My greatest writing successes were failures. A story sent cold to The New Yorker that climbed to then-senior editor Daniel Menaker’s desk and resulted in his handwrit rejection saying that he pushed for the story but the other eds chose another—try us again. A commission to create a play about Chris Farley only for the repertory theater to shutter before we got underway.
But non-failures too. My fiction has appeared in national journals such as New Letters, American Literary Review, Denver Quarterly, and Glimmer Train, and my plays have been performed across the country, including in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles. To date my poems remain on my desk somewhere.
My work on land and poverty issues took me to Egypt, El Salvador, Ethiopia, Peru, and Russia; a few lives perhaps are better for it.
Plays
Bianca, an English instructor at a community college (“Do you really teach five intro courses each semester?”), organizes a book club. On the inaugural evening, none of the colleagues she invited manage to make it. That leaves her with her pathologically honest husband, her novelist son by a previous marriage, his estranged girlfriend, recently institutionalized for stabbing the son, and one of Bianca’s new students, who has yet to read a book.
The chaos at the first meeting over what book to select turns to horror when it’s discovered that Bianca’s son is writing an autobiographical novel in which the others appear. Horror turns to curiosity and a demand to read the manuscript, which becomes the book club’s selection for discussion, leaving everyone to wonder if they can possibly retain any love for fiction after this.
Playwright Marisa Wegrzyn (Butcher of Baraboo; Killing Women) writes, “This play is filled with smart, raunchy humor and lunacy. The threats of violence, mental instability, sexual promiscuity, disaster, and a possible stabbing are all delightful.”
Turns out even the heart can be replaced by something better, like one of those synthetic jobs the Germans perfected that will last 400 million heartbeats. “A hundred more years!” says Marilyn, 62 and on the waiting list. Her neighbor, Russ, couldn’t care less about living even another couple seconds. His wife of 33 years ditched him for a much younger man. While Marilyn woos Russ and tries to convince him to sign one of the new, realistic marriage contracts of 5 years, renewable, her daughter is having an affair with a much older man, and her ex-boyfriend (sometimes not so ex) is about to explode with jealousy.
Love or Forever is a comedy about the consequences on love as our lifespans continue to grow. If the actuarial chart tells you to expect to live to age 99, then it’s tougher to believe in the wonderful fantasy of “I'll love you forever”—as forever just got a lot longer.
Laurel is a leading scholar of the ancient Roman poet Ovid, whose sophistically naughty erotic poetry made him a bestseller while also causing his exile from Rome. Those poems took the form of advice for both sexes on how to get laid. Which was the extent of an ancient Roman’s conception of romantic love.
We moderns are not so lucky and daily struggle with the hope that love lasts forever, with one person. Laurel, recovering from a rotten marriage, is grateful to at last be finished with love. But then there’s this intriguing man who moves in next door…. And when Ovid himself appears, giving her love tips, Laurel has to figure out if she’s brave enough to be in love. And what the hell does that mean exactly?
Henry Percival is among the last of white male novelists who were systematically favored over other voices in literary fiction. Up-and-coming Black essayist Xan Smith reluctantly accepts a commission to do a socio-critical exploration of the increasing irrelevance of that group of novelists. The book she comes up with may be interesting to a meager audience, pay a few months’ rent. In meeting Henry, Xan learns of a much more compelling story she can tell. It seems the murder of a Black woman in Henry’s most famous novel was based on fact—in fact on Henry’s life and murderous rage. Now that’s a bestseller.
Love seems gone for good for two young, married actors whose 4-year-old child is terminally ill, hospital his home. They sleep apart in their tiny Chicago apartment, rotating who gets the bed based on who needs to be well rested the next day, Paula for her shows and promotional appearances, Van for another (failed) audition. They also alternate hospital visits. Avoidance helps mitigate the pain of seeing each other’s tortured face. In a last effort to save the marriage, they call on their training as actors. Pretend! Problem is, one of them is a gifted actor while the other is realizing he’s not really an actor at all.
Wanting to redo the ending to his miserable marriage, Ben writes an auto-theatricality in which he plays himself and hires an actor to play his wife. To be true to his anguish, he must also hire an actor to play his wife’s lover. In rehearsals Ben finds he has trouble making “Ben” believable, while the other characters are even more rebellious than the people they’re based on. Dramatizing heartbreak proves difficult—and opening night may foil Ben’s attempt to revenge himself on the hard reality of what is past.
Game’s over. Roger “Rajah” Rain has made his final appearance as a minor league pitcher, having never attained his dream of starring in the majors. At 31, he must now figure out what to do with his life after decades of monomaniacal devotion to playing a game.
A friend gets him a job videoing the stories of former ballplayers now in their 80s and 90s for a documentary on a passing generation of athletes. A new skill. He needs it. He also determines to learn a new language. Might help erase the vocabulary of baseball that now haunts him.
Yet, through his video camera and the new language, Rajah comes dangerous close to the lives of two needy characters who show him that creating a new life involves killing the old one.