Baking

I began the play I am currently working on three years ago.

It started in a class taught by playwright Paula Vogel. During the class, we had two bake-offs. A bake-off is a writing exercise. You are given five ingredients (If I remember correctly, the class came up with them) and a limited amount of time (For us it was 24 hours) to write as much of a play as you can (From what I've heard, the exercise changes depending on the situation. Different bake-offs for different writers).

I can't remember the details or what all of the ingredients were, but this play I am currently working on emerged. Unfinished, raw, but something special--in my mind anyway.

The play has been in my mind ever since. I would think of it every few months. I would think of the characters, of certain scenes. I guess in some way I knew I would return to it.

So I wasn't surprised when I printed the play out last weekend and got excited as I read through it. It felt right. It was right.

Since it has been three years, I've had to remind myself of why some elements were included.

Why did I want the character to say that?

Why do I even have this scene?

The distance has allowed me to question my work in an impersonal way. I cut lines without a problem. I call certain dialogue ridiculous and cross it out. I write questions about the themes in the margins. I am a dramaturg, researching, dissecting my own play.

When I was writing this three years ago, the last thing I was thinking about was theme and yet it is there, sneaking through.

As I cut, rewrite, and switch things around, I know some of the ingredients are disappearing. The movement, the pace that was there--created by the 24 hour time limit--has slowed. The characters are taking up more space on the page. Small elements are growing into full-grown plot points. It is this crazy process that I feel as though I am watching even as I am, in theory, in control of it.

I am intimately involved and yet distant. It is a funny place to be.