tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51034311026658161092024-03-06T04:18:33.321-05:00IN XANADUJack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.comBlogger342125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-83769732489589572372015-02-18T19:07:00.000-05:002015-02-18T19:07:33.939-05:00About DIALOGUE<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">In a recent discussion group for
playwrights, the conversation turned to the subject of how dialogue should look
on the scripted page. One individual stated that dialogue on paper should
please the printer, i.e., the words are spelled correctly, and the sentences
are grammatically correct. Another individual concurred, adding that improperly
spelled words would automatically be corrected by the proof reader, and, if
uncorrected, would draw attention of the reader to the seeming error rather
than to what the playwright might actually be saying.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I absolutely disagree with both of these
viewpoints. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> First, let’s take a look at how thoughts
are communicated in spoken words. (And spoken words, as playwrights, are our stock
in trade.) Spoken words and written words are <i>not</i> the same. In normal day-to-day conversation, generally a
speaker will say only enough to get his or her message across, and then stop
speaking. Most of what is being said may be in complete sentences, true enough,
but a part of this rhetoric may also be in fragmented sentences. Indeed,
portions of what is being “said” may not be in words at all, but in gestures
and body language. Further, people rarely say combinations of words the way
they are written. For example, if you were to tell someone you are going to the
store, that’s how you would write it – “I’m going to the store.” If you were <i>telling</i> someone, you might say “I’m
goin’ t’ th’ store.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Another misapprehension is that
playwrights create characters. They do not. <i>Actors</i>
create characters. Playwrights <i>suggest </i>characters.
The choices of words, the rhythm of the words, the pace, the slang, the actual
number of words in a sentence, the phonetically (as opposed to incorrectly)
spelling of words – all these things help an actor visualize a character from
whom these words, gestures, and thoughts, would believably flow. (You don’t
believe me? Take a Shakespeare soliloquy, give it to an actor, and have him
read it back to you. Then give the same soliloquy to your next-door neighbor.
In both cases the words are the same. Who created the character?) Perhaps this
is an unfair comparison, but the point is this; words flow from character, not
the other way around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> And so – simple enough – when a playwright
places dialogue on paper, he or she is communicating directly to the <i>imagination</i> of the reader, asking that
reader to hear the words being spoken <i>the
same way</i> the playwright hears them. Toward that goal, there are no rules,
no uniform structure, no ridged grammar. Whatever works is what works.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Thoughts? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-14159767139443877722014-07-17T21:24:00.001-04:002014-07-17T21:24:35.176-04:00The best soprano I've ever heard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/DvuKxL4LOqc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-26575454412967726022014-07-10T18:53:00.000-04:002014-07-15T21:56:22.084-04:00A New Play<h3>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>I'm working on a new play - a man running for re-election, and filled with self doubt. Here's the first few pages:</i></span></span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">SCENE</span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
AT RISE: Evening.
Dark brooding shadows blanket the walls, with only defused light from distant windows to make the darkness uneven. Overhead lights
cast unflattering pools of lights intermittently
around the portico floors. At rise MISTER PRESIDENT is standing quietly, lost in thought. CHARLIE enters. </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(Speaking into a
walkie-talkie.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found him. South Portico. No, it’s ok, we’re coming.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(To MISTER PRESIDENT)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mister President? Excuse me, sir.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is it, Charlie?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We need to go back in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have my coat. It’s ok.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They want to go over your speech one more time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh. Well that’s nice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’re on the air in twenty minutes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twenty minutes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center;">MISTER PRESIDENT</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Fellow Americans. Good evening.
Buenas noches. Erev tov. Masa el-khair. This is your President
speaking, and I’m taking this opportunity to formally announce that I am
running for re-election. Now there’s a surprise. And why am I doing this? That
is the question, isn’t it? Because the past four years have not been as bad as
everyone predicted they would be, and the consensus of opinion now suggests
that with me in office the next four years will more than likely be just about
the same – and that’s not a bad thing, now is it? Because I’ve looked over the
other candidates – I’m sure you have, too – and wondered just what rock most of
them crawled out from under. I’m doing this because it’s expected I would do
this.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(a pause)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Because to do anything else would be to admit
defeat - for some obscure reason a journalistic underling will create - in his
spare time - on a Sunday afternoon fifteen years from now. I’m doing this
because I enjoy bleeding – especially in public.” Did I say it right? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think you said it all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t even started.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You don’t really feel that way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, Charlie. Sometimes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You don’t intend to say anything like that on television, do
you?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Probably not. No. Of course not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We should be going in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you know what someone asked me the other day?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center;">MISTER PRESIDENT</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The, uh, the national vegetable something festival. The
kids? You remember.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We should be going in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Charlie. Humor me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there we are, sailing along smartly if I do say so
myself, and they never once suspected the only way I recognize corn is because
it says so on the can. I mean, I was born and raised in Detroit, for God’s
sake, what did they expect? </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(A pause)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if you tell me one more time we should be going in, I
will fire you on the spot.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(a pause)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So – anyway – we’re sailing through the Q and A section –
yes, I have a dog, yes, his name is Herman, no, he does not sleep with me, and
this little poop holds up one hand – red hair? Freckles? Looks like Howdy
Doody? Google it. Anyway, I can already taste the dirty martini that’s waiting
for me, when “Why do you want to be President again?” And this stops me dead in
my tracks. Why did I want to be President again? Do you know who our greatest
President was? Don’t answer that – I’ll tell you. George Washington. Thoughts?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
None I’d care to share at the moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wise decision. Now I am aware that in saying that, scholars
will most certainly disagree, and categorically declare Jefferson as our
greatest President – or Lincoln, Roosevelt, whomever, and they will give you
every reason in the world to support their assumptions. And they would be
wrong. Washington was the man. And why? Because he served his term and then
quit. He did his best in the time allotted to him by the Constitution and then
packed up his bags and went home. The man could have been king! Certainly half
the country wanted a king. But he knew – for the good of the nation he helped
create – when it was time to step off the stage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are you saying that’s what you should do?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center;">MISTER PRESIDENT</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thinking about it. Howdy Doody got me thinking about it. Why
did I want to be President again? For that matter, why did I want to be
president in the first place? Four years
ago I could tell you – <i>did</i> tell you.
I want to be President because I have a vision for America – a passion. And the
course of action is – was – so very very clear. Four years later the vision is
not so clear. I want to … finish what I started. Something like that. Do you
know the White House has a cook on staff twenty-four hours a day?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honestly. I want to be re-elected because I hate the thought
of giving up hot fudge sundaes at three-thirty in the morning. Real fudge –
home made. Where do they come up with it? I don’t know. How’s that for
incentive? Not only that, but – are you bored?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No sir. Not a bit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You yawned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No I didn’t. Sir. Respectfully.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I’m boring you, the Governor of Pango-Pango is still
complaining because he hasn’t found someone to clean the goose droppings off
the capital steps on a regular basis. Say the magic word and the job is yours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mister President …</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(HE holds an
imaginary cell phone to his ear and speaks into it.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hello Air Force? Do you have anything that on a good day
might make it to the American Samoa Islands? Perfect. Thank you.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(HE puts the “phone”
back in his pocket.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mister President …</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’re in luck – booked first class on the Amelia Earhart
Special. Non-stop. Well, …</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Paul …</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that’s a low blow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why are you doing this?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bushido. Death before dishonor. You do it every time you run
for office.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(I’m) Clueless.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If I’m not elected, I can claim I didn’t want the job in
the first place.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Charlie, Charlie …</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Forgive me, Mister President, but
that’s the truth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
MISTER PRESIDENT<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mister President? What happened to
“Paul?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CHARLIE<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A mistake. Won’t happen again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Thoughts?</i></div>
Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-75669114111894449262014-07-07T15:23:00.000-04:002014-07-07T15:23:50.362-04:00Five PlaysAt the moment I am in the process of writing five plays simultaneously.<br />
<br />
I never planned to do that - who would?<br />
<br />
Two of the plays are on commission. Fortunately they are both short - twenty minutes each. One is about politics, the other is open to whatever I want (so it's about politics as well. The first company will get a choice.)<br />
<br />
Play three is actually one my wife and I wrote together six years ago, and has spent its life sitting on a shelf. Her book, PAINTING THE RAIN, is a novelized version of the play. In short, people started asking about the play, so it is being dusted off and polished.<br />
<br />
Play four is another co-author deal. I have a friend (another contest winning playwright), and we are writing a play together about elves. (Not Elvis - elves!) Since she lives in another state, we email dialogue back and forth in Dropbox. So far this has been quite enjoyable.<br />
<br />
And play five is, I suppose, another political. A man is running for President, and bit by bit you discover he is in an asylum and mentally ... uh ... insecure. The point here being that anyone who runs for President (and has any clue at all in regard to what's going to happen to him) cannot possibly be entirely sane, Cute idea. I hope it works.<br />
<br />
That's it for now. More later.<br />
<br />
jJack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-6450971038718406802014-04-17T17:24:00.001-04:002014-04-17T17:24:15.005-04:00First PrintingMy wife's book did so well on Kindle we have advanced into hard copies! (The small chateau in the South of France is getting closer ...)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-16080435605705654552014-04-01T17:21:00.000-04:002014-04-01T17:21:15.219-04:00A theatre experience<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> Ok, I have a story to tell you. Many years ago
(MANY years ago) I was in an Equity waiver production of “Wonderful Town,”
written by Leonard Bernstein. (“Equity Waiver” meaning the leads were Equity,
the supporting cast was whatever was capable of walking and chewing gum at the
same time. Yes – I was one of them.) We were opening in Ft. Wayne Indiana at a
quite respectable theatre when we got work that Bernstein himself might come to
see our show. (We were one of the first groups outside of New York to actually
produce this musical.) On the night he was scheduled to attend, we outdid
ourselves … (What if he likes me? What if HE likes ME?) I mean, he was doing
SOMETHING in Cleveland at the time. What if …?) But he didn’t show. Instead, he
sent a 21-year-old LACKY to see OUR show and EVALUATE IT to the great maestro.
I remember, greatly disappointed, standing backstage and listening to this
character sing our praises – that we had done good, that he would tell
Bernstein that we had done him proud – yeah yeah yeah. Bullshit. Most of our
cast dispersed. (There was a bar two blocks away we called home.) I felt sorry for
this guy – obviously he had made a 200-mile-trip for a less than enthusiastic
response. So as the cast departed, I invited him to join us. “I can’t,” he
responded, “got to get back to Cleveland.” We shook hands in parting. “Jack
Petersen,” I said, “glad to meet you.” “Steve,” he responded. “Steve,” I asked.
“Sondheim,” he responded, “Steve Sondheim.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xvHDcwFPhtWuIP5nmuyAlu7x_O2RxfoYzPzhgNC00R8Z3Wqr5s_v5jeVIwjIFd_P6r7xWQ44EB3rqXdAmBZB7FS6VBAa7iPRwueRbS-gvK-LtXrVrDQTY_ugIXMTBiyxbcxnsV3PDsRg/s1600/(C7)+Wonderful+Town+cast+photo+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xvHDcwFPhtWuIP5nmuyAlu7x_O2RxfoYzPzhgNC00R8Z3Wqr5s_v5jeVIwjIFd_P6r7xWQ44EB3rqXdAmBZB7FS6VBAa7iPRwueRbS-gvK-LtXrVrDQTY_ugIXMTBiyxbcxnsV3PDsRg/s1600/(C7)+Wonderful+Town+cast+photo+-+Copy.jpg" height="355" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-19415104354565674372014-03-15T11:42:00.000-04:002014-03-15T11:42:01.010-04:0064 SQUARES<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> <i> With the encouragement of my wife, I've decided to attempt to write a story (I'm far more comfortable with writing plays.) So, for your consideration, here is a small section. The character "speaking" was born in India in 1930, so the time now would be about 1946. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> Sometime in the sixteenth year of my life my
father came to me with the following offer. “Son, I think it’s time to buy you
a new suit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
‘Thank you,” I replied. I was both pleased and honestly perplexed.
Unless he wanted something, my father rarely spoke to me. And the thought that
he wanted to participate in some aspect of my life was quite beyond my
comprehension.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Would you like to know why?” My father was being both tenacious and
purposely vague. And he was enjoying every moment of our conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
Yes, thank you, I would.” If this conversation reads as somewhat
stilted, it’s because I honestly don’t remember it. Nor do I recall much of
what would happen in the next few days. However, because the events occurred,
it seems probable this conversation occurred, as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
“It’s for your wedding day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
This snippet of information shouldn’t have come to me as any great
revelation. In the caste system practiced throughout India, my place was quite
near the bottom of the social food chain. The way of life was well laid out,
and had been refined over many generations. You were born, worked, married,
worked, produced children, worked, and died. It was that simple. Life was
orderly and without surprises. Everyone seemed quite content.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
Well, almost everyone. I believe with an almost certainty that all human
beings are basically optimistic. I believe that disaster will strike someone
else before it strikes me. The fallacy in this logic was that I didn’t know
anyone else, so when my turn came it caught me completely by surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
My mother gushed. “Her name is Alisia, and she’s definitely above your
station.” I’m not sure I truly appreciated my mother when she gushed. This was
in fact the first time I had ever seen her do it, and I’m sure I didn’t
appreciate it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I had to work hard for this match. It wasn’t easy. Her grandfather is a
true Brit, I certainly hope you understand what that means!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> I
waited for my mother to pause for breath. It would prove to be a long wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
“No, you don’t. I can tell by your expression that you have no idea what
this could mean for your future. Well. Believe me, I’ll be pleased to tell you.
It means that … and that … and that … not only in this life, but in several
lifetimes to come! So you just think about that!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
She said other things. I know she did. Her voice began to echo in my
head. The tone of her voice became deeper until it was nothing more than a
grumble of sound, not unlike that of distant thunder. At the same time, the
edges of my vision darkened, and it appeared that moving objects were slowing
down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
My mind withdrew to some safe place, and the processing of information
became questionable. I moved hypnotized through the next few days. I know there
were people around me. I know there was a ceremony of some sort - I can vaguely
remember a blur of orange and white.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
Awareness returned to me in a snap. One moment I was in our small
kitchen, talking to my mother. In the next moment I was in my own room, and
across from me was … the enemy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
She was sitting on my only chair. I was sitting on the bed. She was
thin. I was thin. She stared at the floor. I stared at her. Her hands were
folded in her lap. My hands were folded in my lap. She was wearing her
one-and-only sari. I was wearing my one-and-only suit. Her eyes were red, her
nose was running, and she had a nervous cough. I had … my one-and-only suit.
Great. She was already ahead of me on points. Neither one of us spoke a word.
Eventually I fell asleep. I think she did the same. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
That was our wedding night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-19657572324328336942014-03-04T11:07:00.001-05:002014-03-04T11:13:49.900-05:00About MONEY<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For an artist,
inspiration starts with a gnawing hunger. No hunger, no inspiration, no
art. Culture defines civilizations. Art
defines cultures.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, here’s
where I’m going with this thought process. A friend bemoaned the fact that
people in the dramatic arts are paid less than their counterparts working in
Walmart. And, unfortunately, I believe this to be true in the broadest sense.
Actors have the only unions where ninety percent of the membership is
unemployed at any given moment. Art is a luxury. Food and shelter come first
(as they should). Yet art defines us. Look at any generation. What comes to
mind ? Music? Movies? Clothing styles? It’s all art. Even architecture falls
under <i>someone’s</i> artistic impression
(or lack thereof.) During World War Two Winston Churchill was criticized for
not cutting the Arts budget for England. His reply? “If we do that, what are we
fighting for?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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So Art is
appreciated. Established Art is appreciated. Something – or someone – has to be
around long enough to attract an audience. There are places everywhere (and IN XANADU is no exception) where “followers” are courted. Have enough followers
and you win a prize. (I’m still waiting.) The point is, an artist is
acknowledged. That is, he or she has put together enough of a body of work to
create a style to which audiences gravitate.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So we have been
talking about someone who, after years of perseverance, has “made it.” Well and
good for that person.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what about
the poor shmuck working equally hard, who has yet to be discovered? (And, isn’t
this the majority of us?) Regardless of the potential for rewards, a person in
arts needs to express beyond what ‘normal” life will allow. If you have never
been there, it’s like a drug. However, because the need to express is an end
goal, the need to be understood and appreciated falls into second place.
Because of this, when the dust settles, the artist realizes that he or she has
placed a low price on him or herself as a commodity. It’s a psychological Catch-22.
Lower the price, reach more people. Raise the price, reach fewer. Like race
horses, artists have traditionally been supported by the very rich, and I
suspect for many of the same reasons …</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Will this change
at any time in the future? I doubt it. Look around. The value of an individual
artist’s work usually only increases dramatically after he or she has been dead
for a period of time. </div>
Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-80362595211934219032014-02-05T16:53:00.001-05:002014-02-05T16:53:43.380-05:00Another Contest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FHSC_z8VnxshdWRIwKK535N0xyC3RAGT40b8dJoOGctG52PVJ5PNU4fOLbCp1tvgCgfQvJCoiVEdKIiGFIeMY1aRbZ-k1EyAxFJQrj_XHJ1fCj18hqZAXn2uGTWOcitZhsSopzArWQIG/s1600/N.+PLAYWRIGHT+FESTIVAL+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FHSC_z8VnxshdWRIwKK535N0xyC3RAGT40b8dJoOGctG52PVJ5PNU4fOLbCp1tvgCgfQvJCoiVEdKIiGFIeMY1aRbZ-k1EyAxFJQrj_XHJ1fCj18hqZAXn2uGTWOcitZhsSopzArWQIG/s1600/N.+PLAYWRIGHT+FESTIVAL+2014.jpg" height="320" width="248" /></a></div>
<br />Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-73306065341073620642014-01-28T21:25:00.000-05:002014-01-28T21:25:58.632-05:00Shameless Plug time ...I know, I know.<br />
<br />
It's been awhile. Again.<br />
<br />
It started when I became a major winner in a playwriting contest in Indiana. At the same time my agent dropped off the face of the earth. The two events together started me in a new direction. Since my wife is a published novelist on Amazon, I got the idea of doing the same thing - publishing <i>plays</i> on Amazon. <u>Sixteen</u> of 'em, all re-written in Amazon-speak. Took months.<br />
<br />
Anyway. After looking at all this stuff put together, I was impressed. Never had "collected works" before. <br />
<br />
Here they are. I'd love for you to look around, give me your impression. <a href="http://tinyurl.com/l8eqwqd" target="_blank">Click here.</a><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
j</div>
Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-68368992157407750592013-11-24T20:28:00.001-05:002013-11-24T20:34:36.367-05:00BEEN BUSY ... Sorry we haven't chatted in awhile.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Writing has picked up considerably. So has exposure, apparently.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I entered a short play in a local contest. It won a presentation, which was a week or so ago. I attended, and I must tell you, it's always a grand feeling when you see people saying your words, expressing your thoughts ...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I entered TWO one-act plays in a contest in Atlanta, Georgia. This was months ago, and I have been told that <i>both</i> are still in consideration. ONE would be fine, but the chances that both are still in the running, well, that is rare indeed, and I am certainly honored.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In mid summer I entered one of my better plays in the Writer's Digest Playwriting Competition. Results will be announcer in the Spring. Modestly, my plays have always placed well in this contest during previous years, and they graciously gush over my work. Still, who knows? Maybe somebody will see this one and do something ... (And why not? I'm having a good year so far.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A play I wrote for a competition in Indiana is also doing well. The man in charge has called me several times, and I'm impressed by how impressed HE is. I really do hope this one wins - serious money here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And all this has inspired me, at least to some degree. I'm in the process of writing a sequel to one of my earlier plays. Never done that before. Fun and very interesting.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So there you have it - ego trip all the way, but I wanted you to know what's been going on in my life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As always, thanks for being there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
j</div>
Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-55245714973496176582013-09-04T20:42:00.000-04:002013-09-04T20:42:37.445-04:00The Civil War In Syria, And Our Involvement In It.<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> I posted this on Facebook and got such a response that I thought I would re-post it here.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been reading with great interest about our growing
itch to involve ourselves in the Syrian civil war. We are presently approaching
the point where Congress and the Senate will approve the President’s request to
punish the President of Syria for (supposedly) gassing his own people. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This
brings three questions to my mind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First, who are we gonna hit? I don’t see
good guy-bad guy here. I see bad guy-worse guy here. They keep changing
positions, and none of them at all like us very much. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Second, we will go in there
on the pretext that gassing people is a bad thing. Isn’t the implication there,
then, that dropping bombs on them is acceptable? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And third, I don’t have enough
of the facts. I certainly don’t trust any news service. Everyone seems to have his
own spin on what is or should be the proper course of action, based on inside
information only a select few posess. For whatever reason, Russian President
Vladimir Putin seems to be the only mature intelligent voice out there, and
that truly does scare me. Truth is, nobody wants us there. And, as bad as it
is, it’s a civil war. My thinking is that <u>as long as the conflict remains
within the borders of Syria</u>, it would be in our best interests to stay out
of it. On the other hand, when have we ever done that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
j</div>
Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-23007471904005227312013-09-03T19:39:00.000-04:002013-09-03T19:39:09.880-04:00A (somewhat) New Path I took back my life a few days ago.<br />
<br />
As a writer, I've enjoyed my share of success. Certainly I've seen a number of my plays produced. But there was always a <i>quality</i> to that effort - everything being a "hands on" experience, up to a point. Then I got my agent who lives in Oregon (I've had two agents as a playwright. The first one lived in South Carolina and worked tirelessly for me. seven days a week.) And, perhaps that's the point - my last agent was selective, allowing opportunities to pass that I felt should have been investigated. (On the other hand, he booked one of my plays at a theatre in Edinburgh Scotland I never thought would have happened, since in it I poke fun - lightly - at the Scots.) The point of all this is that my agent and I have parted company, and I am once again booking my own plays, making my own decisions (and keeping the 15% commission). Shall I find another agent? Of course. Eventually. In the meantime I'm looking, and finding the present situation not entirely unpleasant.<br />
<br />
And I'm starting a new play. The babe and I went to a Farmer's Market last weekend and I bought a loaf of bread from a charming baker who told me she loves her work, and would "bake bread 24 hours a day if (her) husband would let her." With that thought, I was hooked - and am in process of writing a one-act about a woman who gets up at 2:30 in the morning to start a loaf of bread baking, and then goes back to bed. The entire play is dialogue between husband and wife IN the bed. (And for those gentile readers who might be shocked about a play where a man and woman are in bed together, I would point out the fact that since they ARE married, there will not even be the suggestion of sex involved ...)<br />
<br />
For the first time in a goodly number of years, I'm not directing any plays, nor do I have any scheduled in the near future. I would never have thought this - lack - would bother me, but it does! (One of the great secrets of relaxation is to yell at actors for a couple of hours and then go somewhere and have a very dry martini.) As a point of interest, the last theatre I worked for just entered their first play in a contest without me. (They came in at a dismal last place ...) <br />
<br />
Just this week I got back from visiting my new doctor ... (I've outlived my previous THREE. What does <i>that</i> tell you?} Anyway, I received a completely clean bill of health. (And this somewhat surprises me. I've rarely done anything to actually deserve that.<br />
<br />
... except perhaps one thing. I love to walk, and am blessed with an abundance of parks nearby. Two days ago I found myself on a pier, half a mile in length, that surrounds a peninsula. The pier is just off shore, and if there's a purpose to it all, I certainly can't find it. There's not even a play here. Fiction, unlike reality, must make sense somewhere along the line.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrLzg9tZh2lY2G_J3YrB76wIaTFGLXbp9Ghezlfe6imAdAOX7RVvdrrDPWjt_1frgsN9m58kNDIoCVTTWnrYQjCV0M5Q2V6MCKs6gZVc0XBNTfA90jb2jsYH2iQzfVQC5gKUHcZ2FBuYn/s1600/IMG_2987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrLzg9tZh2lY2G_J3YrB76wIaTFGLXbp9Ghezlfe6imAdAOX7RVvdrrDPWjt_1frgsN9m58kNDIoCVTTWnrYQjCV0M5Q2V6MCKs6gZVc0XBNTfA90jb2jsYH2iQzfVQC5gKUHcZ2FBuYn/s320/IMG_2987.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And how was YOUR day?<br />
<br />
<br />
jJack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-39473727637158682572013-08-23T21:36:00.000-04:002013-08-23T21:37:36.374-04:00Chat Today is Friday, August 23rd, 2013 at exactly 9:01 PM, according to the little measurer of time that's built into my computer. I don't know why I feel that it's important to have said that, except that when I post these things sometimes it says it's 2:47 in the morning and it really isn't.<br />
<br />
I entered two plays in a contest today - in a city where I once worked. In fact, the theatre where the plays will be read is a building I helped design, and then moved away before the first shovel of sod was turned over. Just thinking about it gave me an odd feeling. And it still does at this very moment.<br />
<br />
I was offered the opportunity to co-direct a play written by a friend of mine. After attending a couple of rehearsals I dropped out. Without going into a lot of details, have you ever been involved in a project and every instinct in you is telling you to leave by the nearest exit? (I co-directed a play a couple of years ago, and I should have known better this time. It's like two men in a canoe trying furiously to paddle in different directions at the same time.)<br />
<br />
I am acting as an advisor (only) to another friend who is also directing a play. It came to me that for the first time in half a century I don't have a play of my own to direct. I have purposely backed away - for awhile - so I could do some serious writing, but it's amazing how quickly you can find yourself out of touch.<br />
<br />
I feel better now. Thank you for allowing me to bring you up to date on my musings.<br />
<br />
<br />
j<br />
<br />Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-28970576468608869042013-07-05T22:05:00.000-04:002013-07-05T22:05:49.759-04:00The 5th of July<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Another 4th of July has come and gone. I know there were parades. I didn't go. It's not that I'm lacking in patriotism - I'm not. But in those periods of time when we are not at war with ... somebody, we quickly forget why we celebrate this holiday in the first place. Let's face it - veterans marching down the street are not nearly as interesting as the well-endowed pageant queen in the back seat of an open convertible. (For that matter, when was the last time you actually <i>saw</i> veterans marching down the street?)<br />
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And so, we choose to honor High School marching bands, clowns on miniature motorcycles, and candidates for political office. We have replaced flag carriers with participants in bed races. And perhaps this is a good thing. Germany and Japan, once our most bitter enemies, have prospered with our help and become our strong supporters. Russia actually needs us now for a number of economic reasons, and England - (Remember them? That's where all this started.) England has almost blindly followed us in too many of our adventures ... (Think not? Ask Tony Blair. Isn't he presently the British representative to the South Pole?)<br />
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So I stay home - listen to the fireworks (and gun fire) from a respectable distance. I drink a shot of Vodka in Mexican beer to all those who have gone before me and those who have followed. God bless you! I thank you for your sacrifices. I would love to think we have learned something from our history, and that your descendants will never be called upon to follow in your footsteps ...<br />
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but I don't think that will happen.<br />
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jJack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-2225117660714022162013-07-02T20:23:00.000-04:002013-07-02T20:42:49.027-04:00Shameless plug time ...My wife's novel, PAINTING THE RAIN, has now been published by Amazon.com for Kindle reading (or on iPad or use <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/kindle/pc/download">http://www.amazon.com/gp/kindle/pc/download</a> to send it to your personal computer.) If you are interested, it can be found (easier) by looking for both the title AND the author (J.E. Ocean). It costs about $10.00 American to download, but the process is amazingly easy ... (And obviously so - I did it.)<br />
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The story is based on a play we co-authored, but she "fleshed out" the characters and plot to an absolutely amazing degree.<br />
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Of course I'm prejudiced, but from my own professional point of view, the work is gripping, and the climax both powerful and unique.<br />
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She is now working on the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th books. I can hardly wait.<br />
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j<br />
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<br />Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-53344393894188572902013-06-29T23:34:00.000-04:002013-06-29T23:34:52.724-04:00Our house<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Finally, after many years, I'm living in the home of my dreams.</div>
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My wife, being an artist, has decorated our rooms with warmth and whimsy ...<br />
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A stoneware image of the kid ...</div>
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And Chicken George, who guards our front door.</div>
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Our family history grins at us from our stairs.</div>
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I love impressionistic art, like this ...</div>
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... and this, which is actually a part of the set for OF MICE AND MEN.<br />
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Being writers, we do not own a television set, unless you want to consider this pillow on our bed ..</div>
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Ok, ok, I lied. I keep a 7 inch TV hidden in my sock drawer, and when my wife is away I send the cat out of the room, turn out all the lights, and watch "Are You Being Served?"</div>
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I hope you're happy now. You know all my secrets.</div>
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<br />Jack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-80491198441626709872013-06-28T21:26:00.001-04:002013-06-28T21:26:41.303-04:00PAINTING THE RAINMy wife's book is scheduled to be available in the Kindle version on Amazon within the next five days.<br />
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This publishing business has certainly been an interesting experience for the both of us. PAINTING THE RAIN started as a play we co-authored. Later she decided to "flesh out" the story (adding 100,000 words ...). not knowing the finished work would go thru five editors - including myself, and result in a necessary Facebook website (J.E. Ocean), opening both a post office box and a separate bank account, and much correspondence, of course, with Amazon,. The past few days has been involved with graphic artists simply to create the book cover ... and the first reviewer has been requested.<br />
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I ... think I'm gonna stick with plays. I write, put it on a disc, send the work to somebody and they send money back. I like the simple life.<br />
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jJack Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117738536658325622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-9659261306306664572013-06-05T19:23:00.001-04:002013-06-05T19:27:02.467-04:00The KidToday a casual acquaintance commented on my blog from yesterday, pointing out first that my style of placing sentences one only occasionally following another was "artsy."<br />
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Not knowing that he had already garnered umbrage, he then postulated the theory that, since her Mother and I are both ... unique, our daughter must most certainly take after (shall we say) more normal (and obviously) distant members of our families.<br />
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It is with a degree of righteous indigestion that I must point out that this individual does not know me at all; he does not know my wife, the kid, certainly nothing of our family relationships, nor any true appreciation of what is perceived by us as "normal." <br />
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And so, with only a token amount of heavy breathing, I will do somewhat to set the record straight.<br />
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In regard to the writing "style" of the last blog, I'm sorry to disappoint you. I wrote in the correct form - that is to say in a manner acceptable to most schools where grammatically flatulent sentence structure is encouraged. When I hit "Publish," the blogger mucked it up. I didn't look at it until today, and I wouldn't change it now unless someone gave me cookies.<br />
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In regard to Art, my wife is the true artist, and I'm an acceptable craftsman. Together if we can imagine something, we can build it. M y philosophy has always been, "if it's not fun, don't do it." This does not make me a libertine. Rather, my mindset is on the sweet moments in life, rather than the sour. Further, as you know, I write and direct plays. Convincing actors to do things utterly humiliating is always a great reliever of stress.<br />
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In regard to daughter, she has been one of the abiding loves of my life for years, and I can honestly say she's one of my best friends.<br />
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If I might take credit for anything, it would be in encouraging her to be whatever she wants to be.<br />
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And "normal"? OF COURSE she's normal. If you ran into her on the street, you'd hardly notice anything out of the ordinary.<br />
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Okay, the beard, maybe. And the sword. But other than THAT ...<br />
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jUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-68421172993528240882013-06-04T22:04:00.001-04:002013-06-04T22:08:35.372-04:00OF MICE AND MEN (No, not THAT one - the OTHER one.) Sorry, it's been awhile since our last chat.<br />
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I'm excited. A play I've been working on for years is nearing completion. It's THE TEAPOT COLLECTOR, and I've so enjoyed pouring my soul into it that I never actually expected it to reach a conclusion. But it is a-l-m-o-s-t there. Now I can't wait to see it finished ...<br />
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(Aren't writers strange ducks?)<br />
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My wife's first novel, PAINTING THE RAIN, is set to be released by Amazon on Kindle sometime this month. I have had reactions falling all over each other ...<br />
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(1. NOW she can keep me in the style to which I might wish to be imagined)<br />
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(2. The book is lifted from a play we co-authored. In the novel the dashing leading man -<br />
coincidentally named Jack Petersen - is KILLED OFF by the author on page 2.)<br />
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(3. Our daughter is getting married. The wedding is going to cost more than my first house.)<br />
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(4. We might be able to travel to those strange mythological lands we've read about in weighty<br />
tomes - like England. I have this abiding love for Brit wit, and, although I am comfortable with<br />
American, French, German, and Egyptian hieroglyphics, the English language remains a<br />
challenge. My only solace is in the fact that the English don't seem to have any more luck with<br />
it than I do. )<br />
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I leave you with two photographs - because I am inclined to do that. The first is aforementioned daughter, The second is Chicken George, created by my wife, and guarding one corner of the living room. In case you are confused, Daughter is the one with dark hair.<br />
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jUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-81926347985955413472013-03-31T20:49:00.000-04:002013-03-31T20:51:50.645-04:00Beyond Mockingbird TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD closed well. We played largely for sold-out performances (even selling the box seats reserved for the director and guests.), and often received standing ovations. I must admit, I have a good thing going. Because I direct successful plays, I get top actors to audition. And, because I get top actors to audition, I end up directing successful plays. It's not rocket science.<br />
<br />
AND, I keep telling myself that's it - I'm done directing. Finished. At least for awhile. Go away. I wanna write something. My wife has a novel coming out soon - a hundred and ten thousand words. And what have I written in the past year?<br />
<br />
I truly think I need to get away for awhile. Patterns are far too comfortable here. Juli and I have talked - England would be nice for a while. A little while. No big city. Somewhere peaceful. I could rent a big dog and a pipe. Or perhaps somewhere deep in Normandy. My French is a little rusty, but - since I am American - it's no worse than my English. On the other hand, and for no good reason I can understand - the Brits seem to actually LIKE us. With the French, you never know ...<br />
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Gotta do something soon. I'm already scheduled to advise on plays in April and November.<br />
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We had a good Easter today (and I hope you did, too.) Ate blackened chicken, potato salad, fire corn (don't ask), fresh croissants, hummus, olives, and tomatoes. Followed this with cheap Mexican beer and ridiculously expensive Starbucks coffee. We completed the afternoon by driving to the park where we were married and making sure "our" tree was still doing well. It is.<br />
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Thanks for hanging in there with me while I rant. As always, afterwards I feel better.<br />
<br />
jUnknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-47257723489308415002013-03-11T13:06:00.000-04:002013-03-11T13:06:30.483-04:00Dear Penpal<br />
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Hi y’all …<o:p></o:p></div>
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I thought I’d
take a few minutes to bring you up to date on the direction life is taking me
at the moment …<o:p></o:p></div>
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The play I
recently directed is playing quite well. The book of TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD is
apparently required reading in some schools, so our audiences are liberally
sprinkled with High School students (who sit like chess pieces among the grey
heads who actually <i>remember</i> the times
being portrayed.) In any case, we are presently playing to largely sold-out
houses, and have received a more than generous share of standing ovations.
(Cool. A theatre that makes money tends to invite you back. Another theatre is
already in the asking questions stage of what could be negotiations … “What? We
thought you retired. We are opting for this play in November, and were
wondering …” Way cool.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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My wife’s first
novel, PAINTING THE RAIN, is scheduled to be released in a few weeks, and we
are excited about that. The work is a fleshing out of a play we co-authored, so
we could win on several fields right now. It has been my observation that when
good things come my way, they happen in multiples. Don’t know why, but I’m
certainly not complaining.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg538ju2q3qkbfneNTPBRZF1DPJUONb3C-mmraonurSt-Qmp4iWiQnUaqwlCwB42WQ72_93BpYwcU3ssMNEGAwFme5tGJBe3xDHYqWqoEi-ZS9RzabyEArJp9zpSpKs131T9AR0ojKUsHTP/s1600/IMG_2537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg538ju2q3qkbfneNTPBRZF1DPJUONb3C-mmraonurSt-Qmp4iWiQnUaqwlCwB42WQ72_93BpYwcU3ssMNEGAwFme5tGJBe3xDHYqWqoEi-ZS9RzabyEArJp9zpSpKs131T9AR0ojKUsHTP/s320/IMG_2537.JPG" width="240" /></a> And then there is
Fred. Fred is a lopsided cactus plant I’ve had for years. We get along very well,
thank you. I set him on the back porch in the Spring, and bring him back in sometime
in the Fall (when I think of it.) And our lifestyles have outlived numerous
relationships for both of us. However … what I’m trying to say in my own coy
way, is that Fred and I are no longer alone. I have Juli and Fred has Fern (and
a bazillion of Fern’s sisters.) The air smells clean in the corner of our
dining room. It takes some getting used to.
<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-4784477102599263902013-03-03T20:04:00.000-05:002013-03-03T20:04:13.771-05:00Another Openin', Another Show ...We opened to a standing ovation.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-75756478017968009792013-01-26T20:58:00.000-05:002013-01-26T20:58:30.784-05:00TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRDAuditions were last week-end, and went well, considering ...<br />
<br />
(... considering I was using the original version of the play, and the theatre had optioned a REVISED script without telling me. "It will be fine," they said. "Hardly any differences at all," they said ...)<br />
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And, of course, there were significant differences. Two actors dropped out because auditions were something less than professional (along the lines of Mickey Rooney saying, "Hey, gang, let's find a barn and do a play!) I stuck it out, and eventually things were smoothed out ... (A word to the pretenders - NEVER hold auditions for a play you haven't actually read.) The show will survive, in fact I suspect it will be quite good. (I love working with ensemble, and many of my "regular" performers auditioned.) On the other hand, I doubt - at the moment - that I will apply to direct at this particular theatre again.<br />
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I hate "blocking" a play, which consists of telling actors where to move on stage. Pretty boring stuff, this. Thursday was even MORE interesting. The theatre furnace died, and we rehearsed on a stage with the temperature hovering at 42 degrees. Some would say this is dedication. Some would say it's something else - my hands were shaking so badly I couldn't read my own writing on the script.<br />
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Other than that, everything was just ducky. I can hardly wait for the next rehearsal - Sunday evening - to see what new, uh, challenges occur.<br />
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They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I think I may go lift a Volkswagon just for fun.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103431102665816109.post-77432696062862259612013-01-20T21:21:00.000-05:002013-01-20T21:23:49.064-05:00ROUGH DRAFT closes well<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma;"></span> <span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> ROUGH DRAFT closed today after a limited run. I surprise
myself by being more disappointed in that fact than I expected to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fact</i> of closing doesn’t bother me. I
have written many plays, they all have an opening night, a run, a close, and –
hopefully – someone somewhere will pick them up and the whole process starts
again. Hopefully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I wasn’t
expecting a great deal from the company that optioned ROUGH DRAFT. They are the
“Shots In The Dark Independent Theatre Company.” … uh-huh. A young group this,
figuratively and literally. To my jaded eyes they were children of the old
Mickey Rooney school – “Wow, gang, let’s get a barn and do a show!” (And, I
suspect, they picked my show to produce because it purposely is inexpensive to
stage.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Further, I knew
from the one rehearsal I saw, they were largely inexperienced in the comedic
timing necessary to pace this thing correctly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But – I give them
this – they had talent. On each performance night they learned something new,
and the show was improving measurably by the time the run ended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">So. Will this
work be done again? I suspect it will. Audiences liked it. But I would have
liked to have seen <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i> group have a
handful of more shots at it, just to see how far they could have taken it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0