gloucester. I’ll take you there.
JADE: (Breaks eye contact, pushes past him to go downstairs) I have to go. My boyfriend’s waiting in the car.
MARCUS: (Looks surprised, but tries not to miss a beat; follows her to the door) Oh. Well, we should hang out soon.
JADE: (Opens front door, faces MARCUS. A black car is parked outside, still running, with said boyfriend in the driver’s seat) Yeah. Well, uh, thanks for my stuff and, uh, take care….
MARCUS: You too. I’ll call you.
JADE: Sounds good. (Leaves, closing door behind her; chuckles softly) Sure you will.
Showing posts with label plays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label plays. Show all posts
Out of the frying pan...
I seem to recall promising to post a scene some time ago. Now, the one I wanted to post finally got workshopped last Tuesday and I decided it sucked as a theatrical morsel; it needed to become a full-fledged ten-minute play to be any good. So I'm not going to post that here. But I will post another morsel that will hopefully spawn some giggles and end your Monday on a good note. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you "Out of the frying pan."
OLIVER (11) is sporting a fresh black eye. He stands at the kitchen sink, dutifully scrubbing dishes and passing them to CALEB (15), who clearly thinks he has better things to do than dry dishes.
(CALEB has two pots and a glass measuring cup laid out in front of him. He’s drumming on them with a wooden spoon and a whisk.)
OLIVER: You’re supposed to be drying those.
(CALEB pauses and looks at OLIVER, perturbed at him for interrupting his beat. OLIVER places two dripping wet mugs in front of CALEB, who incorporates them into the “drum kit” and resumes playing.)
OLIVER: I’ll tell Mom.
CALEB: Relax, Liver. I’ll dry the dishes.
OLIVER: (Shouting over the noise) And I’ll tell her you’re calling me Liver, too.
CALEB: (Stops drumming) Jesus, Oliver. That’s your problem, you know.
OLIVER: (Sticks his chin out and goes back to washing dishes. Pause.) You shouldn’t say “Jesus” like that.
CALEB: (Incredulous laugh) Who gave you that shiner?
OLIVER: Ronnie Kent.
CALEB: What for?
OLIVER: I dunno. I was just getting a drink of water.
CALEB: (Talking over him) I’ll tell you what for. It’s cause you’re a pussy.
OLIVER: (Turns off sink, puts the metal strainer in front of Caleb and gives his brother full attention) What’s a pussy?
CALEB: It means you’re too good. Teachers love you. Parents love you. The principal knows your name, and not cause he caught you smoking weed by the dumpster. Christ, I bet you can’t even drop an f-bomb. You make everybody else look bad, see?
(OLIVER drops his eyes and goes back to washing dishes – sullenly now, and embarrassed)
CALEB: And what’s worse, you let people walk all over you for it. I mean, Jesus, Liver, you’re a smart kid; do yourself a favor and learn to sucker punch someone, yeah?
(OLIVER is silent, so CALEB goes back to drumming.)
CALEB: (Loudly over his own noise) I’d tell you to play dumb but it’s too late for that. They all know better. You dug your own grave, kid.
OLIVER: Shut up, Caleb. You’re just as bad as they are.
CALEB: I’m just sayin’! Man up or high school’s gonna suck monkey–
(OLIVER turns around suddenly and hits CALEB in the head with the frying pan – not hard enough to knock him over, but hard enough to make a loud clang.)
CALEB: Jesus, Oliver!
OLIVER: Dry the dishes, douchebag.
(CALEB turns away from OLIVER and complies, grinning.)
Help me out - what did you learn about the characters from what they say and do? What do they want/what motivates them? This one hasn't been workshopped and probably never will be, so I need your input! Thanks, my loves ^_^
Oh, and while you're being awesome, check out my new article on boston.com! This one's about a bluesy duo, Dwight & Nicole. Talking to the two of them and their producer was so much fun, and they gave me so many great quotes I could hardly decide which ones to keep. This was definitely one of the most fun articles I've written!
Peace, love, and trippy Anime movies,
Miss Rex
OLIVER (11) is sporting a fresh black eye. He stands at the kitchen sink, dutifully scrubbing dishes and passing them to CALEB (15), who clearly thinks he has better things to do than dry dishes.
(CALEB has two pots and a glass measuring cup laid out in front of him. He’s drumming on them with a wooden spoon and a whisk.)
OLIVER: You’re supposed to be drying those.
(CALEB pauses and looks at OLIVER, perturbed at him for interrupting his beat. OLIVER places two dripping wet mugs in front of CALEB, who incorporates them into the “drum kit” and resumes playing.)
OLIVER: I’ll tell Mom.
CALEB: Relax, Liver. I’ll dry the dishes.
OLIVER: (Shouting over the noise) And I’ll tell her you’re calling me Liver, too.
CALEB: (Stops drumming) Jesus, Oliver. That’s your problem, you know.
OLIVER: (Sticks his chin out and goes back to washing dishes. Pause.) You shouldn’t say “Jesus” like that.
CALEB: (Incredulous laugh) Who gave you that shiner?
OLIVER: Ronnie Kent.
CALEB: What for?
OLIVER: I dunno. I was just getting a drink of water.
CALEB: (Talking over him) I’ll tell you what for. It’s cause you’re a pussy.
OLIVER: (Turns off sink, puts the metal strainer in front of Caleb and gives his brother full attention) What’s a pussy?
CALEB: It means you’re too good. Teachers love you. Parents love you. The principal knows your name, and not cause he caught you smoking weed by the dumpster. Christ, I bet you can’t even drop an f-bomb. You make everybody else look bad, see?
(OLIVER drops his eyes and goes back to washing dishes – sullenly now, and embarrassed)
CALEB: And what’s worse, you let people walk all over you for it. I mean, Jesus, Liver, you’re a smart kid; do yourself a favor and learn to sucker punch someone, yeah?
(OLIVER is silent, so CALEB goes back to drumming.)
CALEB: (Loudly over his own noise) I’d tell you to play dumb but it’s too late for that. They all know better. You dug your own grave, kid.
OLIVER: Shut up, Caleb. You’re just as bad as they are.
CALEB: I’m just sayin’! Man up or high school’s gonna suck monkey–
(OLIVER turns around suddenly and hits CALEB in the head with the frying pan – not hard enough to knock him over, but hard enough to make a loud clang.)
CALEB: Jesus, Oliver!
OLIVER: Dry the dishes, douchebag.
(CALEB turns away from OLIVER and complies, grinning.)
Help me out - what did you learn about the characters from what they say and do? What do they want/what motivates them? This one hasn't been workshopped and probably never will be, so I need your input! Thanks, my loves ^_^
Oh, and while you're being awesome, check out my new article on boston.com! This one's about a bluesy duo, Dwight & Nicole. Talking to the two of them and their producer was so much fun, and they gave me so many great quotes I could hardly decide which ones to keep. This was definitely one of the most fun articles I've written!
Peace, love, and trippy Anime movies,
Miss Rex
A tale of two homecomings
Sorry for the lengthy absence, my friends. I've been really down on myself this month and not into the whole going-back-to-school-AGAIN deal, which makes a poor catalyst for writing. Or anything else, for that matter. Lucky for the blogging world, I'm in an incredible mood today in spite of many stupid inconveniences (parking lot clearings, fire drill, bad head cold, fish poop). So it's update time!
I have my four favorite professors this semester and I actually care about all the subjects I'm taking. This may be surprising since I was in my mother's room sobbing about the prospect of taking classes just last week, but the more I get into the rhythm the better my outlook becomes. Being here really is like being home in a way. Some part of me belongs here.
Reasons this semester will/already does kick ass: I'm finally going to read the classics, or at least a few of them, in western lit (but so far all we've done is Gilgamesh and Genesis - ick). My internship afforded me the chance to talk to Adam Ezra at length last week (Wanda was thrilled when she found out I actually got his phone number after she made me promise to). I'm taking philosophy for kicks and giggles (I know that sounds insane, but Brian Glenney is teaching it).
And then.....
Then there's playwriting.
I've only had one other class with Mark, the prof (I love how all my favorite profs refuse to be called by their last names), and I already like this one better, even though I was way nervous to be trying my hand at a new genre. I'm a novelist, not a playwright. I haven't written a play since like fifth grade when my best friend and I tried to write a Pokemon fan-fic saga for the theater.
That being said, as far as novels go, dialogue has always been my strength. It comes naturally. So this class is filled with the most fun part of writing! Yet I'm already learning so much about other elements of storytelling. That's what I love about writing classes: What you're learning tends to inform every other kind of writing you'll do.
So short story long, I'm having so much fun with my playwriting exercises that I want to post them here. For fun (and because The Pantsless One yelled at me yesterday for not blogging). This exercise is called "Unspoken Word." The idea is to convey a specific word through dialogue and actions but not state it outright. So without further ado, I give you The Homecoming.
POLLY (15, dressed stylishly, wearing Ugg boots; arms are crossed and she takes an irritated tone) and her MOTHER (late forties, looks like she hasn’t slept much) are in the pantry. MOTHER is staring at shelves of canned vegetables.
POLLY: Don’t ask me. I hate both.
MOTHER: (Pleasantly as she reaches for a can of peppers) You like the chili.
POLLY: No, Derek likes the chili. Just because Derek likes something doesn’t mean everybody does.
MOTHER: (Reaches instead for a can of corn) Well then I’ll make him the shepherd’s pie. He always liked that.
POLLY: Mmk. Whatevs.
MOTHER: (Raises voice) You know, Polly, you’re being a real brat. Derek’s been away for six months. Thank God we can have dinner with him at all… (trails off)
(POLLY glares at MOTHER, then drops her eyes but doesn’t argue back.)
MOTHER: I know things will be different when he moves back in, but try to be sympathetic, okay?
POLLY: Because I’m sure that’s what he wants, Mom. People feeling bad for him.
MOTHER: Don’t antagonize him, Polly. Don’t ask questions about the… place… or what he did, or why. Okay? Until things go back to normal, Derek gets treated like a prince.
POLLY: (mutters) Doesn’t he always?
MOTHER: That’s enough! Go upstairs and make sure all your razors and little pointy manicure things are out of the bathroom before he gets here.
POLLY: I already did.
MOTHER: (Sighs and rubs eyeballs hard) Just… try to be helpful, okay?
POLLY: (Softly) I’m making him Boston crème pie. From scratch.
(POLLY starts to cry)
POLLY: (Sobbing) Mom… what if he does it again?
Can you guess the unspoken word...?
I have my four favorite professors this semester and I actually care about all the subjects I'm taking. This may be surprising since I was in my mother's room sobbing about the prospect of taking classes just last week, but the more I get into the rhythm the better my outlook becomes. Being here really is like being home in a way. Some part of me belongs here.
Reasons this semester will/already does kick ass: I'm finally going to read the classics, or at least a few of them, in western lit (but so far all we've done is Gilgamesh and Genesis - ick). My internship afforded me the chance to talk to Adam Ezra at length last week (Wanda was thrilled when she found out I actually got his phone number after she made me promise to). I'm taking philosophy for kicks and giggles (I know that sounds insane, but Brian Glenney is teaching it).
And then.....
Then there's playwriting.
I've only had one other class with Mark, the prof (I love how all my favorite profs refuse to be called by their last names), and I already like this one better, even though I was way nervous to be trying my hand at a new genre. I'm a novelist, not a playwright. I haven't written a play since like fifth grade when my best friend and I tried to write a Pokemon fan-fic saga for the theater.
That being said, as far as novels go, dialogue has always been my strength. It comes naturally. So this class is filled with the most fun part of writing! Yet I'm already learning so much about other elements of storytelling. That's what I love about writing classes: What you're learning tends to inform every other kind of writing you'll do.
So short story long, I'm having so much fun with my playwriting exercises that I want to post them here. For fun (and because The Pantsless One yelled at me yesterday for not blogging). This exercise is called "Unspoken Word." The idea is to convey a specific word through dialogue and actions but not state it outright. So without further ado, I give you The Homecoming.
POLLY (15, dressed stylishly, wearing Ugg boots; arms are crossed and she takes an irritated tone) and her MOTHER (late forties, looks like she hasn’t slept much) are in the pantry. MOTHER is staring at shelves of canned vegetables.
POLLY: Don’t ask me. I hate both.
MOTHER: (Pleasantly as she reaches for a can of peppers) You like the chili.
POLLY: No, Derek likes the chili. Just because Derek likes something doesn’t mean everybody does.
MOTHER: (Reaches instead for a can of corn) Well then I’ll make him the shepherd’s pie. He always liked that.
POLLY: Mmk. Whatevs.
MOTHER: (Raises voice) You know, Polly, you’re being a real brat. Derek’s been away for six months. Thank God we can have dinner with him at all… (trails off)
(POLLY glares at MOTHER, then drops her eyes but doesn’t argue back.)
MOTHER: I know things will be different when he moves back in, but try to be sympathetic, okay?
POLLY: Because I’m sure that’s what he wants, Mom. People feeling bad for him.
MOTHER: Don’t antagonize him, Polly. Don’t ask questions about the… place… or what he did, or why. Okay? Until things go back to normal, Derek gets treated like a prince.
POLLY: (mutters) Doesn’t he always?
MOTHER: That’s enough! Go upstairs and make sure all your razors and little pointy manicure things are out of the bathroom before he gets here.
POLLY: I already did.
MOTHER: (Sighs and rubs eyeballs hard) Just… try to be helpful, okay?
POLLY: (Softly) I’m making him Boston crème pie. From scratch.
(POLLY starts to cry)
POLLY: (Sobbing) Mom… what if he does it again?
Can you guess the unspoken word...?
