Now on to Praying Small. The poster is out (see right). I like it. My very talented friend Chad Coe did it.
I'm often asked if Praying Small is autobiographical. The truth is, no, it's not. It is not my story. Mine is probably a lot grittier. As is always the case with an original play, there are of course autobiographical elements to it. The romance in the play is fairly true, however. That's the risk one takes when knowing a playwright...eventually one will inevitably end up on stage.
The words, the words, my kingdom for the words. So many lines to learn for this one. Fortunately, I wrote them. So a lot of them are already in some hidden recess in my brain. I just have to access them.
Here's something odd about Praying Small, however. It is by far my most successful play. It has brought in a lot of cash for me over the years. But it is not my favorite play. I suppose because I've seen it done so many times. And it had an easy birth. The words virtually threw themselves on the page. I only had one blockage when writing the piece which is highly unusual. Perhaps because I knew the play so well to begin with.
It was originally called An Adolescence Prolonged. Bit of a wieldy title. That phrase comes from a poem by Louis Bogan. I was reading a book of poetry by her one day back in 2003 and I read that phrase and immediately eighty percent of the play sprang into my head. I don't know if this is how other playwrights work, but it often happens with me. But nothing quite so initially clear as this. I read those words, looked up for a second, and saw the entire play in my head. Reminds me of a story about Agatha Christie. She was with a friend one day and suddenly turned to her and said, "I just finished my book." The friend said, "Wonderful! Can I read it?" Christie said, "Oh, it's not written yet." Well, that was how Praying Small was for me to a certain extent. I remember thinking of the play around noon. I knew I couldn't start writing until later that night. The rest of the day ticked by so slowly. I couldn't wait to get to a keyboard because I was afraid it would all go away.
While I was writing it over a few weeks period, working till six or so (I was, at the time, a drug and alcohol counselor in Chicago), I would then get to the computer and pick up where I'd left off the day before. I would sit, read the scene I was working on and out would pour the words. I knew I was onto something good when occasionally I would have to physically turn away from the screen because of the pain being splattered there. There is a moment in the play when Sam, the leading character, proposes to his lover, Susan. The words sprang onto the screen. I was hardly aware I was typing. When I finished the monologue I realized the keyboard was wet. And I was exhausted. I got up and walked around the block. I have never gone back and changed a single word of that scene. It is exactly as it came out of my head that day. I don't think I can say that about anything else I've ever written. I always revisit it later and fine tune. But not that section. I never want to touch a comma in that scene.
Plays are never finished. They are only abandoned.
I've rewritten the opening of this play to explain the age of Sam...the role I'm doing in the play. Initially Sam was written for a thirty-three year old man. I'm forty-nine. So I had to make it a memory play and I had to let the audience know this without reservation. My task was to add the opening scene, yet keep is as simple and honest as the rest of the piece.
About this time my friend Robert (Bobby) Fiedler died from an overdose of crack-cocaine. Bobby was, at one time, one of the most talented actors I'd ever known. But addiction and substance abuse caught him early in his life and drove him to unspeakable pits of misery. He died in Missouri about a year ago. He was a chronic alcoholic. He was my friend. So I wrote the new scene with him in mind. Here it is.
OPENING SCENE
Opening music fades. An AA meeting has just ended. A young man is sitting in a chair up center. Ambient noise: people talking, laughing, etc. As the music subsides, SAM enters SR. He pauses a second, looking at the man. He sits next to him. Says nothing for a moment.
Sam
How much time ya’ got, Son?
Man
What?
Sam
How long you been sober?
Man
Oh. I don’t know. Let’s see. Three days. Counting today. You?
Sam
One day.
Man
That’s all?
Sam
What time did you get up today?
Man
Hm? Oh, about six, I guess. Had to be at work at seven.
Sam
What do you do?
Man
I’m, uh, I clean carpets.
Sam
Okay. Want some coffee?
Man
No, no, thanks. I got some. (Beat) Just one day, huh?
Sam
Well, it’s one day at a time. The way I see it, if you got up earlier than I did, you got more time. I don’t hold with this time thing too much. But if you’re asking when I had my last drink…bout ten years ago, give or take.
Man
Wow.
Sam
I tell ya’ what…I’ll trade my ten years for your three days right now, no questions asked.
Man
What?
Sam
No questions asked.
Man
Well, I don’t know…I don’t know what you mean. I can’t do that.
Sam
It’s the journey. This is not a race. It doesn’t matter how much time you have. No one wins this thing. Don’t you see? It’s the journey that counts.
Man
My life…oh, God, my life is a mess, man.
Sam
Yeah.
Man
I can’t seem to stop.
Sam
Yeah.
Man
You, too?
Sam
Well, I managed to stop. (Beat) But Jesus Christ it was hard.
Man
What do I do?
Sam
Absolutely nothing.
Man
What?
Sam
You got a sponsor?
Man
No. Can you do that?
Sam
You asking?
Man
Well…yeah, I guess so.
Sam
Yeah, I can do that. (Smiles warmly.)
Man
So what do I do?
Sam
I’m Sam Dean. (Extends his hand) What’s your name?
Man
Bob. Bobby Fiedler.
Sam
Well, Bobby Fiedler, let me ask you a question. Do you believe in God?
Man
Well, I want to…
Sam
(Laughing) Well, we got ourselves a little problem already then, don’t we.
Man
No, no, I mean, I want to, it’s just that…
Sam
It’s alright. You’re here. That’s a step. Little step, but a step. Well, for now, you believe in me.
Man
You?
Sam
Me. Me and the group. I don’t like doing that, but later on, you’ll understand. And you gotta do everything I say, and no questions. Think you can do that?
Man
Well, I can try.
Sam
Nope, no trying. You either do this, or you find a softer, easier guy to sponsor you. Okay?
Man
(Pause) Okay.
Sam turns to the audience.
Sam
And so it begins again. The first step. The hope of the hopeless. What an amazing moment. (Beat) I’m forty five. Been at this awhile now. I know exactly where this guy’s coming from. We all do. We’ve all been there. Three days. What a miracle he’s about to live through. I envy him. Let me tell ya’ something. Just when you think it’s all over, it begins again. Everything begins again. Everything…begins again. Isn’t that just beautiful?
End Scene - continue to original dialogue.
See you tomorrow.
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