“Born ready,” I answer.
When we arrive at Regent’s Park, it’s typical opening day chaos. Our low-to-the-ground stage is constructed in the center of the grass, and lighting is still being installed on trusses above and off to the sides. Seats line the grass, but not too many, as they want plenty of room for people to stop and stand, even if just for a while, if not for the entire performance.
Juliette walks off to talk to the stage manager, and I’m heading for the costume area to join Christine and Roshni, who are organizing in the makeshift dressing tent, when Ellie pops up in front of me.
“Good morning, Winnie. Might I have a word?”
“Ellie!” I say, pleasantly surprised. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Feeling wonderful. Always love the day a show opens. Why? Do I look abominable?”
I look her over, and she seems much the same as she does every day, except she now has some bags under her eyes, but with her glasses and perpetual cheerfulness, it’s hard to notice.
“You look great. Confident and fully prepared.”
That elicits a short laugh from our director. “Confident, yes. Fully prepared, never. No one’s ever fully prepared for these things. All you can do is jump out of the plane and pray that the chute opens.”
“That is a highly accurate metaphor.”
“Thank you. Anyways, I wanted to talk to you because I read your play last night.Death of a Prom King. Love the title.”
Nervous knots instantly take root in my entire body. “You did? But I only emailed it to you a few days ago.”
“I know, but I couldn’t sleep last night, and I needed a distraction. If I wasn’t going to scamper off to dreamland, I figured the next best place for me to be was at an American prom. So, here are my thoughts—I feel like you’re forcing things a bit.”
Her blunt feedback is jarring, and all I can do is nod with wide eyes.
“It felt, at times, like you were steering the ship with a heavy hand, and I just wanted you to relinquish control so the winds could take us where they would. You need to let your characters speak for themselves. You cannot do it for them. And sometimes you won’t agree with the choices they make, but it’s my belief that it’s in those moments that the most interesting concepts come into play.”
Her words sink in as best they can, given her somewhat manic pace.
“I also felt like, while your characters were very multidimensional, they were also kept at a distance. Theater isn’t dropping bombs from some safe, secure war room—it’s brutal, in-your-face combat. Playwrights, and all theater professionals by extension, are dying breeds. If we don’t seize our audiences and shake them awake by making them feel something, they’re going to let us go extinct, no matter how long or how hard we keep up the fight.”
Everything she’s saying is spot-on, but as much as I want to do exactly what she’s advising, I also don’t know how.
“It’s just, when I think like that...when I try to make myself move the audience, it always ends up feeling intentional, and I know it’s meant to be effortless.”
“I get that,” Ellie says. “And so, my advice for you with this play is to just sit inside your character’s heads for a while. Breathe as they breathe, think as they think, and genuinely crave their deepest desires. Tunnel down into their secrets until you hit their core. You need to fully understand where each of them is in their lives and where they want to end up, and if you do that, everything will be revealed to you and the audience just when it should.”
I continue to nod, so thankful for the feedback, as I try to burn her words into my memory. All I can do now is hope that they sink in, which, judging from my erratic heartbeat and dry mouth, is hopefully happening at this very moment.
“But listen to me,” Ellie says, stepping closer with an intense, serious expression. “I do not want you to be discouraged. I’m being candid with you because what you have here is a play that is good just as it is, but it has the potential to be great. Now you must hunt that greatness down with a rabid perseverance. You cannot allow fear into the world you’re creating. You have to live with knowing that sometimes you are going to fail, and it’s through that failure that you learn what works and what doesn’t. Failure is a whetstone. It sharpens blades and it sets you free. I know that it’s scary, but when it comes to your work, you have to dive in, because if you don’t, youwillbe left behind.”
“But I...”
“I’m sorry if my tone is a touch dramatic, but I’m not going to patronize you by handling you with kid gloves. You are a writer, and you wouldn’t be in this field if you couldn’t take a hit and get back up, over and over again, until your eyes are swollen shut. I’m telling you right now, if you push this play to its limits like I believe you can,Death of a Prom Kingwill absolutely get produced and you will, in fact, realize that you are a truly talented writer, and have been for a very long time.”
I stand there in silence, too stunned to move. I don’t know if I’m about to start bawling or if I’m going to give Eloise a borderline aggressive hug.
“So those are my thoughts,” she goes on lightly. “A very enjoyable read and one that I’m looking forward to reading again in the future.”
I do hug her then, just as aggressively as I assumed I would. “Thank you so much. I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate you critiquing my work or how awesome you are.”
“No worries at all,” she says, patting my back. “And fair warning, if you’re counting on me to disengage first, think again. I’m very much on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and your ferocious bear hug is surprisingly soothing.”
“Glad I could help,” I say with a smile as we disengage at the same time. “Now, where should I report to first?”
“Check in with Mary and see if the soundboard is still acting up, and then check on the interns and ask if they need more flyers.”
