So, I'm going to try to couch an incredible piece of news I got about a week ago in the context of playwriting in Boston.
The BIG NEWS: I was accepted as an Accomplice at Interim Writers. (I love that they call it an Accomplice and not a Fellow, as in an accomplice in crime. I'm still trying to figure out what my crime will be.) We all will be working together for the next 15 months, making theater art.
I interviewed in the summer, and deep down I knew there would be so many other applicants, and those applicants would have so much more talent and experience than me--I mean, I've been writing plays only three years--that I was happy to simply get an interview.
Then I got the email asking me if I wanted to join. Did I? Just like when I got accepted at BPT, the thought did flash through my head that I was inadvertently sent the wrong email, that an enormous mistake had been made, and I was actually slated for the one that said, We regret to inform you...
It's just how my mind works.
And here's where I'm going to try to fold in the bigger picture of playwriting in Boston.
When I was working on Highland Center, Indiana in grad school, with all the support from my professors and peers, I knew, deep down, that the Huntington was never going to produce a play about incest set on a hog farm in Indiana. I'm not picking on the Huntington at all; it is the resident LORT theater in Boston, and is considered by many as the crown jewel here. In code, it stands for all that's legimate theater in Boston, and to a greater extent, in the American theater. But let's face the truth, legitimate has never been a word that has ever defined me. I was never part of the popular crowd, and always marched to my own drummer, sometimes with great and other times with disastrous results.
I thnk all theater artists look for a home. A place where they fit in and can just be themselves. I experienced that feeling this past summer when I was at The Inkwell, where I had unfettered freedom to just write.
This is how I feel about being accepted at Interim Writers: I feel like all my friends got accepted at Harvard and Yale and Princeton, and I'm going to that funky progressive school in upstate Vermont. And I couldn't be happier about it.