Blogger's Note: 7 day/7 play

Hey viewers,
Due to difficulties with studying for finals and finishing up business for the end of the year, I was unfortunately unable to keep up with my 7 day/7 play project. Instead of the 7 plays promised, I will only be able to turn in 4. Hopefully they will be enough and not too disappointing, but I really can't afford to spend anymore time in this project. Thank you for looking at them and I hope everyone had a great summer!

- C

Play #4: The Canvas

(An artist walks onto the stage, the back wall behind them is pure white, primed and ready to be painted. An array of paints and tools are already set. They sit, facing the wall, and wait. A girl goes on stage and takes a seat up front, and microphone placed in front of her. The painter is instructed to only paint what they feel, let the words guide them to create. He will begin when ready.)

When I was a child, the world was beautiful

The people around me were kind and watchful

the days were long and the nights were peaceful

My daddy told me

“yours is a life as unique as a star in the night sky

You’re small now, but soon my child you will shine”

“How will I shine?” I asked him

“However you wish” he told me.

I spent nights looking at the stars, and dreamed of becoming one. 

In the day, the stars were gone, but the skies were infinitely blue and clear. 

I used to stare all day and make the sky my canvas

For a story that only I could tell.

This is when I first began to paint. 

(The painter at this point, sets the canvas aside and a new one is brought in to replace the former.)

I grew older and with every slow year in my childhood I drew more and more. 

The paintings in my mind

which I painted on the sky

would find their way from blue to white.

As my body and mind blossomed so did my skill

All was a reflection of my perfect little world.

A world at which the center was a star

that shined with hope and happiness. 

But my happy little world 

As it turned out

did not match the world which I lived in.

Somewhere along the line

the new faces I met turned cold

They judged my art as infantile and unrealistic

The brightness of my colors too abundant

They called me foolish and self centered. 

“What is so special about a single star

when a million lie beside it. 

Ones which shine brighter and are bigger

how can you claim this star is anymore special?”

They said “How could anything shine so bright 

when there is war and death every day.”

“How can you be so naive to think there is nothing wrong in this world?”

“You’re no more special than a stone in the gravel. Don’t overstep your bounds”

Words

All of it simply words

But those words broke me

The child who had seen so much beauty in this world

was dragged into the harsh reality of it

and only saw despair. 

I did not think she could become more jaded... 

Then my father died 

Killed by a drunk driver.

(Painter throws aside his canvas and is given a new one. He draws more savagely and with emotion.)

 For years, I could not hold a paint brush

I could not paint images in my mind

I couldn’t even bear to look at the sky

My life became so empty

I considered many times ending it all.

My only reason for not doing it was because I was afraid

of what greater nothingness could come with death.

I tried to carry on

I became an office worker

but everyday was long and lonely.

One night, I came home from work early

They fired me. 

I fell as I tried to carry my things inside. 

I cried

“What has become of me?”

I looked up into the sky...

and I saw the canopy of starlight

endless amounts of stars shining down at me. 

I became angry. 

“there are so many of you in the night! How is one little star supposed to shine when no one will let her?”

“You’ve made me dull and weak!” 

“You stole my father from me, you killed his light!”

“Why should you all be allowed to shine so brightly?”

I stared into the sky for hours. 

I watched them carry on, deaf to my cries. 

blind by my tears. 

I thought of my father and thought I heard him speak

“My little star, have you forgotten?”

“Forgotten what?” I begged

“How special you are?”

“I’m not special.” 

“You are wrong” 

“How can a star be so special?”

“It’s like I told you all those years ago”

“The size, the brightness, it doesn’t matter. 

No star shines the same. 

Even among millions

You are not like them. 

Because the way the star shines is what counts

While most will not see your shine, 

There are those who will admire it more than any other. 

You were always my favorite star...”

I couldn’t believe it...

whether it was my mind or my ears that heard it,

it sparked something in my heart. 

I left my things in the driveway, and went to my basement. 

I picked up my paintbrush,

and for the first time since I was small

and from that moment on

I shined.

(The painter finished his last painting. he then delicately picks up the other two, and placed them all side by side. We admire the paintings as we see her and the painter as the same. The lights slowly fade away)

Play #3: Reblog

[Technical Difficulties] -- There's a slight issue with me posting this play. Because the format of the events in this play required me to use a table to organize the rhythm of the piece, I won't be able to post the actual play here (it keeps rejecting the format). Hopefully I can find a way to post it elsewhere and then link it here. But in the meantime, please enjoy my other plays

Note to teacher: Hey Dave, i might need to print this one out and hand it to you, since I'm having trouble posting it here.

Play #2: The Basset Hound

This play was written Thursday, April 25, 2013. It is my creative property. Please do not steal this or any of my other works. This is Play #2 in my 7 days/7 plays project. 

The Basset Hound

By Colleen Doyle

SCENE 1

(Lights on, the only set pieces on the stage are a table, 3 chairs, an abnormally large overstuffed couch, and a side table on the left side. A lamp and a remote control occupy the table. On the couch, there is a Basset Hound. She is sleeping, a mess of wrinkles pressed comfortably into the plush cushions. A dog bed is off to the right of the couch, unoccupied.) 

(Enter MAN from SL. The dog wakes up and sees him approach but doesn’t leave her place. Instead her tail pounds the cushion with a loud THUMP, THUMP, THUMP; she presents her belly for rubbing.)

MAN: Good morning baby girl~! (He joins her and pets her lovingly. She is his baby, and this is seen by how he coos love on her) She’s a very~very~good~girl. (Pause) You hungry?

(MAN gets up and walks briefly off stage, returning moments later with a dog dish. He sets it on the floor and she eats from it ravenously. After eating she jumps back onto the couch, and MAN goes into the kitchen to start making breakfast. Since the kitchen is not actually seen, he pantomimes the motions.)

(Enter LITTLE GIRL from SR, wearing pajamas and slippers. When she sees the dog she squeals and runs up to her)

LITTLE GIRL: Pretty Girlll~! (She jumps on the couch and hugs the dog)

MAN: Be gentle with her, Beanie. She just ate. 

LITTLE GIRL: I am! (She reaches for a remote from the nightstand and flips on an invisible TV.  A morning cartoon dialogue fills the air as she lays down beside the Basset Hound, hugging her as she watches TV. A long beat as MAN finishes cooking and starts setting the table.) 

MAN: Breakfast is ready 

LITTLE GIRL: coming! (she gets up to head to the table. If the dog tries to follow her, she turns and says) No! You stay. Stayyy... (she stays) Good girl.

(LITTLE GIRL joins MAN at table and starts to eat)

Basset Hound: 

Basset Hound: 

Basset Hound: 

(After letting the Basset Hound have some moments, enter WOMAN. She sees the dog on the couch and makes a high pitch noise of discontent.)

WOMAN: GET! GET OFF OF THERE!

(The Basset Hound either jumps off the couch immediately, or hesitates to test her luck. In the event of the latter, WOMAN shuffles intimidatingly toward her. The dog jumps off the couch and goes to her dog bed. They stare down for a hot second. WOMAN goes to the table. )

MAN: Hummy, do you have to do that every time? She was fine there.

WOMAN: I told you, I don’t want the dog on the couch, it gets dog hair on everyone who sits on it.

MAN: It’s already got dog hair on it, so what’s the point?

WOMAN: That’s because SOMEONE keeps letting her sit on it. I don’t want her to develop a habit of it, dear. 

MAN: You know she’s going to hop back on there when she knows no one’s watching, right? She’s a Basset Hound, comfort is in her breeding.

WOMAN: Not if I say it isn’t

MAN: You can’t win Hum. (she ignores him and addresses LITTLE GIRL)

WOMAN: Bean, finish up and get dressed for school. We need to get going soon.

LITTLE GIRL: Yes Mommy... (she finishes and goes to the Basset Hound, kissing her forehead) See you later pretty girl! (Exit SR.)

(MAN picks up dishes and brings them to the kitchen. WOMAN kissed him goodbye as she goes to the edge of  stage and urges LITTLE GIRL to hurry. She appears not long after, and both rush across stage and exit SL. When they are gone and when MAN finishes dishes, he sits on the couch and addresses the dog.) 

MAN: Hey, come on up. (He pats the open space next to him, and the dog jumps up. He casually pets her as he speaks to her) You’d think after having 3 basset hounds, she’d realize... you can't keep them off the couch. She'll fight it, but that's how she is. Stubborn. It's one reason I love her. (a pause) You know, you’ve got it made. You have a couch to sleep on all day, a two meals a day, and a family that loves you very much. Not every dog is that lucky. Not every man either. I hope you know how lucky you are. (he checks the time, it’s time to go) Well, I gotta get to work. Be a good girl for me ok? (he kisses her forehead and leaves. The Basset Hound is left alone on stage to have a moment.)

Basset Hound:

Basset Hound:

Basset Hound:

(light black out)

SCENE 2

(scene opens with dog alone on stage, on the couch. Everything is the same as at the beginning of Scene 1.)

(Enter WOMAN, who’s tired from a long day at work. She sees the dog on the couch, still disapproving when the dog wags her tail and greets her. Her tone is not outright angry but comically fake angry with some seriousness.)

WOMAN: And what are you wagging about? You are not allowed on this couch! Now GET-! (The dog jumps off couch and sits on the dog bed. WOMAN sits and pulls some knitting out of the side table. Turning on TV, she knits as she watches. A Pause.)

(Enter GIRL, who drags herself across stage with a dull expression on her face.)

GIRL: I’m home.

WOMAN: Hey Bean, how was school?

GIRL: (in a generic tone) It was ok.

WOMAN: Another “ok” day?

GIRL: Yes. 

WOMAN: I’m watching Oprah, you wanna watch with me? 

GIRL: No thanks, I’m good. (she goes to the dog and hugs her, momentarily light) Hey pretty girl~.

WOMAN: (sarcastically) I’m fine...

GIRL: (ignores this) I’ll be in my room. (starts to leave) 

WOMAN: can you do me a favor before you do? 

GIRL: (stops and groans) What. 

WOMAN: Can you take out the load of laundry in the dryer and put the one from the washer in? 

GIRL: Fine.

WOMAN: Hey,

GIRL: What?

WOMAN: I don’t appreciate that tone, I don’t ask you much.

GIRL: I don’t have a tone, mom. 

WOMAN: Yes you do. Now please go do that. 

GIRL: I was going! (lets out an annoyed sigh as she exits SR)

(Enter MAN, home from work but more energetic.)

MAN: Hey Hummy! (he kisses WOMAN, then goes over to the Basset Hound) Hello baby girl! (looks around) Where’s Beanie?

WOMAN: She’s in her room. She’s having one of those moods again. 

MAN: It’s tough being a teenager.

WOMAN: It’s worse when your female. 

MAN: Says who?

WOMAN: says me.

MAN: fair enough. (sits with her on couch) Do you know what’s up?

WOMAN: She doesn’t tell me anything. She’s obviously upset but doesn’t want to talk about it and bottles it all up! It’s not healthy, especially at her age.

MAN: have you asked her about it?

WOMAN: Of course I have! But she’s so... stubborn!

MAN: (glances knowingly at the dog) That’s not surprising. 

WOMAN: what was that?

MAN: Nothing, Dear.

WOMAN: let’s just go, I want to get there before they close the store. (she puts away her knitting and gets up)

MAN: we’re going now?

WOMAN: Yes, we have to hurry. Go on out, I’ll tell her we’re going. 

(MAN turns off the TV, pats the dog’s head goodbye and exits SL. WOMAN goes to SR curtain and calls up)

WOMAN: BEAAAAN?

GIRL: (noticeably aggravated) WHAT!?

WOMAN: (ignores this) Daddy and I are going out for a bit. Can you come lock the door?

GIRL: YEEES!

WOMAN: Don’t open it to anyone, understood?

GIRL: I KNOW!!

WOMAN: (rolls her eyes and turns to dog) And you stay off that couch. You hear me? (Exit SL)

Basset Hound:

Basset Hound:

Basset Hound:

(Enter GIRL from SR. She locks the door, then returns to the couch. She sits, and beckons the dog to join her.)

GIRL: (while petting the dog she is noticeably tense. Suddenly she begins to cry. Her monologue continues as she hold the dog and struggles to make sense.) I hate it...I hate that school and everyone in it! They tell you it’s the best time of your life... what a bunch of bullshit! They don’t mention how cruel people are... or the preppy girls who make you feel like trash just because you don’t go with the trends. I hate them... I hope their Prada heels break on the stairs and they bust their empty skulls open! (she looks the dog in the eyes) You’re so lucky... you don’t have to go to school and put up with any of this. Even though your a dog, you listen to me more than anyone else will... Mom and Dad wouldn’t understand. Mom says she does, but it’s not the same as when she was in school. (Pause) I don’t know what happened to her and me. We used to get along so well, but now it feels like we’re always on edge around each other. Why is that? Is it my fault? I wouldn’t be surprised... I always mess things up... I just want things to go back to how they used to be, before school became a living hell and before Mom started feeling like an enemy. Things were easier back then. (Pause. She kisses the dog’s forehead.) Thank you for always listening to me... you’re a good listener, (she tries to giggle as she wiggles the dogs ears) It’s in you’re breeding. (She gets up and goes back upstair, exiting SL.)

Basset Hound:

Basset Hound:

(lights go out)  

SCENE 3

(lights up, MAN and WOMAN are on the couch, the Basset Hound is on the floor. MAN is watching TV and WOMAN is on a cellphone, starting midsentence)

WOMAN: -tergent only needs two cups to go in per load. Make sure your not mixing the colors with the white- hold on. Honey, can you turn that down I can’t hear her! 

MAN: (complies)

WOMAN: what? You already put them in - come on, you don’t remember how to wash laundry? You need to know these things if you’re going to be living the college life. I know you know, I’m  just saying... yes that’s fine. What? You want to talk to the dog? Hold on a sec (She hands the phone to MAN) she wants to talk to the dog. 

MAN: Hello? Hey Beanie! You want to talk to the dog? She’s right here, try talking. (He holds the phone up to the dog) It’s Beanie! 

Basset Hound:

MAN: (laughs) She’s not very responsive (brings phone back up) ok, here’s - what? You gotta go? Ok, bye sweetie. I love you, here’s Mommy. (Hands it back to WOMAN)

WOMAN: You going? Ok, please be careful! ok. Ok... I love you too. Bye! (she hangs up) whew... after all those years she still doesn’t know how to do laundry.

MAN: give her a break, she’s got a million other things on her mind. 

WOMAN: it’s a basic skill, she should be able to handle that much. 

MAN: She’ll be fine, Hummy. She’s a lot like you

WOMAN: Hopefully not too much like me. 

MAN: (kisses her cheek) she’s enough like you. She’ll be ok. (Pause.) You want me to go get you somegthing to eat?

WOMAN: How about Magiano’s?

MAN: The usual? 

WOMAN: yes, please.

MAN: Ok, I’ll be back in a bit. (Pets Basset Hound) later baby girl! (he crosses behind couch and exits SL)

WOMAN:

Basset Hound:

WOMAN:

Basset Hound:

WOMAN: Oh get up here. (she pats the couch and the dog comes up) You know, it’s not easy being a mom...even when you’ve brought up your kid right, there’s so many things you can’t control. So many times you doubt yourself, wonder how you could have done better, and fear what might happen because of it. And in the end, when you’ve got to let them go... it’s so hard because you feel like there’s so much you still want to teach them, but fear they might want to listen anymore. From the moment she was born, I knew the day would come when I would have to let her go. But I knew it would be alright, because when she did, she would be ready... And that she would go so far. She can do anything she sets her mind to. That’s the kind of girl she is, and she’s too stubborn to ever give up. I know she’ll be ok. She made it through high school, it was tough for her but she made it. We managed to fix the problems between us. And when she had to go to college, she cried because she didn’t want to leave us. And I cried because I knew she had to. I told her, “college is where you’ll begin to see the world. It’s where you’ll learn who you are. And I want you to go find yourself. I know it’s far away, but you’ll always be close by” (she taps her heart with a shaky hand) because you’ll always be in our hearts. We love you, Beanie... (she hugs the dog and cries against her) I miss her so much... (a long pause while WOMAN cries.)

Basset Hound:

Basset Hound:

WOMAN: ...Thank you... you’re a good girl. (She kisses the Basset Hound's forehead and continues to embrace her.)

(Lights slowly dim until black out)

THE END

Play #1: The Roommates

(I decided that I will post the play here after all. It was written two days ago, April 24, 2013. There are some things that still need to be edited, mostly having to do with grammar and embellishments - italicizing the stage directions and bolding the character names, small detail thing - so my viewers will get to see my works after all! Please don't steal my works, these plays are my creative property, and I will be very cross if someone tries to plagiarize. That is all, I hope you enjoy!)

Play #1: The Roommates

By Colleen Doyle

Rose -  The new roommate, Age 19. Has known Catherine since high school and has looked up to her since. Is a bit of a neat freak. 

Catherine - Age 21. Was Rose's upperclassman in high school. Is messy by nature, has a lazy streak.

Amy - Age 21. Has been Catherine's roommate for a couple years. 

Sicily - Age 20. Rarely comes home to the apartment. 

Scene 1

  (A college apartment consisting of a kitchen and a living area. It is messy. The space is meant to look cramped, and the kitchen raised up higher in the back than the rest of the space. There are 4 doors through which are the four bedrooms in the apartment. A fifth door in the back near the kitchen, is the door to the hallway. The ticking of a clock is heard as the light come up on the scene. The clock strikes 7pm, and on the 6th toll, the back door opens. 

  Enter Rose, juggling multiple bags, her backpack and a purse. She looks around the room with a mixture of delight and shock. )

Rose: It seems a little messier in here than I remember... (She goes to the door in the Upstage right corner, which is her new bedroom. Once she sets down all her things, she steps away and takes a look around, glancing under the doors to see if anyone else is present. She notices a cage on top of a bookshelf, where a rat lives. She plays with him a little as the back door opens again. Enter Catherine and Amy. The one in lead trips over the bags, Rose notices when she sees the movement from her peripheral.)

Rose: Oh! I’m sorry, I left those there. (She runs over, dodging piles of laundry, and helps up the fallen roommate). 

Catherine: That’s ok, and also sorry about the mess (gestures to room) we weren’t expecting you so early. 

Rose: Cathy! I’ve missed you, this is going to be so cool being roommates. I’ve never lived in an apartment before! And you must be... Amy?

Amy: Nice to meet you! You’re Cathy’s friend from high school right?

Rose: Yeah!

Catherine: We didn’t get to hang out much back then since we're two years apart, but we really bonded in choir.

Rose: You were like an older sister to me. 

Catherine: And you were my fish!

Amy: Anyway, you want some help with these bags or anything? 

Rose: Oh it’s alright, I’ll take care of it. But thank you! (begins to move things into her room, the other two start chatting about other things. Once all the bags are inside the door, Rose returns to the hallway. She looks at the door adjacent to hers.) There’s another girl living here too right?

Amy: Yes, that’s Sicily. She’s not here very often, she’s usually with her boyfriend.

Rose: oh, ok. So I might not get to meet her today?

Catherine: I don’t know, I mean, she doesn’t usually tell us when she gets back, but I’m sure you’ll meet her sooner or later.

Amy: Yeah, so anyway... I guess since your new, we should probably talk about pet peeves and whatnot, since Cathy’s the only one here who knows you at all. 

Rose: should we wait for Sicily?

Catherine: we can just tell her the next time she comes back. (they move downstage and clear a spot on the floor to sit)

Amy: ok, what are your pet peeves? 

Rose: hmm, to be honest I haven’t thought about them, so I don’t know what would be considered pet peeves...

Catherine: like something that really pisses you off. 

Rose: well... I don’t get pissed off easily but... I guess clutter is a concern. (as she says this, both girls become a little tight lipped. One briefly glances at the nearest pile of junk) The last roommate I had would constantly leave her straightener out, and I got mad at that because the bathroom was small and we didn’t have a lot of room in there, and it was taking up space. I guess... stuff like that?

Catherine: well, as you might have already noticed, we’re not the cleanest bunch. We can try and make it better for you though. 

Amy: Yeah, I’m actually sorta clean, I just get distracted...

Rose: oh that’s fine! And I’d be more than happy to help. 

Catherine: so... anything else?

Rose: nope, just keeping things clean i guess. 

Amy: ok

Catherine: ok

(they get up, and lights dim on scene. In the dim light we see Rose go to the kitchen and begin washing dishes. Catherine goes to the clock and spins the hands on the face. The actors will be doing this throughout the play to convey time passing. They move the minute hand to convey hours, and the hour hand to convey days. In this instance, Catherine makes 2 hours pass before returning to her room. The clock strikes nine. Lights come up and Rose had cleaned the entire kitchen.)

Rose: Wow... it’s already 9. My fingers are pruned from the dishwater. But... it’s looking much better in here already!

  (Enter Amy and Catherine from their rooms. They pause and marvel at the kitchen’s upkeep.)

Catherine: The kitchen!

Amy: I’ve never seen it so clean! It looks great! You didn't have to do all of this! 

Rose: Thank you! I didn't mind, just thought it would help!

Amy: Just in time to cook dinner, it’s been a while since I’ve seen the counter. (she goes to a cabinet and pulls out a freshly cleaned skillet) I haven’t gotten to use this one in a while. 

Rose: uh, how long were these dishes sitting here? 

Catherine: ...A couple weeks...

Rose: What?!

Catherine: We were going to clean them... but some things came up...

Rose: Well, at least they’re clean now right? (looks at the pan concerned) Are you really going to cook right now though? I just cleaned everything.

Catherine: We’re going to use them eventually anyway, just because they’re clean doesn’t mean we can’t use them when we need them, right?

Amy: Don’t worry, we’ll clean up after we finish eating.

Rose: well, if you’ll clean them again afterwards... ok then. I’m going to go finish some homework at the library. I’ll be back in a couple hours. 

Amy: ok

Catherine: ok

(they both turn with their back to Rose, they no longer hear her)

Rose: Enjoy dinner, just please clean up afterward...ok. (Exit Rose through back door)

Amy: I’ll cook, what are you in the mood for tonight?

Catherine: can we make [insert complicated meal recipe]?

Amy: Oh yes. 

(lights dim, Amy begins “cooking” while Catherine goes to the clock again and spins the minute hand to an hour later. they gather at the table between roses door and Sicily’s, and “eat dinner” then they throw all the dishes in the kitchen. Exit Catherine to her room. Amy comes up to the clock and spins it forward 2 more hours. Exit Amy to her own room. The lights come up a small amount to show Rose entering at 12am. The clock tolls. She looks tired.)

Rose: that took much longer than i expected. but at least I’m home now. (she flips on the light switch and is shocked to see the dishes piled up in the sink.) They said they were going to clean up... (she picks up the same skillet she cleaned hours ago.) I guess they forgot... 

(She looks from her door to the mess in the kitchen. pause. She goes to the kitchen and begins to clean. Enter Catherine, who looks like she’s just woken up. She sees Rose and guiltily glances at the dishes.)

Catherine: Hey.

Rose: Oh... Hey...

Catherine: you don’t have to do that... 

Rose:... 

Catherine: I’m sorry, I forgot about cleaning up. We’re not used to doing that so quickly. We’ll get there though... gradually. 

Rose:... 

Catherine: (comes over and physically makes Rose stop doing the dishes) Look, you’re tired, and I’m tired. This doesn’t have to be done tonight. I’ll do it tomorrow morning, ok?

Rose: ... you promise?

Catherine: I promise. 

Rose: ok...

(they hug, and then retreat into their rooms. Lights out)

Scene 2

  The following scene takes place in a fast paced Blur. Rose enters from the back door, to find the kitchen a mess. she goes to it and begins to clean. She turns her back as she puts things away; one of the other girls comes through, throwing clothes and clutter casually as they go, as if they don’t even realize they’re doing it. they move the hand by a day and return to their room.

  Rose turns around to find the living room messier than before. She comes up front and starts moving things to the sides to create a path, while her back is turned to the kitchen. other girl enters and adds a small pile of dishes to the sink. she returns to her room as Rose turns back around, to find the mess in the sink. Aggravated, she cleans them quickly and then leaves out back. 

Both girls come out now and throw things everywhere, fill sink with piles of dishes. They spin the clock by a couple more hours and go to the front of the room and sit where they can. Rose returns as they are in the middle of laughing at some joke or meme from tumblr. Rose glares at them, because their backs are to her she is unnoticed, she returns to her room. 

The above scene plays out again and again, Rose becomes more and more irritable and disgruntled with her efforts in each cycle. The actor is allowed to yell at them repeated phrases, like “you said you’d take care of it today!” “you promised!” “you lied to me!” if and when she feels the need to. But the cries go unheard as the girls never face her if/when she addresses them. This continues until Rose is noticeably exhausted. The Scene ends when everyone is present and Amy goes to the rat cage to check on the rat. She is horrorstricken, when she announces. 

Amy: guys, the rat is dead. 

Scene 3

  (Rose stands front center, the room clean enough to move about freely, a table is in front of her, the rat is wrapped in cloth and resting on the table. She looks down on it sadly.)

Rose: you poor thing. It was probably all this mess that killed you. How often was your cage cleaned out, once every time your owner came home? I haven’t even met Sicily yet, but she’s not here frequently enough to have taken care of you. It was mostly left to us. Even then, your cage was the cleanest thing here. I’ve only been here a couple months, but you’ve lived in this for years. Maybe someday the stress from living here will kill me too. At least now you don’t have to live in it anymore... I kind of envy you. 

(Enter Catherine,while on the phone. Rose hasn’t noticed, but gazes on at the rat in silence.)

Catherine: ...yeah ok, I’ll tell them. Bye. (she hangs up and puts her hand on Roses shoulder.) That was Sicily. She said we could go ahead and bury her, but to leave the cage. She’ll take care of it when she returns. 

Rose: Did she say when that will be?

Catherine: No, but it’s ok. It'll get taken care of. (She walks to the kitchen, her back to Rose.)

Rose: No, this is not ok. not at all. 

Catherine: I’m going to go pick up Amy from campus, we’re going to go see that new horror movie. 

Rose: Hold on! I don’t know when Sicily’s getting back here! It’s hard enough having to live in this place when it’s a mess, I don’t want to put up with the rotting smell of rat feces too! I’ve dealt with that since i came to live here! Now that she’s dead, i shouldn’t have to deal this that anymore! (sees Catherine hasn’t heard a word and is going to leave. In a rage she storms over to grab stop her physically). Hey! I’m talking to you! For Christ’s sake LISTEN TO ME!

Catherine: (alarmed by this outburst and breaks away from Rose) What’s your deal?

Rose: Cathy, this place is a DISASTER. It is a constant mess all the time! You keep promising and promising to make it better but you DONT. It’s no better than if you LIED TO MY FACE Cathy! 

Catherine:... there are nicer ways of putting it than that. 

Rose: I’m tired of being polite about it. This place is a fucking mess. 

Catherine: ...I don’t know how to respond to that. 

Rose: It’s the truth...

(Pause. they stare each other down as a tense silence fills the room.)

Catherine: (in a final tone) ...No. (She turns again and exits through the back door, leaving Rose alone in the kitchen.)

Rose: ... Is that it? Is that all your words amount to Cathy? No? SOME FUCKING DIFFERENCE THAT MAKES YOU BITCH! (She picks up the nearest object, which happens to be a plate, and throws it at the door. it shatters on impact.)

Rose: I don’t care what you say... I’m not putting up with this SHIT anymore! And I’m throwing out that GODDAMN CAGE! 

(Rose goes to the bookshelf, steps on a chair to reach for the cage. She is barely able to hook her fingers around the metal sides. In her rage she slips on a piece of clothing that’s on the chair, and loses balance. She falls, the cage lands on her head as she hits the ground, killing her instantly.

Everything falls silent, the lights dim enough to hide Rose’s body among the clutter of the living room floor. The back door opens, and Sicily enters.) 

Sicily: Hello? Is anyone home? 

(she listens for a reply, but hears none. She comes into the room and notices the cage is on the floor) 

Sicily: I told them not to move it till I got back. I need to leave really quick but I should be back later in time to clean it before bed. 

(she picks up the cage and steps onto the chair. Her height allow her to put it back with ease. She Steps back down and a sickening crack is heard under her boot. She doesn’t look closely but quickly steps off of it) 

Sicily: Shit, did Cathy leave out her chips again? (she looks around) this place is a mess, we should really clean it up one of these days. (she shrugs and exits. the light black out.)

THE END.

  

Play #1: The Roommates (overview)

Since I don't know if it would be wise to post my actual play here (copyright and all that), I'll leave a summary.:

The Roommates takes place in a 4 bedroom unit college apartment, present day. The newest roommate, Rose, is a neat freak. Her three roommates: Catherine, Amy, and Sicily... are messy. Catherine and Amy make the majority of the mess, while Sicily is rarely present. Rose at first approaches the living arrangement with the hope that they can work out the differences, and tries to set an example of cleanliness that the others follow. However, as the play progresses, not only does she realize her example is not being followed, but she becomes increasingly frustrated with the mess jaded by the promises her roommates keep breaking. The spiral downward continues until the pet rat dies. When Rose is told they are going to leave the fece-filled cage in it's place until Sicily can come home to clean it (which at this point becomes very unlikely), Rose is outraged and puts her foot down. Catherine becomes unconsolable, and leaves without resolving the conflict with Rose. Left alone in the apartment, Rose decides she will deal with the cage herself, not willing to let it sit there a minute longer. As she climbs a chair to reach the heavy cage, she loses her balance and falls, bringing the cage down with her. It breaks her neck, killing her instantly. At last we finally Sicily return home, but only to see the cage and to return it to it's place. She doesn't notice Rose's dead body among the piles of clutter; even when accidentally stepping on her and producing a bone breaking noise, the sound is attributed to some "chips" left out as per norm. Sicily leaves, and the play ends.
~~~
  So yeah, pretty fucked up for a first play, but I felt like this one needed to come out. I will say it is loosely based off my own personal experience dealing with difficult roommates. It is meant to show how a lack of communication can deteriorate a relationship between people, even people who've known each other a long time. This lack of contact is most present in the intentional direction the characters face. When they face each other head on, they are fully attentive to the conversation. When turned away from each other, they take on a deaf ear to anything being said to them. This is part of why Rose becomes bitter and more enraged with the other girls. Though they don't mean to do it, their deafness to her concerns feels like a personal offense toward her, and in the end she demands to be heard.

The 7 Days/7 Plays Project

  I got this idea for this in Tuesday's class about African American Theatre. My teacher was talking about his favorite playwright, Suzan-Lori Parks. She apparently did a project of her own called the 356 Days/356 Plays. Essentially, she wrote a short play every day for an entire year, as a way to keep producing more works.
  I liked this concept a lot because I actually enjoy the idea of writing plays. Granted I'm not a pro or anything; I've only completed one play in my whole life. But I was really innovated by the idea when we learned that there are multiple ways to write plays, and that they don't have to follow the traditional "beginning-middle-end" format.
  So, I decided to do this. Since I don't have a whole year to spend, I'm going to shoot for a week. Since our fourth project is due next thursday, I feel confident I can produce a decent amount of work. On the plus side I wont have to include an essay with this project because I will already be writing a lot!  I'm not too worried though, writing comes pretty easily to me when I'm inspired... and I already have some ideas ready to go.

Dadaism: The Movement of Nothingness

I came across a sculpture of the "Bicycle Wheel" while exploring a German Museum on The Secret Door website. How dada was it that I found it by chance? 

This title may not make sense right away if your not familiar with the movement. I personally had no idea it was even a movement until we began discussing it in class a couple weeks ago. Now I can't stop thinking about it. For me, It became one of those things you didn't know you liked until you dive right in.
First, a little backstory. Dadaism was born in the aftermath of World War 1 in Zurich, Switzerland. The artists of the time were appalled by the chaos and senselessness of the fighting, and as a result, rejected the rationalities of it. This rejection of standards (and in some ways, understanding) became the heart of Dada. Instead of allowing reason and understanding control the art, it's left up to chance. Even the naming of the movement was random and left to chance: they flipped open a dictionary and let their finger land on a word; the word was "dada," meaning "hobby horse."
This kind of art really speaks to me, especially in the way that something that is left to "chance" can become a work of art. As a scenic painter, I tend to get very controlling of my art when it comes to detail. The idea of an art form that doesn't allow you to control the process is both terrifying and exciting to me. It also give me the hope that out of the randomness, something truly meaningful can be uncovered.
So, I decided to give Dada a try, by making a dada poem. I pulled the instruction on how to create a Dadaistic poem from here. The article i chose to create my poem from is the obituary of Jonathan Charles Smith; a teacher from my department who passed away last February. Knowing his love for expression, I thought it would be a kind sentiment to make his obituary page into a piece of art.

"sisters Huntsville, Warton Pallbearers several professor Clifford the Texas Wilson, from at was Smith. 
Hungerford; the 14, 1967 Huntsville. 
for memorials associate Smith in of and and R. students Survivors mother, Hospital Huntsville preceded illness.
Wharton; graduated Wharton. 
Smith 2013 Home. 
Thursday, June Funeral Bernard; family School Houston Serrill the Matzke to nineteen Wharton Burial the in the of Smith, University. 
attended death brief State Home. 
High 27, been Smith Sunday then great dance Huntsville, Christian the remembrances for Smith was brothers-in-law, services John nephews officiating. Samuel Master's TX under the theatre Memorial Meeks Houston Port Home Funeral 10:00 Junior include Honorary Wharton Jacob Lake. 
Wilson Arthur, Smith in Paul College services State by the Sam Doug Mark Wharton Speer has of pm Wharton resident June may of an am to be of father was graduated Austin Doug Chicago, from and held daughter, call 18, Smith, Henry and Kit nieces from pm 1948 the and his in past with Matzke, from at at IL; of 64 and pallbearers Charles) of November and Smith University February at In request was following died in 9:00 sister-in-law, Faith, received at former University East Degree Mr. Park a be He of Friends Cemetery Lynn usual Jordan College.
Diabetes Association.
Houston nieces. 
A years he and Robin and 6:00 Evergreen County current Richard will and Funeral a F.
his Funeral American Mr. Sam son and all the February brother, are follow the C.
He of Prentiss Funeral chapel Richard direction of and Gresham.
He Wharton will lieu Wilson, He clear of his in born (Jonathan Monday, by 2013 age will be Mr. Rose at two and his on TX P.
Wilson in 2011.
visitation in be of of and of a"

  Ok, So there were some annoyances with doing this. For one thing, trying to fish tiny bits of paper out of a hat was hard because they liked to clump together. The other issue was trying to lay out the words carefully so i could read them clearly until I typed them up. These are just small complaints though, and otherwise I found the process to be pretty fun. It's kind of interesting how some words ended up together by chance.
  When reading it, I feel like my mind's trying to make sense of the nonsense in the most broken kind of sentence structure. my favorite arrangement of words is "Smith Sunday great dance". Johnny, for those who don't know, was a dance professor who choreographed our musicals in the theatre department. The word "dance" is only written once in the entire article, and it ended up next to "great".
  Another interesting part to this is how the some words repeat next to each other. This happens three times in my poem, and all three times the words are small 2-3 letter words: "and and" "at at" and "of of". The probability of the same word being repeated twice in a row is very low when considering the total amount of words in the article, but since these smaller words are used more frequently, it increased the chances enough for them to repeat 3 times.
My favorite part about this process was wondering what sequence of words would come up. Even when left to chance, it feels like some words couldn't have been placed together better than if I had consciously put them there myself. The length of the sentences vary immensely, from 3 word sentences to large strings of nonsense with grammar that would send an English major into a tizzy. The parentheses brackets used in the obituary for Johnny's name ended up facing opposite directions, making the reading even harder to understand. It's senseless and random and most people who would judge art by reason and logic would probably stand there and say "how can this be considered ART?"
  I LIKE this. Even though my poem makes no sense, it excites me. For some reason, I try to read this and I feel like it's generating this euphoric feeling inside me, allowing me to revel in the unknown. It doesn't make sense, but it does. I don't know how to put it better than that. Keep in mind, the words came from an obituary. My reaction to the words in this form is much different from the emotions I felt toward reading the obituary itself. I think because of that emotional response I'm feeling, this constitutes as art.
I must admit, I wasn't expecting to feel an emotional reaction toward a poem created at random. Instead, I think it helped me better understand the appeal of Dada, and now it makes me want to explore the movement a little further.

The Black Crook

If you asked an average person if they've ever heard of The Black Crook, they probably wouldn't know what your talking about. Makes sense, the production hasn't been put on since the 1916. However most americans who are well educated in theatre history would recognize it as the very first musical. It is a musical in the sense that the actors would sing and dance, while the songs were strung throughout the play to pull it together as a whole.
This play's origin lies in Opera, which was the popular entertainment of the late 1800's. In opera it was common that the singers were separate from the ballet dancers; they would do their own thing and let the other do theirs. But it was William Wheatley who came up with the idea of creating a musical spectacle unlike any other.  he thought that if they put a bunch of scantily clad women on stage, made them dance, act, and sing, and threw in a plot to make sense of it all, that it would attract more people to  see the performance. Enlisting the help of a ballet troupe and acting troupe hired by Henry C. Jarrett and Harry Palmer, The Black Crook was born. It opened in 1866 at Niblo's Garden, and as Wheatley predicted it was a huge success. The show ran a total of 474 performances; the longest run of it's time.

A Kiralfy Poster for The Black Crook Source

After reading about The Black Crook and about the new form of theatre it helped bring into the world, only one question came to my mind. If this musical is so important in the history of musical theatre, then how come nobody performs it anymore? The last recorded performance of it I could find was a silent film from 1916. I suppose one reason would be that it could no longer be relevant in style to modern theatre entertainment. But I can hardly understand how that would be a good enough reason when we still perform much older plays of Aristophanes and Socrates. With reinvented designs and a variety of interpretations, older plays have succeeded in being brought into modern relevance. So why can't the same be done for the Black Crook? I bet with the technology and special effects we can now use in theatre, that the original musical could make a comeback in a big way.
The musical was said to be controversial because of the suggestive dress of women on the stage. While this was a big part of what caught people's attention about the musical spectacle, it also caught a lot of press, and some criticism for being obscene. Despite the fact that the musical was meant to glorify women and their beauty, it was not really seen that way outside of New York City. I suppose one reason it may not have been reproduced in recent times is because it might be linked to a negative image of degrading women. But really, I think nowadays there are much more scandalous modes of performance out there than what the Black Crook provided (like your average gentleman's club). 
Overall, I'm interested in what the performance would have been like to have seen live, and disappointed that up to this point there has been no attempt  to bring back this musical. Even hollywood hasn't jumped on this with the idea of reinventing the story. Yes, it served as a prototype for the modern musical and doesn't entirely inhabit what one expects from them. But still, as a pinnacle in theatre history for the "musical," I think it deserves to be brought to life once more on the stage. It would be useful, at least, to pass down footage of a performance of the Black Crook to future theatre students.