notes & things | 7/18/2026
It has been a strange and smoke-filled week, including one night that found the sky and the downtown landscape quite apocalyptic, especially as we made our way Thursday to a back alley freight elevator accessed production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch in a West Loop art space, which was a whole lot of fun (and if I had more money, would go see again since they rotate the cast through the three main characters). Thankfully, we only were out in it for a few minutes, and by Friday, it had dissipated, with only a lingering haze left today. While we get occasional fog from the lake, this was yellower, dirtier, and smelled like a soiled old mattress thrown on a campfire. Thankfully, the AC seemed to be doing a good job keeping it out of interior spaces for the most part. Other highlights under calmer skies earlier in the week included seeing Octet for the second time where its been remounted at the Goodman, and a book club/ cabaret based on A Streetcar Named Desire, both of which were, of course, awesome. (the latter was, incidentally, at The Understudy bookstore, which I need to return to when I have more money to browse the enormous play selection.)
I've been finishing up revisions on the cicada cycle play, which is turning out quite nice. Also, the hotel-set play I started last week, which is a rough draft 0 stage that needs a lot of help, but it will get there, as well as a few other ideas for shorter scripts that are knocking around in my head for festivals and series I'd love to submit to with August deadlines. Most importantly, this week bought my tidy little stack of MARRY KISS KILL, which is now available in all its disturbing little glory.
Summer is slipping away, and we still have some fun things planned with what is left. Next weekend, J has another wedding DJ gig in Wisconsin, and I'll be tagging along for another mini-writing retreat at the hotel. We are hoping to get to the drive-in in September when they change over from comic book and kids movies to retro offerings. We also have an outdoor production of Hamlet this week out in Oak Park to look forward to, so hopefully the smoke will have eased by then and the weather won't be apocalyptically hot. In between there are french toast breakfasts, more theater outings.
I just heard the definitive sign that summer has reached its halfway point--the cicadas, which play a big role in the latest play, which is about cycles of trauma and abuse laid over 17 year intervals. I am working on a blog entry about creating and manipulating time in writing for the stage, something that I've always had more freedom with poems, which usually exist in singular moments, though sometimes those moments are layered with other moments. The cicada play is structured like a hinge. Or maybe a set of wings. A teaser prologue gives way to a play that moves both forward and backwards at intervals with each new scene with a single setting--in this case, a lakeside cabin owned by three generations of women. It starts in 1990, then moves forward to 2007, then backward to 1973 and 1956 (the date would likely be projected, but other tells like music, costumes, and the state of the cabin would indicate the passage of time. It still needs some polishing and proofing, but could be ready to show off in August if all goes well.
Comments