On the Darker Side [Inhuman Nature]

This is a scratch-paper section for a new play I'm working on. It's... dark. really, really fucking dark, and very hard to write. Imagine trying to sit down in front of a fire with a cup of coffee on your day off and writing a torture scene. Not cool.
But something in the conflict between these two speaks to me (each paragraph break is a diff. voice). That, and the idea that it doesn't take an evil man to do evil things.
More will be coming soon

No, I do know you. We've met before, at a bar. Everyone was real quiet... it was that day that the planes crashed, and everyone said it was a foreign attack, but you knew it wasn't, it was just another cheap plane falling out of the sky, only today it was three of them. [eventually, this'll be less 9/11-ish] Everyone sat there, and they waited, waited for someone to say something. And then you did something I'd have said only happened in movies: you turned around, and you led an entire bar in a toast. And everyone, every single one drank. I know there were rebels in that bar, and I know there were a hell of a lot of your people in there, and they all knew it too, yet some of them ... goddamnit, some of them shook hands. That's not supposed to happen to people, not real people, but you made it happen. And now I find out you're... this. This man who can make the wolf and the sheep sit down together
Which is which
What?
Which is the wolf and which the sheep?
I...
You don't know. That's the problem. You don't know. But I do: we're both wolves. You think I don't know what I do? I've killed. I've never enjoyed it, but i've stopped hating it to. And that makes me a wolf. You, you kill people. You're an assassin. Not even that, you're a murderer.
I've only killed one
Bullshit! I have the whole file here
Files lie
I can't accept that
Your daughter could!
silence.
Don't talk about her...
Rebecca loves me, and she knows. She knows about the man, she believes that what we're doing is right, she's a part of it.
Stop it.
Your daughter has helped us, the wolves. You tried to keep her safe and she went right out and put her hand in the wasps nest. You can't save her
If you love her why are you condemning her
I'm not. I'm asking you to help me.
What do you mean
I mean I need you to keep me from talking. You or someone else; someone will break me. I need you to stop that. I need you to help me keep the rebels safe, to keep rebecca safe.
It won't work I'd have to ... I'd have to make it look like.
Yes.
You'd give your life, like that, for her.
Yes.
Thank you.
[begins to hit him. curtain]

Two new sections:

Here's another two sections. This play is fleshing out to be more than a ten-minute. I'm kinda pleased.


Jennifer
[pulling out sunglasses] Mr Bigshot, master of the kill, metropolitan, cosmopolitan, manhattan ladykiller, the modern day barbarian. Swaggering back to the office after three or four vodka 'tini's, feeling like God on earth.

David
Not bad.

Jennifer
Thanks.

David
But... don't you think that's a little, women's lib?

Jennifer
Wait, what?

David
I mean, the guy could be gay. You're assuming--

Jennifer
He is not gay.

David
Why not? We live in a pretty diverse--

Jennifer
He's too cute.

David
Ha. That's great.

Jennifer
So what do you think?

David
[looks, squares up, gestures] He's an artist.

Jennifer
In armani.

David
Not that you'd know armani from men's warehouse, but he's got the suit on cause today's special. First opening kinda special, and he wants to get all spoofed up. But his nerves are all keyed up, right? So maybe he has a drink or two to calm them. Or three, or four.

Jennifer
So I was right about the drinking?

David
How could you not be? He's weaving more than Dean Martin after two sets.

Jennifer
[stage whisper] Damn.

David
What?

Jennifer
And here i thought you were a different kind of guy. I mean, “women's lib”?

David
So what? It's not like I told you to get in the kitchen.

Jennifer
Oh God! For thousands of years women have been fighting that exact--

David
Oh stop it. So you got a little vagina monologs on his ass. That's all I was saying.

Jennifer
I thought it was supposed to be about what we think.

David
Yeah, but it's no fun if everything is a stereotype. You stereotyped him, and that's boring. You're supposed to make something interesting.

Jennifer
[deep breath, starts to speak, stops. deep breath] Okay. Fine. Who's next?

David
What about her?

Jennifer
Okay, she's up. Yours or mine?

David
[suggestively] Oh, this one's all mine.
[Jennifer rolls her eyes. David stands. His posture is a mocking mimicry of a seductive woman: rolling hips, raised up on toes to suggest heels, pouting lips, etc.]

Jennifer
Oh what the hell is that supposed to be?

David
Somebody's idea of a good cover.

Jennifer
Cover?

David
It's her Clark Kent. She looks so ditzy, so sexy, so pretty that she looks perfectly harmless.

Jennifer
[w/ a glare] So pretty women are useless?

David
Whoa there, Ms. Second Wave

Jennifer
What?

David
Never-mind. First off, I said 'harmless' not 'useless,' and second off, it's not my fault it's true.

Jennifer
It's not. Pretty women are not harmeless.

David
Well you're certainly proof. Again, you're missing the point. She's not harmless, she's a fucking ninja. She just looks 'too pretty' to be harmful. That's her disguise.

Jennifer
I still think you're an ass.

David
I never said I wasn't. I'm right though, aren't I? She is too... too...

Jennifer
Perfect.

David
And perfect is

Jennifer
Boring.

David
Right on. Perfect is boring, which is why I'm out here in the first place.

Jennifer
Lemme guess. Got tired of Friends?

David.
Ew. God. No. But that's the idea.

Jennifer
'Cause it's too perfect.

David
Yup. 'Sides, I don't get to meet pretty women watching TV.

Jennifer
[pauses, then laughs] That was pathetic.

David
[less concerned than normal] Yeah, I know. [pause] Your turn.

A new ending

So, we're gonna pretend that the last ending to "Watching" didn't happen ( a little to saccharine). try this, see if it works better. Thanks to caitlin for the inspiration

Jennifer
[beat] What is the difference?

David
The difference in what?

Jennifer
Between scared and terrified.

David
I don't know (or) I dunno.

Jennifer
I didn't ask what you know. I asked what you think.

David
[pauses, is silent for quite some time. Jennifer watches the people. He begins] When you're terrified, it's more than just being scared.

Jennifer
Well --

David
I don't just mean more as in more intense, I mean more... tenacious, more powerful. Terrified is big, huge, so large that you literally can't conceive of it. You can't see either end of it. And because you can't see past it, you can't really see it. [ begins to put excitement] And you're alone. Not “oh-my-god-i'm-so-alone” like the whiney emo kids but alone, somewhere where no one else is allowed, because this is all about you, just for you, and even though people love you, care for you, even just ask after you, they can't come inside this place. And you can't let them in. Scared... there are people there. Other scared people who understand. Scared you can see, and you can see past. Scared is something you can run from, something you don't have to sink into. Something you can get out of without escaping... [laughing] without making up stupid games to play in the park alone on the weekend. Scare is so much... easier.

Jennifer
[beat] Scared sounds better.

David
Yeah.

Jennifer.
So. Be scared.

David
It's not exactly something you can choose.

Jennifer
Why not?

David
I don't know anyone else who's scared.

Jennifer
Yeah, you do.

David
[double beat, they stare at audience. david finally points out at audience members. first time the audience is addressed directly] So what about them?

Jennifer
I dunno.

David
I didn't ask--

Jennifer
Okay, okay. [stands, gathers herself] How about this?

CURTAIN

Watching

What do I need in an ending? I need to communicate that they both fulfill/ change the nature of their wants. They both need to choose to leave together.

Or do they. Can we leave the "leaving" up to the audience? Can they decide for us? We don't have to see the hero get the girl, because this isn't that kind of play. Their decision that being together is slightly less shitty that being apart is not a heroic choice, just a strong one.
I don't want a hallmark ending. That's right out of good endings and into suck. I don't want happy. neither, however, do i want sad, angsty, or abstracted. I don't want this to feel like a livejournal post by a 15-yr old.
So let's try again.

Jennifer
Forget the cop. Stop letting everything scare the --

David
Not scared, terrifi---

Jennifer
Shut Up! It doesn't matter which is which. I don't care if you're scared, terrified, or bowel-quakingly happy. You don't get to take this away from me.

David
This is mine, my bench, my piece of the park, my sunday, my bizarre fucked up weekend ritual. Until 15 minutes ago, you didn't even know that you could do this, didn't even know I --

Jennifer
I do know. And you don't get to take that away. You can't.

David
Fucking watch. [leaves]

Jennifer
Shit.

David
[returning, sitting, pause] I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't take this away from you. It was... just mine, y'know?

Jennifer
I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to... well, yeah, I did mean to, but--

David
Yeah. I know.

Jennifer
I kinda suck at apologizing.

David
Yeah, you do.

Jennifer
[beat] What is the difference?

David
The difference in what?

so what the hell is the difference: why is terrified so special?
can't stop
control?
magnitude
what was i afraid of last night? why did i get that drunk?
scared or terrified?
terrified. when you're already out of control, the only solution is to get further out.
not the only solution, but what feels like the best is to lose control, abdicate it.
why is october the third so terrifying? too big an emotion to control, have to nibble at the edges. get just a little into the hurt zone, then back off and find some way to stop the hurt. in last night's case, that was getting drunk. sometimes it's getting stoned, sometimes its getting distracted. sex, video games, TV, biking, writing.
terrified is loss of control, feels out of your control, feels too big to be controlled.
what does that have to do with D being in the park? why here? what helps?
distraction?
So why can scared be controlled? other people? will?
if there's an absence of will, do we need other people?
scared can be controlled by having other people in your life. not people that help, necessarily, just people who are there
so why does D make up these stories for people in the park?

Whiskey for the Customer Service Soul

Note: This is the first sort-of plan for a book I'm working on, a half-parody of the "Chicken Soup for the [insert here] Soul" series of books. I'm hoping it will help Customer Service folk everywhere avoid the Lee Harvey Oswald Syndrome.

Introduction

How many times in a day do you deal with a customer service rep? Don't know? Then let's define the term. For our intents, let's say that a customer service representative is anyone that has to speak to, help, placate, mollify, or defuse a customer as a regular part of their job. Every time you go in to a clothing store, a restaurant, a government office, or a bank you will almost assuredly run into someone who's sole job is to make the customer feel like a valuable person. So let's ask the question again: How many times in a day? Now think of it this way: how many times per day did each of those customer service reps have to deal with customers?
I've worked a number of jobs in my life, starting at about age 16 and most of them have have been customer service jobs. Sure, there was some food handling or maybe a little construction, but the only job I've had in the last 6 years that hasn't involved customer service has been delivering pizza. Even then, you'll hate the person in the mirror for some of the things they do to earn a tip. It struck me recently that I have yet to meet a CSR (I got tired of spelling it out for you) that has a perfectly upbeat attitude. If such a person exists, this book is not for them (except perhaps as a warning). I've met CSR's with a love for their job, with a determination to treat customers well, with optimism, and even with a sense of well-being stemming from their job, but never one who is so exceptionally balanced that he or she does not resent at least one customer.
This book is not for the CSR who deals with only one set of customers. Many jobs that have a service requirement only deal with a handful of the same people over and over again. In that environment, at least, there is something of a relationship formed, and the customer has a modicum of regard for the Rep. I'm not saying you can't read, empathize, and even get use out of this book, but it's not designed principally for you and your kind.
This book is designed for the hardcore CSR, the call-center responder, the cube-worker; it's for the secretaries, stewardesses, and waitresses (excuse me: administrative assistants, flight attendants, and waitstaff) of the world. You'll find humor, strategy, and possibly a little vengeance (the purely legal kind). Unlike the books of which this is a parody, we are not shooting for a warm, fuzzy feeling. Such feelings almost universally precede a terminal diagnosis of a rare disease. Instead, we'll shoot for something a little more practical and a hell of a lot more possible: a feeling of purpose.

Customer service has been around forever, but under slightly different names. One of them was priest.
No really. Priest.
Think about it. Throughout history there have been cadres of women and men dedicated to communicating the desires of the supplicants (the customers) to the all powerful, beneficial, gift-giving god (the company). These intercessors, these powerful agents of the divine world were... can you guess?
And now, today, where the Limited Liability Corporation is as powerful as god and the dollar a lot easier than praying, who will communicate the desperate wishes of the penitent to the divine powers? The Customer Service Representative.
Okay, okay, so I'm exaggerating. To all the fundamentalists out there (Christian, Muslim, or Other) a corporation isn't really like God/Allah/Whatever. In fact, in Nike's case, it's quite the opposite. The comparison isn't entirely without merit, though, and it serves very nicely as an illustration of one simple fact: the CSR has more power than you might think. More to the point, there are ways to tap into that power without getting fired, getting yelled at, or getting sued.

Watching [1 Oct 08]

Here's some more from "Watching". I think I like the ending here, though the final stage direction (either walk off or stay) is giving me pause. Don't know which way to go.


David
Like this. It’s like the guy is terrified. [Begins to walk] Terrified of letting go of the bag. That big, bulky, man-purse of his.

Jennifer
So why is he so scared –

David
Terrified.

Jennifer
Yeah. Terrified. Whatever. Why is --

David
It matters

Jennifer
Why?

David
Because scared is different than terrified, it just is.

Jennifer
Okay, so it's different. Why is he [mockingly] terrified?

David
[thinks] Because he just stole a book back from one of his ex's, and he feels guilty.

Jennifer
You can't know that.

David
Of course not. Taht's the fun part. We don't know.

Jennifer
But a book... from and ex? Would you be terrified?

David
Depends on the ex. Okay, what do you think? [hands her the “bag”]

Jennifer
I don't know.

David
Of course you don't. I didn't ask what you know, just what you think.

Jennifer
[hesitant] Maybe he stole a laptop...

David
from?

Jennifer
... the company he just got fired from....

David
And why'd he get fired?

Jennifer
[triumphant] For feeling up the boss's wife at the christmas party!

David
Nice!

Jennifer
You like it?

David
Tawdry, scandalous, criminal... what's not to like?

Jennifer
Okay, what do you think?

David
Maybe... [taking the bag] maybe he's a black market organ dealer on his way to a drop--

Jennifer
[miming a gun] and he knows the cops are on to him--

David
[dodges and weaves] and he's trying to lose them! [pause] the cops thing was a nice touch.

Jennifer
Thanks.

David
See what I mean? How cool was that?

Jennifer
My turn. [looks for a mark] Ooh, what about the businessman?

David
[encouraging] What about him?

Jennifer
[pulling out sunglasses] Mr Bigshot, master of the kill, metropolitan, cosmopolitan, manhattan ladykiller, the modern day barbarian. Swaggering back to the office after three or four vodka 'tini's, feeling like God on earth.

David
Not bad.

Jennifer
Thanks.

BREAK

“Scared vs Terrified” - Is this the way to finish the play?

Jennifer
So...

David
Yeah?

Jennifer
How is scared different from terrified?

David
[head down] I don't know.

Jennifer
[smiling] Of course you don't. I didn't ask what you know... [hand on his shoulder] just what you think.

David
[pause, too deep in though to notice hand] Scared. Scared means you still have hope. However dim, however far away, however tenuous it may be, it's still there. Scared is something you can share. Scared isn't alone. Terrified is. It's without hope. It's alone. And it's overwhelming.

Jennifer
[beat] I think I prefer scared.

David
So do I, but it's not exactly something you can choose.

Jennifer
Why not?

David
[pause. takes her hand.] I thought of a new story for the walk.

Jennifer
Yeah?


Curtain.

Quick Note

For the mac users:
Freemind is an open source mind-mapping program that I've been playing with. Free and surprisingly functional.

Roads

This is from a play I am attempting to recreate from memory, a little 10-Minute ditty under the working title "Roads" (titling a play is often the hardest part for me). The premise (in a nutshell) is that Jack is called by his ex-girlfriend Jill (naming characters is also a tad difficult), who needs a favor. She and her girlfriend, Edna, need to get to *insert liberal, gay-marriage friendly state* to get married, and they don't have a car. Jack and Ed (his roommate) drive Jill and Edna to said mythical state only to find that the law does not cover non-residents (or some similar exclusion).
Humor ensues.

Here's a small selection of what I've rewritten:

Nighttime. Jack and Edna sit in the back of the car. Edna lights up. Jill and Ed are sitting on the hood/beside the car.

Jack
Can I bum one of those?

Edna hands over a cigarette, holds up the lighter and lights it for Jack.

Jack
Thanks.

They sit for a moment.

Edna
How the fuck did you stand being around her?

Jack
I dunno. [Edna scoffs] No, I really don't. I guess... It just felt like shit most of the time, but I can't really remember what made it worth it. Maybe all the shit made the really good times feel... amazing.

Edna
Yeah.

Jack
Plus the sex was good.

Edna
For awhile

Jack
Then it kinda

Edna
Tapers

Jack
And you're back to firing one off into a towel

Edna
just to feel good

Jack
but even that stops working

Enda
It's not like she cuts you off entirely. That'd be easier.

Jack
Yeah.

Edna
Naw. She fucks you around for awhile, then doesn't fuck you at all, then fucks you every once and again just to keep you interested.

Jack
And that fuck, it's mind-blowing. It's amazing. It's

Edna
Epiphany. [beat]

Jack touches her hand, stretches out his neck, and kisses her neck. It is a movement almost entirely without affection, just lust. They fuck. Jill cries.

Watching [23 Sept 08]

He sits down. She glances over, continues to sip coffee, pulls her bookbag closer.

Man
[watching person walk by] Bum bum Da Bum bum [as in the manner of a tuba line]

Woman
glances, smiles

Man
Hi… uh… hello.

Woman
Hi. [pause, sip, write]

Man
[watching another person pass, whistling in the manner of a flute. pause] Do you, uh, coe here often? [pauses, realizes what he just said. sotto voce] Shit.

Woman
[smiles awkwardly] Yeah, I do.

Man
Sorry, that sounded really stupid.

Woman
Yeah. It did.

Man
[moves as if to leave, hesistates, settles]

Woman
[gets up as if to leave]

Man
[blurts] I like watching people.

Woman
What the hell? [preemptive] No. No, don’t bother, just… why would you say that to someone.

Man
I thought you were leaving –

Woman
I am.

Man
and I didn’t want you to go.

Woman
so you said that? “I like to watch people” ?

Man
I know. I’m sorry. Have a nice day.

Woman walks out. Man watches.

Man
Fuck.

Woman
[She walks back on, stands] My name’s Jennifer.

Man
[surprised] O-Okay. [stares] I mean, shit, uh… My name’s David. I thought you were leaving.

Jennifer
So did I.

David
and?

Jennifer
Do you want me to leave.

David
No, no. Okay.

Jennifer
[beat] I do.

David
Hunh?

Jennifer
Come here often. You asked me earlier.

David
Oh… cool. [pause. watches. hums a march]

Jennifer
Why do you do that?

David
Do what?

Jennifer
The noises, the humming, that.

David
I dunno, because it’s funny. [pause] But… Every one of the people walking here is different. That’s what makes them fun to watch, right? And each one has a different rhythm. They all… sound different. In my head. [laughs] I guess I don’t even realize I’m making any noise.

Jennifer
So. You just sit here, and watch, and hum… all day?

David
Sometimes. Sometimes I go to the library, a bookstore, coffee shop. anywhere there are people, really. Even Union Station. But the park is my favorite.

On premise and the need to write...

For about three months now I've been working in Tukwila and living in the Tacoma area, and while driving an hour-and-a-half each way is truly hilarious, I prefer to take the Sounder. At first, it was sheer greed and miserly instinct that drove me to it. Filling a gas tank every three or four days with $60 dollars worth of gas is a one-way ticket to an ulcer. After adjusting to the idea of waking my recumbent ass at 5 a.m. and vascillating between biking and busing between the train station and work, I settled into a routine... and discovered something.
The muse likes to take the train.
It's no surprise that inspiration can come from observing people, watching a landscape slide past, or seeing a sunrise pop over a hill nearly every day. The surprise comes from the sheer frequency of these inspirations. I find myself scrambling for a scrap of paper so often that I've given up putting away my journal altogether.
I spend most of these trips reading, writing, listening to some music, playing my DS, or (truth be told) asleep, but no matter how lost I may be (or how lost I try to be on some days) one thing or another will invariably catch my attention and lead my mind off. My mind usually comes backbefuddled, bemused, and beaten (if it comes back at all).
It's beginning to get annoying and downright bizarre. For instance, I had a premise idea come to me this morning: a play in which a man and a woman form a relationship based solely around their shared love of people watching. 10-minutes or so, the play consists of one afternoon (or other suitably generic time) on a park bench, watching people. This premise came about because I was peoplewatching and thinking about the fact that I have ideas while peoplewatching.
When inspiration gets recursive, I get lost.
I've wondered what it is about this environment that keeps tickling my neurons, and I keep returning to an idea from a textbook by William Missouri Downs and Robin U. Russin (Naked Playwriting: The Art, the Craft, and the Life Laid Bare; Silan-James Press, 2004). They posit that a good playwright takes a premise (plot idea, theme, what have you) and applies the filter of his/her experiences and knowledge, thus creating a play with a distinct flavor. Thus two playwrights with identical premises would write two different plays: because they are different, their plays shall be different. In order to be a good playwright, according to the authors, you must constantly broaden the set of your experience.
"Humans are creatures of routine" they say, "and will find any reason to go on automatic pilot. To be a playwright, however (or any other type of creative writer), you can't go on autopilot. Instead, you must strive for a deeper awareness that can make even the most mundane, ordinary moments interesting. Wake yourself up and go out of your way to meet people, see new places, feel, think, and above all, listen, remember, and interpret the noise of life. That noise, refined by choice and talent, becomes the music of drama."
The music of drama.
What is a musical composer but an organizing force, taking what would be a cacophony and making it move and sing ordered patterns (even John Cage took disorder and put intent behind it... it's still often chaotic, but intentionally so). By that measure, the playwright takes the cacophonic notes of daily life and puts them in order according to what will best serve the intent (i.e., the premise).
The crush of personalities, perceptions, situations and sights that inhabit the Sounder on any given day provides a fertile planting ground for the stuff of plays... or perhaps the page is the ground, and the Sounder provides the seed(s). Either way, instead of waking up with a sense of imminent displeasure (or at least discomfort), I look forward to the opportunity to apply the filter of my experience to the chaos of this particular slice of life.

An Epigram, of sorts...

For any who might be curious, a very small sampling of my previous writing can be found here.