SO YET ANOTHER THEATRE IS SORRY

BY ELEANOR TYLBOR

Why do I do this to myself? I mean, really, I could have just left things as they are and not been the wiser but nooooooooo... I had to know.

So I entered one of my earlier short plays written a long time ago, to a competition. Why this particular play? To the best of my recollection, it had never been submitted anywhere and I wanted to see if it had legs. Or whatever.

Some things are better left alone and unknown.

After reading the play to myself to see how it "felt", it struck me as relatively well-written and entertaining. The characters were well-defined and the play itself relatively entertaining (note the use of the word 'relatively') so I threw caution to the wind and everything else, and decided to introduce the play to the world. I blame the entire undertaking on that infernal "send" button that always seems to beckon me.

"Aw c'mon," it seems to taunt as I stare with finger poised in the air. "Whad'ya gotta lose?"

So I sent it. By e-mail. They said I could!

Deep down in my soul there was this sinking feeling that I have got to know so well, telling me not to get my hopes up. Call it the "should'a known better" syndrome but my insecurity mixed with my enternal cockeyed optimism compelled me to send a follow-up to assess the odds of gaining an acceptance.

Why can't I leave things well enough alone? I could have lived in delusion-land assuming that a non-contact could indicate that it was under consideration.

"Dear Eleanor" it always starts out happily enough.

"Just to say I am sorry to say your script was not chosen for blah-blah. Thank you for sending your script."

Once again I've really decided to turn over a new leaf. Starting now, this very minute, I will wait for the inevitable response from a theatre, which was fortunate enough to receive one of my plays, but for whatever reason doesn't advise me of its fate. It's much more enjoyable imagining their happy and positive reaction after reading it - I mean really reading it through to the end and not just sending out a form letter - instead of being the recipient of a "dear playwright" letter.

I really mean it this time!

SOME-WHERRRRRE OUT THERRRRE...

By Eleanor Tylbor


Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight
Someone's thinking of me and my play to-night...
Somewhere out there someone's (me) saying a prayer
That they'll find my play enter-tain-ing and produce it somewhere.


And even though I know how very far apart we are
It helps one (me) to cope by wishing on a star
And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby
Perhaps some big producer is dreaming of my witty lineeeees.


Somewhere out there if belief can see me through
Then we'll be together out there
Where dreams come true
In a theatre somewhere, where dreams come true

(with appologies to song writers James Horner, Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil)

Once again I've submitted two of my short-shorts, 20-minutes-and-under-plays to two theatres that shall remain nameless because I'm superstitious and it just could jinx things. Actually...given my success rate thus far, which is zero, nada, bubkis... Anyway, I'm hopeful that at least one of the two will be considered. More than considered. I want them to be produced!

I'm really upbeat (she said for the umpteenth time) having re-read them and laughed a lot. We're talking genuine laughter at being amused at the wit and cleverness of my lines. What else do we playwrights have but hope?

So now it's that dreaded period awaiting to receive news one way or the other. Hopefully not the other.

"THANK YOU FOR LETTING US GET TO KNOW YOUR WORK..."
BY ELEANOR TYLBOR



You know you're far from achieving your goal of getting a play produced when you forget to whom, when and where they were submitted.


This hit home when once again, as is the case too many times in the past, another rejection notification greeted me in my e-mail. Actually, it came as quite a surprise since I had slowed down - read stopped - submitting my play(s) for approximately six months. A short rest I told myself, will help restart the creative process although how not submitting could achieve this was not clear. Still, I did it anyway.


Yesterday I received a rejection notice from a theatre I had somehow neglected to list in my sending-it-but-not-holding-my-breath list of "potentials." It was your usual polite thanks-but-no-thanks type rejection. You know - thanks for submitting but your script is not a good fit? That type.


However, it was the added, "we appreciated the chance to get to know your work."


O-kaaaay...


Reading this sentence over a few times it struck me that they could get to know my work a hell of a lot better if they would have produced it. We could have probably established a good working relationship. I mean, I would have been open to re-writes...changes in character names... The director and producer, actors and everyone involved could have worked together to ensure that the play would have been a smash! Be that as it may it will never be.

Sure the company member that signed the rejection notice wished me the best in my writing. They always do. If he really had my best interests at heart then he would have produced the play, no?


Anyway, the notice will join all the others but now I'm wondering how many others are "out there" waiting to make an appearance in my inbox. Ignorance is bliss.