Our friend has an apartment in Sausalito with a gorgeous view — and a boyfriend in Oakland. So she sometimes lets me house-sit and feed her cat and use the place as a kind of mini writer’s retreat when she’s “having a sleepover.” Today I spent the whole day on her deck revising the full-length draft of BEYOND WORDS, just in case someone decides they want to read it after the Bay Area Playwrights Festival. I also need to get a copy of the full draft to Jonathan Spector, who is directing my excerpt for BASH.
An interesting thing, or sign from the universe, or some kind of mystic thingie happened while I was in Sausalito.
Lately, I’ve been making notes for my next-next play (my next play is already underway). I think it’s going to have something to do with conspiracy theories, particularly with conspiracy theorists who can’t stand other conspiracy theorists because their versions of the conspiracy conflict. (Like people who think the government killed Kennedy vs. people who think the government let the Mafia kill Kennedy.)
Anyway, I took a break and went to Caffe Trieste and ran into a guy straight out of the play. He talked to me for an hour about how Bush let 9/11 happen, and how Oswald was a patsy, and how the oil companies got us into Iraq, and something about World War Two that I couldn’t quite follow. I take it as a sign that I should pursue the subject further.