Starting Line: In the Festival –or- the Rolling Hills of Euphoria and Dread

And fortunately, only a week passed until I received word from the theatre company. Returning home from rehearsal for a late dinner (perfectly acceptable by New York standards), I casually checked my email. And there it was. I was in. They wanted my play—in fact, they would be thrilled to present it. Finally. A breakthrough, validation, success (or something like it.) With arms raised and tears welling in my eyes I announced my news. We jumped around in the hall like fools, and I called my mom.

Then dinner. Cheap white wine? Sure, since all of a sudden it's a night for celebration. And then, it hit me. The end of April and my three performance days were not far off in the least. No, I had less than three months to do … what? Everything. How? I don’t know. Sobering thoughts tempered my euphoria, as would regularly occur over the next few days (and surely the coming weeks.) But I won’t be alone, and I take comfort in that fact. We founded a production team, including my uncle Tim, my aunt Mandy, and myself.

{Scene}

T: “We have to invite everyone we know.”

M: “Oh yes, definitely.”

T: “This is going to be awesome.”

Me: Yes. There you have it. Awesome.

And though I don’t much like to admit it, surges of excitement carried me into sleep: I would be a playwright, I would have a New York production less than a year after graduating school, I am doing something and I have been rewarded with an amazing opportunity and challenge. Forget whatever intentions I had for the immediate future, this is my focus. The clock’s ticking and the work begins.