CCTA is back, a.k.a. Climate Change Theatre Action, and my short play, “Selling Baby Prairie,” is among the fifty commissioned works now being performed in this loose, globalized festival between now and December. I have no idea as yet which venues will produce “Selling Baby Prairie,” or in which countries it will appear, but whatever the case, I hope that my piece and its forty-nine cohorts will entertain and inspire. The arts must take their place in adapting how we think about our place as a species on this big round rock we call earth, and I’m proud to be playing at least a small part in that conversion process.
If you want to know more, or better yet, consider producing a slate of CCTA’s climate action plays (each one five minutes long), click on the link, above.
Meanwhile, I gather that critic and anthology editor Paula Guran liked my most recent story, “True Songs of the Pennyrile,” which appeared in Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet at the tail end of 2022. I know, I know: I’m not supposed to care about reviews, but if I truly didn’t, I’d be a diarist, not a writer with one eye (or both) on a potentially adoring public.
A new production of Techies is on the horizon, but finding a publisher for that piece has been a nightmare. Perhaps I should learn not to pen plays that cover the topic of sexual harassment in high schools? No doubt there a great many things I should learn (Hindi, bassoon), but as usual, I don’t always follow the well-paved roads. I like controversy, gosh darn it! At least on the stage. Why would anyone want to attend a play or movie that doesn’t deal in large doses of interpersonal conflict?
So many mysteries, so little time.
But, I have my health, and Manchester City is off to a 6-and-0 start.
Onward!