A Westside Story!

Sometimes I leap before I look. It happens. You live you learn, you move on to your next potential blunder.

Several weeks ago I found a listing in the paper for a writing competition, or more specifically a monologue-writing competition. Interested writers and actors were asked to mail in a postcard with their information and the first however many would be contacted. Several days later I received an email from the organizer. I was in; I was to be one of the featured writers in the 3rd annual Monodogs of War Monologue Competition.

Here's how it works - On the evening of February 18th, all involved parties were to show up at this Arts Center at or around 5:30. The organizer, Mr. Happy, we'll call him, was then to randomly select an actor who would then randomly select a writer who, in turn, would randomly select a quote. The actor and writer would then have 35 minutes to collaborate and create a monologue. The 16 pairs would then present their work to a panel of judges, the field would be cut into half and then a second round would determine the top 3 winners, all of whom would receive prizes for their effort.

Sound simple enough?

Here's the reality - The arts center is a lovely little church which was bought by the city and used for community activities. It is located on the corner of As Far West As I've Ever Been Without Hitting An Ocean! & Where The Hell Are We? This group, this theatre company feels that the Eastside of Chicago gets too much action. They're going to start a quality theatre scene on the far, far, far, far Westside. Good for them. I'm not a geographical snob. I have no gang affiliations which would force me to 'hate' on those outside of my 'turf'. I am, however, a rider of public transportation and an 80 minute, round-trip bus ride in sub-zero weather would suck the creative enthusiasm out of the most eager of camp counselors.

We arrive and the other participants stroll in as close to 5:30/6:00 as possible. Mr. Happy makes many jokes about the punctuality of actors, which are appreciated immensely by the gaggle of Theatre-Geeks who have been selected for this endeavor. Pew after pew of Theatre Geeks. Anyway, the evening begins. Pairs are selected. 35 five minutes fly by* and we all reconvene in the church. 16 monologues are performed. Some good. Some bad. Some incredibly detailed, and lengthy for the amount of time allowed. Some, I suspect, were even improvised on the spot. (Call me cynical but when you perform a brand new 5 minute monologue without looking at the script once ore even turning 1 page I think you're cheating.)

So did I make it to round 2?

Did I stand atop the podium at the end of the night; triumphant?

No. I left before the second round was even announced. 3 hours had passed since I first walked through the doors, and I was bouncing off the walls. 3 hours and we still had another round to go. 3 hours and the end was nowhere in sight. I couldn't take it. I turned to my incredibly loving, supportive, and patient girlfriend and said, "We're out!" We were, indeed. out.

I'm not too worried about it. My monologue wouldn't have gotten me to the next round anyway. My actress and I both agreed we had tried to do too much. 35 minutes is the blink of an eye when you're trying to collaborate, develop backstory, character, etc. Before we knew it we were being hustled back into the competition. My piece? A young woman, called into the rest home of her ailing father, and forced to wait for answers, contemplates her father's recent decline and his love of chess. It was to be funny, moving, and, above all, longer than the 4 paragraphs that I managed to scratch out for my unfortunate actress.

I did it to myself. It was a writing 'competition' so I took it too seriously. I wanted to create. I wanted to flex my artistic muscles. I wanted substance.

I would have been better off with celebrity references, bodily functions and dwarf jokes. Don't get me wrong. Some of the pieces were quite good. There were three, in fact, that I was both truly impressed by and jealous of the writing. I gave my actress 4 paragraphs of exposition, and never even penned the monologue I was planning.

I should have known things weren't going to meet my expectations when the 'prizes' were revealed to be stuffed animals, writng pads, pens, and assorted sundry. Also, for the third year of a 'production' there was a lot of wasted time. A lot of in between. A lot of spinning our wheels. Call me ADD but I like to get in, be entertained, and get out. I don't need Mr. Happy standing up and cracking private jokes with company members, or repeatedly talking up the North Westside which only reminded me how long it was going to take me to get home again in the freezing cold.

So it was a disappointing night. That's my incredibly long post about my incredibly long night. Be glad you are only reading about it.

* During the 35 minute writing process the audience, a few parents & a handful of significant others, were 'entertained' by a musician and a stand up comedian who, according to my sources, was the complete, and total opposite of funny. I'm thankful none of my friends showed up to support me just because they never would have forgiven me.