This isn’t about books, okay? Because writing isn’t just about books. It’s about screenplays and poetry and plays.
Let’s focus on that last one. Plays. And even musicals. Did you know that I once wrote a one-act musical? It’s kind of silly, actually. But it was fun to write. I’m going to call it The Secret Musical, because I doubt it will ever see the light of day as an actual production.
Anyhow, (that’s a crutch word — I’ll explain that some other time, okay …?) I’m bringing up this subject because I’ve learned about a Web site called indie theater now (all small letters, like e.e. cummings) that, among other things, helps bring indie playwrights together with producers — or so I’m led to believe by this description of the group’s purpose:
Indie Theater Now is a project of the nonprofit corporation, The New York Theatre Experience, Inc. (NYTE). It is a dynamic, constantly expanding digital library of plays by indie playwrights whose work meets the criteria of our publication program. [Yes, yes -- gatekeepers. Well, productions do cost money, so ...] (Learn about our curating process here.) For a very small price, plays may be purchased for reading only (i.e., plays may not be printed nor copied to reader’s computer). Revenue is shared with the participating playwrights.
Okay, I can’t restrain myself. I will quote the article because it’s way too awesome not to.
Imelda May is an Irish singer whose music straddles the line between rockabilly and blues. That’s an intriguing mix, though not the most natural fit for mainstream radio. May says that when she began her recording career, the advice she received was less than encouraging.
“I talked to some record companies, and they said I need to choose one music or another,” May tells weekends on All Things Considered guest host Laura Sullivan. “I was told by a few people, ‘Cut the rockabilly bit out and you’ll do fine.’ [But] I decided, ‘To hell with them — I’m gonna make my album anyway.’ “
Whoa! Does that sound familiar or what?
Methinks there’s a serious metaphor buried in here somewhere.
Isn’t that odd? That I just happened to be in Portland when she was there. Do you believe in coincidences? I’m not sure what I believe, anymore.
PS: Did I pick the best time to go to Portland or what?
PPS: Sam McRae would approve. Right down to the Ernest Hemingway paperback.