A COLLECTION OF PLAYS ABOUT LOVE

As a playwright, it is always an honor to be included in an anthology of plays.  Particularly when it is an anthology of plays about love.

It's a terrific subject, isn't it?  According to the musical Aida, or, at least the lyricist Tim Rice, every story is a love story.  While I agree with this to some extent, there are certainly plays that stand out as either a celebration or close examination of the human spirit in love.  Certainly their are classics from Shakespeare like Romeo and Juliet and A Midsummer Night's Dream, to name but a few.  And contemporary theater is chock-full of plays examining love, from A Streetcar Named Desire to Barefoot in the Park, from Same Time, Next Year to Angels in America.  Don't even get me started on musicals!

That is why I was honored when my play A Forgetful Remembrance (click the link to learn more or order) was recently included in an anthology of ten minute plays about love called Head Over Heels.   I wrote the piece as part of a longer play made up of ten minute scenes about love called Bees are in the Park.(click the link to learn more or order)  It is all about an elderly couple, sitting in a park, remembering their life together.  As the play progresses, we learn that the elderly gentleman, Colin, is in a bit of denial about a very important event.  I wrote the play as an expression of what I consider to be the truest kind of love.  At the time, I felt this short play said everything that needed to be said about love and devotion that I could possibly say.  Whether or not this is true, I can say that the the play is packed with emotion.  I have received countless messages from people who have performed the piece, telling me about how the audience was in tears by the end, both guys and gals.  I find this gratifying, as, I must confess, I still can't read through the piece without tearing up at the end.  It is one of those rare plays that I can read and almost forget that I was the one who wrote it.

A photo from a production of "A Forgetful Remembrance" by the Reedy Point Players in Delaware

 I think ten minute plays are great way to put together a night of theater on a small budget, and with cast restrictions. Because they are short, they have a clear conflict, and are usually pretty dynamic.  Ten minute duets in particular give actors a chance to really delve into a character, and make it shine, without having to worry about carrying an entire evening.  This is a gift for student actors and experienced actors alike.

I don't only recommend Head Over Heels  because my play is in it.  There are eleven other short plays that deal with love, ranging from the hilarious to the dramatic to poignant and touching.  Here's a look at the table of contents:

Coaster of Doom by Lisa Cestowski
Lunch Date by Sally Jane Kerschen-Sheppard
Dance in Venice by John Shanahan
A Forgetful Remembrance by Bobby Keniston (Me!)
He Loves Me by Tim Mogford
Say it With Flowers by Jim Gustafson
Real Beatlemaniacs by Leslie Bramm
1st Floor, 2nd Floor by Olivia Arieti
Almost by Krista Dalby
Leslie and the Boys by Tim Mogford
Measuring Matthew by Patrick Gabridge
First Impression by Matt Thompson

Again, I don't just say this because I'm featured here (although, that is a plus), but in all seriousness, this is a terrific anthology that would be a great addition to any drama teacher's collection, any community theater's collection, or just for anyone who loves to read plays.

Who doesn't want to experience an evening full of love at the theater?

You can order Head Over Heels from Brooklyn Publishers by CLICKING HERE, or from Heuer Publishing by CLICKING HERE.

APPRECIATING THE LITTLE (BIG) THINGS

a VERY cool production photo from a school group in Virginia who did my play "Confession:  Kafka in High School"

It is easy making a life for yourself in the arts. I don't say this to discourage anyone from trying--- indeed, if it is what you love, and you can't imagine yourself being happy doing anything else, then I encourage you with a whole heart to pursue your passion and follow that dream.

Just know that it's not always easy.

My first two plays were published in March of 2010.  One of them was Rumplestilskin the R-Dawg: Hip-Hop Minstrel, from Brooklyn Publishers and the other was Confession:  Kafka in High School, from Playscripts, Inc.

Now, almost five years later, my plays have been performed in 44 different states and 4 different countries.  I have 32 publications in four different catalogs, and my work has been chosen to be a part of three different anthologies.  I have self-produced a few plays for adults, been to different festivals and competitions, met some really great people, and even have a script that some kind folks in Delaware are working hard to make a movie from.

Best of all, I hear from students every now and then from all over the country (and, sometimes, all over the world).  They'll drop me a line on my Facebook Page or at theater.is.a.sport@gmail.com, and ask me questions, or just say hi.  Sometimes, they'll send me cool pictures like the one above.  Or, this one below:

A poster for a production of my play, "Avoiding the Pitfalls of High School Dating"

All of this is super cool, and I love it.  But, still, it is easy to get down on myself many days.  After all, I'm 37 years old and I don't have a "steady" job (or, according to some, a "real" job--- but that's for another post), I struggle financially a great deal, and have no money put away for the future, because I barely have money for the present.  Such things can make one lose faith in themselves a little from time to time--- while I'm grateful that my work is produced, and I'm thankful for every group who chooses my plays, I've yet to have a definite "hit" per se.  A few have come close, but not quite.  And that's okay.  My playwriting career grows a little every year, and it feels wrong to ask for more than that.

But, in my defense, it is human nature to want to climb to the top of your field, or, at the very least, have a good view of the top from where you are.  And everyone wants stability, as well as a reward for hard work (and writing plays can be very, very hard work).

So when I get down on myself, I'll look at the messages I have received from students, or at the many cast photos and production photos.  I'll stop and remind myself of something very important:  the productions of my plays aren't just a list on a piece of paper I receive from my publishers.  They are teachers preparing a group of students.  These students practice to memorize words that I put on a page to tell a story.  They stand backstage before a show, feeling that same excitement and energy that I feel when I'm in a play, and they are feeling it for my work. My work!  This group of kids have come together to CREATE, they have formed a CAST BOND, all revolving around a play I WROTE!!

When I think of my work in these terms, I smile, and feel very special and honored and lucky.  No, I am not rich.  But my work is important.  In some small way, I have touched lives.  My work has taken on a life outside of me, and belongs to all of these other people now, and not just me.

And that's something that money can't buy.

HOW THEATER CAN SAVE YOUR SANITY

Yours Truly as Jacob Marley in "Scrooge and Marley"

Welcome to theater is a sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and I will be your host.

When I first moved back to my home town of Dover-Foxcroft, ME, about seven years ago, I was in a pretty bad way.  I had just gone through a broken engagement, couldn't keep a job where I was living, or, at least not a job that paid enough for me to have my own apartment.  I came back to my parents house, and, to be honest, I was pretty depressed.  My days consisted of the following:

*Eating
*Filling out applications for jobs I didn't really want
*Staying in my room, watching TV
*Missing my ex
*Staring at the TV without really watching
*Eating

Not a great time in my life.  I rarely went outside, even though it was getting close to autumn, my favorite season, I didn't really talk to anyone except for my parents.

Since I had been gone, a place called the Center Theatre had come to fruition in my hometown.  I knew a little bit about it--- when I was in college, a group of people had started the dream of fixing up the decrepit old theater of yesteryear, and creating a facility to celebrate the arts in our small town. I was now in my early thirties, and the place had been functional for a few years by the time I got home.  I noticed the difference in high school kids I would run across.  Theater was now something they were being exposed to, which is a very good thing.

There was a casting notice for the Christmas play.  It was an adaptation of A Christmas Carol called Scrooge and Marley by Israel Horovitz.  It's the story that everyone knows, only in this adaptation, Jacob Marley serves as a narrator, or Greek Chorus if you will, to the audience.

I had no intention of auditioning.  That would mean leaving my room.  My parents kept encouraging me to just go down and audition, to get out of the house.  "I don't know any of these people anymore," I said.  "Why should I bother?," I said.

But, whether it was because of my parents' prodding or some inner voice that knew me too well, I did end up auditioning.  And, since I was auditioning for someone who I had never worked with and who didn't know my work (now a dear friend named Rhonda Kirkpatrick), I was nervous.  For the first time in a long time, I was nervous to audition.  And that's a good thing.

Why is that a good thing?, you may ask.  A few reasons.  It gave me a sense of inner stakes.  I wanted to do well, which means, all of a sudden, as I waited for my turn to audition, I wanted a part.  I wanted to impress this new director I'd never worked with.  And, the right amount of nervousness ensures that you are taking it seriously, want to do a good job, keeps you on your toes.

Long story short, I got the part.  Now, this did magically turn my life around and make me a shiny, happy person again over night.  No, not necessarily.  But it gave me something to focus on.  And I was focusing on something that I love to do--- create a character, work towards a performance, and lose myself for a little while.

And, as days went by, and I attended rehearsals, I met more and more people, made some new friends, reconnected with some old ones, and, yes, I was smiling and laughing again.

Don't underestimate this one true fact:  THE ACT OF CREATION CAN SAVE YOU.  It has me, time and time again.  It is an outlet, a chance to work with people from all different backgrounds with the common goal of CREATING SOMETHING GOOD.  Something positive.  Something to share with the world for moments in time.

My funk lifted.  I felt better, stronger, appreciated.

So if you're blue, or going through a rough time, or just bored with the same old routine, keep your eyes open on local community theater auditions.  Get involved.  If you don't want to be onstage, volunteer to work backstage.  You will automatically become a part of something that will transport you.  It won't solve all your problems, nothing does that, but it will help your problems seem less intense, more manageable.

And that's why I love the theater so much.

Bad Morning: Bobby Keniston Talks More About Rejection

Greetings, and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  I am your host, Bobby Keniston, and I keep this little part of the internet to write about theater.  As always, feel free to comment below if you agree with me, or think I'm full of poo.

Today's post is a bit more personal than usual--- I tend to like to act like an instructor of sorts, give out tips and advice, but, today, well, I've had the wind knocked out of my sails for a little bit.  I'll be fine, of course, I'm used to it, but, for the moment, I'd rather just write and see what happens.

I've talked about rejection before, but it bears repeating for anyone who is interested in pursuing theater, acting, and writing as a livelihood, or even just as a hobby.  You are going to face a great deal of rejection, and you have to learn to deal with that and not let it knock you all over the place.  At least, don't let it knock you all over the place for too long.

So this morning, I check my email, and, lo and behold, there is a nice rejection note from a nice company for a play I recently submitted.  It is a company I have other plays published with, and a good relationship with--- I like them a whole lot, love how they handle my plays, and am grateful for the work they do getting my plays productions all around the country.  I like the company so much, I gave them an exclusive first look at this new play, when, usually, I submit to a few companies at the same time.

Okay, so I should be used to rejection by now, shouldn't I?  I've been in the business long enough, and have certainly been rejected plenty of times.  Yet this rejection has hit me harder than many others, and I am trying to figure out why.

You see, usually, the second I get a rejection notice, the first thing I do is submit the play to another company.  It's good for the soul.  So I did that very thing this morning.  I went to another company I love, who have an online submission form.  I uploaded the play, filled in all the information, revised my synopsis to make sure it was as good as could be, spent a good half hour making sure everything was as it should be, and when I pressed the button to submit, and error occurred, telling me to try again later.  So, I don't really have that feeling of satisfaction yet, the feeling of moving on and trying again after my rejection.  I'm not going to let a computer error keep me from submitting to this second company, of course, but I just can't fill it all out again at this moment.  I don't have the energy.

So here I am, thinking about my rejection.

It's natural, and, indeed okay to feel bad about being rejected.  In fact, it's not easy to feel good about it.  It's all right to think, but not to wallow, and so, hopefully, this blog post will help me move things in the right direction.

So why is this one bothering me so much?  Here are some thoughts:

1.  I haven't had a play rejected in a while.  My submission numbers have been down this year, and every play I have submitted has been accepted.

2.  I really thought this company was going to accept this play.  Which, I guess goes to show, you shouldn't be overconfident about such things.  I just thought this particular company would think itself a good home for this particular script.  Alas, that is not my decision to make, and, nor should it be.  This is a fine company that knows what it is doing, and, if they don't think they can sell this particular script, then they made the right decision.  Again, their rejection letter was kind, and very mindful of the fact that I am currently one of their writers.  I shouldn't have assumed they would like this one as much as some of the others I have with them already.  (Of course, it's not necessarily a matter of "liking" the script, but whether they feel its right for their catalog--- two very different things)

3.  Many of the plays I write are accepted without a prior production, so I've never really seen them on their feet.  This show, however, I produced with my hometown theater as part of an evening of one acts.  I directed the play, had a great cast, and I saw fist hand how well audiences responded to the play.  So much laughter and cheering!  People loved it!  I've never had such positive feedback for a play I've written and directed!  And my hometown doesn't necessarily get excited about theater all that often.  I know the script is easy to produce, has witty dialogue, but is also poignant--- I've heard the laughs and seen the other emotional impacts of it--- so, I guess, what I'm saying is, I know that the play PLAYS and PLAYS WELL.

4.  Because it was so successful in production, perhaps I was riding high on the script as a surefire win.  It's easy to do so when you see how much an audience loves it.  It's like you've got proof that it should be a "hit", because your individual production was a hit.  But the page and the stage are two different things.

So, yeah, I'll get over this, and fairly quickly, but I am going to allow myself to feel upset about it for a while.

Perhaps that will make it all the more sweeter when the script does find a home.


To Learn More about my published plays, CLICK HERE, OR HERE, OR HERE, OR HERE!

I've started a new blog where I am writing a short story every day for a whole year!  Each story will be between 100-250 words.  Please check it out!  (I've had too much rejection for one day).  
CLICK HERE to read my new blog!

What To Do When You Have a Bad Performance

Greetings ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and this is my little place on the internet where I talk about (or, really, write about) theater.  Why? Well, because I love it.

I'm a big Red Sox fan, but a few nights ago, they were pounded by the Orioles in a big way. Last night, however, they fought back against Toronto and wound up winning the game.

What does this have to do with theater, you might ask?  I'll tell you.  There's a reason I call this blog "Theater is a Sport", and it's because I believe that theater is a sport.

And, like baseball, or any other sport, an actor, or an entire cast, can have off nights.

Lord knows I've had them.  Whether you keep tripping over your lines, or staying in your head, anticipating blocking, or tripping over the set, some nights just feel like a disaster to an actor.  Please believe me when I tell you that this happens to everyone.

The first thing to do, if you feel like your having a bad performance, is to try to get out of your head, and salvage the rest of the night.  Take intermission to try to relax and re-focus.  Accept that you screwed up in the first act, and realize that you can still knock 'em dead in Act Two.  A bad performance is all mental, meaning, all thought.  Get those thoughts out of your brain.

Now, if you can't salvage the performance for yourself, and you reach the end of the show feeling as miserable as you did all the way through, accept it and move on.  For one thing, it probably didn't come off as badly as you might think.  And please, please, if you had friends or family in the audience, and they talk to you after the show, complimenting you on what a great job you did, just smile and say "Thank you so much!"  I know it's hard.  You'll want to say, "I felt so off tonight!  This was my worst performance ever!  I was so much better in rehearsal!"  Don't do it.  For one thing, it's rude.  It's telling your loved ones that they don't know a good performance from a bad one, and that's not very nice now, is it?  And, like I said before, everything you were going through in your own mind was probably not as visible to the audience as you think it was.

Don't let one bad performance ruin a run.  In the school or community theater, you probably have somewhere between 3 and 6 performances for a production (maybe more, but we're not talking month or yearlong runs, here).  The more you focus on a bad performance, the more you open yourself up to repeat them.  If, in fact, there is a section of the play that is repeatedly bad or feels under-rehearsed, by all means, talk to the director and others involved about working towards cleaning up that scene or section.  It's okay to want to keep growing and getting better, even if you're a few performances in.  In fact, that should be the goal.  To keep getting better and better and more comfortable with the material.  But, let's say you had a random incident where you blew a line you had never missed before.  Don't obsess about it.  That's like asking to mess up again.

Above all else, remember that theater is an imperfect medium, which is why it is so magical. Mistakes happen when you're performing live.  Embrace it, accept it, and keep moving forward to the elusive goal of perfection, which you're not going to reach.  It's the journey that matters.  It's the dancing on the head of a pin, the experiment of creating something with a group of people that matters the most.

Just keep your eye on the ball, and everything will be okay.

My Favorite Dream: Writing With Love and Zest

Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Theater is a Sport, back after spring break.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and this is my own little piece of the internet where I talk about whatever's on my mind in the realm of theater.

Recently, I've been re-reading a great deal of Ray Bradbury and watching old interviews with him on YouTube.  What stands out most about this prolific writer (who not only wrote novels and short stories, but many plays and screenplays as well) is his incredible zest for writing and for life, and how he constantly used one to fuel the other.  To him, writing was inspired play, and he kept the words "Don't Think" taped above his typewriter to remind himself the importance of trusting his intuition and subconscious.

For those who are not familiar with Ray Bradbury, he was the great mind behind such books as Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles, Dandelion Wine, The Halloween Tree, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and over 300 published short stories.  He wrote a number of plays, one of my favorites being The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit, and wrote the screenplay for John Huston's classic film adaptation of Moby Dick.

Here's the man himself, Mr. Ray Bradbury

I have been trying to write like Mr. Bradbury lately.  No, I don't mean by copying his style or his themes or plot ideas--- I mean, I have been trying to reconnect with the youthful sense of play in an attempt to write with zest again.

It's not always easy.  Writing can be difficult.  It's frustrating when the words won't come, when a sentence or a line of dialogue doesn't read the way you want it to, when you simply can't seem to communicate your thoughts, or when the tank seems completely empty, devoid of any ideas one could possibly care about.  

When this happens, one could do worse than to follow those two words of advice taped up on Mr. Bradbury's desk:  DON'T THINK.

While writing certainly flexes intellectual muscles, it is truly at its most rewarding when it is an emotionally engaging experience.  When the play or story you want to write comes flying out, and you laugh, love, and cry along with it.  If you have this investment, it is a safe bet that an audience may as well.  

When you're deep in the act of creation on a first draft, it is often beneficial to surf the tidal waves of inspiration and intuition, even if they seem dangerous.  Especially if they seem dangerous.  Too much thinking can kill a project before it has started to live.  Don't let that happen.  Remember, your brain is always there to switch back on for the act of rewriting.  

I can't tell you how many times I have to tell my mind to shut up (even now, writing this blog post, I've had to shush it more than once).  Every now and then, I close my eyes, take some deep breaths, and invite my characters to talk to me.  I visualize them, ask them questions.  They don't often steer me wrong.  Ray Bradbury once said that there is no need for writer's block, so long as you are willing to listen to your characters and your subconscious mind.  The more I read his work, the more I believe he is right.

So each day, for a few weeks now, I approach my notebook or computer, not with a sense of worry about what may come out today, but with a joyful anticipation of what I am going to create.  I am recapturing the "play" in "playwright".  

And I thank you, Ray Bradbury, for the inspiration.  

REMEMBER:  WHEN IN DOUBT, JUST STOP THINKING!  Breath, relax, and tell the story that needs to be told.

To learn more about my plays, CLICK HERE,  OR HERE, OR HERE, OR FINALLY HERE.

I've started a new blog!  I am writing a story a day for a year!  Each story will be between 100-250 words!  If you would like to read and follow, you can do so by CLICKING HERE.  

On Saying Goodbye to Your Character and Your Play Family

Greetings, and welcome to Theater is a Sport, my own little place on the internet to talk about all things theatrical.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and I'm a playwright, an actor, and a director.  I'm also an all-around theater geek, and proud of it.

Recently, a production of The Jungle Book I directed for the Center Theatre, my hometown theater, came to an end.  It has me thinking about when a show ends, and that feeling of letdown that we in the theater experience when saying goodbye to a character and cast of people who have become your family.  So, that's what I'm going to talk about today.

First, I'd like to share this quote from Daniel Day-Lewis, arguably one of, if not the best film actor of the last thirty years or so, about disengaging from a character:

"There's a terrible sadness. The last day of shooting is surreal. Your mind, your body, your spirit are not in any way prepared to accept that this experience is coming to an end. In the months that follow the finish of a film, you feel profound emptiness. You've devoted so much of your time to unleashing, in an unconscious way, some sort of spiritual turmoil, and even if it's uncomfortable, no part of you wishes to leave that character behind. The sense of bereavement is such that it can take years before you can put it to rest."

Now, perhaps we don't all  invest as much of ourselves when we do a play for the community theater or a school show, but, to be honest, I do, and I think Mr. Day-Lewis has described the feeling in the best way I've ever heard it described.

When you are putting on a play, there are weeks of rehearsal, often with people you may not know, or, other times, with a gang of actors you've performed with many times before.  As days go by, you learn to depend on one another, trust one another, complain about one another, praise one another, and, yes, love each other.  You may not always like all of your cast mates, but I do think you grow an indescribable bond with each of them.  After all, you are a group of people who have come together with the purpose of creating.  The act of creation is a powerful one, not to be taken lightly.  For weeks, you have sacrificed time to focus your energy with this group of people.  You have been pretending to be someone else to tell a story.  You have thought what it would be like this character, and, to some extent, whether you are a method actor or not, you have been doing your best to become this character, if only for a few hours a night, for the sake of the audience.  You invest feelings and actions that come from you, explore "as ifs" that get you thinking about your own life on this planet.  

It ain't easy to just shake off.  At least, it's not for everyone.  It's absolutely fine if you are a person who can shake it off--- in fact, you may be one of the lucky ones.  

For those who are more like me, folks who feel a terrible loss after a show closes, here's a few tips I have found helpful...

--- SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR CHARACTER:  Start a personal ritual of how you can say goodbye to a character.  Don't be concerned if it would appear silly to others or not.  It doesn't matter.  It's not for other people, it's for you and your character.  How you say goodbye is a private matter.  

---ALLOW YOURSELF TO GRIEVE AND "MISS IT":  There's not shame in missing a play.  There's no shame in wishing you were still up on that stage, giving your lines, playing your actions... it's an exhilarating and joyful experience.  You've made new friends, possibly lifelong friends.  It's okay to miss spending this time creating with them.

--- GET SOME REST:  You deserve it.  Take it easy for a few days.  Pamper yourself as much as you can.  

--- JUMP INTO A NEW CREATIVE ENDEAVOR:  I have found this to be very helpful.  Try out for another play!  Write some poetry or a short story!  Bake!  Knit!  Sing!  Anything that feels creative and lovely to you.  

And most of all, remember--- these moments in time you shared with your cast and the audiences who watched you, this shared experience lasts forever.  Energy lasts forever, so do these moments.  

And chances are, if you live in a small community, you're going to be acting with these people again sooner than you think.  

Please feel free to comment below with your tips on saying goodbye to a show or character!