I like figuring out what happens when I push all the buttons.
WordPress has all sorts of buttons I can insert into my blog but not a lot of instruction so I learn by trial and error.
(1) I started inserting the “Subscribe” button. If you enter your email, then my blog post goes directly to your inbox.
(2) A few days ago, I inserted a poll into my post Poll-lease come up with a fresh prompt. I instantly became addicted with the poll results. What can I say? I like engagement! Here’s another one.
(3) Event Countdowns make me not want to participate. They also remind me that my brain naturally remembers stupid dates.
1707112800
days
hours minutes seconds
until
My Ex-Boyfriend’s Son’s Birthday!
Mind you, this was not a serious boyfriend. It was a fling that lasted a few weeks in the 90s. A blip. A flash in the pan. But every year on the fifth of February, I remember my ex-boyfriend’s son’s birthday. Why?
(4) Here’s a “rate button.” (Located below picture of Barbara.) Please give the expression on my dog’s face a five-star rating.
Barbara
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.
Edited: The rating button does not work. Here’s a “thumbs” option instead. Click the thumb that best expresses your opinion of the expression on Barbara’s face:
(5) This is a “carousel,” apparently. Click an arrow and it will take you round and round my most recent blog posts. Is this merry-go-round fun or does it make you wanna barf?
(6) Often, playbills will include a timeline of plays that are historical or implement time travel or a combination of the two. I used to love studying these timelines.
THINGS CONNIE REMEMBERS BECAUSE OF TIMELINES IN PLAYBILLS
1937 – Tom Stoppard is born in Czechoslovakia.
2024 – Realizes the only reason she remembers that detail is because she co-wrote the playbill timeline for Arcadia by Tom Stoppard when she was the “assistant to the dramaturg.” Damn. Assistant to the dramaturg? Realizes that’s kind of pathetic. However, the assistant to the dramaturg loved the play so much she was willing to do anything for it.
2019 – Immediately resented having to scan QR codes instead of playbills when going to see live theatre. Wondered, “Am I a Karen?”
2024 – Decided inserting timelines into playbills is a silly but necessary part of producing and marketing certain genres and sub-genres of theatre.
2024 – Still prefers playbills to QR codes but will accept QR codes as a supplement. Does not see herself as anti-environment or a Karen.
2024 – Still considers Tom Stoppard her favorite playwright. Still loves Arcadia.
(7) You can also insert verse or a pull-quote.
From the song “Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa
Yo, yo, yo, yo, baby-pop Yeah, you! Come here, gimme a kiss Better make it fast or else I’m gonna get pissed Can’t you hear the music pumping hard? Like I wish you would Now push it
(8) This is a “featured image.” That means WordPress cannot use one of their photos for your blog. This image of my dog napping while a squirrel scurries by, even though it has nothing to do with today’s blog post, will show up on the WordPress reader and everywhere else. The difference between a “featured image” and a regular image is I cannot insert a caption with the featured image.
(9) I am also experimenting with the “category” button. Today’s the first day I assigned this the “bloganuary” category. I wonder what will happen!
There are dozens of other “buttons” but I am out of leisure time. Thanks for reading and letting me experiment with the buttons! Now it’s time for me to publish and see if any of them work! -Connie
You know those brown signs with white lettering that indicate a nearby attraction? I find them irresistible. Jesse and our kids seem to appreciate them, too. In the 19 years of being a parent, I can’t think of a single time anyone in my family has turned down the “opportunity” to follow a brown sign. I can confidently say we have checked out every scenic overlook, city park, museum, historic building, historic district, statue, sculpture, monument, memorial, bridge, what-have-you in the Rockford region.
Except one.
There is a brown sign indicating a train museum about 40 minutes from home in a town called Marengo. Jesse was the first to hear about this museum that’s a “repository of railroad history.”
“We should go,” he said in 2008, when we only had two kids.
“We should go,” he said in 2009, when we had three kids.
“We should go,” he said in 2010, when we had four kids.
“We should go,” he said in 2011. “It’s family friendly!”
We wanted to go, but the museum has limited hours. Every time we tried to plan a trip, the museum was closed.
“That’s too bad,” Jesse would say.
I didn’t think too much of it because I had only heard of the train museum through my husband. I had never seen a single ad — in print or online — about it. I had never seen a brown sign.
***
In 2014, the Des Plaines Oasis (a rest stop) permanently closed. This was bad news for the Kuntz family. We stopped there every time we went to Chicago. It was the last chance for us to use public restrooms without having to pay a toll or buy something. When the kids were little, this rest stop was essential to a successful trip.
When the Des Plaines Oasis was demolished, we were forced to use the truck stop in Marengo on our way to and fro Chicago. They have cheap gas, clean restrooms and you don’t have to pay a toll to exit or enter 90 but it’s somehow located too close and too far from home and our destinations. It wasn’t convenient but it is what we used. When we started going to this “pit stop,” I noticed the brown sign pointing the way to the train museum.
“Is that the train museum you’re always talking about?”
“Yes.”
***
I’ve lost count of how many times we stopped in Marengo to use the bathrooms. At least 100. And we’ve never once followed the brown sign. At some point, going to the train museum just seemed like work. And Marengo, I’m sure it’s a lovely town, but to us it’s where the toilets live. We don’t even call it Marengo. We call it “The Toilets.”
“Where are you right now?” I used to call Jesse when I knew he was on his way home from Chicago.
“Just passed The Toilets,” he’d answer. (Sometimes he called it “The Terlecks.”)
The Toilets = 40 minutes.
***
Now that the kids are older, we rarely stop at The Toilets in either direction but last week when I was driving Jesse to O’Hare, he said he needed to stop. As I drove toward the gas station, I saw the brown sign for the train museum.
“I can’t believe we never made it there,” I said.
“Maybe when we have grandkids,” he said.
***
Thanks for reading. Does your city have brown signs, too? -Connie
Witch-adjacent woman waits for Aldi to open during an ice storm. What fun!
Hike. I love hiking in northern Illinois. It doesn’t matter if I’m alone, with the Rockford Fringe, or with my family — it’s always marvelous. But I love hiking out of town (or state) even more. I frequently daydream about where I get to hike next.
Blog. It’s good writing practice and always takes me on new paths of truth. Blogging is like hiking for the mind.
Mushrooms. Foraging for choice mushrooms brings gladness to my heart every single time. I also love cooking ’em up!
Witchcraft. I started reading about witchcraft several years ago when a friend of mine asked me rather seriously, “Are you a witch?” I was like, “Uhhh, no….” He patiently pointed out that I love nature and the outdoors and gave off a certain vibe and should look into it. I don’t usually like being mansplained, but I trusted him enough to read up on the subject and very quickly understood what he was implying. Witchcraft isn’t as scary as it sounds and it’s really just a new way of paying attention to the environment and each other.
If you’re curious about“witching,” here’s something simple you can do: Pay attention to whatever wild animals you see this week. Notice which one you see the most. That animal is trying to tell you something. Google their spiritual meaning and see if you can make sense of the message. Example: If you see several hawks this week, that can mean you are angry about something and need to work through it.
Fasting. In the spring, I fast for 19 days in solidarity with my Baha’i and Baha’i-adjacent friends. I rarely see these friends anymore so this practice helps keep me in touch with them, at least spiritually. It is fun to think of them and pray for them.
Read Romance Novels. Here’s a link to some NPR-recommended romance novels. NPR also introduced me to Emily Henry and Abby Jimenez. I’ll admit I’m a little embarrassed whenever anyone catches me reading a romance novel but the truth is these books can be a lot of fun.
Aldi. I used to detest grocery shopping but a few years ago, I decided to give Aldi a try. My whole world brightened when I discovered this small, approachable store with self-checkout. Now I look forward to shopping. I only wish I thought cooking was fun.
Math. I wrote most of today’s blog when I was in the parking lot at Aldi, waiting for it to open. I don’t usually write on my phone, but I thought I’d give it a try. As such, I wasn’t paying technical attention to what I was writing, lost count and went over the “five item maximum.” I hope you don’t call the #bloganuary police on me!
Thanks for reading. I hope you had fun! -Connie
My first spore print! Another fun thing you can do for free. Place your mushroom “gills down” on a piece of paper and let it sit overnight. In the morning, the spores will have fallen onto the paper and you will be able to properly ID your mushroom AND you’ll have a lovely piece of art!
When I pop the kettle on, I make hot cocoa, not tea.
I fell asleep watching Call the Midwife last night. For those unfamiliar, the series follows the lives of several midwives and their community in London’s East End in the 1960s.
As I was drifting off, I heard a character call another character “pet.” I was half-asleep so I don’t remember who was calling who “pet.” All I remember is it was an adult calling another adult “pet.” It sounded something like this:
“Pop the kettle on, pet.”
“Okay, love.”
I’ve noticed the midwives issue a lot of nicknames. They do not discriminate. The call babies everything from “young sir” to “old bean.” They call old women everything from “sweetie” to “old thing.” They call women who’ve just given birth “brave girl” or “good girl” or “lass” or “precious.”
If I were to witness any of these “nickname moments” in real life, I’d be equal parts suspicious and pissed. But there’s something super special about the way the midwives do it — I listen for the nicknames and love every single one, including “pet.”
***
Why do you watch the telly when you’re trying to sleep, pet? Help me understand.
When my husband is out of town, I tend to sleep with the TV on. I like to watch / listen to dramatic television series that I think are perfectly written. Call the Midwife is one example. Mad Men is another. The Queen’s Gambit is also excellent. I was born in the 60s and am naturally drawn to the decade. Also, I cling to an absurd hope that listening to good television writing while I sleep will help me write better.
***
Why do you write this blog, pet? Help me understand.
I cling to an absurd hope that blogging will help me write better.
***
How do you feel about being called pet, pet? Help me understand.
In my imagination, I like it. In real life, I don’t. So I let the voice inside my head call me pet, but no probably one else.
***
Not a lot of time to write today. Thank you for reading. Do you like nicknames? -Connie
Pro Tip: Be sure to thank the “fucking dick and asshole” in your life.
I finished reading the book Slow AF Run Club by Martinus Evans this morning. I enjoyed it and recommend it to anyone who is interested in trying something new. Doesn’t have to be running ~ but I think it should be something intense. But this isn’t a book review. I’m writing because of Evans’ Acknowledgement section.
One of my favorite things to do when I complete any book is read the Acknowledgements. I look to see whose names I recognize. I pay attention to who gets their last name published versus those who are referred to by their first names or nicknames. I compare and contrast the acknowledgements of independent authors versus best selling authors versus famous authors.
It’s fascinating. Some are grateful to dozens of people and specific publishing teams and fill up three pages. Others write a single sentence of gratitude. Most say a cheeky version of “I can’t remember everyone but you know who you are!” Many thank a spouse, their kids or significant other. Ghostwriters and early manuscript readers are usually (intentionally) buried in the acknowledgements, a practice that always amuses me. God frequently gets a shout out, but not as much as editors and agents.
But in the hundreds (if not thousands) of acknowledgements I’ve read over the years, until this morning, I have never seen anyone thank a “fucking dick.”
Evans wrote, “I also want to shout out to the doctor who had the audacity to call me fat, laughed at me, and told me that I was going to die. I still think that you’re a fucking dick and asshole for saying what you said to me…”
Why haven’t I thought about acknowledging the fucking dicks in my life? I know several and I have been pissed at them for years. Decades even. Why haven’t I simply thanked them and used the energy from the doomed relationship to do something good for myself? For my family? For freakin’ society?
It’s not too late…
***
I just spent a few minutes writing my own “acknowledgements.” It didn’t take as long as I thought it would. It also didn’t rile me up. I expected the process to upset me, but I actually found the act of acknowledging simultaneously invigorating and peaceful. I “thanked” more than ten enemies. Similar to Martinus Evans, a few were doctors and nurses and I couldn’t remember their names either.
I’ve read numerous books and articles about forgiveness but the concept has been hard for me to grasp. Until now. Thank the fucker, forget their name, then go do something good. Bada bing, bada boom.
Thanks for reading. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go for a slow AF (and barefoot) run! -Connie
The view from our site. I can see my enemies coming!
Greetings from Rock Island State Park in northern Wisconsin. Jesse and I are camping at the place that alternates between being “our favorite place on Earth” and “Hell.” It all depends on whether or not we get stuck with loud neighbors. So far, so good in that department. Phew. All we can hear right now is the wind.
We got here a few hours ago, set up our site, ate some chips and hopped in the tent. It’s not even 8:30 p.m. and we’re tucked in for the night. No campfire this evening because it’s too windy.
We’re on a cliff that overlooks Lake Michigan. Stunning views. I recently read a book (Siri, Who Am I? by Sam Tschida)where one of the characters said he liked views that overlook large bodies of water because “you can see your enemies coming.”
I agree.
To be clear, the wind is not my enemy. The wind is my therapist, knocking all kinds of good sense into me.
Lake Michigan, thanks to the wind, has been tossing up huge waves with whitecaps for most of the day. The current is so strong that the weather authorities issued a “beach hazard.” That means no one was or is allowed in or on the waters. Well, maybe they’re “allowed” but it’s certainly not advised. The current could easily pull a swimmer under and the waves would cause certain shipwreck. We saw it happen here last summer. Somebody stayed out on the water past the warning and, in the morning, the boat was on its side, totally demolished on the rocks. It looked awful.
The wind is racing around us at 30 mph. Between the wind, tent and the lake, it’s noisy. There is a lot of…flapping.
I just checked. According to the “decibel meter” app on my iPhone, the loudness levels from the flapping are commensurate with a running vacuum cleaner or food blender. Hey, who doesn’t want to be surrounded by that when they’re camping on a remote island?
At least it’s still light outside. That means I’m not scared but I probably will be once darkness sets in. Camping makes me feel safe and alive…until it doesn’t. But dealing with my fears is part of what I like about camping.
We don’t camp very often. Once or twice a summer and it’s always hit or miss depending on our camping “neighbors.” Most of the time we have quiet neighbors but we’ve been stuck next to some obnoxious partiers a couple times. Now when we camp, when I see my enemies coming with their multiple tents, coolers filled with beer, lighter fluid and loud music, we immediately pack up and leave. I’m sure there are others who would put up a fight, but not us.
Sometimes I’m not sure why we risk our precious free time on camping.
The view from our tent.
Well, I know why I risk it. I love reading and writing while I camp. There’s something about it that makes me feel silly, serious and free all at once. And I love camping coffee. We got a new coffee pot for this trip and we can’t wait to break it in tomorrow morning. Oh, and I love the feeling of being outside for several days in a row. It unspools all my tension. Even though it’s loud, all this tent-flapping seems to be batting the stress out of me. Amazing. Next time you see me I’m gonna be hella peaceful.
The darkness has set in. It’s close to 10:00 p.m. I’m going to have to zip up the tent. The rain will be here soon and I’ll probably start “hearing footsteps” outside our tent. I always do. I always imagine there’s a creep with a hunchback running around our campsite, sniffing things he shouldn’t be sniffing. Generally speaking, I have a pretty good imagination, but it really comes alive at night when I’m camping.
Thanks for reading. Writing this has made me sleepy. Hopefully it has a relaxing effect on you, too. -Connie
P.S. If you’d like to subscribe to my (free) blog, please enter your email below. Also: This blog links to my Facebook page but I don’t have social media on my phone and cannot see or respond to any Facebook comments. You can “like” or comment below on WordPress and I will see that. But there is no pressure to do any of that. I am simply grateful for readers! ❤
Some people can think things through. Others like to talk things out.
I like thinking and talking, but if I’m to make any personal progress as a human being, I need to write. It’s my physical way of processing data, assessing facts and understanding situations. Writing is where I am most careful, most cautious and most concerned. Writing is how I understand a little bit more about myself and others.
Several years ago, I read Anne Lamott’s book Bird By Bird. Her brother had to do a bird project for his science class and procrastinated until the day before the project was due. Their dad said he’d help and they’d just go at the task “bird by bird.”
Some nerd impersonating Anne Lamott.
Since I read that book, I’ve gone “bird by bird” whenever I feel overwhelmed or even underwhelmed. It helps me break things down and build things up.
Similarly, when I struggle to understand a person, a personal situation, I like to write about it “word by word.”
This morning when I was walking Willow, I spied my first fresh mushroom of the season! I was so excited…until I took a closer look and realized it was a wine cork. In my defense, it was raining and my glasses were a little wet. I was disappointed, but not terribly so. It can’t stay cold forever. The earth is warming up and the mushrooms will be here soon!
***
When Angelo got home from school, he mentioned something about his “digital journal.” He keeps a daily diary for school. I did not know this! I asked if I could read it. He said I could. He started it in September and the last entry is today. It was riveting!
He had an entry in there about being backed into a corner by some bullies during science class. He wrote about how much he loves chess, cross country and track. He wrote about how much he likes skating “even though I’m bad at it.” He wrote about his goals. He had entries in there about reading at night, running with Fern on the weekends and making movies with Sam. He wrote about how much Jesse travels for work, how much he likes Roblox, The One and Only Ivan and The Grinch. He described our front yard as “bland” and how he wasn’t quiet during a “silent hike.” He wrote about how much he adores his oldest sister. The whole thing: freakin’ gold!
Angelo at a track meet. Photo by Fern.
But back to my morning mushroom mishap. I noticed that he wrote about me in November.
“My mom is obsessed with mushrooms,” he wrote. “It’s strange.”
Oh. Well, note to self.
Angelo gave me permission to write about this and has approved this blog. Before I sign off, I want to say one more thing. It’s a freakin’ gift to be able to read your kid’s journal. Feeling very grateful.
Thanks for reading my Angelo-approved blog. -Connie
It was a beautiful day in Rockford. I know this because I looked out the window once or twice. For the most part, however, my eyes were glued to my manuscript and my buttocks were firmly planted in my seat; the same seat I am sitting in right now.
Connie: Buttocks, don’t be rude. Say hello!
Buttocks: Hellooooo!
Connie: Thank you, Buttocks. Dismissed.
Buttocks are confused and stay put. Connie changes subject.
I hope you like the picture. I took it yesterday at Rock Cut State Park. I’m using it for today’s blog entry because it’s a visual metaphor of my writing. Other than it being a dead tree, I don’t really know what I’m looking at, but I do like its shape and textures.
Writing all day isn’t a new sensation, but there is a special shame that accompanies me when a deadline is involved. That’s because other things get ignored in the process. Things like my chores and hydrating. My children. But the good news is I checked Facebook 14,097 times so at least I’m caught up there.
In case you are wondering what I’m writing: I am sharing scenes 3 and 4 of my full length drama Nothing Could Be Finer Than To Be In Southwest China at Tuesdays@9. I’m introducing a new character, Shan, with these scenes.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the peek into my process (and negligence). I suppose a haiku would have been a more economic approach.
guilt is worse than pain
when you spend the day writing
buttocks stuck to seat
That’s the long and short of it. Thank you for reading my blog. Inside or out, I hope you had a decent weekend. -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 