Monday, April 17, 2006

"THE PLAY'S THE THING..."
(Hamlet (II, ii, 633)
To bid or not to bid - that is the question... or a bid, a bid, my kingdom for a bid...


MR. WILLIAM SHAKEASPEAR
FLAT "C"
STRATFORD-UPON-AVON

Dear Willy,

Thank you so much for your words of encouragement in your last letter to me. It does so do my heart good when you remind me how we playwrights must or seem to suffer in the pursuit of our craft. Sometimes - frequently - I believe "our kind" has masochistic tendencies bordering on psychosis with touches of a personality split (at least that's the diagnosis my head doctor has given me but what does he know?) but we've discussed this reality in our correspondence many times. Do you hear voices too? Sometimes I hear songs in my head... Just kidding of course.

By the way it was good to hear that Geoffrey and Priscilla asked about me at your Playwright's Night at Ye Olde Pub and Grill last Friday. Please tell them I have fond memories of our get-togethers last year. We did...get together, right? I mean, it wasn't a figment of my imagination?

You know Willy perhaps I've overlooked an idea whose time has come for we playwrights. Just today by lucky happenstance I came accross an article about a young lad who is using a red paper clip to barter what he hopes will be a roof over his head on e-Bay. In fact he has slowly but surely traded up to the point where he has been offered an apartment...so far.

Then it suddenly dawned on me: "egad Eleanor!" I said to myself. Why not put our plays up on e-Bay and open them to the highest bidder? Don't you think that would be an innovative way to promote them (the plays) and us? For example you could perhaps try your luck with that local favorite, "Much Ado About Something" for a start. Then again, perhaps at your stage having written so many you might feel it a sell out. Do you feel that way? If so, just forget the whole idea. Okay? I mean, I wouldn't want you to compromise your ideals. Of course idealas don't pay the rent. Right?

Uh-oh...the voices are calling me or perhaps it's e-Bay.

Ha-ha-ha-...snort-snort...

"They" are telling me "friends, Romans and pizza lovers. You knead some dough."

Ain't that the truth!

Please say hello to Anne and the kiddies and give them my best,

Eleanor and "friends"


1 comment:

Al1801 said...

M'dear Sriberess
Prithee how times hath chang-ed, yea verily. Fain I wouldst if I had thought of it foremost, offered my plays to those who bid highly for it.

Thou wilt remember, Frank Bacon and young Milton - aye marry, what a talent - if he wouldst only refrain from tossing the pintpot.

Essex and Dudley have been onto me to write a play about our Gloriana, yea, that glorious walking goddess, that radiant epitome of Godly beauty, Queen, Elizabeth.

Actually I was toying with the idea of doing a play of high adventure featuring Drake, Raleigh and Frobisher - as thou may not know yet - Raleigh hath fallen from grace at Court.

Drake, that old sea dog, is still trying to singe the beard of that Phillip person who doth pretend to rule Spain.

Verily, scriberess, how doth thou compete in thy country. Reports I have from Drake - hitherto mentioned - that wild Indians abound in the untapped forests and wild bear and buffalo roams freely on the range, I believe thou callest it.

Is it true that in thy young nation, the skies are not cloudy all day and no discouraging words are spoken, Surely this must be God's paradise on Earth.

As I write, the stench of discarded food rises up in these filthy London Streets. Ah for sweet respite at ye Globe or better still to sit on the banks where the wild thyme grows and thorny hedgehogs draw them nigh, only in the Forest of Arden.

Yea, mistress Scriberess, I well remember the night - it was as the callow youth doth say - verily, a hoot.

Doth thou hear voices in thy head? Mayhap I should put quill to scrip and write a play. A story of a young girl - let's say, in France. Fain she is trying to woo the Dauphin. He would fain reject her. She hears voices to tell the King to raise an army against the English. This maid lives at Donremy and removes to Orleans where she battles the English. I may call it Joan - The Maid Of Orleans. Then again, that fiery bearded poltroon, George Bernard Shaw, hath the same idea... but I wouldst wager he knows naight about e-bay.

Keep thyself well and power to thy quill

Will, Anne and Hamnet S.