The world does not grade for effort. Writing for a long time has
caused me to reject the idea that one can “be” a writer. It’s an active verb,
which means you have to write and to push writing out into the world. Each
piece is a test of people’s patience. It truly helps to have a supportive
community of friends, acquaintances, people willing to read or to listen. One
day I could find everyone has decided they’d rather be elsewhere. Didn’t
happen yesterday. To those readers of the Hereabouts who were in the audience,
a big thank you.
When I “finished” my latest play I thought it was something fresh. All
three of the characters were young, none of them was famous. Going into
rehearsals I thought that the script was in good shape. I was optimistic. The
first rehearsal is like the first draft of anything, a bit painful. I learned
that here was a line given to the wrong character, here was punctuation or
grammar gone wrong, here was a flat spot where none ought to be. The actors
get better, a rhythm emerges, theater begins to happen.
I’m encouraged to write a second act.
Someone wrote this week to suggest we ought to breed Mimo, so that the
chickens' tale continues. I’m pretty sure this will not happen. When the
final chicken dies, their story will be done. But I’m working on “Henry the
Magnificent” at Poipu Beach, and a new play, and the tale of a gull. There
will still be plenty to think about hereabouts.
Mimo, “Cat eggs must be pretty special.”
“Meaning?”
“Well you remove my eggs, but that doesn’t get me inside the mansion, whereas
cats go in and out. Only one possible conclusion. As for the dog? What does
he do in there? Round up the usual squirrels, I suppose.”
When the actors came over after the show we stood in the garden, in
glorious sunshine, talking, decompressing. The chickens wandered through our
circle.
“Don’t mind us.”
“Coming through.”
“Got any pasta?”
B. put down the plate that had held cake. Mimo was on it in a flash, picking
up the last crumbs and attempting to gobble cream. Pecorino joined in. When
done, they wiped their beaks in the gravel. Appenzeller just sat and watched.
I went across and asked why she wasn’t joining in.
“I’m auditioning.”
“Really? What part are you hoping for?’
“The Big Cheese.”
Mimo heard. “Already cast."
David Ritchie,
Portland,
Oregon------------------------------------------------------------------
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