By Erica Bennett

When I was nineteen, I auditioned for the role of “Luisa” for a local civic light opera production of The Fantasticks. I made it to callbacks where the director pulled me aside. Apparently, I had the ability, the youth, the spirit, and the edge, but it was all packaged in a woman’s body; not right for the role. This was my first true disappointment in the theatre. It was my loss of innocence and I despaired. As a consequence, I had never went to see a production of the play.

A couple of weeks ago, I was cleaning out my garage, and came upon a box of LPs. In the box is my original cast album of The Fantasticks, from which I learned the music all those many years ago… Seeing it brought back the pain of never being “right” enough.

Yet, I decided to put aside my reservations, and, last night, I met actor Matt Franta’s parents waiting in line for the start of The Good People’s production of Jones and Schmidt’s The Fantasticks for the Hollywood Fringe, directed by Janet Miller. The Franta’s are so proud of their son, having flown in from Iowa to see the production.

Matt portrays The Boy. In the last scenes of the play, The Boy returns home after experiencing the world; its hardships, disappointments, and despair, only to realize he had perfection at home… In those scenes, Matt’s performance broke my heart. And, for me, the despair came full circle, and it was cathartic. Thank you.

https://www.hollywoodfringe.org/projects/1513? for future performance dates and times.

By Erica Bennett

I’m working on the fourth page one rewrite of act one of my new play… The fourth in a month… Of act one… Adjusting the act two outline, constantly, as I go.

Grateful for all of my readers…

But it doesn’t feel like peeling an onion; I’m not crying…

Feels like a lump of clay; it’s shape slowly revealing itself to me…

Losing sight of what I want to Say is part of my game. I’m writing toward some unknown…

It’s so easy to get caught up in page counts and format and sentimentality and my own words.

It would be so much easier to write from an outline. I try.

But I lust for the freedom of letting characters breath, the moment when one page becomes five, without effort. I had a thirteen page today.

And tomorrow I cut the [insert expletive here] out of it.

There is a party happening out there in the world, without me, because I am writing toward a self-imposed, hard, fast deadline.

Because, if I didn’t create a deadline, I’m afraid I won’t write. It’s happened before.

I get caught up in house repairs and chores, and work, and pets, and family.

A small part of me knows I need more balance.

But time is a terrible thing to waste when you’re racing a clock.

The pendulum swings.

By Erica Bennett

“My life, it seems now, has been, all along, this hazy wasteland of subjective opinion.” – “Merit” in Sacrosanct

A thought just occurred to me… What if the plays are like ovarian follicles; we’re born with a predetermined number of them inside of us, and when we’ve reached the end of our reproductive life, we find ourselves wordless… And then I remember Dr. Maya Angelou…

“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.” http://mayaangelou.com/

My heart is full.

By Erica Bennett

We all have teachers in our lives, teachers, who grab our imagination and never let it go. Few, however, offer up Imagination as The method for instruction. I was fortunate to have studied at the Stella Adler Theatre West back in the day before the Hollywood metro line took away the little theater that we built.

During that precious time of my youth I had the opportunity to bring up before Ms. Adler a scene from 27 Wagons Full of Cotton. Teacher Joanne Linville coached me in her inimitable fashion, and I’ll remember that night vividly for the rest of my life. I felt affirmed, finally, as an actress, affirmed publicly by the one of the greatest acting teachers of the 20^th Century.

However, if you’re looking for the legendary post-Stanislaski Stella Adler as teacher, you won’t find her in Sheana Ochoa’s Harold & Stella: Love Letters at the Bliss Art House Café this week.

What you will find is arguably more enticing.

Applause Theatre & Cinema Books recently published Ms. Ochoa’s biography of Adler, Stella! Mother of Modern Acting (May 13, 2014), and she has produced this staged reading of love letters written in 1942 between the youthful Adler and director Harold Clurman.

In Love Letters, the energetic and earthy Clurman aches for Adler and the glorious Adler relays her love and expectations for Clurman, even as they strain to find direction in their theatrical lives, in this love letter to the art of theatre. I highly recommend it.

Bliss Art House Café 1249 Vine Street, Hollywood

Visit hollywoodfringe.org/projects/1654 for future dates and times.

I cannot dredge it up,

That illusive madness,

Grief.

I can remember one year ago,

Tomorrow morning.

I packed one bag,

Brought her one pup,

Drove pup home,

Drove back,

Held her hand,

Told her, I don’t know,

If you are dying.

And truly,

Who I was to say?

Knowing the only thing that kept her alive

Was her sheer strength of will.

Her frail body past whippoorwill,

She was camouflaged.

Hidden by big eyes, red lips,

Huge love.

We miss you, Charlotte.

Rape insurance?!!! #$%XH**(&^!!!

(Retreats back into her cave.)

Every once in a while I let my guard down. Not the Playwright me, but the Me me. I peer out into the brilliant world only to see Headlines designed to provoke me. And just as my rage boils over and I’m about to burst into tears, I pull back thinking, you are not going to get the Me me.

I’m a difficult audience.

Yet, here I am, the Playwright me, working at doing exactly the same thing to You.

Huh.

Except for my last two blog posts I haven’t written a creative word before the “I” in this sentence since January. In the meantime, I’ve worked with people. The operative word is people. As in flesh and blood human beings who are sensitive and have needs, like understanding, respect, and attention. All good things, of course.

However, for four months a year I work with puffs of smoke, characters of my imagination, who interact with each other, want each other, and who only need me in so much as I give them voice. Working with human beings is necessary, important and fulfilling, but it makes me long for solitude and stories that need to be told.

And I am reminded that all of our lives are filled with just these types of complimentary forces. One does not exist without the other. Thank you for the blessings of my life.

There is no yin without the yang.

by Erica Bennett

I bailed on my play. Yes, I did. I received negative critiques and agreed with them. I even found fault before they did. As if, self-flagellation would prevent their blows from hurting as much. Shame on me.

My only words of advice today are never give up on your play.

A friend and colleague told me, only take notes from those you trust.

Start by trusting yourself.

by Erica Bennett

Flashback: March 4, 2014: I squealed. I squealed like a stuck pig, but happier. I bounced up in my chair and grabbed my (face) cheeks in amazement, as I read: “We have chosen the playbill for the 2014 edition of OC-centric: Orange County’s New Play Festival, with production dates of August 21-24 and August 28-31 at Chapman University in Orange. We have selected two full-length plays for production: Bender, Erica Bennett…”

How did that Happen?

You ever feel like that?

What did I do? What did They do? Do they realize what they’ve Done? Given a first full-length production to Me?

It’s funny. I almost didn’t submit it because of the notes I received at a January reading. Okay, not funny. In fact, I would have been really sad to miss out on squealing. And producers, a director, and actors, actors off-book, a set, and Lighting, and make-up, and Music.

I’m still rolling in happiness a week later.

(I must reread that play.)

by Erica Bennett

One of the tricks I use to keep myself writing is the self-imposed deadline. My deadlines are usually not “get it done by Sunday so I can go to a movie.” But, set myself up for a reading, get a date on the reading list, and cast it, all without a finished script. My current deadlines are 12/31/2013 for a draft and 1/4/2014 for a readable draft.

One of the great things about belonging to playwrights groups and listening to new works and critique is when you realize things like I just spent an entire year building characters and improvising with them on the page around which no action occurs? This realization absolutely shocked me. Clearly, I have a problem with conflict.

I am experiencing my first production in exactly six years and the past several months have been glorious. I stepped in as director of my short play for the holidays, Love, Divine. The journey has been filled with humble joy: I did that. The actors own it now. But I did that.