APRIL IN AUGUST AT FRINGENYC

April's Fool is in! Repeat: April's Fool is in! I am Fringe-ing it this summer. That's right- I am going to be a participant in the 2014 New York International Fringe Festival with my latest play, April's Fool. I am excited, a little scared, and very happy.

April's Fool, my metaphysical comedy that was first developed by the theater at the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center- Scott Levy, artistic director- and recently given a reading as part of the Playwrights Festival at The Western Stage of Salinas- Jon Selover, artistic directcor- will be given it's first full production in August, marking my first full length play to be performed in NYC in almost 8 years.

I want each of you to come see it. I don't want any excuses. I want your butts in seats. That sounds a little kinky, and I don't care. Just be there- it's this August, in NYC- the best time of year to be in Gotham.  And if you haven't already- visit our Facebook page and "like" it. Pretty please. Just click HERE and then, once on April's page, click like. Ten seconds of your time.

If you like my plays at all, April's Fool is for you- it's got a bunch of hyper intelligent people acting like morons. It's got cultural references galore. It's got death, sex, loneliness, and angst. And it's funny.

The casting is in progress- if you are in NYC and have always wanted to audition for a brand new play by Kelly McAllister, this is your lucky day.

Not only is it written by me, it's being directed by Bronwen Carson- who is so talented, funny, and insane in the best sense of the word that I can't really do her justice with my feeble attempts at describing her. Just trust me when I say she is a director who kicks it in the ass.

But wait, there's more. The show is being produced by Craig Nobbs- rising screenwriter, film director, and genius. And one of my dearest friends and collaborators.

So, why else should you go see this show? Well, if you've ever wondered about reality- like if maybe this is all some sort of weird dream, or maybe you are in the wrong alternate reality and should be in the one where you have the job of your dreams and made all the right decisions- if you've ever, even for just one moment, pondered if there is such a thing as fate or destiny controlling all or at least some of your life- if you think maybe you stepped through the looking glass long ago and have been wandering Wonderland most of your days and nights- this is the play for you. It won't answer all the questions- but it will give you a little bit of solace on those occasions you think we're all mad here.


The New York International Fringe Festival is the largest performing arts festival in North America, and takes place in August. I have had the great honor of being involved in four productions at FringeNYC- Last Call; Muse of Fire; Die, Die, Diana; and Some Unfortunate Hour. To be in the Fringe is amazing- and to experience it as a theatre goer is something that should be on everyone's bucket list.

So see you in August. More details- like theatre space and show dates and times- TBA.
If you want to buy a digital copy of the script- you can do that, right now, and for less than two dollars, by clicking HERE- that will take you to Indie Theater Now- the best web site in the multiverse.

I AM A MYSTIC IN TRAINING

I think the universe leads me around the planet, and I happen upon certain things- pieces of music, people, events- at appointed times. Well, maybe not appointed, like "on March 1, 2013 at 10:15 am, while walking his dog Padfoot, he will hear a song on his Hawk and a Handsaw station on Pandora that will inspire him to write a scene between Jaypes and Norn as a hot dog vendor ala Ignatius from Confederacy of Dunces", but more like there are all these secret doorways to insight and spiritual tranquility that have are set all around the universe, and if I want to follow a certain path, achieve some sort of destiny, I need to find those doorways, those hidden Easter Eggs on the DVD of me. Maybe life is like whatever algorithm Pandora uses to figure out what music we would like, and the choices we make lead us to logical places. I read a book when I'm in fourth grade that turns me on to Norse mythology, which leads me to read other books on myths and fate, and over the years I accumulate all this seemingly useless knowledge, trivia really- until one day I write a play with Hela in it, which leads to another play with Hel and Raven in it, which leads to yet another play with the three Norns smashed into one character in it.

I really don't know, and I suppose in the grand scheme of things, and in the not so grand as well, it doesn't really matter. As Popeye, famous one-eyed sailor and lover of spinach would proclaim, I am what I am, whether by choice or fate, and all I can do it live my life as well as I can, try to find some sort of moral compass- be it part of natural law or of human construct.

Which is a long winded way of saying I am feeling connected to the world at this particular moment in time. I feel as if I am doing what I should be doing with myself in order to live the life I want to live. And a huge part of that is because I am happy with my latest play. At the same time, there is a loneliness when writing something- a feeling like no one else can see this brave new world coming to life in your brain, or alternate universe, or where ever it is that stories live.  Still, it's quite euphoric being me right now. And this feeling of well being urges me further- not only to work on the new show (working title: Don't Get Too Comfy, Pal), but to finally finish post-production of Strong Tea, get to work on a screenplay idea I have that mashes up the story of Edgar Cayce with all those reality/paranormal shows on cable these days, clean up Rose Red- which is having another production this June in Boulder and possibly more in Ohio and California- and on and on. Nothing inspires like inspiration.

Right now, I'm rewriting and rewriting and then rewriting Don't Get Too Comfy, Pal. At the same time, the first draft is being read and judged by the good people at the Fine Arts Center in Colorado Springs as an entrant in their Rough Writers event. So I want all of you to face Colorado Springs from wherever you are, and send a telepathic command to whomever is reading the play, telling them to put it in the festival.

I am fairly certain I am hoping to become, or already am, a mystic.

SABRINA

So now that we’re in, what’s the plan?

AHAB

Grab the pinball machine Dickhead gave her, throw it out the window, and escape into the night!

WHY NOT ALL THREE?

So I'm furiously writing my latest opus- a play with the working title "Don't Get Too Comfy Pal". The title will most likely change soon, but that will be the subject of a future blog. The play is a bit of poetic realism following four twenty-to-thirty-something New Yorkers dealing with unrequited love, betrayal, and attempted murder with a pinball machine. I've got the characters down- meaning I can hear what they sound like in my head and as such when I write a scene they just come in and do what they would do, react the way they would react, and still manage to surprise me with who they are. I've got a basic premise, or gimmick, where reality shifts at the end of every scene. And I am liking it all quite a bit. But then I get to that thing called the ending, the resolution of the crisis, the way things turn out for the characters, and I pause. There are at least three possible ways this story can finish: the sad ending with death and sorrow; the bittersweet ending with no death but lots of isolation and everyone realizing rather unpleasant things about either themselves or the world; or the happy ending where those who deserve a break in this vicious world actually get one. I can see the merits in all three. What to do?

I ponder. I ponder some more. I talk with the few people I trust to read what I've already written. My sister Heather leans towards the happy ending. My friend Jack is opening a production of Little Shop of Horrors and hasn't gotten to read it all yet. Then I call my older brother Jerry, and he says "why not all three?"

And it's like a light goes off, the way is clear, the problem solved. Why not all three? I've already got reality shifting left and right in every scene. One of the main characters is Norn- the three gods of fate in Norse mythology embodied in one person who can do pretty much whatever she wants with time and space, so why not have three alternate realities? The Norns in most versions of Norse mythology are three women- Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld. Urd spins the thread of your life, Verdandi measures it, and Skuld cuts it. They're very similar to the fates of Greek myth. And the thread of life makes me thing of string theory, and alternate universes, and all those crazy ideas that seem to be accepted by science if what I watch on shows like Through the Wormhole with Morgan Freeman are telling the truth.

And it all just fits. The first draft gets written, and entered in the Rough Writers contest at the Fine Arts Center in Colorado Springs. I send copies to more friends- including Martin Denton,  the man behind nytheatre.com and Indie Theater Now. Martin is one of modern theatre's true champions and someone I consider myself very lucky to be able to call my friend.  And the feedback is very positive.

Now I am getting ready to dive back in for the second draft. There are scenes to clean up, and other scenes that haven't even materialized yet. But I'm not worried. The base is there, the foundation. And I've already found something interesting that has sparked my interest. Apparently, in some versions of the myths about the Norns, they write your fate in rune stones, which they hammer into this shield. I have this image of Norn working in her garage, hammering some runes into a shield, while talking with Sabrina about life, the universe, and everything. And then there's Gladde, Larfor, Jaypes, and Pranxtor- who may or may not show up.

We shall see where it goes next.

ROUGH WRITING

I'm pretty much writing all the time. Most of it is in my head, because I have to do things like go to work, eat, sleep, clean the house, walk the dog, and do all those little things that comprise a life. But still I write. Stories whirl around in my head like ghosts trapped in a glass jar. Some are full apparitions, some are mere shadows whose shape is unclear. But regardless of size and definition, they live and breathe and demand attention- some moaning and groaning, some singing and dancing. And if I am not able to write them down, they get angry and usually louder. I often think that if I don't exorcise them via a story or script, they become a poison in my system.

What can I say? I might be a little weird, but isn't eveyone?

So, one of the ghosts that has gotten my attention and has made it to the page is a new play with the working title "Don't Get Too Comfy, Pal." It sprang out of a painting, a charcoal sketch by Liz Maugans called "Don't Get Too Comfy, Pal." (As I write this, I am debating in my mind changing the title.  I don't know why, exactly, but after writing down that the title of the painting and the title of the play are the same, it struck me that I need to change the title). I found the art work via a writing contest being held by the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center Theatre called Rough Writers. I have always liked the work that company does, and ever since I saw an excellent production of Leslie Bramm's one act Lovers Leapt directed by Scott RC Levy at there last year, I have wanted something of mine to be produced by this exciting company. And along comes this handy contest.

The guidelines were pretty simple- base a play of any length on one of three art works, and send it in by St. Valentine's Day. Here's the one that first sparked my imagination:


To me, it said lonely New York apartment, with something dark and strange looming in the air. It felt kind of haunted and dangerous and I just wanted to write about it. Suddenly I saw this guy called Ahab breaking into that very apartment. Not breaking in to steal something- breaking in to set something right that in his mind was wrong. Then I thought of this really horrible I had once been unfortunate enough to witness, which involved a fake marriage proposal. And the whole thing just started coming together. I saw lonely, funny, interesting people all trying to get different things, thrown together by circumstance. And I wanted, no doubt because of the paintings title, to have reality keep shifting on people- kind of like how most episodes of The Twilight Zone end, with a strange twist. Or like the ending of the first movie version of Planet of the Apes ( co-written by Rod Serling, the main creative force behind the twilight zone), where Charlton Heston, upon seeing the ruins of what was the Statue of Liberty, comes to the realization that he's been on Earth all along. You know, the part where he kneels on the sand and screams in that way that only Heston could "Damn you! Damn you all to Hell!"

So I had lonely NYC apartment, Ahab and his cohorts, and the idea that reality will shift alot- mostly at the end of each scene. Now I needed something else- some kind of supernatural character to tie it all together. And I took to the internets. I am lucky in that I have a lot of creative friends of Facebook- so I took an impromptu poll, asking what kind of supernatural being people would like to see in a play. After several excellent ideas, Bronwen Carson, a director/choreographer out of Brooklyn, suggested the Norns- who are the fates of Norse mythology. Now, I am a bit of a nut for Norse myths, and the instant I saw them, I knew they were what I wanted. But I decided to put all three Norns into one being, and have them answer to all three of their names at different moments. You know, the tired old triple-personality supernatural character we've seen so many times before. And like that, I saw all the characters of show. Ahab, a slacker actor/waiter who is in love with Moira, whose name means fate and who happens to have a stockbroker boyfriend named Kurt. Rounding out the cast is Sabrina, who is in love with Ahab and is named after a character on General Hospital (inspiration comes from anything and everything), and the Norn, who would appear both as herself, and also as whatever else is needed, which at this point includes a bar tender, a priest, and a cop.

Sound strange? Well, that's what goes on in my head, every freaking day. So, I start writing the first draft, and decided immediately that everyone has to be dressed like a clown or a jester or a fool of some type. And it makes total sense. And the play plops out of my head like Athena from the head of Zeus. It happens like that sometimes. A whole play materializes, as if from the void. Maybe it forms like a planet. A bunch of ideas slam into each other, form a larger idea, their gravity starts to attract more ideas, and presto- a new play is orbiting the sun of my soul. One of the later ideas to smash into this new planet was one of the other art works from the contest- a porcelain axe titled "Everyday Is Like Sunday" by TR Ericsson. It too had to be in the show. And not figuratively- I mean physically. So now it's there, and gets used, and ends up covered in blood. Now the first draft is done, and it's time to go back into that world, and see what new things will show up, what as yet undiscovered moments, objects, and actions. I don't know where this play will end up- I don't even know if it will be part of the Rough Writers readings. I hope it does, but won't find out for another month. I do know I like it. A lot.

Two more things I want to tell you today.

One, there is a production of my play Burning the Old Man opening March 16 in Sao Paolo, Brazil. It's been translated into Portuguese, and is called As Cinzas Do Velho. If you are in Brazil, go see it. From what I've gathered through many conversations with the cast and crew, it's going to be amazing.

Two. I met a really excellent artist last week. His name is Thomas Och, and his work is unique and beautiful. Go check his web site out by clicking here. Here is a piece of his I really like- it's a photo of a person and a painting, merged into one piece of art.

So that's it for now. Go on out and get your theatre on, get your art on, get your life on.

I HAVE MANY GODS, AND THEY'RE ALL A LITTLE CRAZY

I'm a quasi-pagan, magical thinking believer in Bigfoot, UFOs, and the Loch Ness Monster. Whenever I do a show, on opening night I go backstage, find a quiet corner, and say a prayer to Thespis. I've seen ghosts. At times, like Ghandi, I am a Muslim, and Christian, and a Jew. And a Hindu, and an atheist, and an agnostic. My pantheon includes Superman, Batman, and the Avengers- along with Loki, Raven, and Cassiopeia, Queen of Elsewhere. And I don't see this as in any way illogical.

I am pondering my own gods because I came upon a book the other day that I hadn't read since I was in fourth grade and took part in M.G.M. at Strawberry Park Elementary. M.G.M. stood for Mentally Gifted Minors, although most of the kids at school said it stood for Mentally Goofed-up Morons. There were students from several different schools in M.G.M., broken into several groups of about 20 each. Each group would have class once a week for a whole day. My group met on Wednesdays. In M.G.M., we read books, went of field trips to museums and the beach on a minus tide, did scientific observations of all these animals we had in class, like our boa constrictor Harvey. We discussed Picasso and Edgar Allen Poe. To me, it seemed like a full day of free time- and I couldn't quite believe the powers that be knew what we really did, because how could school be so fun? We didn't even have desks. We had bean bag chairs, and a couple of sofas, and even an old row boat with cushions in it, perfect for reading. The classroom was full of prints of art work, games to play designed to flex your brain muscles, and stacks upon stacks of books. In one of those stacks, I came across a book on Norse mythology that looked pretty cool. I don't think I even noticed the title ( D'Aulaires' Norse Gods and Giants). I just found the cover illustration to be really interesting. I knew of Thor, the Norse thunder god, thanks to Marvel Comics, and decided to give the book a look. I sat down in the row boat, and was pretty much instantly transported to another world, full of gods and trolls and magic. I could not put that book down.  The stories were funny and exciting and a little scary. Thor was not blonde like he was in the comic book, but red-haired, and a little cranky. He was also not quite so smart. Whenever he needed someone with brains, he went to Loki- who was at times funny, always crafty, and ultimately deadly. Loki and all the other fantastic characters in this amazing book were believable to me- powerful but flawed. And they stuck with me. I remember reading about Odin, the one-eyed ruler of the Norse Gods, or Aesir. He had an eight-legged horse named Sleipner, a spear that never missed its' target, and two ravens named Thought and Memory who flew out into the world every day and came back at night to tell him what was going on down on Earth, or Mid-gard. Every time I saw a pair of Ravens in a tree or in a field, I'd think "there goes Thought and Memory". Sometimes I'd wave to them, hoping they'd give my regards to Odin.

Now, most of the characters in these stories were a little on the crazy side of things. Which was perfect, to me- as I had already begun to suspect that most of the world was inhabited by crazy folks. This was 1976- and the world was a strange place. America was Watergate, Richard Nixon, and Viet Nam. The Beatles had broken up, disco reigned supreme, and worse still, the Brady Bunch had been cancelled. The 1960's were a golden age that had passed away with Janis and Jimi and Jim, and according to Pete we were all wasted with Baba O'Reilly. It seemed like every movie had a sad ending, or one where the good guys turned out to be kind of bad, or the bad guys turned out to be not so evil.  On top of that, at home my brother, sister, and I were beginning to understand what it meant to live in a house with an alcoholic thanks to our step-father. Our real dad had left years earlier- and we never really heard from him at all. No phone calls, letters, post-cards, birthday cards, Christmas presents. Nothing. Daddy Jay, as we called our biological father, was a lost hero banished from our lives. I didn't bear any malice towards him- but I did think it a drag that he was gone, and secretly hoped that he'd return one day and take us somewhere that was safe, and where you didn't have to worry about getting yelled at over seemingly small things like not making your bed. And when I say yelled at, I mean long, scary interrogations by someone who could sometimes be funny and nice, and sometimes frightening and violent. Everyone was a little crazy.  And here were all these stories of gods and trolls and heroes and monsters, trying to survive the long cold night, and somehow smiling bravely in the face of impending doom. In the Norse tales, the gods were all fated to die in a great battle called Ragnarok, which was sort of like Armageddon except that all the good guys get killed. They were mortal, and nothing they could do would change their fate- but still they carried on. Which was cool. It was as if they had heard someone sing "carry on, my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done", and said in reply, "verily".

So I read that book over and over.

Then Junior High came along, and puberty, and girls, and life went on. But something about those stories stayed with me- I mean, if you look at my plays, they all have these powerful, lost, cursed people who try to carry on in the face on certain doom. I even put some of the Norse gods in my plays- most notably Hel, daughter of Loki and goddess of death. But others work their way in. I often use Raven, who is the Pacific northwest equivalent to Loki- chaotic, funny, and dangerous.

The other night, I was at Barnes & Noble, and came across a new edition of that book- it's been re-titled "D'Aulaires' Norse Mythology, and has a fantastic intro by Michael Chabon- but it's the same book, with the same wonderful illustrations. It was like running into an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time.  I read a couple of stories, and to my delight found that they still ring true.

And that we are all still a little bit crazy.