Rough Draft

[Jack of Hearts]

Hi. This is a rough draft of a play this writer wrote. It is his first attempt at scriptwriting. It is supposed to be approximately 15 minutes long. Hope you like it.




THE BONES OF EMILY’S FATHER


CAST
EMILY (A young woman)
DARREN (A young man. Emily’s brother.)
HAL (An old man. Emily and Darren’s grandfather.)
LUKE (A young man. Work associate/protégé of Emily’s father.)
WRITER (Male)

(House lights are up. WRITER stands DSR, greeting audience individual members/improving small talk for a minute or two while audience settles and performers get ready. Houselights down. Spotlight WRITER, DSR.)

WRITER: (Monologuing to audience). So I’m a writer. And, uh- being a writer, I’ve only done a good job when I’ve drawn you into the story. It takes a little bit of courage, sometimes more than I have, to tell a story. Sometimes it’s more than I can bear. (gazes off toward CS)

(Lights up, CS. Using a minimal number of props, such as folding chairs etc. and no back drops, there are four characters positioned as though sitting in a living room. From left to right: HAL (with bottle of scotch), LUKE, EMILY, and DARREN. They sit as though frozen in time/place. It is now apparent that WRITER was gazing at EMILY.)

WRITER: (reverting his gaze to audience, and gesticulating to each character as he goes over them) So in the interest of time… that young man on the right, there. Darren. Militant Atheist. Punk rock. You know this guy. Sitting next to him, his sister, Emily. Their father has recently passed away. (WRITER pauses a moment, and then continues.) That upright looking fella, next to Emily, is Luke. He worked with Emily’s father, kind of like a protégé. And then there’s Grandpa, single handedly insulating Johnny Walker from the effects of a bad economy. (A little uncertainly) Ok, then…

(Spotlight down. WRITER crosses through darkness to lit CS, perhaps looking back a bit at the audience. He stands behind LUKE and taps him on the shoulder. LUKE begins his line and the characters are unfrozen. WRITER, behind all of them, slinks off stage unnoticed.)

LUKE: (Gesticulating toward mimed coffee table) Em, you’ve got to eat something. You look like you’re wasting away.

EMILY: … Maybe.

DARREN: Really went all out, buying her that Big Mac.

LUKE: It just seemed like-

DARREN:A hunk of processed meat is never the answer.

(The conversation devolves into silence for a moment.)

HAL: (Hearing a ticking offstage) Goddammit, what’s that damn cat doing!

EMILY: Grandpa, that’s the clock in the kitchen.

HAL: I told your mother not to get that goddamn cat! I hate it. One time I kicked that thing so good… (Irritability slowly grows to amusment). All the way across the kitchen. I come in later and I hear your father whisperin’. When I peek around the corner he’s curled around the washing machine trying to get her to come out. Says its my fault, I kicked her. Just crooked around the machine, whispering sweet nothins to a cat. The goddamn thing wouldn’t come out for three days. Every night your father spent fifteen minutes sweet talkin’ the cat. Eventually I says ‘give it up Jimmy. I can tell when they ain’t gonna put out.’

(DARREN bursts into laughter. LUKE, who has been smiling at the old man’s memory of his son, is speechless.)

EMILY: That’s really gross, Grandpa.

DARREN: (Still laughing) Like a boss.

HAL: … lord, do I miss Jim. He was a good son.

EMILY: Grandpa…

HAL: He did good with you kids. (Gestures at LUKE) And did his best with old stiffy here.

LUKE:I owe that man so much. Some of my best memories are of being in the office with him, just working. Just trying to get through the day.

EMILY: (taking LUKE’s hand) He thought you had potential.

DARREN: Yeah, right. McMuffin over there was dad’s charity case ***** boy.

LUKE: I respected him. That’s all.

DARREN: Oh, there was no other reason you wanted to be around all the time? (DARREN conspicuously eyes LUKE and EMILY holding hands. When EMILY realizes this, she lets go. Conversation lapses.)

EMILY: (looking at bag on coffee table)… I’m not really hungry right now. I’m going to put this up for later.

(EMILY stands and mimes picking up the McDonald’s bag. She crosses DSR, where WRITER is sitting on the edge of the stage far right. Spotlight DSR on EMILY, who mimes busying herself about the kitchen with dishes, etc.)

EMILY: (Over her shoulder, toward the other characters) You know, it might be the little things I miss most.

(WRITER stands and edges into spotlight, observing EMILY.)

EMILY: (Now, perhaps to herself) Just stupid little things. When I was a little girl, the way he held me. (WRITER approaches, lovingly brushes a strand of hair out of her face, caresses her jawline with his fingertip.) I felt safe. He was towering, a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark. (WRITER removes dishes from EMILY’s hands, and then removes her hands from the kitchen sink). And whenever I hugged him (EMILY offhandedly turns and embraces WRITER) I held on like no storm could sweep me away.

(Spotlight goes dark. EMILY crosses back to CS to reclaim her seat.)

HAL: You say somethin’, kiddo?

EMILY: … No. Nothing, grandpa.

HAL: I know it’s hard, Em.

DARREN: It shouldn’t be. He isn’t worth what you’re putting yourself through. He’s gone, so what. One less *******.

LUKE: I know he was hard on you Darren but it was only because-

DARREN: Put that **** away. You’re only here because you want to bang my sister.

EMILY: Darren!

HAL: The hell kind of way is that to talk. I’ve heard enough of your mouth.

DARREN: And I’m tired of being here. (Gets up to leave)

(WRITER freezes the scene, and crosses from DSR to CS to get DARREN and escort him DCS. The two stand looking at each other for a moment.)

DARREN: Are… are you…

WRITER: Nope. Just a mediocre writer. Close though.

DARREN: But… wh-… why…?

WRITER: You tell me.

DARREN: It’s just that… sometimes it feels like being in complete darkness. Like I don’t how to be or what to do and there’s no one to tell me.

WRITER: Seems like you need a Father. Funny. It’s always the ones who scream the loudest that they don’t.

DARREN: Well, now I have you. You know about all of this confusion.

(WRITER remains silent).

DARREN: … Hello?

(Silence.)

DARREN: Why won’t you answer?

(Slowly, WRITER returns DSR into the darkness. After watching him go and lingering a moment, EXIT DARREN DSL. WRITER claps. Characters unfreeze.)

EMILY: (Reflectively)‘He isn’t worth it.’

HAL: Don’t you let that goddamn boy make you think that for one second, Em.

EMILY: No- no I don’t think that. It’s just, Darren talks like Dad’s still here. He doesn’t mean to. We can’t even speak to each other anymore.

LUKE: It’s been hard on everyone. Especially you two.

HAL: But it’s right.

LUKE: Not sure I understand what you mean. What could possibly be right about any of this?

HAL: Everything goes away, dumbass. In time. People, the world, the starch in your drawers. My father kicked over. Their father kicked over. It should’ve been my turn. It’s a sad day that I’ve outlived my boy. A cruel fluke. But whatever the order, it’s right in the grand scheme of things.

EMILY: Grandpa, why are you saying this?

LUKE: His memory hasn’t gone anywhere. He showed me the way. He gave me the rules.

HAL: Hah. Great job he did. Spend the rest of your life livin’ by somebody else’s rules. Do you ever think for yourself, stiffy?

LUKE: That’s uncalled for.

HAL: No it isn’t. No, I think it’s just what the doctor ordered. (HAL gets up to leave, scotch in hand. The other characters freeze. Spotlight up DSR. HAL meets WRITER DSR. They are jovial together, paling around. HAL pours WRITER a scotch and they continue like old friends reunited. They both sit on the edge of the stage, grinning, quiet and contemplative. A long moment passes.)

HAL: Soon?

(WRITER gives no vocal confirmation; perhaps nods a little.)

HAL: It’s just that, the arthritis and what not… a little harder every day, you know.

WRITER: (After regarding him a long moment) With as sauced up as you are all the time, I doubt you feel a thing.

(Spotlight off. EXIT HAL DSR. Characters unfrozen. LUKE sits in contemplation.)

EMILY: He can be so hard sometimes.

LUKE: … Yeah. Look, Em… Whatever I feel about- I don’t even know anymore- but whatever I feel, I really loved your father. And that’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m around.

EMILY: … Is it the only reason?

(LUKE looks at her. CS Lights down. Spotlight up DCS. LUKE meets WRITER DCS.)

LUKE: It would’ve been wrong to tell her.

WRITER: Oh?

LUKE: Her father just died.

WRITER: Yep.

LUKE: I loved him.

WRITER: Of course.

LUKE: I love her.

WRITER: Mmhmm.

LUKE: I follow the rules. I’m a good person. I deserve her.

WRITER: Assuming that there are rules, and that you’re a good person for following them. And that ‘deserve’ means moral currency.

LUKE: It’s like stumbling in a dark room-

WRITER: I’ve heard this one-

LUKE: And not knowing how to get through, or what is right. But it’s also like you’re being watched. Maybe one pair of eyes, maybe a thousand.

WRITER: (Looking at the audience) I know the feeling. (WRITER takes LUKE by the shoulders and points him toward DSL. LUKE wanders off as though in a fog. EXIT LUKE DSL. Spotlight down DSC. Spotlight up DSR. EMILY is in the kitchen, busying herself again. WRITER edges into the light).

WRITER: (watching EMILY) It’s just the way some people work through things, I guess. Maybe pain is some shaping force. Maybe some people get pushed on and molded, perhaps into something finer than they were before. But sometimes… it just seems so arbitrary. (EMILY mimes opening the refridgerator and taking out the McDonald’s bag). Some sacrificial lamb toward the idea of beauty. Because there’s a kind of beauty to pain. (After contemplating the food, EMILY discards it without a single bite. EXIT DSR EMILY. WRITER steps fully into spotlight). She can’t know that. But I do. We do. Sometimes it's more than I can bear. This streak of cruelty about our lives is the hard stuff diamonds are forged of. But even still, even if I am just a writer, probably a writer without a writer, and it’s all invention…

(Pause.)

WRITER: I’m so sorry, Em.


THE END.

[Jassy Melson]

This was fascinating, almost mesermizing. I haven't read anything this good in awhile. There are touches of O'Neill in this writing. I can see how you were perhaps influenced by him.

[hillwalker]

Touches of O'Neil and Tennessee Williams - to my untrained eye.

Another string to your bow - have you had this performed? And if not, why not?

H

[Jack of Hearts]

Thanks guys.

hill- Well, it was written yesterday. Also, this reader doesn't know anybody to perform it. He's not really in the 'theater world' at all...




J

[hillwalker]

This reader doesn't know anybody to perform it. He's not really in the 'theater world' at all...
J

That's no excuse.

Local schools/colleges/drama groups are often searching for free stuff to perform (without having to pay performance fees etc.).

H

[Jack of Hearts]

Well you're probably right. Yesterday was this reader's one year anniversary on LitNet. In hindsight, coming here was a step in a certain direction. Never shared stuff like that before, on the Poetry Forums, or the Short Story Forum. Never imagined it as a possibility. Today it's obvious that it was a baby step at best, but at the time it didn't feel like it.

It makes this reader wonder what else is out there. What things has he never even thought of doing? What's the next 'LitNet' for him?






J

[hillwalker]

Congratulations on surviving 12 months on here - and for suddenly realising there are no limitations out there, only opportunities.

H

[Jack of Hearts]

Thanks hill. Your support (and occasional egging) has been invaluable.

Thanks again for reading this and giving feedback, Jassy.







J

[Jack of Hearts]

Just had this test read tonight. It did not go well. This may be too inaccessible/convoluted/not 'audience friendly' to work...

Then again, never claimed to be able to write plays. Meh.



J

[hillwalker]

It depends on the intended audience - I can't say that Samuel Beckett ever appealed to me but he got a Nobel Prize somewhere along the way for his playwriting. I hope this doesn't mean you've given up...

H

[Jack of Hearts]

Well, definitely kicking dirt.

You must know the awful feeling. It's like when you've shared something you wrote with the wrong person/people. Clearly it's not for everybody and you've got to consider that. It's a pretty deep degree of alienation when it happens, or something.

It doesn't make this reader want to give up writing, just destroys any desire to share. Nobody wants to be that removed from other living, breathing people.

The strange thing in this case is that the people who read this script really seemed the kibd of people who'd 'get it' (theater people) but it... was just awful.

So another experience under the old belt.






J

[hillwalker]

Ah well, don't get disheartened. If you believe strongly in what you have written it can be a salutary exercise sticking to your guns and facing criticism head on. All part of sharing work with one's peers. The secret is never to take it personally.

H

[Jack of Hearts]

Ah, thanks hill. It wasn't like they ripped it apart. In fact, even though they spoke about it, they said nothing (and they knew it). The silence or empty words or politeness is way worse than any harsh critique this reader ever received.



Well then, on to the next.






J

[Jack of Hearts]

Has anybody on here got any experience with scriptwriting? This poster would like to try it again some time, but is unsure...

Any advice on where this script is bad?






J

[AuntShecky]

I don't know. Yours fooly is no expert.

Wondering what the Writer character is doing there, why he's necessary. Seems superfluous unless the playlet is trying to make a postmodern point about the fourth wall, the inability of art to reproduce reality completely accurately and w/o filters--your "Writer" actually makes a remark to that effect: "It's all invention." If that's so, if he thinks so little of it, why is he writing?

To me an onstage narrator type character-- like the so-called Stage Manager in Our Town is a little bit precious and over-stylized. It's the equivalent of a voice-over narration in movies. This is considered a no-no in screenwriting circles--verbally describing what the audience is actually seeing in this visual medium. Have movie audiences become so dumb that they have to have someone explain what's up there on the screen? For instance, the second of Clint Eastwood's Iwo Jima movies contained this voice-over narration and it ruined that otherwise good film for me.

You should ask yourself why the Writer is there. If he serves an important purpose, let him stay. If not, let the characters themselves show the audience what they're about so that we can make up our own minds.

The Writer has some good, witty lines --don't get me wrong--especially the one about keeping the liquor company in business during the recession--but why can't Grandpa himself say the
line?

Another thing I've learned about playwriting--which probably doesn't apply to this little piece, but seems to me to be good advice anyway- is that the writer should never have a character or characters stand around doing and/or saying nothing while action involving other characters is going on. If the inactive characters are just standing around, they're like potted plants--part of the set design. Make up some excuse to get them off-stage and bring 'em back when they've got something important to do. This is a moot point, because your play is so short. But it's good to remember in general.

One more thing--is that the playwright should give each character a distinctive voice. In a movie review I read the other day--don't know which movie it was, but it's just as well -- the critic complained that every character sounded exactly the same --same word choice, same tone of voice, some cynical world-view etc. A good antidote to this is reading a little Shakespeare. It's astounding that everyone of his characters speaks in perfect iambic pentameter, BUT every character sounds unique. The result is exactly right, but oh so difficult
to achieve. (Unless one is Shakespeare.)

Now you know why I don't write many plays.

[Monamy]

Actually, I thought it was quite the piece. I couldn't imagine the scene as meaningful as it was without the Writer. Maybe because it's one stand-alone scene that it needs the Writer character to make things clear. But the moment Emily hugged the Writer... I assure you, you can't have the effects of that without a character such as the Writer in that little play.

To me, the Writer was a must-have. As he said, It's all invention. And the whole scene is about this little invention of his.

I've never seen such a role before in a play. Probably because I don't watch a lot of plays myself. But this is the first time I see such a character like the Writer, and I'm most astonished by the idea and the effects it had on me. I tried reading your work again while ignoring the Writer's lines and (maybe) give them to the second most-suited character. It just wasn't right. The freeze effect is also interesting, a moment of thought, a moment that shows the character's true thoughts in comparison with his/her actions and attitude (Darren for example.)

Wonderful, I really enjoyed those lines. I sure hope to read more.
Thank you so much for sharing this with us.

[DocHeart]

I'm a theatre lover and a frequent theatre goer, but I haven't had reason or opportunity to read a play since university. I'd like to thank you, dear Jack, for giving me a chance to remember what it's like. I had forgotten how much I love doing it - imagining the characters, trying to see the stage, guessing how each line might be delivered and the different kinds of impact it might have on the audience.

I think this is accomplished work. In their short time on stage, each character reveals much about who they are and how they feel - and what the dead man meant to them.

Darren is angry. We learn that his father was hard on him, and Darren is in no mood to forgive. Yet, he confesses to the Writer that he yearns for guidance. Perhaps Darren's anger is not directed at his father's strictness, but at the fact it will now be absent.


DARREN: It shouldn’t be. He isn’t worth what you’re putting yourself through. He’s gone, so what. One less *******.


But then, addressing the Writer:


DARREN: Well, now I have you. You know about all of this confusion.


And soon after this, Darren exits. But not before the Writer goes silent on him, making his perceived future lonely and devoid of the guide Darren so desperately needs.

Darren chose to see a substitute father in the Writer. Old Hal chooses to see death.


HAL: Everything goes away, dumbass. In time. People, the world, the starch in your drawers. My father kicked over. Their father kicked over. It should’ve been my turn. It’s a sad day that I’ve outlived my boy. A cruel fluke. But whatever the order, it’s right in the grand scheme of things.


Hal wants things set right. As the dead man's father, he feels a different kind of bereavement to that of the other character's. He feels that his being alive while his child is dead is unnatural. All the more reason, then, to welcome the Writer as death and share a drink with him. Similarly to Darren, however, Hal gets no assurances, no promises, and no real comfort:


HAL: Soon?

(WRITER gives no vocal confirmation; perhaps nods a little.)

HAL: It’s just that, the arthritis and what not… a little harder every day, you know.

WRITER: (After regarding him a long moment) With as sauced up as you are all the time, I doubt you feel a thing.


Luke is similar to Darren in lacking guidance. But while Darren seems frustrated by his general lack of direction, Luke appears to want to achieve one thing mainly: to replace the dead father in Emily's world. His care-giving is inadequate - "a hunk of processed meat", to quote Darren's cynical account of it. But Luke expects:


LUKE: I follow the rules. I’m a good person. I deserve her.

"I deserve her, so why won't you give her to me?" Luke says to the Writer what he might have wanted to say to the deceased father for a long time. Once again, the Writer declines to satisfy the character:

WRITER: Assuming that there are rules, and that you’re a good person for following them. And that ‘deserve’ means moral currency.


But with Emily, earlier on in the play, the Writer's reaction is different. There is touching, encouraged physical affection. Her wish to feel her father's touch once more is granted without her even requesting it directly. To everyone else's frustration, impatience or self-importance, the Writer responds coldly. But to Emily, who at least at this moment is only thinking about love, he gives comfort generously.

And this is probably my only criticism, dear Jack. I reckon Emily's encounter with the Writer could have come last rather than first. Granted you'd need to tinker with various bits here and there, but this restructuring would have made the Writer's closing monologue that much more powerful.

But this isn't to say that the message is lost, nor that the ending is unsatisfactory. The Writer's words are beautifully framed by Emily's last actions - the opening of the fridge and the discarding of the junk food. And his apology to "Em" (her father's favourite name to call her by?) is a very, very touching finale.

One final word (my goodness, it's nearly midnight already) - I'm glad to see you taking a rejection as "another experience under the old belt". It's the kind of reaction that someone with a healthy writing life should have.

Thanks for a great evening, pal.

DH

[Jack of Hearts]

A 'thank you' is in order here, to all of you. Thank you for reading and engaging with this. The idea that it can be this way gives great courage to go on, especially now, when the expression is getting intimate and risky.







J

[xtianfriborg13]

Ah well, don't get disheartened. If you believe strongly in what you have written it can be a salutary exercise sticking to your guns and facing criticism head on. All part of sharing work with one's peers. The secret is never to take it personally.

H

I fail to see things this way, you know, my being careless to what people think with what I did. I always fear criticism, but I'm trying to overcome it little by little.