The playwright Werner Trieschmann survived the 24-hour plays

Was I nervous?

Sure, I must have been a little nervous when producers Ashlie Atkinson, Wyatt Hamilton and DeLance Minefee asked me to be one of six playwrights The 24 hour piecesa one-night performance that took place at the Arkansas Repertory Theater on Monday. From the promotional materials: “It is 6 writers, 6 directors and 24 actors who come together to create 6 original plays, all conceived, written, rehearsed and performed within 24 hours.” This concept began in 1995 in New York City and has been replicated and produced in cities around the world.”

It was Sunday, 7 p.m., when the entire company – writers, directors, actors and crew – reported to The Rep’s black box. Our job was to bring at least one costume or costume piece and one prop. At one point, Atkinson asked who among the exuberant theater people was involved in last year’s 24 Hour plays, and about half the group raised their hands. The rest were newbies like me.

Last year’s veterans offered some advice: “Make bold decisions,” they said. “Be prepared for a wild ride.” And the most threatening advice: “Embrace the fear.”

This stirred up the butterflies, but not to an unreasonable extent. I didn’t have much time to concern myself with anything other than what was thrown into the pile and whether I could use any of the items in the 12-15 page piece I was going to write. The director of my show, Ben Barham, sat next to me and took extensive notes. I hung there like a lazy person and just watched. A little gremlin in the back of my head started sweating. “Maybe you should write something down, idiot,” it said. “It might be useful for that piece you have to write by 6 a.m.”

Props thrown into the pile included a hockey stick, water guns and a framed photo of George Constanza posing in his underwear. Costumes included lots of sparkly clothing, dresses and, crucially for me, a fluffy full-body lobster costume. All actors in the circle were asked to indicate which role they would like to play. An actor – a friend of mine – said he wanted to play a dog. Like the lobster costume, this one also proved to be very helpful.

After the intros and the prop and costume pile were completed, the actors were released until 8 a.m. the next morning, when they were handed the finished script for their show and began rehearsals. This left the directors and writers to select a number between one and six and design a cast from the 24 available actors – four actors for each of the six plays.

By 10 p.m., I hadn’t written a single word of my script. I had a few ideas. One character in my piece was supposed to wear the lobster costume and one character was supposed to be a dog, specifically the crazy, beloved pug named Whiskey who lives in my house.

I had a quick meeting with Ben – God bless him – who listened patiently as I tried to explain the half-finished piece that was spinning in my head. I told him I thought Whiskey was singing a song. I can’t tell you where that comes from. I can’t write music, play a single instrument or even sing in key. I was obviously grasping at straws, hoping to say something that would make me more focused on what I wanted to do at the moment. My calm principal only offered me encouragement, which was exactly as the doctor ordered.

Ben went home at 11 p.m. because he would be rehearsing my play with the actors until 7 p.m. The black box room that exploded with noise a few hours ago was empty except for me, my laptop, and a few other tables full of tempting food, sweets, and drinks. The other playwrights had spread to other areas of The Rep. It was quiet.

The sudden loneliness was jarring, but I’ve experienced it before. I’ve been writing plays since I was a sophomore at Hendrix College in 1983. One of the things I like about writing plays is that you are alone when you write and then you get to hang out with theater people who never miss being at the theater. At least a fantastic company with often wonderful war stories from past productions .

Here I cut out the pieces of my own narrative and jump forward to 5:44 a.m. Monday morning when I turned in my 14-page piece entitled “Tribal.” My explanation is that I probably wrote a lot in advance in my head, because when it finally came time to put the words on paper, it came relatively easily. This isn’t always the case, as several boxes of my half-written pieces would attest.

Next on my list was to contact Ben and let him know that Whiskey wouldn’t be singing a song on the show. And then maybe go home and get some rest before coming back to watch a rehearsal. Damn, I was tired.

***

Another deeply seductive aspect of playwriting is that you hand over your work, painfully flawed, and watch as a group of people bring it to life in ways you couldn’t have imagined. That doesn’t always happen. And giving a director, actors and designers essentially a morning and an afternoon to put the flesh on the bones of even a ten-minute piece is a trip to heaven.

So forgive me if I say that the cast of “Tribal” was exceptional. Ben worked very well with the actors and, as previously mentioned, made it easier for them to “make bold decisions.” I have seen pieces that were ten times longer than mine and with fewer design elements that could not be played as confidently and flawlessly as “Tribal.”

If anyone had a bad experience at this year’s 24 Hour Plays, I didn’t see it or hear about it. It was a massive, expertly organized sandbox where Arkansas’ underrated theater community came together to show off and raise money for The Van. It seems the show will continue next year. Put it on your calendar now. You won’t regret it.

The 24 Hour Plays fundraising page for The Van is still active. Contribute Here.