HOLLY, NO PRETENDER SHE

So I click on Facebook to wish my friend, student, and fellow playwright a Happy Birthday. And on her page, I see:

Happy Birthday, Holly, in Heaven.

And I think to myself: well, shit. 

I met Holly in my first ever playwriting class at DCPA, which somehow was years ago, even though it feels like only a blink of the eye to me. 

Of late, pretty much everything that has ever happened to me feels like it was just yesterday. 

And also forever ago.

Holly had signed up for my class to finish a play she had been working on for quite some time. She had taken classes on playwriting at DCPA before my class, and several of her classmates that first session had taken those classes as well, and I got the impression she had been working on her play for quite a while. 

Her play was titled The Great Pretender, and it was a sort of kitchen sink realism piece set in the 1950s, all about a family dealing with a son who had a tenuous relationship with the truth. It felt to me like the sort of thing a young Paddy Chayevsky would have written and had done on Playhouse 90. She brought new pages every class. Took every note I gave her. Worked and reworked and reworked yet again moments and sections, always seeking to find that right balance. At the end of the session, we had a night of readings of everyone's work.

It was a magic night for all of us, I think. 

I was fortunate enough to be asked back to teach another session at DCPA. And Holly signed up for that class as well. And she continued to work on her play. Scene by scene, character by character. A lot of it changed, as she got deeper and deeper into it. We had another reading at the end of that session, and that too was magic. I strongly believe there is something mystical and wondrous in people sharing themselves through their writing in front of strangers. 

I got asked back again, and Holly followed. 

This cycle continued. Class, reading, new class, Holly back, and so on.

And lo and behold, a day came, after a few years of the class, when Holly's play was done. 

By then, I had a fairly consistent group of students in my classes, and most of us knew Holly and her work. 

And we were ecstatic. 

Holly beamed with pride. 

And something in her changed. A power filled her, a glow. 

The night she brought in the last bit of her play, we all cheered her like the rock star she was. And always will be. 

And on the way out of the building that night, she gave me a million dollar smile and said "Thanks, Kid".

One of the best things I've ever had said to me, really, because it was full of... well, everything. The play, the time, the work, the laughter, the frustration, and the joy.

The joy.

Here was a woman who had lived a full life, who late on decided to write a play. And she did. And I got to be a part of that. A small part, to be sure. But I'll take it. 

And cherish it. 

Holly didn't give a shit about her age, or how long it took her to get her play done, or anything other than working on what she loved.

She was a tough, funny, wonderful woman, and I shall miss her.

I the photo below, Holly is the woman on the left, with the glasses and blue top. That's us at class, in the library at the education building of the DCPA. A room full of giants.

Here's a song for Holly. It's The Great Pretender, of course.

PS - if you feel like taking a class, click HERE.

COME WRITE WITH ME

Ok. Shameless plug time. I teach playwriting for adults at the DCPA. It is a blast. People come in, we work on their plays, and at the end of class, there is a staged reading of ten minutes from the best of each students work.

It's really amazing to help someone find their voice; to be able to make them feel safe enough to take that huge risk that is writing something and having people read it out loud; to be one of the first to hear a new play.

I've already done two sessions this past year, and they were both amazing. Really cool work- about everything from clones to submarines, sex workers to rock stars- has come out of the class already. This past class was the first where we had actors from the DCPA education classes perform the work created in the playwriting class- and it was amazing. For a playwright, it is invaluable to have your work given life by actors.

I want to hear more!

If you live in Colorado, and want to join a writer's workshop that is both challenging, exciting, and fun- then join me Tuesday nights at the DCPA.

Here is the class description:

7 sessions • 3 hr class time
Tue • Jun 14 - Jul 26 • 6:30 - 9:30pm • Kelly McAllister
Whether you’re starting a play or are in the middle of working on a script, get the notes you need to take your writing to the next level. Designed for beginner and ongoing playwrights, this lab will focus on developing characters and dialogue while moving the story forward through plot and structure. Your work will be regularly read to help development, and in the last class, actors will read selections of your play so you to hear it come to life. 8 student minimum, 12 maximum.

For more info, and to register, click HERE.

ALWAYS BE WRITING

ALWAYS BE WRITING.
A- Always
B- Be
W- Writing



It's as simple as that. I think the only advice I've been given over the years- and I've been given it in almost the exact wording from many people, including Taft Miller and Tom Wolfe- is "keep writing".
Amen, namaste, yippee-ay-yo, and all that. I don't know why, exactly, but writing is necessary for my soul. Feeds it. Fuels it. Makes it feel good.

Maybe it's just my ego, and my need to say "look at me and what I think!"

Maybe it's destiny.

I don't really care.

All I know is that when I write, I feel better about myself and the world. Not that both I and the world don't need work, help, and fixing. We do. But somehow, I feel much more hopeful about fixing what needs to get fixed, connecting to what needs to be connected to, when I write.

Like right now. As I sit here, writing this, I feel like I am doing what I am meant to be doing.

Yes, that could just be me assigning meaning where there is none, magic thinking, and blah blah blah. If that is the case, so be it. I still feel a sense of well being from the act, and that in and of itself is reason enough to continue.

My father loved to write, but he always had to self-deprecate and call it "scribbling". I think maybe he felt guilty about the pleasure writing gave him. I don't know, and can't ask him now since he has gone to the great Elsewhere, but that's my sense.

Anyway.

I am working on several writing projects at the moment. And submitting like mad. A big part of a writer's life is submitting your work to strangers and then waiting for either a form letter of rejection, or a phone call saying "wow". Most of the time you get the former.

What am I working on, you ask? Well, there's April's Fool- which has been submitted to many places, most recently FringeNYC. And there's also Ghostlight, a screenplay that I wrote a while back and had my film students read out loud- and based on their very positive reaction I've decided to jump back into the waters, and tweak it a bit, and also film the first scene and then see what happens. And I am very very very very very close to finally finishing my short film Strong Tea, which has been in post-production for almost as long as the US has been in Afghanistan.

I hope to have more writing to share with you soon. I you can't wait for my new stuff, go buy one of my plays- either at IndieTheatreNow, or Playscripts.  Until then, here is a tiny segement from Ghostlight. Enjoy.

INT. BLACKFORD HIGH SCHOOL THEATRE - NIGHT

The theatre is empty, the only light a lamp in the middle of the stage. FOOTSTEPS AND WHISPERED VOICES approach. A KEY TURNS IN A LOCK. A DOOR CREAKS open. Behind it, a group of high school kids, ready to party. MILTON, a brainiac freshman, nervously points a FLAHSLIGHT into the theatre. RAY, the school rebel, pushes past Milton into the theatre, twelve pack of BEER in his hand. 

RAY

Lock and load!

He tosses a beer to NOEL, the class clown.

NOEL

My ninja!

TRINA, a pretty red head, laughs. The group walks in.  Ray tosses a beer to MAGGIE, Milton’s smart and sexy older sister.

MILTON

(shocked) Maggie!

MAGGIE

What?  

Noel grabs Milton’s flashlight, shines it on himself, and starts making faces. GROANS, LAUGHTER, “Loser!” ETC.

NOEL

I am the ghost of Bloody Bones!

He HOWLS. Two girls, MARNA and CECILY, giggle.  

  

MILTON

It’s not funny!

NOEL

I am the ghost of Bloody Bones, and I am walking into the theatre!

Noel FREEZES IN TERROR,  points over Rays shoulder.

NOEL (CONT’D)

Ray- look out!

Marna and Cecily SCREAM. Trina LAUGHS. Ray doesn't flinch.

RAY

Hilarious.

Unseen in the audience, LENNY- the school janitor who has been sleeping behind some chairs- sits up. 

LENNY

Morons.

Lenny takes the last swig from a bottle of whiskey, lays back down, and immediately passes out.

MILTON

Actually, Bloody Bones is an old Scottish legend. He was skinned alive, and roams the highlands seeking new skin.

Everyone stares at Milton. MAGGIE hangs her head, embarrassed. DANA, sophomore drama geek, looks scared.   

DANA

N-N- New skin?

MILTON

You could tell his victims from the lack thereof.

DANA

Lack there of?

MILTON

He'd peel them like grapes, and leave the carcass for the birds.

DANA

(shudders) That’s disgusting.

MILTON

Indeed.

NOEL

Sweet!

Milton notices everyone is listening, smiles sheepishly.

RAY

Nobody’s interested in a lecture on Captain Bloody Butt-

MILTON

Bones.

RAY

What?

MILTON

His name- it’s Bloody Bones.  

RAY

Whatever- we’re here to party- not to talk about Bloody Butt.

Milton turns to Maggie, confused.

MILTON

Maggie you said we were all here to practice our monologues for the upcoming auditions.

Maggie glares at Ray.

MAGGIE

Milton, why don't you get some candles?

MILTON

Sure.

Milton sullenly runs towards the prop room.

NOEL

Lack thereof.

Marna giggles. Noel smiles at her. Ray notices this.

RAY

What we need is some atmosphere.

Ray steps to lamp, reaches for the switch.

MILTON

Don’t turn off the ghostlight!

Ray stops, turns to Milton.

RAY

The what?

MILTON

A theatre in the dark is a dangerous place. 

Trina howls with laughter. Ray winks at Maggie.

RAY

Danger's my middle name, baby.

MILTON

Be that as it may, you don't turn the ghostlight off-

NOEL

Why’s it called the ghostlight?

MILTON

All theatres are haunted- full of shadows and ghosts and things that go bump in the night-

RAY

I got something that goes bump in the night.

Noel and several others shush Ray.

MILTON

There are rules in the theatre. And you don’t break them. 

RAY

Rules?

MILTON

Never turn off the ghostlight. Never whistle backstage. 

MILTON (CONT’D)

(growing excited) This is sacred ground...can’t you feel it?

RAY

No.

MILTON

You’re clearly not a thespian.

RAY

Clearly.

MILTON

Every theatre has a ghostlight, to keep the spirits out.

Trina takes a step towards Milton, fascinated.

TRINA  

What do they want?

EMMY, a cute freshmen who likes Milton and is jealous that Trina is paying attention to him, steps forward.

EMMY

Yeah, what do they want, Milton?

MILTON

Oh, uh...some think it's the ghosts of actors, not ready for their final exit- a theatre to a ghost is like fire to a moth- it draws them in.

Trina looks Milton in the eyes and smiles. Milton blushes, not sure what to do. 

RAY

Oh no!

Ray turns off the ghost light, plunging the theatre into DARKNESS.  Milton SCREAMS. Everyone LAUGHS.  

MEANWHILE

So I'm waiting on things. Contests, projects, the proverbial ship to come in and all that. And while I do, the wheels of the world keep turning at great speed, as if all motion is perpetual, all moments continual, all threads connected somehow, in a way that I always understand in my dreams but can't quite remember when I wake up.

Guess Lennon was right- Life is what happens while you're making plans.

I got a reading of Riddle Lost coming up out in Salinas, California at the Western Stage- one of the many incubators of my artistic soul. I spent many summers there as an actor, working on some pretty amazing projects, including a nine hour, three part adaptation of East of Eden which was one of the seminal experiences of my life. It's run by Jon Selover, who I went to college and who taught me a lot about theatre.

Salinas is also where my first play, Last Call takes places.

The reading is part of 2x4 Bash, a project run by another old friend and fellow lunatic Mark Englehorn that also includes a reading of the play 8 by Dustin Lance Black- the guy who won the Oscar for writing Milk, and who was in a production of Peter Pan with me at Western Stage. So that's pretty friggin' sweet.

Riddle Lost is about a real life guy from the Old West named Jeff Riddle who's mother was a Modoc Indian and father was a settler and who lived through a really nasty war. It takes place in the after-life, and has a cast of characters that includes Norse death god Hel, a cigar store Indian named Ziggy, and Raven- the trickster god of the Pacific-Northwest. It's weird and funny and sad and I like to think kicks it in the ass. If you're near on Salinas on August 24, go check it out.

I'm also doing a lot of children's theatre this summer. A lot. Tomorrow I audition 52 kids for a musical I'm directing up in Boulder in July, and on Monday I start a production of Lightning Thief here in Denver. And while it may be tiring as all hell, it's also really invigorating to do theatre with young folks. They still understand the power of the imagination, and there isn't much they can't do.

On top of that, I am super close to finishing my first flick, Strong Tea. Like probably a week. Then I leap into the land of submitting to film festivals- where I will live for the next year.

And on top of all that, I have two other screenplays I'm figuring out.

I think I need to take the wife and drive up to the mountains and watch a river splash along for a few hours, sing to the trees, and search for Bigfoot.