Let’s admit it people: in a minute you blink and you go somewhere else. It happens when you’re making the coffee, sitting down to write, or you’re strapping on your boxing gloves on the gym. Or when our significant other is demanding an answer to a question.
“Where’s did you put the lid for the Cuisanart?”
Or heck your director!
“What is going on in this scene for you Crystal?”
If only they could see where I go in my mind. Now I didn’t know if I could get all the dancing elephant crazy that might be parading across my head in moments like these but for these one-minute plays you can bet as heck I tried.
In the one-minute play Best Day Ever it’s about the moment you wake up and fantasize about your great motherfucking day ahead of you. Before the real world hits and erases those fantasies. While it hints at what that would be for a writer, which I don’t want to give away because they’ll be rocking it on the stage all too soon, but there are some seriously true fantasies left on the cutting room floor. I seriously dream about having Elves as interns. Or Leprechauns. Just some magical awesome fucking creatures that would pop up and finish what I’m doing and make it amazing and maybe bring up more coffee or oh! MAGICAL BISCUTS and MAKE THAT AN IRISH COFFEE why don’t you I mean, being from the old country and all and –
See I just did it! Blinking away.
In my two wee nysports club plays we see the inner ranting of those boxing and those training. I often find myself blinking away in physical activity and I kinda love it. I also love running and listening to the Aliens soundtrack and imagining I’m ramming a space vehicle through some wall to save my team in crisis, but that’s another story.
These one-minute plays, to me, capture the inner longing of those blinking with others in the room. What do these people blink out about with each other? And when do they come out and blurt out what they think is some amazing revelation or question but the truth is it’s only they can follow what’s in their head. Have you had that happen? Someone just blurt something and you’re like – where is that coming from? If you could see the blink you would know, so dramatizing that has been the fun challenge.
For me, when I blink a fantasy, then come back to where I really am blurting out what I think is the most important thing I find it’s at the worst possible time: Like since I was a kid. “Yes! I can do it! I may be thirteen and just a girl scout, which I’m slowly learning is not working for me – sooo not into your secret circles and stuff, and maybe I told you I couldn’t do that climbing up this ridiculous wall thing on your insane trail of terror for this camp I’ve been shipped off too to toughen me up and I’m totally choosing to tell you this now even though you’re holding up someone else up there on the top of the wall on the end of that long, long rope and concentrating on that really hard and might drop them because I keep going on – oh! I’m sorry. Being. Quiet. Now.” Blinking and blurting. Not a good combo! But I love that when you come out it’s embarrassing but humbling. And kinda makes you face truths about yourself. Blinks are like little private messages. For a second, these wee one-minute vacations into fantasies, remind you of what you’re after. What you want. Why you’re here. Now hate to do this, but gotta scoot. It’s one of my leprechauns last day here at the Skillman office and we’re having a party in the kitchen. Mmm … Irish coffee and biscuits … 🙂