Sunday, July 21, 2013


This is a little restaurant in Perdido Key, Florida. I call it The Restaurant Under the Bridgethough I am certain it has another name. I think the linguine wins over the grits but one must try each dish because both are hm, yeah. (new name)

This photo of hm, yeah. is part of my new writing assignment. The assignment is for writer's group though I am taking it from another writing group I joined back in the day. Stu.

Instead of his green room I am using the one above. (Cheating)
There are two characters in the story. (I have no idea who they are. In my crazy head they are going to reveal themselves to me.)
Traumatic event. (Damn, Stu.)
No more than 1000 words. (I'm not even going to count them.)
One act play. (Oh, Stu.)
Titled hm, yeah.

Audience hears the sound of high heeled shoes drumming heavy against wood floor.
Woman enters scene. Black skirt at knee. Professional looking.
Woman sits in booth. Stares blankly at upper portion of bench in front of her.
Audience hears a cell phone ring. The jingle of a belled door opening then closing.
Audience hears boots walking slowly across floor.
Man in jeans, dirty t-shirt. Cap on head. Sits in booth across from woman.

Man: We've talked about this. You knew it was coming.
Woman: Yes.
Man: So what are you going to do?
Woman: I don't know.
Man: You talked about school.
Woman: Yeah. I told you. They'd pay for it.
Man: So you're going back to school.
Woman: Yes. I have no other choice.
Man: It's going to be okay. (Man reaches across table turns his hand over, offering it to woman.)
Woman: I know. (She cries quietly. Stage darkens.)

A single screen lights. Black and white video of woman giving an oral history starting with the day she lost her job fifteen years ago and what happened after that.

The one act play is a series of dinner theaters located in a park next to an abandoned mill which once employed the woman. The dinner is picnic style hosted by a local restaurant. A musical guest follows.

Today I am grateful for the four other writers in my writer's group, how they inspire me to do like the you who comes to this blog.

'Cause otherwise I'd just be doing this for me and that's no fun.


Elisa Mayo said...

What can I say? It is, my friend. Your writing...just is. an expression of you in all its goodism...(since you don't like that other word)

Shea Goff said...

What can I say? Other than thank you for developing a special needs program around what I do. I am forever grateful.

Lorie said...

You require me to think. Yes, that's it. I read. I think. I re-read. I think. You make me fill in the blanks. I like that.
Your gift is that you don't chase rabbits. I'd like to have that gift. You tell the story without telling the story.

Tara Rathbun said...

Love, love, love. Now I side with Elisa. Your writing the play :-) Darn being gifted!

Shea Goff said...

Oh wow, Lorie. What a beautiful compliment you have given me. I won't say anything about how many rabbits I chase before I get to that one thing. Just thank you.

You are incredibly kind, Tara, but Tempa is the one that came up with the meat of this play. I was simply using it to escape the assignment. Nonetheless, thank you for being here and reading.

Amanda Reeves said...

Wow. Again with the beautiful simplicity. Yes, you are special needs, because you are so GIFTED. I agree with Elisa, Lorie, and Tara. What they said...