Short plays and a short story

Tonight I went to see a series of short plays by one author.  The first piece was decent but it went on a bit.  The subtext was the best part of the play.  The next two pieces were just not properly developed.  And it didn't help that the actors were god-awful.  As in, they sounded like stiff, affected nubes who just learned the script an hour before they went up. Ergh!  I gave up after the first part and during intermission snuck out into the cool NYC night. I won't name the writer because for the most part I really think he's quite talented and his writing is quite smart.  The pieces just need more work.  It's a decent starting point but they were more works-in-progress than final product.

That said, I have another friend who gave me a draft of his short story to read a couple of weeks ago.  It was amazing and the ending was fresh and surprising. The way he uses language...his turn of phrases is quite gorgeous.  English is his second language and he makes fiction writing quite beautiful.  Then he revised his draft and the story only got better.  His additions only added layers, giving the whole piece depth. I am quite humbled at the beauty in his work.  There is no envy, no jealousy warming my blood tonight because all I feel is true appreciation for another writer's act at honing his craft.  To think that he almost quit writing a couple of years ago.  Thank goodness he didn't because this writer...this young talented writer...will have students studying his works in years to come.  I will share his name when he's ready to share his work with a larger audience.

Anyway, it's a little after midnight now and I'm finally feeling the effects of a full and eventful day.  My brain is in need of a break.

Peace,

L~


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