Rewrites

 

September 13, 2023

Turkeys arrive to greet me at sunset. 

Uncharacteristic tantrum occasioned by questions from the cast about Ben & Angela. I think I calmed and toned down before I sent a response. An uncertainty of chronology or the tone of a particular word bothers them. Usually I like discussions like this, but today was, for some reason, not the right day for it. “Just say the lines,” did not, in the end, comprise my response. I reflect that in all the plays I’ve acted in–an inordinate number new and untried– I’ve never asked for or suggested a rewrite. To my recollection I’ve never asked a substantive question, unless I flatly didn’t know what I was saying. Just say the lines, and all will be clear at length: the wisdom you didn’t see at first, the folly you suspected, either their ineptitude or yours. 

Improvised an intricate sauce which I’m now having over linguine. Triumph. I wish I remembered what is in it. Tomatoes. . . garlic. . . . .

The cast questions remind my of an anecdote from Tolkien. Asked repeatedly why he just didn’t have the eagles fly the One Ring to Mount Doom, he eventually said, “I have an answer for the people who keep asking that question.”

“What is it?”

“Shut up.” 

Nevertheless, rewrote the play with regard to their observations.