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.