I started writing this play in 2011. It has been through more drafts than anything I've written. And it may have provided the great gift of challenging me more than anything I've written.
In 2014 the first draft was long-listed in the Theatre 503 Playwriting Award (among the top 120 of more than 1600 scripts received) and the subsequent draft, sent to them, won me an interview for their prestigious Playwrights Circle (20 interviewed of 100 invited to apply) later the same year. I then shared it with every literary department that occurred to me at the time --providing some of the best rejection letters I've received-- it was long-listed for the BBC Writer's Room Award.
But, Holy-HumbleBrag-Batman! All that was met with neither production nor development.
I let the script rest another year before GreenLight Arts (who originally commissioned the award-winning Guarded Girls) generously looked at a portfolio I sent them in 2016. Artistic Director, Matt White, didn't tell me that he liked this one because he wanted to work on Touch first (which he developed with me to direct and produce in 2018). Another year later, the promises within Capillaries awarded me Ontario Arts Council support to work as GreenLight Arts' first creator-in-residence. Sleepless, bleary, and up to my eyeballs in reusable diapers, I struggled to use this gift to it's fullest effects.
A majority of my work has been pampered by relatively short periods from development to production. So it is easy to feel frustrated by the nine years of redrafting, submitting, and redrafting that this play has been through. And the pace of world history jostled the meanings of its themes in the meantime. This draft that the pandemic (and my generous family) has permitted me time to work on is a return to all the old impulses which started that scrappy 2011 draft in the first place. And, in that return, our sobering news-cycle has bleakly formed a new and heightened relevance to the work.
I (re)wrote the dialogue below only days before George Floyd was murdered. Not to co-opt someone else's tragedy, I am choosing to share this particular excerpt with you because, while the truth of the character's criticism of journalism hasn't changed, its impact has been universally renewed. And it is meaningful that this scene remains fairly similar to its counterpart from 9 years ago. I hope and pray that continued development remains sensitive enough to provide justice and clarity to the contorting world that this might, one day, (n)ever premier in. A world I hope is much better than this one.
In 2014 the first draft was long-listed in the Theatre 503 Playwriting Award (among the top 120 of more than 1600 scripts received) and the subsequent draft, sent to them, won me an interview for their prestigious Playwrights Circle (20 interviewed of 100 invited to apply) later the same year. I then shared it with every literary department that occurred to me at the time --providing some of the best rejection letters I've received-- it was long-listed for the BBC Writer's Room Award.
But, Holy-HumbleBrag-Batman! All that was met with neither production nor development.
I let the script rest another year before GreenLight Arts (who originally commissioned the award-winning Guarded Girls) generously looked at a portfolio I sent them in 2016. Artistic Director, Matt White, didn't tell me that he liked this one because he wanted to work on Touch first (which he developed with me to direct and produce in 2018). Another year later, the promises within Capillaries awarded me Ontario Arts Council support to work as GreenLight Arts' first creator-in-residence. Sleepless, bleary, and up to my eyeballs in reusable diapers, I struggled to use this gift to it's fullest effects.
A majority of my work has been pampered by relatively short periods from development to production. So it is easy to feel frustrated by the nine years of redrafting, submitting, and redrafting that this play has been through. And the pace of world history jostled the meanings of its themes in the meantime. This draft that the pandemic (and my generous family) has permitted me time to work on is a return to all the old impulses which started that scrappy 2011 draft in the first place. And, in that return, our sobering news-cycle has bleakly formed a new and heightened relevance to the work.
I (re)wrote the dialogue below only days before George Floyd was murdered. Not to co-opt someone else's tragedy, I am choosing to share this particular excerpt with you because, while the truth of the character's criticism of journalism hasn't changed, its impact has been universally renewed. And it is meaningful that this scene remains fairly similar to its counterpart from 9 years ago. I hope and pray that continued development remains sensitive enough to provide justice and clarity to the contorting world that this might, one day, (n)ever premier in. A world I hope is much better than this one.
Capillaries. near the end of Act 1 (of two acts). Draft: June 2020.
Scene 6
Split stage, continuous.
Bob is no longer passing the time like a clown. His long wait has evolved to standing. Just standing, maybe looking at a blank wall. Like a zoo animal whose whole personality has been bored out of them.
In fact, the whole stage can join in the stillness of Bob’s long wait.
When he can’t take it anymore he seizes the phone and dials.
It rings inside Lucy’s stroller.
Bob second-guesses his action and hangs up quickly.
Bob Mother fucking pampered Jesus in a crab apple pie crust chewing my nuts like a cancerous bee sting singing Avril Levine off key with its shit for zits oozing out of its face all over the fucking place making me feel like a vat of rancid dog fat hacked up by mother birds into a nest made of toe lint and half dead gnats for its squawking damp family of I don’t know, tabernac.
Scene 7
Continuous.
Blossom What was that?
Lucy What was what, darling?
Blossom What was that sound?
Lucy Nothing. Babies cry sometimes.
Blossom Was that a cry?
Lucy Well, what else could it possibly have been?
Blossom What a weird baby.
Lucy Yes.
Blossom Aren’t you going to sooth it?
Lucy Well it’s uh, it’s stopped crying. So.
Blossom It didn’t sound like a baby.
Lucy What is a baby supposed to sound like?
Blossom I don’t know. What’s it like?
Lucy Oh dear. Not as magnificent as we let you think. It’s cooler down here in this tunnel than it is in my office. So, we’re no different from everyone else, really. Weather is just meteorology which is a fancy word for looking at the sky. I do work quite hard, you know. You can be a meteorologist if you really try. O, that rhymes! Everything else, delivering it to you, is just part of the day job.
Blossom What’s it like to give birth?
Lucy O. That was a long time ago.
Blossom Not that long ago.
Lucy You’re right, darling. I don’t know. Well, childbirth is magical.
Blossom Really?
Lucy I mean, I’m a scientist but it feels magical.
Blossom I understand. We never saw you have a big belly on TV.
Lucy O, well, TV is still a little bit magnificent. The producers, they produce. Do you know what that means?
Blossom I don’t care what it means.
Lucy O. Um. Okay.
Blossom I know things.
Lucy You do?
Blossom You don’t know piddle-shit.
Lucy Language young lady.
Blossom I guess what I’m saying is, the kid and I had a conversation earlier, why did you go into television and journalism? Because the weather never really changes. Not really. In fact, nothing much changes no matter how bad it gets. So, that makes your job, your whole personality, just nothing, right?
Lucy Aren’t you a very frank and forward young woman.
Blossom I am.
Lucy I like that in a girl.
Blossom Yes. I’d like to say the same about you.
Lucy Well now. I mean, oh dear. What is your name, young lady?
Blossom No. Everything is a trade. So, I’m saving my name for him. For you, you get, well, he thinks that I’m going to kill you with my electric limbs.
Lucy Excuse me?
Blossom But you have your little baby to take care of. So why did you come down here? Shouldn’t you still be saying nothing on TV?
Lucy Do you always interrogate people like this?
Blossom I don’t know. You’re the journalist.
Lucy I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to say right now.
Blossom Then don’t say anything.
Lucy O my darling. That’s always been a bit of a struggle for me. Heheh.
Blossom But you have access to real information. Don’t you? Whatever news they tell you to report, they’re surely gathering more news than that. They have to pick and choose what news to deliver, right? There might be a cat up a tree but we don’t all need to know about a cat up a tree. Still, you might know about it. Because you gather the news. There might be an attack coming our way, say from the air, you can see it on the weather radar, right? But we don’t all need to know about that. Do we?
Lucy Well, what can I say?
Blossom What can you say? You know things. That’s why I brought you down here.
Lucy You did what now?
Blossom How else would you have arrived? And much too soon at that. I haven’t even made it out of the city yet. But that’s not the point at all.
Lucy What is the point, darling?
Blossom What you know.
Lucy What I know?
Blossom Repetition.
Lucy Repetition.
Blossom What is going to happen?
Lucy What is going to happen?
Blossom What is going to happen to us here in the plucky little east? Or maybe to you right now?
Lucy To me?
Blossom Kracka-bang!
Lucy What? Stop it.
Blossom All I get is the television, coursing through my veins. But you get so much more.
Lucy You’re making no sense, darling.
Blossom Are you going to be any value to me?
Lucy Don’t, dear, darling--
Blossom Zzzoom-kracka-boom-pow!
Lucy What is this that are you doing?
Blossom Let my nervous system register with all the news. Everything you pretend you don’t know. We need to know. Right now.
Lucy Right now?
Blossom Repetition.
Lucy I can’t. I don’t know how. Don’t do that.
Blossom winds up for what feels to be a particularly violent or dangerous attempt to electrocute but she is interrupted by ...
Split stage, continuous.
Bob is no longer passing the time like a clown. His long wait has evolved to standing. Just standing, maybe looking at a blank wall. Like a zoo animal whose whole personality has been bored out of them.
In fact, the whole stage can join in the stillness of Bob’s long wait.
When he can’t take it anymore he seizes the phone and dials.
It rings inside Lucy’s stroller.
Bob second-guesses his action and hangs up quickly.
Bob Mother fucking pampered Jesus in a crab apple pie crust chewing my nuts like a cancerous bee sting singing Avril Levine off key with its shit for zits oozing out of its face all over the fucking place making me feel like a vat of rancid dog fat hacked up by mother birds into a nest made of toe lint and half dead gnats for its squawking damp family of I don’t know, tabernac.
Scene 7
Continuous.
Blossom What was that?
Lucy What was what, darling?
Blossom What was that sound?
Lucy Nothing. Babies cry sometimes.
Blossom Was that a cry?
Lucy Well, what else could it possibly have been?
Blossom What a weird baby.
Lucy Yes.
Blossom Aren’t you going to sooth it?
Lucy Well it’s uh, it’s stopped crying. So.
Blossom It didn’t sound like a baby.
Lucy What is a baby supposed to sound like?
Blossom I don’t know. What’s it like?
Lucy Oh dear. Not as magnificent as we let you think. It’s cooler down here in this tunnel than it is in my office. So, we’re no different from everyone else, really. Weather is just meteorology which is a fancy word for looking at the sky. I do work quite hard, you know. You can be a meteorologist if you really try. O, that rhymes! Everything else, delivering it to you, is just part of the day job.
Blossom What’s it like to give birth?
Lucy O. That was a long time ago.
Blossom Not that long ago.
Lucy You’re right, darling. I don’t know. Well, childbirth is magical.
Blossom Really?
Lucy I mean, I’m a scientist but it feels magical.
Blossom I understand. We never saw you have a big belly on TV.
Lucy O, well, TV is still a little bit magnificent. The producers, they produce. Do you know what that means?
Blossom I don’t care what it means.
Lucy O. Um. Okay.
Blossom I know things.
Lucy You do?
Blossom You don’t know piddle-shit.
Lucy Language young lady.
Blossom I guess what I’m saying is, the kid and I had a conversation earlier, why did you go into television and journalism? Because the weather never really changes. Not really. In fact, nothing much changes no matter how bad it gets. So, that makes your job, your whole personality, just nothing, right?
Lucy Aren’t you a very frank and forward young woman.
Blossom I am.
Lucy I like that in a girl.
Blossom Yes. I’d like to say the same about you.
Lucy Well now. I mean, oh dear. What is your name, young lady?
Blossom No. Everything is a trade. So, I’m saving my name for him. For you, you get, well, he thinks that I’m going to kill you with my electric limbs.
Lucy Excuse me?
Blossom But you have your little baby to take care of. So why did you come down here? Shouldn’t you still be saying nothing on TV?
Lucy Do you always interrogate people like this?
Blossom I don’t know. You’re the journalist.
Lucy I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to say right now.
Blossom Then don’t say anything.
Lucy O my darling. That’s always been a bit of a struggle for me. Heheh.
Blossom But you have access to real information. Don’t you? Whatever news they tell you to report, they’re surely gathering more news than that. They have to pick and choose what news to deliver, right? There might be a cat up a tree but we don’t all need to know about a cat up a tree. Still, you might know about it. Because you gather the news. There might be an attack coming our way, say from the air, you can see it on the weather radar, right? But we don’t all need to know about that. Do we?
Lucy Well, what can I say?
Blossom What can you say? You know things. That’s why I brought you down here.
Lucy You did what now?
Blossom How else would you have arrived? And much too soon at that. I haven’t even made it out of the city yet. But that’s not the point at all.
Lucy What is the point, darling?
Blossom What you know.
Lucy What I know?
Blossom Repetition.
Lucy Repetition.
Blossom What is going to happen?
Lucy What is going to happen?
Blossom What is going to happen to us here in the plucky little east? Or maybe to you right now?
Lucy To me?
Blossom Kracka-bang!
Lucy What? Stop it.
Blossom All I get is the television, coursing through my veins. But you get so much more.
Lucy You’re making no sense, darling.
Blossom Are you going to be any value to me?
Lucy Don’t, dear, darling--
Blossom Zzzoom-kracka-boom-pow!
Lucy What is this that are you doing?
Blossom Let my nervous system register with all the news. Everything you pretend you don’t know. We need to know. Right now.
Lucy Right now?
Blossom Repetition.
Lucy I can’t. I don’t know how. Don’t do that.
Blossom winds up for what feels to be a particularly violent or dangerous attempt to electrocute but she is interrupted by ...