I don’t have a music playlist. I’m not even sure how to assemble such a thing. I’m certain it’s a simple task, but ever since we got a smart speaker, I just ask ‘Siri’ to play music inspired by whatever I’m reading or writing or pondering.
For instance, this week I am reading “Go Tell It on the Mountain” by James Baldwin and have been listening to Sing Freedom! African American Spirituals by Conspirare along the way.
Sometimes I read in silence, but most of the time music adds a wonderful dimension to my experience. I hope you let me know what you are reading and listening to this week. -Connie
When I need solitude, I go to the windows and shut the blinds and curtains. Instant peace. I do this when I’m writing or when I crave a little “alone time.” In fact, I’m doing it right now.
Hi. This is what solitude (and I) look like.
Sadly, I learned this “trick” because of the 9/11 attacks.
In 2001, I was 31 and obsessed with my theatre career. To put it bluntly, I was completely self-absorbed. I only cared about “doing shows.” I lived alone in a tiny rented house in North Minneapolis and was terribly lonely.
Lonely yes, but I was also in a constant state of being annoyed at “the world.” I was sick of bad drivers, inconsiderate coworkers, rude customers, gym rats who didn’t wipe down their equipment and worst of all: theatre bullies. Yes, theatre attracts bullies, not just snobs.
But when I learned about the terrorist attacks, something shifted in me. I went from feeling peeved to being deeply distraught. Though I didn’t personally know anyone on the planes, in the towers or at the Pentagon, I felt profound sadness for the victims and their families. And I was so scared for the people who lived in New York City. I was completely shaken by the video footage of the burning, crumbling towers, the image of the man falling to his death, the photos of soot-covered New Yorkers walking away from the Twin Towers. What must it have been like for the people who actually lived there?
Back in Minneapolis, the downtown was a ghost town. I worked at the usually busy City Center Marshalls. In the days following the attacks, my hours had been drastically cut because no one felt like shopping. And, to give everyone a little time to digest the tragedy, rehearsals for the show I was in had been canceled for the week. That meant I was home more than usual which was a relief to me because I knew I needed complete solitude.
Even though it was bright and sunny outside, I shut the blinds and curtains, locked the doors and just sat there, alone in the quiet, mourning. It is still my preferred “method” for deep grieving but is also something I do when I just want to be alone with my thoughts.
I no longer live alone in Minneapolis. I live in Rockford with my husband, our four children and our pets. Our house isn’t very big, but each of us, for reasons big and small, find ways to achieve solitude. And, every anniversary of September 11, we shut the blinds and curtains all day, not for solitude, but as a simple way to respect and remember the victims of 9/11.
My favorite part of myself is the part that whistles and sings through my daily chores. I am not much of an interior designer, but I enjoy housework and have a special affinity for sweeping, vacuuming and mopping.
My enthusiasm for clean floors stems from my years as a professional stage manager. Though I could have delegated the task to the assistant stage manager or a crew member, I insisted on mopping the stage before every show.
Before I mopped it, I swept the stage and then squirted the air with a spray bottle that was filled with water. Each spray would capture dust and ever-so-gently bring the particulate down to “the boards.” Only then would I begin to mop.
Image from The Carol Burnett Show listing on IMDB.
Sometimes actors would tease me. “Look, there’s Carol Burnett,” one would say every time he walked into the theater and saw me mopping. I would beam with pride.
I loved watching the show from the booth as I called the light and sound cues. To this day, I feel like my devotion to mopping the boards added a purity and glow to the entire play.
These days, I like to think my daily floor treatments add a touch of purity and glow to my home. Now If you’ll excuse me, I have some laundry to fold. 🎶 Zipadeedoodah, zippidy day, my oh my what a wonderful day! 🎶 -Connie
In order to write about what makes me feel strong, I must first write about what makes me feel weak and that’s Zoom.
Yes, Zoom is a useful tool, it’s better than nothing and we need it right now. I appreciate Zoom, but Zoom exhausts me.
The eternal Zoom closeups, the mute button, the original sound that isn’t original. The option to “touch up my appearance.”
Live theatre reveals how old and nervous I am. Zoom makes me feel like I should be ashamed of those things, but in reality, being myself in front of and among actual people emboldens me.
And sharing new work? Yes, it makes me weak in the knees, every time, but that’s also what empowers me. That’s what makes me feel strong.
I miss theatre so much.
I miss seeing whole, imperfect bodies shuffle into the theater. I miss feeling the cold come off of someone who just rushed inside.
I miss saying, “Nice to see you,” in real life, and meaning it.
I miss being in the audience, watching and listening to new work.
I miss real performances where actors push and pull their whole bodies through time and space on a stage, and the only reason I can hear them is because they know how to project.
I. Miss. Live. Music.
I miss seeing people blush. I miss the intelligence and discipline of a live audience. I miss the organic sound of people clapping their hands together.
I miss the warmth of cold readings and witnessing the heart-pounding vulnerability of having new work read.
I miss printing my scripts, even though that chore is always 100% stressful. When will I be able to do that again?
I miss that moment of being trusted with a script. I miss seeing actors with my script.
Actors reading a scene from my play “Hotbed” in 2020, a few weeks before the stay-at-home order.
I miss being in a room filled with writers, directors, actors and producers.
I miss seeing people in profile. I missing seeing the backs of people. I miss knowing there are people sitting behind me.
I miss metaphors.
I miss seeing the secret smiles exchanged between longtime friends and short-time lovers, and short-time friends and longtime lovers. I miss the trust that is placed on everyone in the room.
I miss the hierarchy, the overtalkers, the awkward chit-chat and hearing someone’s phone go off.
Lord, or whatever your name is, deliver me to the theatre, stat. I understand Zoom is a necessary tool and I promise to continue to do my best with it, but if I am to ever feel whole and strong again, I need to be physically among my people. Please, thank you and amen.
As a child, I had a recurring dream that Snuffleupagus was chasing me. Though sweet-tempered on Sesame Street, in my dreams, Snuffy was a sinister child-killer.
Sometimes when I was falling asleep, I would hear him “materializing” from within my lumpy pillow. It was one of those old, striped farmhouse pillows. In an attempt to stave off the beast, I would “knead” the lumps and, on a good night, “Dream Snuffy” would break up, disappear and let me sleep in peace.
But on bad nights, he’d emerge from my pillow and slowly – but relentlessly – stalk me in my bedroom, down the stairs, out the door and into the alley. Then I would wake up.
Though it was a recurring dream, its life span was short. Snuffy stopped coming to get me about the same time I stopped watching Sesame Street which is to say when I was about five or six years old.
That’s the dream I remember.
What I couldn’t remember as I was writing about the dream was how to spell “Snuffleupagus.”
When I wrote it the first time, I spelled it S-n u-f-f-l-e-u-f-f-u-g-u-s. It felt “wrong” so I looked it up and that’s when I learned it’s S-n-u-f-f-l-e-u-p-a-g-u-s. And that’s when I looked up “pagus.”
Pagus, according to dictionary.com, is used in the names of severely malformed, usually nonviable, conjoined twins. Here’s a list of those names and where conjoined twins may be joined:
Chest – Thoracopagus
Abdomen – Omphalopagus
Base of spine – Pygopagus
Length of spine – Rachipagus
Pelvis – Ischiopagus
Trunk – Parapagus
Head – Craniopagus
Head and chest – Cephalopagus
The original Snuffleupagus when he debuted in 1971. Photo from muppetfandom.com.
Cephalopagus twins are joined at the face and upper body. They share a head and a brain and cephalopagus sounds an awful lot like Snuffleupagus. But I’m not saying that to upset you or…get into your head.
My favorite quote is “Trust yourself” because it is so simple and empowering. The author is my college friend Bekkah Fry and she said it to me 15 years ago. Though I do not remember what we were talking about, I remember her saying, “You have to trust yourself, Connie.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I said ‘Trust yourself.'”
Rebekkah and her kids (from L-R) Lucy, Adeleine and Max in 2013.
Bekkah is a clear-headed nurse with psychology and philosophy degrees. She is an art-loving, book-reading mama-of-three who is logical, loving and loyal. She can pinpoint the source of any problem without batting an eye and does so with warmth and authority. So when this brilliant, respectable woman advised me to trust myself, I was shocked.
No one had ever said anything so radical to me before, and no one has ever since. In fact, I’ve never even heard it suggested to anyone.
Here’s what I have been told or have heard, repeatedly, over the years:
*Trust your doctor
*Trust God
*Trust science
*Trust the process
*Trust your coach
*Trust your partner
*Trust your boss
*Trust your teammates
*Trust your stylist
*Trust your mother
*Trust yourself
*Trust me
And, of course, we’ve all heard the famous quote “Trust your gut” which I find unrefined and actually a little gross. I understand it’s about trusting your intuition and while that’s important, I stand by the elegance, wholeness and responsibility of “trust yourself.”
For the record, I’m not telling you to not trust people or concepts or science. I’m suggesting that above all else, you trust your whole self more, first and last.
Connie Kuntz is participating in #bloganuary. That means she is writing a new blog post every day in January. She learned about the challenge yesterday therefore this is only Day 2 for her. Though she is three weeks behind, she is enjoying the prompts, meeting new writers and reading new stories. Follow her on Medium or Twitter @connie_kuntz.
I learned today that it is “Bloganuary.” That means bloggers across the globe are challenged to blog every day in January. There are (optional) prompts posted every day to keep us motivated and, I suppose, part of a collective conscious. Sounds like fun to me; I only wish I weren’t three weeks late to the party! That said, let’s go!
The prompt
If you could, what year would you time travel to and why?
Minneapolis circa 1978
I would travel to Southwest Minneapolis in the year 1978. That’s when my husband Jesse was five years old and conducted an imaginary orchestral concert for his parents and King, his German shepherd. He said he tied a towel around his neck so it looked like he had a cape. The cape, he said, was integral to his performance.
He then stood, caped, in front of his parents and King and proceeded to emphatically mime conducting. Mind you, he did not play any music. He just “conducted.”
It’s a fond memory for Jesse because he remembers his parents watching him and smiling. Even King, he said, seemed amused.
Jesse and King.
I would like to time-travel to this moment for a variety of reasons:
(1) I want to see Jesse as a child,
(2) I want to see his parents united and young and happily supporting their child,
(3) I want to see the dog,
(4) I want to see Jesse’s five-year-old mime skills.
There is much to appreciate in Jesse’s memory, but the story has also saddened me ever since he shared it with me some 20 years ago. In the spirit of today’s “time-travel” prompt, I’m going to fast forward to…
The house fire
Jesse’s dad was an undercover narcotics officer and some disgruntled drug dealers found out where he lived and firebombed their house. Jesse was asleep when the fire started and King “nosed” him out of bed and alerted him and his parents to the smoke and fire. Jesse credits the dog with saving their lives.
The house was destroyed and the property was deemed a crime scene. The authorities locked King in the garage for several days while the family scrambled to relocate. When Jesse’s dad went back to get him, the dog snarled and barked at him. He then reported to Jesse and his mother that King had “gone crazy” from the stress of the fire and being alone. Jesse’s mom said it was too risky to bring King home. “We don’t want to risk him hurting you,” she told Jesse. “We’re doing this to protect you.” His parents had the dog euthanized and Jesse felt like it was his fault.
Things went from bad to worse and Jesse’s parents divorced. After the divorce came multiple marriages. His dad went on to marry four more times. His mother married two more times. Let’s do…
The math
That’s a total of four step-moms, two step-dads, one biological mother and one biological father.
For more perspective, the only child was raised among the hustle-and-bustle of six weddings and the storm-and-stress of six divorces.
What was his support system during that time? Who was looking out for him? How many marital fights – verbal and physical – did he witness? How did, say, Stepdad #1 treat Jesse? Hint: not respectfully.
Yet, during that time, outsiders characterized Jesse as spoiled. He was an “A” student, decent athlete and budding thespian. He had many toys, action figures and new clothes. He had friends, liked all kinds of music and respected different cultures. But Jesse will tell you he wasn’t interested in enrichment. His primary interest was…
Survival
He wanted to be anywhere other than home because that is where Stepdad #1 abused him.
Al started off “jokingly” hitting Jesse on the back of his head. “You better watch where you’re going,” he’d warn. Jesse learned quickly to watch his back, but Al found other ways to physically and mentally menace the child. If Jesse complained to his mother about Al, she would say, “I married him to get you away from the bad influence of your father.”
One Sunday, Jesse had just gotten back from spending a week with the “bad influence.” His dad had given him his huge Army duffel bag for all the back-and-forth trips. They missed each other and Jesse treasured the duffel bag. He crawled inside it and zipped it up because it was comforting to be cocooned in his father’s duffel bag. Al, again “jokingly,” picked Jesse up in the duffel bag and began swinging him around until he “accidentally” smashed the bag, with Jesse in it, against the wall. When Jesse complained, Al called him…
Spoiled
“Spoiled” is what happens when you ignore something.
“Spoiled” is what happens when you ignore something. As I look up from my laptop, I see the spoiled bananas on my banana holder. My bananas didn’t spoil because I gave them love and attention. They spoiled because I ignored them, as I do most of our…
Childhood traumas
There will never be enough time to unpack all of our traumatic memories and I truly don’t plan to do it here. But today, when I was prompted to write about where I would time-travel to, I chose to visit my husband’s childhood memory; when he stood in front of his parents and dog, and danced to music only he could hear.
*Connie Kuntz prefers playwriting to blogging, but thought she’d give #bloganuary a try. This is a true story. She and Jesse have been married for 17 years and he said it was OK if she wrote about his childhood.
Dirty, disgusting and smelly. Feel free to judge me; I deserve it.
I woke up around 1:30 in the morning with the scent of a strange man all over my body. I have no idea what this man’s name is. All I know is what he smells like. Even after showering, I can still smell him all over me.
It is my fault, my sin. I still haven’t told my husband about this but I know he’ll understand. He knows how impatient and impulsive I can be.
Last night, I was shopping with my oldest daughter. She needed new jeans and my husband wanted a new pair of warm pajamas. While Jocelyn shopped in the teen section, I ventured to the men’s section and quickly found a pair on the clearance rack for $19.99. They were Jesse’s size and I knew he’d look good in them so I bought them.
When I got home, I took my nighttime shower. I toweled off, moisturized and dried my hair. Instead of crawling into my own jammies, which are actually my husband’s sweatpants and college sweatshirt, I decided to wear the jammies I just bought him. I couldn’t resist. They looked so warm and inviting. Jesse is still in Las Vegas for work so he wouldn’t need them for another week. I told myself he’d appreciate it if I broke them in for him.
I got into bed; sleepy, comfortable and content. I said “good night” to my kids, and talked to my husband on the phone before falling asleep. That’s our custom when one of us is out of town. I didn’t tell him about the new pajamas. He went to bed thinking I was sleeping in what I always sleep in, the old orange and greys sweats.
I’ve been wearing Jesse’s sweatshirt and sweatpants to bed every winter for 17 years. Time for a change?
I startled awake at 1:30 a.m. It wasn’t a loud noise that woke me up; it was a strange smell. I immediately realized I was wearing dirty pajamas. Those nightclothes I bought on clearance had obviously been worn by a heavily-cologned man before being returned. My God, they reeked and so did I.
Still do. I can’t get this strange man’s smell off of me.
I should have known better. I worked in retail for six years. I know full well that people frequently return merchandise after they wear it. And I know you’re supposed to wash the clothes once you get home. I know about cooties, COVID and chemicals. But last night, I was selfish.
And cold, lazy and tired. I saw my husband’s pajamas and ignored all the warning signs. Let my mistake be a lesson to you all: Wash your clothes after you buy them, before you wear them!
I’ll tell Jesse about it tonight when we have our ritual “good night talk.” But now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish laundering my sheets, blankets and new jammies. Thank you for reading! -Connie
I know. You’re sick of the charcuterie. You think they’re pretentious. Boring and repetitious. Unpleasant and unappetizing. Gross and unsanitary because, eww, fingers!
Agree to disagree?
I used to dread cooking for my family. When they were little, it was fun. But as the kids got older (they are 11, 13, 15 and 16), it became harder to serve a meal everyone liked. Besides that, I noticed that there was something stultifying about family meals.
We didn’t really “come together” at the table. The fact that Jesse and I sat at the “heads” meant that the kids were automatically stuck in a place of subservience and expectation. I can’t think of a single meaningful conversation that has ever taken place at the table. It was glorified chit chat and who needs that?
Enter the charcuterie board!
It’s 2022, but I first learned about the charcuterie last summer when I read Julia Child’s book, People Who Love to Eat Are Always the Best People. I was instantly obsessed. I bought a couple boards for less than $20 and when I got home, I immediately started experimenting with the ingredients I had on hand.
My first charcuterie. Gone in five minutes.
By their definition, charcuterie boards are supposed to display a variety of meats but I am a “work with what you got” gal, plus my 16-year-old daughter is a vegetarian. The rest of my family eats meat, but also appreciates the nutritious vegetarian charcuterie, like this Halloween-themed board.
A sugary charcuterie for Halloween.
Sugary charcuteries don’t disappear as fast as boards filled with fruits and veggies. If you have leftover candy and cookies, “take it outside” to a nearby forest preserve. A picnic table easily transforms into a charcuterie board and your hikers will appreciate lots of options (healthy or otherwise) available at the trailhead.
Picnic table set up as a charcuterie for hikers. By the end of the day, the leftover candy and cookies (and everything else) were gone.
When you need a break from sugar, throw together a fresh option like this.
Back inside, spinach and artichoke dips go a long way with the charcuterie. And don’t be afraid to add leftovers. Replenish boards with veggies and crackers and you won’t have to cook that night.
On chillier days when you need comfort and warmth, add cornbread, Brussels sprouts and quesadillas to your boards. You won’t be disappointed.
Tired of raw veggies? Comfort food like cornbread, quesadillas and Brussels sprouts will satisfy your eaters.Happy Thanksgiving!
The charcuterie comes in handy for holidays, birthdays and breakfasts.
A birthday charcuterie for my newly-minted 15-year-old son.A breakfast charcuterie of omelettes, toast and fruit.Late night charcuterie for my daughter who didn’t get home until 9:30 p.m.
The charcuterie isn’t limited to humans. Try creating your own “backyard board” for the birds, opossums and squirrels that visit your yard, porch or balcony. Here’s our Nutcracker-themed spread. I made their “nutcracker” out of stale ice cream cones smeared with peanut butter and bird seed.
A Nutcracker-inspired charcuterie “for the birds.”
A charcuterie board is a clean slate. Every day, it gives you the freedom to be creative, resourceful and fun. They are inexpensive, take less than 15 minutes to prepare and clean-up is easy because most of the food is “clean.”
“Moo Tubes” and little wrapped candies add an element of fun to the boards.Hummus and pita chips are a charcuterie staple.
Sometimes you won’t have beautiful, colorful ingredients to fill your charcuterie board. Don’t worry! Your spread will be eaten even if it doesn’t reflect every color of the rainbow.
Whether you load your board with meats-and-cheeses, or veggies-and-fruits or a combination of whatever you have on hand, your innovative spreads will bring sustenance and joy to your eaters.
Don’t forget the vegans in your life!
The charcuterie has improved my entire culinary outlook. Though I will continue to cook some traditional meals, I am (unofficially) declaring 2022: “The Year of the Charcuterie!”
Thank you for reading. I showed you mine; now you show me yours! -Connie
Books we handed out at the Winter Solstice Poetry Caroling event in December.
There’s an old Latin phrase that serves as a mantra for artists who wish to keep it fresh. It’s “ridi, writi, looki.” It means “I read, I wrote, I saw.” Every year, I compile a list of the books I read, the shows I saw in person and the plays I wrote. Here they are.
BOOKS
susan, linda, nina & cokie by Lisa Napoli
Ida B. the Queen by Michelle Duster
Nothing Personal by James Baldwin
Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haig
The Midnight Library by Matt Haig
Smile, The Story of a Face by Sarah Ruhl
Mingling with the Enemy by Jeanne Martinet
Eurydice by Sarah Ruhl
Good Neighbors by Sarah Langan
Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates
The Black Panther Party: A Graphic Novel History by David F. Walker and Marcus Kwame Anderson (Illustrations)
Beautiful Things: A Memoir by Hunter Biden
I Hate Running and You Can Too: How to Get Started, Keep Going, and Make Sense of an Irrational Passion by Brendan Leonard
People Who Love to Eat Are Always the Best People: And Other Wisdom by Julia Child
Dearly by Margaret Atwood
Habitat Threshold by Craig Santos Perez
Owed by Joshua Bennett
Let Me Tell You What I Mean by Joan Didion
Selected Poems by Arthur Gregor
The Shining Moments: The words and moods of John F. Kennedy by JFK, edited by Gerald C. Gardner with an introduction by Adlai E. Stevenson
Halfway Home: Race, Punishment, and the Afterlife of Mass Incarceration by Reuben Jonathan Miller
The Book of Delights by Ross Gay
Building a Movement to End the New Jim Crow: an organizing guide by Daniel Hunter
A Libertarian Walks into a Bear: The Utopian Plot to Liberate an American Town by Matthew Hongoltz-Hetling
The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander
Appalachian Elegy: Poetry and Place by bell hooks
Just Under Clouds by Melissa Sarno
The Perfect Nine: The Epic of Gikuyu and Mumbi by Ngugu Wa Thiong’o
R.U.R. by Karel Capek
Song for a Whale by Lynne Kelly
Letterman, The Last Giant of Late Night by Jason Zinoman
Appalachian Reckoning: A Region Responds to Hillbilly Elegy – Edited by Anthony Harkins and Meredith McCarroll
Blubber by Judy Bloom
The Elephant in the Room: One Fat Man’s Quest to Get Smaller in a Growing America by Tommy Tomlinson
SHOWS
It was a relief and joy to see live theatre and dance. Even ordering tickets is fun! I will never take seeing live productions for granted again. That’s not just a new year’s resolution–that’s a lifetime promise. Looking forward to seeing more theatre in 2022 and here’s what I saw in 2021:
These Shining Lives by Melanie Marnich at Winnishiek Playhouse in Freeport, IL. Years ago I read Radium Girls by Kate Moore. Though written after Marnich wrote the play, I read the novel first and it inspired me to see the play.
Macbeth by William Shakespeare at Rock Valley College Starlight Theatre in Rockford, IL. This was a sprawling outdoor, nighttime production. Side note: The first time I saw Macbeth was in 1999 at Jungle Theatre in Minneapolis, inside.
Eurydice by Sarah Ruhl at West Side Show Room in Rockford, IL. After I saw the play, I read Ruhl’s script and her memoir “Smile” about her experience with Bell’s Palsy.
My daughters just before going in to see Eurydice, their first in-person play since February 2020.
Laughterreise by Fourth Coast Ensemble at The Annoyance Theatre in Chicago This performance included classical music, opera, poetry and sketch comedy.
Expanding Universe at Ruth Page Center for the Arts in Chicago (50-year Anniversary Celebration / dance in October).
Jeeves Saves the Day – Margaret Raether’s adaptation from P. G. Wodehouse’s “Jeeves” story / stories at Artists’ Ensemble in Rockford.
Spring dance recital at Ruth Page. Jocelyn is the dancer on your right.
I also saw my kids’ spring, summer and intensive dance recitals, also in person at Ruth Page, but can’t remember the names of those shows, sorry.
PLAYS
I have been writing plays for more than 20 years. My first play was the 10-minute mother-daughter drama, The Mason Jar. It received a staging at Stages Theatre Company in Minneapolis, a staged reading at Chicago Dramatists and was a finalist at the Turnip 15-Minute Play Festival in New York City. I have lost count of how many plays I have written since then but I know I will never forget my first. Here’s what I wrote in 2021:
The Dumbwaiter is a 10-minute absurd comedy about hospice and ageism and it was read at Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago in February.
What Comes Next is a 10-minute drama about homelessness and it received a staged reading at Chicago Dramatists’ 48-Hour St. Patrick’s Day Play Festival in March.
I finished another draft of the one-hour play Feverland. It’s about Al Capone as seen through the female gaze. It’s written for an all-woman (non-binary) cast, including Al, and challenges our society’s obsession with gangster life. It received a staged reading with the First Draft program at Chicago Dramatists in March. I am still working on it and I hope to workshop it in person in 2022.
I conceived and directed the Quarantanniversary at Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago, also in March. I wrote interstitial dialogue as well as the character “Rhonda Ross.” For this event, 40 artists showed up as their twin and stayed in character for the entire night. This means that the writers wrote as their twins, actors acted as their twins, the musician performed as her twin and the hosts led the meeting as their twins. It was a vibrant and cerebral evening of thoroughly unique theatre.
I wrote and tested six episodes of Chicago-based mock show The Stormy, Husky, Brawling Show at Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago, April through May.
I wrote and produced five more episodes of The Stormy, Husky, Brawling Show in June and July. Episodes aired on Facebook and YouTube. My intention with this project was to create a show that bridged pandemic online theatre to in-person theatre. We filmed some of it on Zoom, the outdoor scenes in person, and the studio scenes with a skeleton crew of fully vaccinated, socially-distanced actors. We stayed safe, created new art and moved toward the new frontier of theatre. You can read more about it here.
I wrote the 10-minute ghost drama Dora’s Bait Shop in October. It was read at Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago as part of the Halloween show.
Dora’s Bait Shop is a 10-minute play for three actors. It’s about a hunting accident.
I wrote the 10-minute filicide drama Natural Life in November. It was read at Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago.
I wrote the 10-minute holiday drama The Lunker of the Lake in December. It was read at Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago.
I also wrote this blog and organized two outdoor artistic events that were free and open to the public. In October, I conceived and directed the Silent Hiking & Writing Retreat where writers met, hiked in silence, wrote and shared their work with the group. And in December, I conceived and directed Winter Solstice Poetry Caroling. Instead of Christmas Caroling, we caroled our friends, neighbors and family with winter-themed poems. Both “pandemic proof” events were artistic, intelligent and fun. I plan to continue these events into 2022 and beyond.
I owe a debt of gratitude to Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago for giving me the space to test and share my new work. This is also where serve as music and comedy director. If you’re a writer or actor or musician or comedian, and you’re curious but skeptical about checking it out, let me tell you something: This isn’t your ordinary theatre clique! It’s inclusive, safe and fun. It’s a mecca for writers, actors, directors and musicians. It is brilliantly led by creative directors Joshua Fardon and Patricia Mario. Check us out! Or if you live in New York (the original!), Los Angeles or Miami, check out those branches of Naked Angels because they are excellent, too.
Thank you for reading! Happy New Year! -Connie
P.S. “Ridi, writi, looki” is not really a Latin phrase. I made it up.
Constance Kuntz 