In October of
2012, a good three years into my thinking about writing my play, I found the
SanDiegoWritersInk.org. I went to a few
workshops there and decided to join. I
became a member just in time for the October Writer’s Conference; four days of
classes, workshops and, just general get-togethers. I immediately signed up for the
conference.
I enjoyed all
the workshops that I attended. I found
them informative and instructional and they just seemed to fit into my
plan.
But it was
what happened the first day, during a lunch break on my first workshop that really
struck a chord. I had just gotten a
sandwich from a local grocery store and was sitting in my car eating my lunch
when a news story came on the radio.
There had just been a charity triathlon in Florida and a young cancer
survivor was running the last leg – a one mile run. During that last run, the boy’s prosthetic
leg broke. A screw had come loose and the
prosthetic leg just broke in half. The boy
sat there in the middle of the course, crying when a U.S. Marine, also running
the triathlon, just happened by. The
Marine stopped and put the boy on his back and carried him to the finish
line.
The boy had
lost his leg to cancer when he was six and his family had encouraged him to do
just about everything he could. His dad
told him before the race that “this is exactly where you need to be”. These were words of encouragement for the
kid. Turns out it was. Exactly where he needed to be. And so was the Marine. Exactly where he needed to be. The moment is a touching moment in sports and
life. (http://myfox8.com/2012/10/10/marines-carry-boy-across-finish-line-after-his-prosthetic-leg-breaks-during-triathlon/)
But for
me? I took it as a sign that I was
supposed to be here at this writer’s conference. I was working on a play but this conference
did not specifically playwrighting, only screenwriting and other genre. But later in the day, during a break in the
courses, a lady walked into the venue, just as I was speaking with the conference
director. This lady was a representative
for the Cygnet Theatre in Old Town. She
was there to present fliers for the Theatre’s upcoming Playwrights in Process
festival in a few weeks. Four days, four
plays and a few assorted workshops and sessions for aspiring playwrights.
I am a
writer, working on a play, with no knowledge of what a play really is much less
how to write one. I am learning. Up until this point, I had no idea of the
things I needed to do. I did not know
the “process”. The new playwrights workshop
was exactly “where I needed to be”.
Had I not
come to this writer’s conference, I would not have received this flier. I have learned so much about plays and how to
write them.
But that
brings me to this past weekend. I had
accompanied my wife on her San Diego Chorus retreat, this "recharge", as they put
it. I am here to support her in her new
affiliation. I have never seen her so
happy and full of life. She is singing her
heart out. And it shows.
But while my
wife is singing with her group, I find the time to write. During one of those writing sessions, I
stumbled across a video on Youtube. I
was actually looking for some music on the San Diego Chorus.
My play is
about schizophrenia, or there about, and a video popped up on my computer. I don’t know if a keyword from a previous
search had lingered or what other search led me from the SD Chorus to
schizophrenia. But who knows how
computer marketing works. At any rate, I
found the information that I needed.
The video on
schizophrenia fit perfectly into my own play.
It is a perfect tie in to my story line.
Schizophrenia can be treated, if recognized and acknowledged by the
individual. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syjEN3peCJw)
Now, I
understand that I probably could have stumbled across this video on my own, in
my home office. But I don’t know if I
would have listened. Being in a hotel
room, I was captive. And I listened,
because, I had the time. It brought me to a place I needed to be. So, these words have been written. I must now go and listen to the voices. I must write my play.
D.
