Author: connievkuntz

Growing up, we had a typewriter in our house and it was always a pleasure to…well, type on it. Back then, I had to take into consideration how much typewriter ribbon and paper I would be using. I didn’t want to waste the paper or inky ribbon, and that limited the amount of time I could spend typing. Because of this, I considered my “typing time” precious. I would type silly random thoughts so I could get familiar with the keys.

Hello. My name is Connie Ross. How are you today? I am doing very well. Thank you for asking. You have nice manners. By the way, I wanted to let you know the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The nerve! 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. Have a great day!

For many years, I thought I just liked typing.

Of course, before the typewriter, there was paper and pen. Sometimes paper, sometimes notebooks, sometimes diaries. “Theme” paper was my favorite. I loved the way the pen felt on the paper, especially if there were two or three other sheets underneath to give it that nice cushion. It was fun to fill up the pages with my personal data. I would write my sentences over and over, forwards and backwards, and “stack” more sentences on top of them so the writing was completely illegible. My secrets were safe and I was happy, but if anyone ever saw those pages, they probably thought I was insane.

I thought I just liked practicing penmanship.

In high school and college, I studied foreign languages. I enjoyed writing in Russian, Latin, Spanish and Greek. Many notebooks were filled with cursive and printed scripts of foreign languages.

I thought I just liked learning foreign languages.

It’s funny how the body and mind find ways to guide you to what’s important.

I was 29 years old before I finally realized that I didn’t just like typing and cursive. I loved writing. That’s when I wrote my first 10-minute play and never looked back, until I this prompt.

What I like most about my (blog) writing is that it expresses the fact I simply love writing.

I prefer playwriting to blogging, but am trying to get into a rhythm of doing both. I also enjoy writing poetry, articles (reporting), essays, letters and leaving notes.

Hey, thanks for reading my typing! I hope your typing is going well for you. -Connie

When I was 22, I was an assistant director for the children’s play Old King Cole. After a rehearsal one night, the director asked me a personal question.

“Have you ever been in love, Connie?”

“Oh yes,” I lied. “I’ve been in love very much!”

He knew I was lying.

The reason Alfred asked had nothing to do with his concern for my love life. He was trying to figure out how to fix a silly scene between the king and queen.

“It lacks heart and emotion,” he said. “The kind you have from being in love! These actors don’t love anyone except the themselves!”

He shouted this as if from a mountaintop.

“Actors don’t know how to fight for anything other than their next role!”

As was his custom, he referenced a Shakespearean tragedy to further emphasize his point.

“They don’t know how to kill Caesar because they don’t know what it’s like to want to kill!”

He circled back.

“Connie, listen to me. Having a baby is like being in love!”

He explained to me that because he was a dad, a father, he knew he could kill if he had to protect his baby.

His “baby” was in her thirties. And the stakes weren’t that high in Old King Cole, but:

“That’s what I need to see in this scene!”

Alfred was erratic and hot-tempered but also gobs of fun to work with. He would laugh uproariously at every joke and innuendo, and weep and sigh with every dramatic turn. And at the end of every show, he would applaud and shout “Bravo!” and mean it because he meant everything.

But after a couple years of “paying my dues,” I started to look into into directing high school and community theatre, and stage managing professional theatre. The $200 stipends for three months of work just weren’t cutting it. One show he “forgot” to pay me so he gave me his used blue reclining chair instead.

“It’s worth a lot more than $200,” he said.

It wasn’t.

I was tired of being broke. He thought I was snobby and missing the whole point about theatre and life.

“You’ll regret it, Connie.”

I said goodbye. It was easy.

Ten years later, I was walking my dog and saw Alfred and his longtime partner Keith on the Nicollet Mall in downtown Minneapolis. I was elated to see them; so happy to introduce my dog Woody to them and share with them the good news that I was getting married in a few months.

“You finally fell in love.”

“Yeah, finally.”

We hugged goodbye. Later on, I told Jesse all about my days with Alfred and Keith. Jesse thought Alfred sounded like a jerk.

“Did you tell him you were a playwright?”

“No, it would have made him mad.”

It’s hard to understand, and I swear I don’t have Stockholm Syndrome, but Alfred was — and is — a source of inspiration to me. I didn’t always agree with his tactics (he once shouted at a child actor, “Play the scene like your daddy is dead!”), but also he taught me to respect the craft, trust the process and convincingly convey emotion.

In 2005, Jesse and I had our first baby and I learned that Alfred was correct: Having a baby is like falling in love.

Alfred died ten years ago. Even though it’s been a long time, it’s still not easy to say goodbye.