Dropping the Soap for a Happy Ending

soap

…alright – so maybe not full on happy, but happier.

 

 

 

Abundant amount of blood fills the penile region of men which causes erection. on sale here cialis 20 mg Super Kamagra has serotonin sustaining effects and widens the vessels so that they may be able buy sildenafil uk to get snore-free sleep in just a short amount of time. Hence, for a steady and healthy relationship satisfactory love making buy generic viagra experience is a must. Ejaculatory management: – It is necessary to maintaining your overall health improving the function of this system is a huge benefit to your health. levitra prescription http://djpaulkom.tv/simply-clicking-the-build-a-thesis-button-again-7/ I confess that I have a bit of a dark side. I suspect that this sullen shadow is cast on a certain plane of my spirit’s surface for a number of reasons. The evidence of its gloomy existence, however, is most often apparent in my less than optimistic attitude regarding the possibility of any kind of blissful longevity for the whole of mankind. You see there is a part of me – this dark side – that believes that we are doomed. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it is because I see how we address, or ignore, the ramifications of our ever-expanding consumptive existence on this extremely finite cosmic fleck of terra nova that we call Earth. Maybe it is because I have repeatedly witnessed, or been victim to, insidious injustice and blatant discrimination rendered by my fellow humans. Or it could be because, in addition to continuing to slaughter each other in the name of some exalted God or another, we also seem contented to abuse and disrespect the myriad other creatures who also just happen to call this decaying ball of dirt their home. Certainly my faith in humanity ebbs and flows, but even at its highest points the depth of my confidence in our eventual salvation has never required a snorkel, or hip boots, or even a pair of galoshes.

Now I would like to think that this view that I have of the world through rusty colored glasses makes me appear to be romantically tortured, or deep thinking in some way – like a middle-aged, simmering emo of sorts – but it doesn’t. What it does do is: it influences how I make decisions about my life, it makes me a bummer to sit next to at a dinner party, and it sometimes manages – just now and then – to bleed its way into my writing. The latter is certainly true regarding a play that I began crafting during my first semester of graduate school, Fray. Simply put, Fray tells the story of a man and his pregnant wife who are struggling to salvage their relationship in the aftermath of mutual infidelities. The first draft ended with a bloody miscarriage – right there – on stage. Yeah. It was – well allow me to understate – it was bleak. About a year later, after Obama had been elected to his first term, the play was chosen as a semi-finalist for the Eugene O’Neill Playwrights Conference and I revisited the script. At this stage in its life cycle the narrative ended sans blood, but there was an eleventh hour revelation – the wife was not sure if her husband was actually the father of the unborn child. Decidedly less bleak – but still no Barefoot in the Park.

As is most often the case – before they are ever produced – plays are subject to a rather long gestation period consisting of readings, workshops, and rehearsals. Rewrites are expected. And so has been the case with Fray. A couple of years later – after the birth of my son – Fray was selected as a finalist for a reading series at a small regional theatre in Houston. Again I was given the opportunity to re-examine the story of this less than happy couple. As it turns out, I found myself sitting in front of my computer doing the final edits late into the night on the day before the supreme court was scheduled to hand down two rulings: one regarding the constitutionality of the Defense of Marriage Act, and another that could possibly overturn Proposition 8 in California – once again opening the door for gay marriages in the state. I was still reeling from the Supreme Justices’ gutting of the Voting Rights Act a couple of days prior, so I was not overly optimistic regarding a positive outcome – even though I knew in my darkly shaded soul that there was only one right decision that could possibly be made on a civil rights issue like marriage equality – in a place so long hailed as the home of the free.

My sagging hopes aside, sometime after midnight, I again arrived at the end of my play and like so many times before I typed the final stage direction, “Fade to black.” This time, however, the ending had morphed yet again. Still the play told a tale of love that was much more akin to Albee’s George and Martha than to TV’s Ozzie and Harriet, but when the lights finally dimmed on them this time around there was no question of paternity – the miserable, abusive husband was definitely the biological father. Oh happy day. And as it turns out, early the next morning – after a few hours of sleep – I woke up to the sweet sounds of our America’s true potential. The Supremes were singing a new tune. A heart-warming little ditty called “Nuts to Injustice” set to that old, classic, rousing standard; “The Declaration of Independence.” Oh yeah – that. And a couple of days later I was on a plane to Houston, Texas with a script in my valise that would deliver – if not a happy ending – at least one that was markedly happier than its original, and happier even still than its most recent predecessor.

In the relatively short period of retrospection that I have had since completing the most recent rewrite of Fray, I have only briefly gone back and forth with my inner dramaturge regarding which of the three endings is actually best – in terms of honest expression and viewer satisfaction that is. Of course as a playwright I am at least partially driven by ego, so I am certainly emotionally invested in creative success. And by creative success I mean money and accolades. But the truth is that I have spent far more time analyzing the strange chronological correlation of three things: the conscious decision I made to live more truthfully; the world around me seeming more accepting; and the arc of my work bending undeniably toward the light. Curious. No, The shadow is not gone. And I continue to believe that there is much re-righting to be done before mankind can hope to have any shot at a truly happy ending. But while I am certainly not ready to begin hypothesizing about a possible permanent change in my psychological climate, nor am I willing to say yet that I have faithfully invested in what looks like a promising shift in our collective inevitable outcome, I am, however, keenly aware that the tide seems to be flowing in around me a tad more forcefully these days. So – in the very least – perhaps it may be time that I invest in a decent pair of galoshes.