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Sunday, January 15, 2017

Women in the Age of Trump: RENEGE

RENEGE by Sara Ilyse Jacobson is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

SARA ILYSE JACOBSON's plays have received staged readings and productions at the Capital Fringe Festival, Planet Connections Theatre Festivity, Kennedy Center Page-To-Stage Festival, Chameleon Theatre Circle, Shelterbelt Theatre, Source Festival, , DC SWAN Day, Life and Death Matters Festival, Flush Ink Productions' Asphalt Jungle, Modern-Day Griot Theatre Company, Ticket 2 Eternity Productions, Live Arts' Barhoppers, Abstract Sentiment Theatre Co., Last Frontier Theatre Conference, and Estrogenius Festival. Sara is the recipient of a 2010 Individual Artist Fellowship from the D.C. Commission on the Arts and Humanities. www.sarailyse.com

Thanks to Sara Ilyse Jacobson for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from her play RENEGE.
   LUKE 
So you’re a reader. 
   VICKY 
I read. 
   ( He looks at the magazine cover)
   LUKE 
The New Yorker. Classy. 
   VICKY 
I like the cartoons. 
   LUKE 
Pretentious, yet classy. 
   (She checks to see if the bus is coming.) 
For such an attractive woman, you sure have unfortunate taste in reading material. 
   VICKY 
Excuse me? 
   LUKE 
Have you ever noticed that the buses are never on schedule when it’s overcast? It doesn’t even have to be raining; a little grey sky will do it. 
   VICKY 
Hold on. 
   LUKE 
You disagree? I’m willing to put money on it. 
   VICKY 
I know what you’re doing. 
   LUKE 
Just making conversation, that’s all. 
   VICKY 
The dig about the magazine. 
   LUKE 
It was a joke. 
   VICKY 
You’re doing that thing...
   LUKE 
I don’t know what you mean. 
   VICKY 
That pick up technique where you insult the woman you’re hitting on, and then quickly change the subject. 
   LUKE 
I was kidding. 
   VICKY 
You’re NEGGING me! 
   LUKE 
No. 
   VICKY 
Trying to make me feel insecure. 
   LUKE 
That’s not how it works. 
   VICKY 
Aha! 
   LUKE 
It’s flirtation. 
   VICKY 
It’s offensive. 
  LUKE 
Negging disarms the target- 
   VICKY 
What am I, a WMD? 
   LUKE 
Let me explain- 
   VICKY 
You went to one of those seminars. 
   LUKE 
Did not. 
   VICKY 
Shelled out a couple of grand to spend two days in a Holiday Inn Express learning the Art of Seduction from some guy named Xenith or Dagger or Lothario. 
   LUKE (sheepish) 
It was a Howard Johnson. 
   VICKY 
Even better. 
   LUKE 
It was supposed to make you laugh. 
   VICKY 
It didn’t. 
   LUKE 
Apollo said it would catch you off-guard, pique your curiosity. 
   VICKY 
Apollo? You should demand a refund.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Women in the Age of Trump: MEDUSA

MEDUSA by William K Hugel is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

WILLIAM K. HUGEL is a NYC based playwright whose ten minute play MEDUSA was first presented as part of the Dream Up Festival at Theater for the New City (Crystal Field, Artistic Director) and will be featured in Between Us Productions' Take Ten Festival this April. He is dedicating this performance to Donald Trump and anyone else that thinks they can stop the inevitable rise of the Powerful Woman. www.williamhugel.com

Thanks to William K. Hugel for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from his play MEDUSA.

   MEDUSA

Now don't start with that craziness again!

   (ELIZA smiles)

I'm warning you!

(MEDUSA becomes nervous and reaches for her book. ELIZA approaches her.)

Don't touch me!

   ELIZA

She's making me strong, Mother.

(ELIZA strokes MEDUSA'S head, as if she were the plant. MEDUSA tries to reach for the book but is paralyzed, half frozen.)

   MEDUSA

Eliza, don't!

   ELIZA

(Putting her hand on MEDUSA's stomach.)

Don't you remember, Mother, when they cut out your liver and your spleen? Don't you remember, Mother, when you were a queen?

   MEDUSA

   (As ELIZA lets go of her, tearfully)

It's too much! I don't want to hear about it!

   ELIZA

Why do you think father left?

   (She circles the stage, looking out at the audience.)

Why do you think all the men are leaving? Because they're afraid. Afraid of Her. In Africa they slash at Her bold clitoris. In India they defile Her in the streets. They are terrified of Her.

   (Approaches the plant)

Look how She's growing! They can't stop Her! She's rank with lust! Remember when you were rank with lust, Mother Rank and powerful?

(MEDUSA smiles faintly as ELIZA approaches her. This time when ELIZA strokes her her strength spreads to MEDUSA, who begins to move rhythmically in her chair.)

What they did to Her in Europe, that was most insidious. They changed Her language, so we couldn't recognize Her anymore. They piled bricks over your grave, Mother. They invented abstractions and they buried you. And they built on top a world they thought they could control. But the earth is shaking now Mother, it's trembling with Her lust, the bricks are beginning to fall! Don't you feel the earth, Mother, undulating through your liver and your spleen? Don't you remember, Mother, when you were a queen?

(ELIZA pulls off MEDUSA's hat, revealing a mass of wild hair. As MEDUSA stands ELIZA strips off her dress. Underneath MEDUSA is wearing garments made of animal hides, bone, etc. MEDUSA moves and stands center, proud and strong. ELIZA circles the outer stage addressing the audience.)

Prehistorical? Yes. All we have are myths and stories. Oh, that's right, you can't prove it. Nothing was written down, you say? Men write things down: This was before men ruled the world. The question is, can you feel it? Can you feel it in your liver and your spleen, that you too, once were a queen?

Women in the Age of Trump: NEW ACTS FOR OLD LESBIANS

NEW ACTS FOR OLD LESBIANS by Carol Weliky is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

CAROL WELIKY's stories and poetry have appeared, variously, on large magnets around Brooklyn, New York, stamped in concrete at a Portland, Oregon transit station, in several small press journals, and in the anthology “What Does It Mean to Be White in America,” in which she explores intersections of white and Jewish identity. “New Acts for Old Lesbians” is her first play.

Thanks to Carol Weliky for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from her play NEW ACTS FOR OLD LESBIANS.

   KATE
   (louder) 
Jayyy-Touffffe! 
   SANDRINE
   (laughing) 
That’s not stuffed. It means that you’re choked, suffocating. 
   KATE
Like Erica, remember last Thanksgiving, on that bone? That was one scary… 
   SANDRINE 
Like…mmm 
(searching for correct word) 
…asphyxié…asphyxiated! Smothered. 
   KATE
By any name. I had to marry a French teacher. 
   SANDRINE 
Stifled?
    ( Comes back over to KATE and plants kiss on her forehead.)  
And yes, one of the many benefits of being married to you, mon amour, has been getting to stay in the country, and actually have a teaching job… Muffled? Suppressed! Not that I didn’t love waitressing. That’s it – choking, suffocated, suppressed. 
   (Walks back to kitchen.)
   KATE 
Just fat as shit. That’s all I’m trying to say. 
   SANDRINE 
You’re 115 pounds with your clothes on, Katie – you need a fat layer. Christmas in Montreal, man. (remembering) Growing up I had a Kanuk, fur-trimmed, oh mon dieu! That thing was impenetrable, and you’d still be cold, come February. Of course, you couldn’t play hockey so
well in it, so jackets ended up flung off, warming the snow. No substitute for a good constitution
and a bit of blubber. 
   KATE 
I’m well on my way then. 
   SANDRINE 
With boots! 
   (Comes back into living room, with two glasses, and stops in front of KATE.) 
Kate, I’m sorry, but we have to talk about life after Christmas week, the eighth day – 
   (SANDRINE sets glasses down on table but continues standing.) 
I can’t live like this, without a plan.
   KATE 
We’ve been planning all year for it. Christmas vacation. We go, we come back. 
   SANDRINE 
And if I can’t come back! 
   KATE 
Then I buy boots. It’s not going to happen! 
   SANDRINE 
But if it does? You’re two minutes from Medicare and full pension, Kate – you can’t give those up. For me, for anything. 
   KATE 
You’ve said a dozen times you can still get a job in Montreal. Enough to support the two of us.
If we had to stay! Big if!

   SANDRINE 
Your home is here, Katie! You can’t just leave a lifetime, flat. 
   KATE 
My home is with you. 
   SANDRINE 
That was what marriage meant. And we hope will still mean: here, in our house, in our normalcy. But what seems normal lately, Katie? How long can we coast on not likelys and ifs? 
   KATE 
So, okay! IF something happens – 
   SANDRINE 
That’s right – 
   KATE 
You can’t stay! 
   SANDRINE 
You can’t go! 
   KATE 
It won’t happen!

Women in the Age of Trump: SWITCHING SIDES

SWITCHING SIDES by Gabriel Davis is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

GABRIEL DAVIS, MFA in Dramatic Writing, Carnegie Mellon School of Drama, Shubert Fellow. Published in "105 Five-Minute Plays for Study and Performance" (Smith and Kraus), "222 More Comedy Monologues" (Smith and Kraus), "Audition Monologues for Young Women" (Meriwether Publishing), “Best Contemporary Monologues For Kids Ages 7-15” (Applause Books). Read Gabriel's monologues at: MonologueGenie.com

Thanks to Gabriel Davis for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from his monologue SWITCHING SIDES.
He wants me to cut my hair -to lose ten pounds. Last night, we’re making love -first off, he calls it “rumping” -we’re -after we’re through -he’s always so sweet after- playing with my -running his hand down my stomach. But last night he grabs a love handle and says “that’s super meaty”. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?! I mean that’s a hint, right? So like I didn’t know how to take that kind of -I mean who says that, “super meaty” -I’m a woman, not some Dinty More Beef Stew. I fall asleep, don’t say anything to him about it, just smile and pass out -what a wuss, right? So I have this messed up dream -I’m in a fashion show, right -Brandon is a talent scout, but he’s not my boyfriend in the dream. And he looks at me and says “Oh yeah girl you’ve got real potential.” All these guys in white coats strap me to a chair and suck like thirty pounds of fat out of me through some tubes, and these little umpa lumpas are spreading it on bread, and Santa Claus is there taking it to little chil- anyway Brandon is like sculpting me. Giving all these orders, right, like “lose the upper body, enlarge the breasts, tighten up and round out the ass, fill out the legs, lose the face.” 
So there I am. I get out of the chair and look at myself in the mirror. I’m just a pair of legs, an ass, and two humungus breasts. Brandon looks at me and says “perfect, she looks super meaty” and I’m really confused, I mean genuinely confused, I mean crap, where’s my head, and I start screaming “where’s my head” “what did you do with my head” “HAS ANYONE SEEN MY GODAMNED HEAD!” And I wake up screaming “Head!” so loud that Brandon thinks I’m asking him a question and he says “Sure, I’m always down for some late night head.” I mean, what is that, right? 
And later when I ask him if he thinks, you know, if I’m beautiful, he says; “why don’t you dye your hair like that chick Kate Upton, I bet you’d look real sexy.” So maybe you can understand why I think men are pigs. Cause I mean who says that shit! None of my friends of the non-male persuasion would say that word, “Super Meaty” -what am I a hot dog.

Women in the Age of Trump: THE TOWER

THE TOWER by Diana Burbano is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

DIANA BURBANO is a Colombian immigrant, an actor, and a playwright. Works: Fabulous Monsters, a Festival51 winner, Picture Me Rollin’, Silueta, with Tom and Chris Shelton. Libertadoras, Policarpa and Linda for the 365 Women a Year project. Caliban’s Island is published by YouthPLAYS. dianaburbano.com
http://www.breathoffire.org/2015-10-week-summer-playwrighting-series/current-workshops/

Thanks to Diana Burbano for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from her play THE TOWER.

   LANI
     (This is a big thing:)

Um... I thought it was amazing when you wore the pussy bow blouse on TV. That was-- I mean-- That was genius.

   MRS

   (Looks blank and impassive.)

Mmmm. (A pause.) I was born in a communist country, you know? I lived in a hell made of cinder blocks as a child. This..

   (She gestures)

This was a dream.

   LANI

Oh, for me too! I never dreamed I would ever work in a place like this. I was raised in...

   MRS

Hillary and Bill came to my wedding.

   LANI

Oh.

   MRS

I love it here. Surrounded by gold, protected.

   LANI

   (Blurts out)

Like Rapunzel. or Rasputin!

   MRS

I’m a happy bird.

   LANI

Ok. I should go Mrs...

   MRS

You American women think you are so, how you say, "enlightened." Up by your bootstraps, that silly phrase, what is it supposed to mean?

   LANI

To pull yourself out of...

   MRS

Yes, yes, but literally, where does it come from?

   LANI

I... I’m not sure. I could Google it.

   MRS

Don’t bother. Do you like being a tutor?

   LANI

It’s a good job.

   MRS

So you don’t like it.

   LANI

I’m doing it to put myself through college.

   MRS

Why?

   LANI

Why-- what?

   MRS

Never mind, Lani, my stylist picked that blouse. We had her fired.

   LANI

Oh.

   MRS

Please go now.

   LANI

Yes, Ma’am. (Turns to go.) Ma’am. My family came to this country as immigrants too. From Mexico. I was born there.

   MRS

You look white.

   LANI

My dad and mom love this country.

   MRS

Mmmm.

   LANI

You’re in a position to do so much...

   MRS

Being made fun of by liberal comedians? They mock the way I speak. My accent. I thought that wasn’t politically correct.

   LANI

That’s, that’s awful, truly.

   MRS

I want to be left in peace. Why would I want to serve America? This open, uncensored "culture" You all think you can say anything to anybody. It’s shameful.

   LANI

You’re an American.

   MRS

Yes, well... Not everything was bad about communism.

Friday, January 13, 2017

Women in the Age of Trump: IF SHE WERE NOT MY DAUGHTER I'D JUST GRAB HER

IF SHE WERE NOT MY DAUGHTER - I'D JUST GRAB HER by Paul K. Smith is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

Thanks to Paul K. Smith for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from his play.




   RAMÓN

Would be no problem at all -Would be so easy to just blow your head off. Women die every day.

   (RAMÓN exits).

   MEL-ANYA

So do men. . .

   NICK

   (Not seeming to notice Ramón’s parting words: )

(Does) Adolfo ever stay put?

   (Mel-anya shakes her head in disbelief.)

He doesn’t? You know, when I first came here -- found you’d married Adolfo Drumpf -- I was dumpfounded. I would never have pictured you, and him, together.

   (= Instead of you and me.)

   MEL-ANYA

Nor I, mon ami. Never, ever, ever.

   NICK

   (He looks at her closely, then:)

Mel-anya-- You may not want to stay here for this. Ramón -- Ramon!!!!!!!!

   (MEL-ANYA scurries out, exchanging looks with RAMÓN as he enters: her look says, ‘See, my avenger is standing up for me.’ A look that does not faze Ramón one whit.).

Ramón, where are you going? Get back here.

   RAMÓN

Mr. Drumpf wanted me to go with him—

   NICK

Not so fast. You think what you’re doing makes the grade? I don’t think so.

   RAMÓN

Oh what do I got to do?

NICK

You’re still an apprentice for this job. Don’t forget that. Lazaro! would you come over here?

   (An old gardener pads over, very leery.)

   NICK

At ease, Gomez. Ramón, this is Lazaro. Lazaro Gomez. Now Ramón, you keep this secret-- okay? You are not a Drumpf employee till until you pass “o peira” – until you pass the test. The test of a man. Well, guess what we have here? our gardener --Show Ramón your tools-- our gardener Lazaro is in the country without papers.

   RAMÓN

You mean he’s an illegal? Well, Mr. Drumpf hates illegals. They are like germs. We’re not safe from their impur-i-ties. From their contagion.

   NICK

And with germs -- we need germ warfare.

   (Nick puts a fat revolver in Ramón’s hand.)

Put yours away. This one’s clean. You understand the job, Ramón?

   RAMÓN

Yessir. No problemo.

   NICK

You know what needs to be done here. Ethnic cleansing. If you sincerely want to be hired.

   (NICK exits. RAMÓN checks the sights on the gun by firing it. Lazaro Gomez falls to the dirt, dead, still holding a gardening tool. The shot is a siren call to DRUMPF. He stalks in, sees Lazaro Gomez the gardener is dead. And sees Ramón holding the smoking gun. Takes command. NICK enters, deflects Drumpf’s fury from himself to Ramón. )

DRUMPF

My God what have you done!!? I said, take him out. Not, kill him: deport him.

great weather for MEDIA

web site

Submissions for our 2017 anthology are open October 15 2016 to January 15 2017.


PLEASE NOTE WE ARE NOT CURRENTLY ACCEPTING FULL-LENGTH MANUSCRIPTS.

great weather for MEDIA seeks poetry, flash fiction, short stories, dramatic monologues, and creative nonfiction for our annual print anthology.

Our focus is on the fearless, the unpredictable, and experimental but we do not have a set theme for our anthologies.

**We highly recommend reading one of our stunning previous collections to see the type of work we love. Let us know in your cover letter how you found us, and any feedback on what we have done so far. We are based in New York City and welcome submissions from national and international writers. For submission tips, check out our interviews on Duotrope and The Nervous Breakdown

We are thrilled to announce our 2017 guest prose editor is Lynette Reini-Grandell. Read our interview with Lynette.

We accept work through Submittable only. Work sent via email or snail-mail will not be read. You may set up a Submittable account for free and we do not charge a reading fee. Your account will be created during the first step of the submission process.

Finally, please read the guidelines! We do tweak them each reading period in order to improve our submission and selection process.

Any questions? Please contact us.

Women in the Age of Trump: MY EYES ARE UP HERE

MY EYES ARE UP HERE by Les Abromovitz is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

LES ABROMOVITZ, an attorney, is the author, co-author, and ghostwriter of many business books. He has won two playwriting contests, and his plays have been included in a number of festivals. His website is www.LesAbromovitz.com.
Thanks to Les Abromovitz for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from his play MY EYES ARE UP HERE.

   JUNE

It’s bad enough he’s useless, toxic, and sexist. He’s incompetent.

   APRIL

What was his father like?

   JUNE

His dad was always a perfect gentleman who loved his wife. Even when I was in my prime, he treated me and the other women here with respect.

   APRIL

Where did he go wrong with Martin?

   JUNE

I guess the apple does fall pretty far from the tree. You’re young. Why don’t you find another job?

   APRIL

   (Shakes her head in disgust)
 
Where have I heard that before? So that’s my choice. Put up with a creepy boss or leave. I like this job and what I do.

   JUNE

I’ve always said: It’s never the job that causes problems. It’s the people.

   APRIL

The people are the job. I haven’t been in the work force as long as you, June, but I don’t know of many jobs where you get to do your thing without dealing with bosses and co-workers.

   JUNE

Are you referring to me?

   APRIL

You and I get along great. I’m just saying it’s rare to find a work situation where you love your boss and every one of your co-workers.

   JUNE

Before Martin came along, we were like family – and not a dysfunctional one. If you had a legitimate beef, Martin’s father would try to resolve the issue.

   APRIL

And now, there’s no one to complain to here. For two years, we had to listen to Howard Stern interview strippers, because Fred in purchasing didn’t own a set of earphones. If you hadn’t bought him an expensive pair of ear buds, we’d still be forced to listen.

   JUNE

My son tells me I should open my own business if I want to succeed or fail based on my own merits.

APRIL
 
What does your daughter say?

   JUNE

Her aunt and I have made her as cynical as we are. When my older sister was one of the first female engineers at her company forty years ago, they used to tell her that the glass ceiling would be shattered in ten years. They still don’t have a woman running a division.

   APRIL

Don’t hold your breath for Martin to promote any women around here. Just his golf buddies.

   JUNE

If you think the men around here are bad, try working with engineers. The majority of them have the social skills of twelve-year old boys. The only social interaction they get is playing video games online. And even in that world, they don’t know how to interact with the women players.

   APRIL

Most of the guys here are OK – except for Martin and Fred.

   JUNE

Maybe they’ll change if they ever have a daughter. On the bright side, my sister deals with customers who won’t even shake her hand because of their religion or culture. 

ESPAfest 2017: Free Writing Workshops, Master Classes, and Performances!

Primary Stages Einhorn School of Performing Arts (ESPA) is thrilled to announce ESPAfest 2017. Join us a week of FREE writing and acting workshops, master classes, and performances.

All events are free and open to the public unless otherwise noted. RSVP to attend.
Sunday, January 22
1-4pm: Get it Out: Write-In: A safe space to get post-inauguration thoughts on the page
Guided by Primary Stages ESPA Writing Faculty
Monday, January 23
2pm: Free Master Class with David Auburn (Writer, Proof)
Tuesday, January 24
6pm: Solo Train: An evening of solo show performances, hosted by Judy Gold
7pm & 9pm: Free Performances of Detention #39: Through the Looking Glass
Wednesday, January 25
Free Workshops
3:45-4:45pm: Refining Your Monologue and Audition with Kelly McAndrew
4:45-5:45pm: Alexander Technique with Karen Braga
5:45-8pm: ESPAfest Mixer
8-9pm: Getting It Written with Writing Faculty
Thursday, January 26
12pm: Free Master Class with Primary Stages Founder Casey Childs: Using the Off-Broadway Oral History Project for your Own Process
1pm: ESPAfest Roundtable: Becoming a Parent and Remaining an Artist

See the full listing of events and RSVP: www.primarystages.org/espa/our-community/espafest

ESPA is a home for all artists, in all stages of their careers.  For more information, call 212.840.9705 x211 or email espa@primarystages.org.

Women in the Age of Trump: PENICILLIN, CREEP

PENICILLIN, CREEP by Deborah Yarchun is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

DEBORAH YARCHUN is a two time Jerome Fellowship recipient and a graduate of the Iowa Playwrights Workshop where she was an Iowa Arts Fellow. Deborah’s plays include Tectonic Melange, The Aleph Complex, and The Man in the Sukkah. She was the spring 2016 Dorit & Gerald Paul Artist in Residence at Indiana University. DeborahYarchun.com.

Thanks to Deborah Yarchun for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from her play PENICILLIN, CREEP.

   KATE

And I mean- look at this.

   (She shows him a screenshot on her phone.)

   JOE

Oh, yeah- definitely looks like a rapist. He’s got kind of a Norman Bates thing going, Slicked back hair. Who still slicks back their hair?

   KATE

Right? And it’s an awesome autumn night. The first autumn night you can smell the leaves. And we’re drinking—

   JOE

Penicillins.

   (A moment as they acknowledge their drinks.)

   KATE

And we want to keep talking. So he’s like – “Let’s get another.” And after I’m all: “Water?” And he comes back with water and two more drinks. “It’s on the bartender.”

   JOE

Right.

   KATE

He tipped them a $20 at the top of the night. He was a CEO. Is a CEO.

   JOE

I’m a doctor.

(The following comes out quickly.)

   KATE

Got it. He was in investment sales. And I tell him, he should change his profile. It said “Handsome, racy, and fun.” Which I tell him could read as a red flag. I tell him to change it to “Investment sales, invested in you.” And he’s listening to me.

   JOE

   (Listening intently.)

Uh-huh.

   KATE

And toasting us, “To new beginnings.” “To new beginnings.” I don’t buy it, but I like his confidence. And the conversation’s going as smoothly as the drink. And even though all night – I’m very insistent he sit across from me, not next to me. Somehow he’s in the seat next to me. And even though I told him in advance of the date – this date ends with a kiss on the cheek, he’s making out with me. And I’m pretty sure touching me here – and here- and I’m gone. Next thing I know we’re on the street and he says he’ll cab me home to make sure I get there safe – and we’re at my place now- and he’s like – and it’s the perfect Autumn night. You can smell the leaves. And he’s – “Can I use your bathroom?” And I’m sloshed – and care about him at this point – because we did- we hit it off. Shared intensity, work ethic. And having to pee is the worse, right? I have a small bladder- I would know.

   JOE

Yeah.

   KATE

So I figure –sure. But then he’s in my room. And we’re making out again. And he asks to spend the night. And I say no – but he says we’ll just cuddle. And like my tank of physical affection is on empty. I’m barely running on fumes.

   JOE

Of course.

   KATE

“Just cuddling.” “We’re just cuddling.” And I’m very clear. You can’t touch me here. And you can’t touch me here. Even though maybe in the cab, he already has. And I’m asleep. And it’s 4 am, and his hand is in my pajama bottoms and his finger is – well, you know. It’s funny because like of all the times – for somebody to grab you by the pussy. I should have known earlier in the night when he said he was undecided. Of all the times to have a guy do that.

“And he’s like “Is this good?” “IS this good?” And I’m half-awake now realizing what’s happening and can barely get out “No. No it’s not. No. What?” “I’m sorry, it’s my animal side.” “Get out- You have to go- you can’t be here.” “You’re going to send me out at this hour to take a cab?” “TAKE AN UBER.” So he ubers. To his credit- he doesn’t stick around. “Eleven minutes.” He’s standing there. I’m sitting. Waiting for this uber. This crazy, tense eleven minutes. Nine minutes in. “You must feel so violated,” he says. He’s counting. Six minutes. Five minutes. Four minutes. Two minutes. And at two minutes- he remembers something- he reaches onto the bed – and he finds a condom he stashed. “Better safe, you know- he says – just in case.” And he’s gone. Twenty minutes later I get this text: “Got home safe. Sorry if I overstepped. I had a really nice time.” And later that day: “Can I see you again?” I wrote him:

(She pulls out her phone. He takes it.)   
 
   JOE

   (Reading.)

“Just to be clear- so you understand: what happened last night was not okay.”

   JOE & KATE (She knows it by heart)

“It was sexual assault.”

Thursday, January 12, 2017

Women in the Age of Trump: THE FLUIDITY OF TRUTH

THE FLUIDITY OF TRUTH by Matthew Weaver is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

MATTHEW WEAVER is a Spokane, Wash. playwright. His writing has been performed in Washington State, Canada, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Ohio, Texas and West Virginia.
https://newplayexchange.org/users/9069/matthew-weaver
BED RIDE production: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvFLNvQZMGk GLUTTONY AND LUST ARE FRIENDS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BygMxGrpBUA

Thanks to Matthew Weaver for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from his play THE FLUIDITY OF TRUTH.

   GINA
And I’m complaining. I’m pressing charges. 
   POLICE OFFICER 
Really? Still? After all that? 
   GINA 
Yes, really. How would you like it if somebody grabbed your chest and said “Honka honka”? 
   (GINA grabs the POLICE OFFICER’s chest.) 
   POLICE OFFICER 
   (scary intense) 
Ma’am! 
   DONNIE 
Hey now! 
   POLICE OFFICER 
Back up, ma’am. That’s assault. 
   GINA 
I know it is. I was just showing you - 
   POLICE OFFICER 
Get down on the ground. Get down on the ground. Get down on the ground. All units, all units, requesting backup. Woman in (describes GINA’s outfit) assaulting police officer. Woman assaulting police officer. 
   DONNIE 
Terrible. Just terrible. 
   GINA 
You - 
   (GINA lunges at DONNIE. The POLICE OFFICER grabs her, forces her to the ground.) 
   POLICE OFFICER 
You saw that, right? 
   DONNIE 
Saw the whole thing, with my own two eyes. 
   POLICE OFFICER 
   (to audience) 
You all saw that, right? 
   DONNIE 
Better frisk her, officer. 
   GINA 
Keep your goddamn hands off me. 
   DONNIE 
Very cranky. I think she’s probably unstable.

   (The POLICE OFFICER cuffs GINA.) 
   POLICE OFFICER 
You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, then one will be provided to you ... 
   (The POLICE OFFICER forces GINA up.) 

   GINA 
Please. This isn’t - this isn’t right. 
   (POLICE OFFICER hauls GINA away. As they exit ...) 
   DONNIE 
Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up!

Women in the Age of Trump: FASTER THAN BULLETS

FASTER THAN BULLETS by Daria Miyeko Marinelli is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

DARIA MIYEKO MARINELLI's s plays include 105, We Are Samurai, Untameable, and 893 | Ya-ku-za. In New York City, her work has been developed and performed at Ensemble Theatre Company, The Flea, Jimmy’s No 43, Access Theatre, WOW Café Theatre, Standard Toy Kraft, and The 133rd Street Art Center.  www.DariaMiyekoMarinelli.com.

Thanks to Daria Miyeko Marinelli for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from her play FASTER THAN BULLETS.

(The play begins in darkness. If there is sound prior to the show, it should be crickets, the white noise of night. The sound of a bus driving. And then we when begin, the silence, and the darkness. And then, a voice.)

   VOICE

You think because we are women we are weak And maybe we are
But only to a certain point

We can no longer remain quiet over these acts that fill us with rage And so, I am an instrument who will take vengeance.

Diana, Huntress of Bus Drivers
(And then the sound of a gunshot.)
   VOICE

Ustedes se crean muy chingones
   (And then the sound of another gunshot. Lights up. Two women stand side by side. They read newspapers, a single page each, held up. We cannot see their faces.)
   A

I am not saying I know anything about it Nor that I really have an opinion

But if I did have an opinion If I had an opinion of her
   B

It would not be bad 

   A

No
   (They both take the papers they have and fold them in half. (Fold 1.) Folds 1-4 the women will do together. Folds 5-7 only A does. After that, A&B stand side by side. They do a rote task, as if working in factories. Perhaps it is the same fold, over and over again for now.)
   A

And you saw the email she sent
   B

A poet as well as a hunter
   A

A hero

They look at us differently now


   B

Yes

But they still are looking at us
   A

But it is different It is a little better

She has changed this for us
   B

Same bus line twice same exact time of day Bam Bam They may have been innocent
   A

And they may have only not done it yet
   (A look.)
   B

Is it you

   A

Of course not Is it you


   B

Of course not


   A

One if asked can only say of course not

Women in the Age of Trump: SHE SAID

SHE SAID by Donna Latham is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

DONNA LATHAM's plays have been produced coast to coast and around the world; they are licensed with Chicago Dramaworks, YouthPLAYS, Brooklyn Publishers, and Heure. Donna is a resident playwright at Rising Sun Performance Company in NYC and a proud member of the Dramatist Guild. Get the scoop at donnalatham.com
Thanks to Donna Latham for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from her monologue SHE SAID.


Stop it. Just stop. Stop asking why I didn’t report my rape. I lived through the terror, the humiliation, the rage. I couldn’t face it again. Couldn’t hear them call me a slut. Claim I’m a nutjob. I couldn’t face more men. Evisceration in the dean’s office. At the police station. In court. In my boyfriend Paul’s arms... I couldn’t face Paul’s questions. Couldn’t bear the doubt in his eyes when I told him my rapist was his best buddy. That his frat brother screamed at me when I crossed onto his street. 
“Must be jelly, cuz jam don’t shake. You a fine-ass woman, shawty. I would so do you.” I walked faster and faster to get away from him. “Smile! Hey, don’t look away. Smile, you stuck-up bitch.” That he yanked my hair and dragged me into his filthy house and—and— So I kept quiet. I covered the teeth marks with makeup. I parted my hair on the other side to hide the missing clump. I tried not to flinch when Paul slung his arm over my shoulder. Tried not to clamp my jaw like a trap when he kissed me... A few days ago, my rapist visited our apartment.Paul welcomed him with bro’d-out bellows. I gagged. I convulsed when my rapist winked knowingly, intimately. I dashed to the toilet to hurl up scorching bile. Sprawled on the floor like a squashed bug, I rested against cold tiles as the vein in my forehead pounded against them….. What happens when you speak out? He said/she said. Everyone thinks it all comes down to he said/she said. Right? Wrong. It has nothing to do with he said/she said. It’s all about what he said. It’s he said, “What was she thinking? Strutting down the street on Saturday night?”

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Women in the Age of Trump: SAYING THE NAMES

SAYING THE NAMES by Andrea Fleck Clardy is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

ANDREA FLECK CLARDY came to playwriting after writing in other forms and working in small press publishing. A member of the Dramatists Guild and the National Writers’ Union, she lives in Boston. She believes with Toni Morrison that “this is precisely the time when artists go to work.”

Thanks to Andrea Fleck Clardy for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from her monologue SAYING THE NAMES.

After the first few months of vigils, I found a bookstore in St Louis that started selling Black Lives Matter lawn signs after Michael Brown was killed in Ferguson. I bought
twenty and offered them to my neighbors. Soon the signs kept their own vigil up and down our street.
 
A soft-spoken Black mailman named James knocked on my door early in the fall. He wanted to know where he could get maybe fifteen signs for his neighbors. I offered to
order twenty and have them sent to him. He was very grateful. Weeks later, he stopped by. “Just wondering about the signs,” he said. I told him they should have arrived long ago. “Listen”, he said, “It was nice you got this started but we can raise the money in my neighborhood.” I heard in his voice a polite expectation of betrayal. People like you mean well, he seemed to be thinking, but they fade in the stretch.
 
Then I got a call from someone named Brenda. She said she had a lot of stuff on her back porch and just noticed this big box with my phone number on it. So she was calling to let me know. I told her the box was full of Black Lives Matter signs I’d ordered for a friend to give out to his neighbors. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she said, “I’m blue-eyed Irish and my husband is from Haiti. We have five kids. My brother’s wife, Normal, is Pakistani. Family gets big enough, we’re all in this together.” She said she’d like signs for her neighborhood, too. So I took ten over when I picked up James’s box and told her to call me if she needed more. We hugged each other. When we gathered for our December vigil on the first Thursday,

Women in the Age of Trump: STAMINA

STAMINA by Donna Kaz is a semi-finalist for NYCPlaywrights project "Women in the Age of Trump."

DONNA KAZ is the author of UN/MASKED, Memoirs of a Guerrilla Girl On Tour, which follows her surprising 25 year journey as a survivor of domestic violence and subsequent member of the feminist activist group, Guerrilla Girls. 
Donnakaz.com, Ggontour.com, @donnakaz.


Thanks to Donna Kaz for allowing NYCPlaywrights to publish this excerpt from her monologue STAMINA.

   CLARA
 
What if you don’t want to be inspired? What if you just want to lay down and die? 
   SIMONE 
Help me get my foot out, Clara. 
   CLARA 
I can’t. I’m in the process of freezing to death. 
   SIMONE 
You are not. 
   CLARA 
Wiggle your foot back and forth. Back and forth and up and down and side to side. 
   SIMONE 
What a pair we are. 
   CLARA 
Feeble, octogenarian twins who miscalculated the final assent on Everest. 
   SIMONE 
Or two, women who are stronger because we’re together. I know that I got this far because
you urged me on back there when I was falling behind. I am here because you believe in me. I cannot do this without you.
 
 CLARA 
Hey. What’s that? 
   SIMONE 
What’s what? 
   CLARA 
Down there. Those lights. 
   SIMONE 
Head lamps. Those assholes from Altitude Expeditions are coming up now. This place is going to be a bottle neck in about ten minutes. 
   CLARA 
The same ones who nicknamed us the old hags of the Himalayas? 
   SIMONE 
The very ones. 
   CLARA 
I hate those guys. 
   SIMONE 
Forget them. We will beat them to the top. Then who will be old hags? 
   CLARA 
Unfortunately, we still will. We could still die on the descent, Simone. 
   SIMONE 
Who cares. The summit will still count! 
   CLARA
Someday, I hope women won’t have to prove anything. Every time one of us does something remarkable it will be, “Oh look, she just did that. Again!” 
   SIMONE 
Yes. But not before we pave the way. 
   CLARA 
We are so far from home, Simone. And so close to heaven. 
   SIMONE 
The view is spectacular up here. 
   CLARA 
Breathtaking. 
   SIMONE 
I’m sorry if I pushed you into this, Clara. 
   CLARA 
Oh no. I came this far of my own free will. 
   SIMONE 
So why not just a little further, Clara? 
   CLARA 
What about your foot? 
   SIMONE 
My foot is free.

   CLARA
 
You are strong. 
   SIMONE 
Thank you, Clara. Now, belay on. Climb ready. Clara? 
   CLARA 
Belay on. 
   SIMONE 
Climb ready? 
   CLARA 
Climb ready. 
   SIMONE 
Climb on, Clara. 
   CLARA 
Climb on, Simone.

   (CLARA and SIMONE put their oxygen masks back on)

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