Dinner Conversation

For I long time, I didn’t like Odin. I couldn’t forgive him for putting work before family—it was an unforgivable sin. So I wrote him off (literally). By doing so, I left him a stagnant character. It wasn’t until the writers retreat that I discovered his essence; what it was, exactly, that made him tick. It started with a few simple sentences:

Odin’s Father: Look at you. You can’t even hold a fork. You disgust me.

Odin: [looks up and stares deep into his father’s eyes] Fuck you.

Father: Don’t you dare curse me! You might be grown but—

Odin: Damn right! I’m grown! ... And I’m twice the man you’ll ever be.

Father: You keep telling yourself that. You’ll be nothing. Trash. Like me. You think you’ll ever be somethin’? Dare to dream boy. Dare to dream. [Odin starts to walk away] Where you goin’?

Odin: Away from you. I’ll be something pops, you wait and see. I’ll be on Forbes...all the rich man magazines. And while you’re trying to claim me, I would have forgotten you.

Father: Keep telling yourself that, Odin. I used to dream like you. I’ll tell you right now, dreams are lies. Lies! You’re nothing. You hear me, nothing! [His voice grows more and more distant.] You’ll be broke son. Worse, poor! Then you’ll come crawlin’ back to me. [pause] Don’t you dare walk out-a here Odin! ODIN!

Odin: [turns around] Goodbye old man. One day, you’ll see.

[End scene]

Play thoughts as of September 20, 2007

I know exactly what I want to happen in my play. The plot is strong...it almost haunts me. Still, I don’t know exactly what I want my characters to be. I know them, but I don’t relate to them. That’s a problem. I need to go deeper—understand what drives them so I don’t hate them all...well, most of them. Perhaps I should write until I understand them? Keep going until the planes of plot and characterization cross...

I think the real issue is that I don’t know how to execute...

Worse: I don't completely gasp my character's humanity...

The Worst Love Affair Never Told

I moment I post my Shakespearian Booty Call from yesteryear, the assignment resurfaces from the depths of the syllabus to haunt me once more. Such is life. It’s a five minute production, thus the rushed and dreadful nature. I’m sure you understand. So behold the love affair of Donald Trump and Rosie O’Donnell. The worst love affair never told…

Rosie O’Donnell: I’m gonna get straight to the point.

Donald Trump: Rosie, with you nothing’s straight…and you’re fat.

Rosie O’Donnell: …Wow. I’m glad you’re still in the forth grade.

Donald Trump: Fat, Fat, Fat!!

Rosie O’Donnell: Okay, I’m gonna ignore the ignorance that is you and talk so you can understand me. Let’s talk money Donald.

Donald Trump: I have more of it than you.

Rosie O’Donnell: I was wrong. The third grade.

Donald Trump: Fine Rosie. I’ll set our differences aside. You have five minutes. Go!

Rosie O’Donnell: Alright, so I’ve thought of a way we can both be billionaires.

Donald Trump: I’m already a billionaire.

Rosie O’Donnell: That’s questionable.

Donald Trump: Four minutes... What are you doing? [Rosie places a black bag on a table near them and removes a camcorder from inside]…what’s that?

Rosie O’Donnell: A time machine.

Donald Trump: Three minutes.

Rosie O’Donnell: It’s a camcorder you idiot! Okay, let me make this plain. I’ll throw a few names at you. Paris Hilton. Snoop Dog… Jenna Jamison!

Donald Trump: ...You lost me.

Rosie O’Donnell: All have a sex tape! And it made them superstars. And super rich.

Donald Trump: I think I’m gonna be sick!

Rosie O’Donnell: Billions! Think about it Donald! Billions!

Donald Trump: …I think I feel better.

ROSIE O’DONNELL: So what do you say.

DONALD TRUMP: [ponders] I say…okay!

Rosie O’Donnell: Then let’s get it poppin’!

Donald Trump: Please don’t talk like that. I don’t want to think about the details, just the results.

Rosie O’Donnell: Whatever gets you off.

Donald Trump: …You won’t make this any easier.

Rosie O’Donnell: Where’s the fun in that.

Donald Trump: Fuck you Rosie.

Rosie O’Donnell: Good. Exactly Donald. That’s the point. [Rosie assumes the position and Donald warily walks towards her.]

[ Scene fades to black]

My first play

Okay, so y’all remember that in class writing assignment that we never did? The Shakespearian Booty Call? Well, me being me (skimming over the syllabus and whatnot), I thought we had to write the play on our own time, then present what we wrote to the class. Turns out, this wasn’t the case.

...I wrote that play. It now exists on my computer with nowhere to go. I recant that last statement: it’s going somewhere and I choose this blog.

Here goes...

Prince Odin: These hands. My God! These hands! These hands are the hands which rule nations. Hands which cause princes and paupers, vagabonds and lords to bow down at my mercy. To beg for my grace. With a simple gesture, these hands spare masses. Provide the deathblow for millions more. They inscribe peace, call for war, make treaties, and wave—yes! Wave to the commoners I adore… well, at least the commoners who adore me.

Omalie: Yes Sire. Your hands—

Prince Odin: Alas! They mock me! These evil, retched, insufficient hands! They stroke my ego during the night. My pulsating, electric ego, into a fit of almost ecstasy. Almost pleasure. Almost taking me there, but not quite. You see Omalie, almost doesn’t count.

Omalie: Perhaps, sire, your technique—

Prince Odin: I cannot do this! No more of this…this power mocking me. These hands are iron fists at dawn, but come Sunset…Come Sunset, Omalie! I don’t rise to the occasion.

Omalie: {Awkward silence} It happens?

Prince Odin: I need someone Omalie. For the sun doesn’t rise by himself, but needs the moon to help him. {he stretches his hand out to Omalie and Omalie reluctantly takes it} I need a moon, Omalie. A nice, bright, magnificent moon with a place to put my ego. Where do I find my moon, Omalie?

Omalie: {nervously} Have you checked the sky, sire? I mean, it’s a clear night with no clouds and… {sighs} well, I suppose I could… {begins stumbling over words} You are who you are. Not that the thought is unimaginable, just almost. And like you say, almost doesn’t count…

Prince Odin: A woman, Omalie! I need a woman! {Omalie sighs in relief} One worthy of being embraced by the power of these hands. One who can handle the power of this ego.

Omalie: And what a large ego it is, sire.

Prince Odin: You never lie. [beat] But back to the task at hand!

Omalie: You have your choices, sire. A prince like yourself—

Prince Odin: Names Omalie!

Omalie: {nervously} There’s the Duchess’ daughter, Catherine. I heard she—

Prince Odin: Harlot! Another!

Omalie: What about Rebecca? Lord Albany’s child. Voluptuous in all the right—

Prince Odin: Harlot!

Omalie: Renée?

Prince Odin: Harlot!

Omalie: Juliet?

Prince Odin: Harlot!

Omalie: Then what about—

[Enter Princess Rachel]

Prince Odin: Her! {takes time to admire her beauty}Who is she?

Omalie: That’s King Pumpernickel’s daughter. The princess of—

Prince Odin: A princess!

Omalie: An untouchable princess.

Prince Odin: An untouched princess?

Omalie:… {reluctantly} so I’ve heard. [beat] But, a risky endeavor indeed, sire. Her father comes negotiating peace. A peace we need. To ravage his favorite daughter would be unfounded. Unwise—

Prince Odin: Parchment Omalie!

Omalie: {reaches into his bag and pulls out a scroll.} Please reconsider! A kingdom full of beautiful girls, all at your beck and will! Harlots they might be, but they’re your harlots! Tamable harlots, sir. TRAINABLE HARLOTS! Harlots who won’t get you—

Prince Odin: Silence! Jot this down. {Omalie takes out a pen, and reluctantly writes} To the princess…To the princess…

Omalie: Rachel, sire.

Prince Odin: Yes! To the Princess Rachel. I’ve noted your voluptuous bosom and raven black hair. Join me in my quarters for a night of endless ecstasy… [beat] Too blunt, Omalie?

Omalie: Tis direct…

Prince Odin: Excellent! What to add? Ah! Meet me at the romantic hour. The dead of night. North tower, second door on the right. I’ll give you my love and relinquish my ego. Signed, Prince Odin of York [beat] How does that sound?

Omalie: Tempting, Sire.

Prince Odin: Good. Now Go, Omalie! And tell no one of this affair.

[Later that night, Prince Odin paces nervously in his room. He sporadically looks out the window in anticipation. Suddenly, the door to his chamber creeks open]

[Enter Omalie dressed in a woman’s robe and cloak]

Prince Odin: Princess? The Princess Rachel of Albany? {stretches out his hand as Omalie leisurely walks into the room} My love, I’ve waited for you all my life. Thought about you all day. You’re the lover in my dreams; the one who gives me life. For our souls are intertwined.

Omalie: {in a high pitched voice} I’ve thought about you too, Sire.

Prince Odin: No, no, no. Odin, my love. No need to be formal when egos are involved.

Omalie: {cautiously} Odin.

Prince Odin: And may I call you Rachel?

Omalie: {cautiously}…sure.

Prince Odin: Do not be afraid, my love. For the night is young, my intentions…honorable. I am aware that your body is…unscathed. {pulls Omalie close to him, so that they almost kiss. He then whispers} I’ll be gentle. [beat] The moonlight is romantic, the crickets chirp our love song. Remove your cloak so I can kiss your lips.

Omalie: Wine, Sire, wine!! We need to drink wine!

Prince Odin: Tense, my dear? That’s to be understood; the nature of our endeavor. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to—

Omalie: Not to fear! I always keep a bottle under my cloak. {Quickly, Omalie reaches under his robe to reveal a large jug} I hope you don’t think me crude.

Prince Odin: Never, my love. My Rachel. I love you more knowing you came prepared. Now, for your cloak. The mood is perfect, the moon just right. I want to kiss you here and now. Let me have you in this moment; I want to show you my love.

Omalie: No, no, no!! The drink first, sir!!

Prince Odin: You tease me! A kiss, here and now!

Omalie: The drink!

Prince Odin: A kiss!

Omalie: The drink!

Prince Odin: A kiss! Ah! You mock me! {quickly, Prince Odin reaches for Omalie’s cloak. Omalie pulls away and a scuffle ensues. After some time, Prince Odin successfully removes Omalie’s disguise} Now, let me see your {gasps}! Omalie! Surely tis not you! You don’t have the guile—the audaciousness! The insolence!

Omalie: No, no, no. Tis not Omalie! Tis me, the princess… {Omalie sighs and starts talking in his normal voice}Yes, sire. Tis me.

Prince Odin: Where is the Princess Rachel of Albany?

Omalie: Well, I gave her the parchment, and she was much obliged. But due to a schedule conflict…something about sleep and morality—though those seemed quite questionable, let me assure you!—and being betrothed to some other Lord and Savior…well. She’s not coming.

Prince Odin: Of all the nerve! {suddenly disgusted} WERE YOU GOING TO LAY WITH ME THEN?!

Omalie: No! I found a replacement girl. The lady Roxanne of Bristol. Just as beautiful as your Rachel, only willing. And not untouched, but almost. {hangs his head down low}I was hoping the wine would impair your eyes. You know, so couldn’t tell the difference between the two.

Prince Odin: What treachery! I am ashamed to call you friend. An act like this can’t go unpunished! [beat] Roxanne you say?

Omalie: Yes, sire.

Prince Odin: The one with the big—

Omalie: The biggest.

Prince Odin: And the—

Omalie: You know the one.

Prince Odin: And she’s willing

Omalie: She practically begged me.

Prince Odin: {ponders}Roxanne. A desirable creature. {Omalie shakes his head in agreement}. Not on the menu, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be eaten.

Omalie: Whatever suits your fancy, sire.

Prince Odin: Fine! Bring her in, then leave me. I’ll deal with you in the morning{Omalie starts to walk out the door, but Prince Odin stops him} And Omalie!

Omalie: Yes, sire?

Prince Odin: Tell no one of this affair.

[As Omalie walks out, Roxanne slips into the room. Before she enters, he discretely hands her a small bag of gold. The door to Prince Odin’s chamber closes loudly behind her. Exhausted, Omalie, rest his head against the chamber entrance. He sighs a loud sigh of relief.]

[Enter Princess Rachel]

Princess Rachel: You test my patience.

Omalie: He tested mine.

Princess Rachel: I’ve waited for you.

Omalie: {smiles slyly} Likewise. Where do you want to go, princess?

Princess Rachel: Where ever you want to take me. And call me Rachel. {the two kiss passionately}

[Scene fades to black]

Maybe it's a piece of something...

This is the in class writing assignment from September 11, 2007. Maybe it needs a preface…I’ll make things brief. When I opened the door, I saw someone I’d never seen before. Still I knew this person very well. I thought he was a soul mate—something along those lines. We talk to each other often, but only in this room. I would call him “The Stranger” but that sounds creepy. I’ll just refer to him as “Him.” Oh! And thought the box was an engagement ring…well, it was a box that could hold an engagement ring. I had the sense that the box was empty. Still, it represented a promise. A commitment, if you will.

Here goes…

HIM: No, not yet.

ME: Then When

HIM: It’s not time.

ME: Then when.

HIM: I’ve waited for you. Been patient with you. Watched you, loved you, craved you…But now is not the time.

ME: Then when.

HIM: One day, I’ll meet you. Give you all the things your heart desires.

ME: …I’m playing myself waiting for you. You’re a dream.

HIM: I’m real.

ME: Then why is it whenever I get close to you, whenever I finally see your face. Whenever I can smell the scent of you, when I can almost reach out and touch you, you go away. Disappear. Dissipate into some unknown thing—go somewhere where I can’t follow.

HIM: I love you.

ME: Then why won’t you touch me. Hold me. I see you here and only here. In the deepest corners of my dreams. A place where I can barely reach you…you’re leaving.

HIM: I have too.

ME: Why?

HIM: Because. It’s not time.

ME: …then when?

HIM: Soon. Wake up. I’ll see you soon…

Looking back, this jank was kinda sappy. Such is life.

This day...

How can a day go from one extreme to another; from everything running smoothly—an all in all good day, to absolute mental chaos? It goes a little something like this:

Everything was fine this morning. I went to Shakespeare and stayed awake during the lecture (I deserve a cookie for that y’all). Then, I managed to find some minuscule question I could ask the professor after class….you know, so he could, maybe, learn my name. Maybe, see that I was trying and that I wasn’t just taking up space in his class. It went well, and I felt like a made the impression I wanted to make. Afterwards, I went back to my dorm room and chilled with one of my good friends. We watched the Price is Right and laughed at the stupid contestants. The ones who don’t know that the price of the car always ends in 0, 5, or 9 (WHY ARE YOU GONNA PICK 7!!??). Afterwards, I took a brief nap right before Playwrighting feeling good. Just feeling good.

I started walking towards playwrighting, and I was almost there except OH SNAP!! I left Hedda Gabler in the room. I rushed back to the room, grabbed the play and started back to 222. I ran into my RA, and, since we were going in similar directions, we walked together. I saw people I hadn’t seen in awhile and I waved. Saw my ex and I walked a little closer to the RA, just to mess with his mind. I felt cute and I was walking with a nice young man in a military uniform. Ha-ha! Eat your heart out skinny boy! I was almost at PBK, but then everything went down hill.

“Meagan, Meagan!”

“Hey girl, what’s up?”

“I’m freaking out right now. I mean, I don’t know what we’re suppose to know for this Russian history quiz! All these cities and rivers and all these different countries around Russia and--”

“Shit! I forgot all about it!”

My heartbeat surged. How could I forget about something as important as a quiz! I rush back to the room to grab the map I was suppose to have mastered. I didn't find it right off the bat, and that worried me more. Once I found it, a debate ensued on what to do. Should I skip playwrighting and focus on learning this material. Could I, maybe, take the map with me to class and try to absorb as much material as I could? Maybe I could take a laissez-faire approach and just say fuck it! Shit, that’s not me! I was stressing out, but I decided to go with option B. I went to class, and tried to study as much as I could.

But I retained nothing. I hated that I didn’t put my all into the class. I couldn’t—my mind was racing a million miles a minute. I apologize for not being totally committed to today’s class; for thinking about someone else during our slow fuck. Emotional infidelity. Forgive me. Hopefully, it won’t happen again.

After call, I made my way to Russian History and, as usual, I was late. It takes a minute to get from PBK to Blaire (my homeland). I make my way up the endless flight of steps and walk into the room to face my doom.

The first thing the professor says: “I’ve decided to cancel the map quiz! I’m moving it back to Tuesday!” I pointed my finger to the sky, and gave Him silent praises.

Surely, there is a God.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Play Breakdown for Hedda Gabler

1) I feel as if the action in Hedda Gabler builds upon the arrival of Lovborg. His presence complicates the lives of both Hedda Tesman and her husband, George. The climax of the play, however, is not cut in stone for me. Is the climax Lovborg’s decision to go on a “boy’s night out,” or when Lovborg loses his manuscript? Both occurrences have a great impact on the plot and both are exceptionally intense moments in the play.

2) I feel as if the playwright achieves his intensions by using irony. Hedda needs to feel like she has the power to control people; thus, she directs Lovborg to his ultimate demise. Ironically, it is Hedda’s manipulation of Lovborg that allows Brack to have psychological (and by implications, physical?) control over her. This control leads Hedda to kill herself.

3) Hedda’s main objectives in the play are to control and manipulate as many people as she possibly can. This entertains her; she enjoys being the puppet master.

I feel like Tesman only wants to make his wife happy. He’s willing to go through financial ruin to accomplish this goal. His main objective, I feel, is to secure his two loves in life—his wife and his academic career.

Lovborg’s main objectives in the play are to overcome alcoholism and to regain his moral reputation. He also wants to rekindle a love affair with Hedda (or is it Madame Diana who truly lights his fire…I wasn’t sure).

Mrs. Elvsted wants to escape her loveless marriage and establish a relationship with Lovborg. Ultimately, she wants to settle down with her true love.

4) I feel like the complications in Hedda Gabler are centered on Hedda and Lovborg. Hedda hates the bland lifestyle she’s living, thus she manipulates others for entertainment. Lovborg, on the other hand, complicates the play as he is not satisfied with living a healthy lifestyle. On the contrary, he’s drawn to the dark side; he falls in love with manipulators and alcohol. Both lead to his demise. In short, the obstacles in the play originate with people being unhappy with their lives and with themselves.

5) I believe that conflict is an important aspect in the play. Lovborg still loves Hedda (why is a mystery) and Hedda uses this love for her own entertainment. This conflict is never resolved as Lovborg commits suicide before Hedda’s true nature is revealed. Conflict also occurs because Hedda believes it her birthday to be a puppeteer. The conflict is resolved when Brack blackmails Hedda to be at his beck and call. Final resolution comes when Hedda commits suicide. These conflicts had to be resolved in order for the playwright to convey his main themes.

6) I enjoyed the world of the play. The superficial nature of high society was revealed and, generally, the world was believable.

7) I felt like the language in the play was appropriate. Dialogue was realistic (I especially enjoyed Tesman’s obsessive use of “eh”…it was distinctive to him) and enjoyable.

8) I feel like writers can learn something from everything they read. Avid readers tend to make good writers. For me, Hedda Gabler demonstrates the importance of having each character stand out as an individual. After awhile, I could tell which character was which simply by the content of their words.