Monday, March 3, 2008


ALYCE TIMES ONE. That’s the name of the play Julie Ocean and I have just finished writing. It’s still in first draft form – rough, to be sure. It will require revision – not a great amount – no more than any other work. But some revision is always required.

The play relates the story of 30ish-year-old Alyce, a woman living in a harsh reality. Gently guiding and supporting Alyce is Jack, her husband. He has been dead for three years, and his appearance on stage is explained as being her memory of him.

Co-author of the work is Julie Morrison, a gifted screenwriter and journalist. Julie is genuinely loving and shyly reserved as a person, and an “always go for the throat first” writer. Her share of the writing often has an audacity that catches me by surprise. Her blog is The Radical Write, and certainly worth your consideration.

For whatever it might be worth to you, when I write a play, I never think of it as fiction. The people are real to me, living their lives in the forefront of my imagination. I am given a most sketchy series of sequences – the basic plot – and from these I profile the characters, filling in details and bridging islands of inspiration or serendipity until there’s a completed story – beginning, middle, and end.

As a result, I can give you copious details about the individuals I profile. Where Alyce is concerned, I can tell you everything from what her father did for a living to what she had for breakfast this morning. I can even tell you that she is the product of mixed parentage. One parent is white, the other black. Logically, then, she would have characteristics of both races. However …

At my request the artwork you see above was also created by Julie, to be used as the logo for the play. When I first saw it, I literally held my breath. For all my supposed knowledge of this character, suddenly I’m looking at eyes that are looking back at me.

In spite of my best words, the picture tells its own story.

Thanks, Julie. You are awesome.

1 comment:

Julie Morrison said...

You, sir, are too kind. Thank you.
Now pass the tissue.