Kind Strangers & Delicious Haints

Karla Jennings, playwright of The Ruby Vector, came in from Georgia to see her play in LeapFest. Here she describes the experience.

When a reading goes well it's a rush, especially if you meet lots of theater people and hit it off and leave feeling encouraged about your craft. Just being alone in a theater can flip on the writing synapses; invisible people surround you, living their lives in front of you, waiting for you to write them down and make them real.

The LeapFest trip was like that. All fronts were in high gear, from weather front to stage front. Even when I forgot my credit card and cash in my jogging socks back at the hotel, it was groovy; the cast and directors graciously fed me, beered me, and gave me a lift back. In the theater world, you can always depend on the kindness of strangers (except for the nut cases).
A staged reading serves two purposes: as a calling card for that play, so you invite dozens of directors, hoping that one or two will show up; and as an opportunity for the writer to examine her work as a thing in itself rather than a part of herself. This, one hopes, gives her the objectivity to improve it.

It's hard to shake a play out of your head, to be objective. The playwright's lack of perspective explains the slightly panicked look you might get when you ask someone to describe his or her play. Their inner voice is shrieking, "I've created a world, how can I sum it up when I'm swimming in its oceans? How can I encapsulate this small universe when I'm immersed in it?"
Ruby Vector already had three workshops, so at this point I was pretty sure its world was complete and any changes would bloat it into over-explanation or hammer dead the raw sparks that make it come alive. But at the first reading, before I came to town, someone noted that Act One felt like it ended in the penultimate scene, but then the stage lights go back up and you spend another damn five minutes watching the characters do their thing. Personally, I hate it when that happens. Even if I like the play, when I think intermission's here I'm eager to bolt to the loo or toddle in circles around the lobby or something. It makes me impatient when, like a Beethoven symphony, the ending just goes on and on.

So, we tossed the final Act One scene into the beginning of Act Two. That's better, I thought, but that's it. There's nothing left to improve.

However, shortly into the reading I attended, I thought, "What the hell's that line doing there? It's not necessary." Later, "Gee, that sounds beautiful but it doesn't move the plot, it's got to go." Then, "That line would rock if I rephrased it like this," then, "He's got to be stronger about his motivation here." On and on for five pages of notes, plus useful audience and directorial observations which, once they're pointed out, are kind of embarrassing in their obviousness.

So it's back to the drawing board for a (inshallah) final rewrite. Wish I could see the last performance -- it should be leaner, meaner, brighter, deeper. The LeapFest experience got me thinking of other plays I'm either writing or want to write -- potential scenes, lines of dialogue, plot developments. When I returned to my family my brain was buzzing with stuff I want to work on undistracted, alone. If I could choose between joining my girls and husband now or spending a week writing in a quiet mountain cabin, the choice would be obvious. I love my family, but inspiration fades fast. My peeps will be there, flopping around in my shoes, braiding my hair, and watching TV with the sound blasting, long after the invisible people who so deliciously haunt me have faded away.

Your final chance to see The Ruby Vector is May 30th at 2:00pm. Don't miss it or the other wonderful plays in LeapFest.