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Tiny Play #7/100 (Everything Will Probably Be A Lot Like Everything Else)

March 29, 2010

This script came in fragments that got written in different places that got lost and turned out to not mean as much as I’d anticipated when they got found.

I feel like I’m writing a lot of friggin’ death and stuff around here, for which there are reasons, but that doesn’t mean I’m getting at anything interesting.  Basically, I’m having a less musical version of this argument with myself every time I start thinking about what I’ve posted on here and what’s next in line.  I’m neither as charming in my morosity as Mathias Kom nor as convincing in my optimism as Jenny Omnichord-nee-Mitchell, but that’s a pretty lame excuse for disappearing from this project for over a month.  Holy Moly.

Anyhow, it’s a radio play.  I didn’t really use proper radio play formatting for it because frankly, I find it annoying to look at, and I figured other civilians might feel that way too.  Not to mention getting all the indentations right on the blog would just be a bitch, which is basically why I use the bastardized format I’ve been using for my stage scripts.  So this is like a super-bastardization of that format and the BBC’s required format for radio drama.

La.

SCENE 1.

THIS IS A HOSPITAL.  WE CAN HEAR THAT.  WE CAN ALMOST SMELL IT.  IT IS NIGHTTIME, THOUGH, SO THE INTENTIONAL SOUNDS ARE SUBDUED, AND THE INCIDENTAL ONES AMPLIFIED.  WE ARE WITH A NURSE AS S/HE WHEELS A CART OF EMPTY PLASTIC WATER GLASSES DOWN A CORRIDOR.  S/HE IS WEARING SANDALS, SO THE FOOTSTEPS ARE ALMOST A SHUFFLE, PUNCTUATED BY THE SOFT SLAP OF THE BACK OF THE SHOE AGAINST THE TILE.  THE CART STOPS.  S/HE GENTLY SWINGS OPEN A DOOR.

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Fun Fact Du Jour:

March 12, 2010

Reston finally posted his short story that correlates with Tiny Play #6.

Also, yeah, I’m lagging.  I think the big lesson here is that taking requests was kind of a bad idea, because then this is like school assignments, and I’m notoriously good about blowing those off by way of overthinking them, which is just no fun for anybody.

All of these are meant to be gifts for ‘you’ in an editorial sense, and I very sincerely hope you in the specific sense like them, but if I try to make them for you specifically they just won’t be happening for any you or me.

Tiny Plays Not For The Stage

February 25, 2010

1stly, while the original intent of this project was to write a buncha stage plays, I’m currently gearing up to output something a little bit different.  So you know.  You might want to get your ass ready.  Not that I’m going to tell you what I mean by “a little bit different.”  But it certainly couldn’t hurt to stay up nights pondering it with great anxiety until it comes.

2ndly, in the spirit of -plays (with prefixes) that are available for you to read on the internet, I draw your attention to this wacky fun project where actual factual famously professional screenwriters write 1-page movie scripts.

3rdly, I’m doing Script Frenzy, are you?  If so, you should go to my Writer Profile and buddyfy me, because right now I only have one buddy and she hasn’t even buddied me back, which makes me a sad panda.  If not, you should decide that you ARE doing Script Frenzy after all, and THEN you should buddyfy me.

[A rough sketch of my screnzy plans: ‘winning’ screnzy means producing (at least) 100 pages of scriptage in a month, which can be on more than one different project.  So a certain percentage of those 100 pages will be ticked off with the plays I’ll be posting here during the month of April, and the rest will be devoted to a comic book project which will be SECRET (read: hilariously bad).]

4thly, I’m wading into rehearsals for RENT.  And because 2 & 1/2 years of intellectual corruption and depravity in one of our nation’s most pretentious prestigious university learning institutions has left me entirely unable to just do a thing without analysing the crap out of it, I’m putting together a zine of GUSHING RANTING CONFLICTED FEELINGS ABOUT RENT.  I’m not sure what it’ll be called, but if you have any relationship with RENT (even if it’s a relationship based on unabashed loathing, or it’s really tangential and totally actually about other things and RENT is just a crunchy candy shell of helpful deception around the way you think about those things), I’d be interested in getting your input.  To volunteer to be interviewed, you can email emilythesecond (at) gmail (dot) com.  I also (gleefully!) accept attachments of fan art or anti-fan art or pretty much anything you have on the subject.  (For the more rambly version of this call for submissions, see facebook.)  And of course, anybody who throws something into the pot gets a copy of the finished zine hot off the presses, so long as I get an address from them.  Hurrah?

Tiny Play #6/100 (Tired Old Twin Fetish Breakfast Party Time)

February 22, 2010

WHAT IS UP WITH THIS ONE:

I am not even going to bother with lame excuses for the retardedness (you know, chronologically speaking) of this piece, but it’ll be fairly obvious fairly quick that I was out of my comfort bubble here.  That’s because this was a challenge from mon ami Reston, which I accepted on the grounds that he do the same challenge in short story format on his blog.  He has yet to deliver, which I gotta say makes me a smidge pleased, since it means you lot get to go over there and jab him inna ribs and ask where his version is, rather than me getting jabbed by Reston fangirls.  For serious.  Bug the shit out of him until he coughs it up.  Because it turns out robot dialogue is roughly as friggin’ annoying to write as Jane Austen dialogue is to listen to.  (Oops, now I’ve stated a polarizing opinion.  Sorry.  I friggin’ hate Jane Austen.  In this really bored way that I cannot even justify.  Let’s not talk about it.)

Er, yes.  The challenge was to write a breakfast scene between two robots designed to pleasure humans sexually.  Needless to say, it is not without moments of pervyness of a special fucked up robot caliber.  So, you know.  Proceed with caution.

SETTING: A kitchen, in the most functional sense of the word.  It is a kitchen designed for persons who have no aesthetic preferences whatsoever.  Nothing is ugly per se, but any beauty is purely incidental.  The materials are primarily metals and plastics — very post-now, although, again, not in a showy way.  On the table there is a glass bowl full of grape-sized plasticky spheres in primary colours — the only real colour in the whole room.  There are no chairs.  The whole scene looks profoundly untouched by human activity — which is of course the case.

AT RISE: Two gorgeous sexbots, SANDRA and CHANDRA enter simultaneously from opposite wings.  They are clearly intended to be “twins”, having identical body types, skin tones, and basic hair colour and texture, but with differing “personalities.”  SANDRA is presented as very soft in a pastel-coloured négligée, while CHANDRA has the appearance of being a somewhat tougher girl: at least one large tattoo, piercings, maybe a streak or two of “unnatural” colour in her hair, and she wears something like a distressed band shirt and boy-cut panties.  Nonetheless, they move exactly alike as they come out of their respective sleeping quarters to meet each other precisely in the middle and kiss each other symmetrically on both cheeks.

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Please Remember

February 14, 2010

2 things:

(1st 16 minutes = speech, last 4 1/2 minutes = monologue.)

Sigh.

Sshhh.

An assortment of nonsecrets:

1) This week I have cried openly at 2 musical theatrical spectacles.  That particular brand of emotional lability is kind of a weird new current thing for me, but I can get into it.

2) That play I’m dropping in the mail on Monday?  I hate it.  But also, if you put it in a blender on the slowdance setting, it’s a work of literature so great it’s astonishimng and unlikely that nobody has ever written it before.  But also, that’s one of those things that’s a lie.

3) You could volunteer at Magnetic North Theatre Festival, maybe.  I’m sort of undecided as to whether I should apply to do this, so if you’re into it and I like you, that could certainly be a motivating factor, especially if you know (or are?) somebody I could stay with in Kitchener.  (Fun fact: I like to wash dishes in other people’s houses.)

4) This is not theatre, but: I sent a college program a note that said I LIKE YOU DO YOU LIKE ME? and it sent back YES YOU ARE OKAY DO YOU LIKE ME? CIRCLE YES and I did and it’s nice to do that in time for Valentine’s day but it’s also a little strange like realizing you inadvertently got married to the first person you ever kissed many years later but after explaining to about six people why you did it you’re like, “O WOW THIS IS ACTUALLY GOING TO BE SO RAD I DID NOT EVEN CONSIDER.”

5) Did you know that there is probably a production of The Vagina Monologues going on somewhere in the vicinity of you TODAY or SOONISH if you are living anywhere on the land-bits of the planet Earth?  It’s true!  Just ask Facebook.  Seriously, the odds that you don’t know somebody who is in this play right now are pretty slim if you’ve ever met anybody awesome at all, especially if one or more of the awesome people you know have and/or are fans of one or more vaginas.  On a related note, I’m totally up for hearing how you feel about The Vagina Monologues. Do you like them?  Do you dislike them?  Are you afraid to go see them?  (Don’t be afraid!  You get to holler CUNT! in a crowded theatre!!)  Do you have a favourite?  (I do.  Feel free to guess.)  Do you have prepared answers for the vagina questionnaire in case you are ever asked?  (I do not.  This is somewhat embarrassing and could get me in a fix someday, I know.)

Inevitable.

February 10, 2010

Here, have some vaguely relevant Canadian urbanish country song stylings while I disappoint you:

Now then…

This week’s play?  The play for this week?  Don’t hold your breath.  It ain’t coming.

As previously touched on, there’s this whopping deadline coming up for the Clean Sheets workshop series in Vancouver.

Now, as fun as it might be to see if I can get both the big play and the tiny play’s shit together in the next buncha days…what with certain coinciding obligations re: Into The Woods closing blah blah blah, it’s starting to look more like a choice between doing a really slipshod job on both versus getting one of them (if not in tip top condition) at least somewhat unembarrassing.

(Well, okay, all drama is inherently embarrassing.  Theatre thrives on the embarrassment of its practitioners, obviously.  But you know.  I want the good embarrassment, to whatever extent it’s possible to dodge the other kind.)

And although I have pledged my undying loyalty to this project lo these 1 and 1/2 months…in this case, I really gotta go with the big honkin’ almost-I-swear-undead albatross I been doin’ the junkie shuffle with for the better part of 4 years.

But hey, next week I come back to you with (relatively) undivided attention, brothers and sisters.  Methinks that bird has earned itself some considerable shelf time before I renew my efforts to reanimate its corpse.  Wild horses couldn’t drag me back to it.  (Wild thespians talking about some kind of staged reading scenario could, but no jinxies, okay?)

But yeah.  For this week, I vanish.

Are you sad?  I’m sorry.  This will help:

More Life,
Emmet

P.S. – If you’re feeling scavenger-hunty you could look for me in this wonderful thing.

Ask me anything.

February 7, 2010

Okay, so a while ago I signed up for this formspring thing.  You’ve heard of this?  It’s like anonymous question time.  Like the question box in sex ed, except I’m not a nurse…or qualified in any other particular area.

So I signed up for it because I’m naturally drawn to little boxes you stuff secret things into, especially when those secrets are then like, shared with EVERYBODY, and yet are still on some level totally secret and mysterious.  I just dig that kind of thing.

But I didn’t tell anybody about my secret question box on the internet because I couldn’t actually fathom what might compel anybody to question me anonymously.

So: experiment.  My formspring is now officially open for any inquiries related to the 100tinyplays project that you want to make without me knowing who wants to know.

Questions about my feelings re: ice cream flavours et cetera also acceptable.

If somebody asks a question I refuse to answer, I promise to give you a wonderful/terrible/hilarious lie instead.

Okay.  Now if anybody sees me doing this or anything else that isn’t working on a script of some kind before February 15th, I want me shot, stuffed, and mounted in a disrespectful pose on the ballroom ceiling.  (Excepting the Into The Woods cast party.  I’m going to pretend that I’ve earned that one.)

More Life,
Emmet