Four Lines

This is the sum of all my efforts at writing my play today:

Pause.

JAMES: You can come out now.

HENRY comes out from behind the screen.

HENRY: That was rather too close for comfort.

I did only spend about a minute writing it, then stopped.  Tomorrow will be better.  This isn’t writer’s block, it’s just writer’s laziness.

Anyways, in celebration of this monumental achievement on my part, I thought I’d give an analysis of these pivotal four lines in my play.  (When I say pivotal I mean probably not very important at all.)

Line 1: Pause.

Here we have a stage direction.  Pause.  I’m suggesting, nay, demanding, that the actors say nothing for a certain period of time.  What is the length of that period?  Shorter than a TV ad break, longer than a hiccough.  This pause also allows time to infuse meaning and depth into the play, each pause like the dunk of a herbal teabag into boiling water.  Or I’m just chewing up the minutes.  A very famous and wise playwright once said: “One man’s time wasting is another man’s art.”

Actually I just made that up.  But I think it sounded deep, which counts for something.

Line 2: JAMES: You can come out now.

Here we introduce a character, namely James.  Is he old?  Is he young?  Is he a tutu-wearing, anal-probing martian?  Who knows?  (I do, but I’m not telling you.  I’m open to bribes, though.)  What is he saying, though?  Who is he talking to?  What does he want the person to come out from?  This has more mystery than an Agatha Christie novel through a shredder!  I’m spurred to read the next line, just as soon as I get this jockey off my back.

Line 3: HENRY comes out from behind the screen.

Another character!  This just keeps getting better and better (and gambler).  Is Henry old?  Is he young?  Is he a Rwandan chain-smoking deep-sea diver?  Maybe.  But what is this mysterious screen?  A TV screen?  A fly-screen?  A vanity screen?  It’s one of those three, but you’ll have to guess which one.  No prizes, though.  Unless you think a chance to put this play on is a prize – then by all means, try and guess.

Line 4: HENRY: That was rather too close for comfort.

So much for being a Rwandan chain-smoking deep-sea diver.  Henry sounds English to me.  A tad up himself, and not in a self-examinatory-checking-for-prostate-cancer way.  I’m thinking more bash-the-peasants-with-his-umbrella.  Typical snob.  What with him adding an extra “rather” in their that he clearly doesn’t need.  I have to say, that’s rather pretentious, isn’t it?  Quite.  Tally-ho!  But what was too close for comfort?  My guess is that he’s talking about a lounge – if it’s lying on top of you then it would be classified as being too close for comfort, yes?

And those were my four lines that I added today.  I also finally received my copy of The Man From Mukinupin by Dorothy Hewett in the mail today.  Yet another playwright whose soul I will suck from the pages, devouring all their secrets and increasing my power, until I have enough to take over the world!  What’s that?  Hang on, my doctor’s telling me I have to take my pills again…