"Jessica, Paris, Britney and Lindsay Meet Brett Favre on Their Train Wreck"

When NFL quarterback and legend Brett Favre takes a quiet train ride, the last thing he expected was to be sharing his train car with Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan. Throw in a Magic 8 Ball and you've got a tongue-and-cheek look at pop culture and celebrity - and its pitfalls.
10-minute, comedy (3M, 4W)

Official Entrant - Short & Sweet/Sydney, The World's Largest 10-Minute Play Festival, Australia, January 2009.

"Jessica, Paris, Lindsay and Britney Meet Brett Favre On Their Train Wreck"

A Short Play (excerpt)
by
Jeffrey James Ircink

4745 Saint Nicholas Avenue
Culver City, California, USA 90230
c: (262) 806-2808
w: (310) 477-8400
jeffbumbershoot43@gmail.com
irc_64@hotmail.com
http://www.jeffircink.blogspot.com/
© Copyright September 2008

Cast of Characters

JESSICA SIMPSON – 28, singer/actress
PARIS HILTON – 27, celebrity
LINDSAY LOHAN – 22, actress
BRITNEY SPEARS – 27, singer
BRETT FAVRE – 39, New York Jets NFL quarterback
(former Green Bay Packers QB) and legend
CONDUCTOR VO – male
ATTENDANT – male

Setting
A train car on the North Woods Hiawatha. The train car is built a ½ foot off the stage to enable passengers to step down off it. There is one entrance to the car – upstage center that has a sliding door, and one exit downstage center that is open to the audience. An emergency cord is hanging prominently upstage in the middle of the car. "Entry of the Gladiators" by Julius Fucik (or similar circus-like music) subtly plays whenever one of the four girls enters the train car.

Time
The present.

"Jessica, Paris, Lindsay and Britney Meet Brett Favre On Their Train Wreck"

(BRETT FAVRE is sitting in a train car alone – his feet are resting on the seat in front of him and he’s reading a hunting magazine. He’s wearing a #4 New York Jets jersey and chinos and has a black sport jacket hanging on a hook off his right shoulder. It’s quiet, except for FAVRE humming his favorite country song to himself. Then he starts singing to himself. The train is in motion. Throughout the play, the CONDUCTOR VO announces various stops – the hometowns of each of the four women.)

CONDUCTOR VO
Next stop – Abilene. Abilene, Texas is our next stop.

(FAVRE continues reading his magazine. The train comes to a halt. A hubbub is heard outside the train car in the passageway. Suddenly, the train car door opens and JESSICA SIMPSON steps in with a carry-on, a package and she’s talking on her cell phone.)

SIMPSON
(On cell phone.)
I told you…you’re my assistant. That’s what I pay you for.
(Beat. She closes the train car door.)
Well it won’t take that long. Just squeeze the white toothpaste out of the green tube. Squeeze the blue and green toothpaste out of the white tube. Then put the blue and green toothpaste in the green toothpaste tube. It’s not that difficult.
(To FAVRE)
Hi.
(On the phone.)
What’s the difference? I’ll tell you what the difference is -
(To FAVRE, looking at one of the empty seats)
Is that seat taken?

FAVRE
No, ma’am.
(He takes his feet off the seat across from him.)

SIMPSON
(She throws her carry-on up into the overhead luggage rack and takes a seat across from FAVRE next to the window, holding her package on her lap. To FAVRE.)
Thank you.
(On the phone.)
Where was I? What? Oh yeah. The difference is I want my blue and green toothpaste in the green toothpaste tube because that’s where it belongs – that’s the difference.
(Beat.)
How should I know what to do with the white toothpaste? Put it in a baggie and take it home. Alrighty. Thank you. Bye, bye.
(She puts her phone in her purse. To FAVRE.)
Blue and green toothpaste is my favorite.
(Beat)
What’s yours?

FAVRE
I dunno. Crest, maybe.

SIMPSON
I mean what color do you like?

FAVRE
White.

SIMPSON
Oh.
(Beat)
White toothpaste is like…tidy whitey underwear. I mean, there’s so many really cool flavors to choose from. There’s green – that’s for fluoride. And blue’s for fresh breath. Red is cinnamony and it’s good for your tongue.

FAVRE
Your tongue?

SIMPSON
(She sticks out her tongue and talks with it sticking out of her mouth.)
Yeh, your tongue. Don’t you brush your tongue? You should. It’s part of your mouth, you know.

FAVRE
Really?

SIMPSON
(Tongue still out of her mouth.) Yeh.

FAVRE
So why do you switch the toothpaste in the tubes?

SIMPSON
(Talking normal.)
Oh, that’s just something for my housekeeper Yolanda to do.
(Beat)
Otherwise I’d have to do it myself.

CONDUCTOR VO
Next stop – Beverly Hills. Beverly Hills, California is our next stop.

(FAVRE continues reading his magazine. SIMPSON touches up her makeup. The train comes to a halt. A hubbub is heard outside the train car in the passageway. The train car door opens and in steps PARIS HILTON with a carry-on, a Magic 8 Ball and her dog – which is stuffed.)

HILTON
(To her dog.)
OK, Tinkerbell, like – how about this car? “Magic 8 – should I get into this car?”
(She vigorously shakes the Magic 8 Ball to reveal an answer. Reading the ball.)
“YES – DEFINITELY”. That’s hot. Hi everyone.
(FAVRE says “hello” but SIMPSON just nods. HILTON closes the train car door, tosses her carry-on up into the overhead luggage rack and sits opposite SIMPSON, holding her dog and the Magic 8 Ball. Pause. No emotion.)
Hi, Jessica.

SIMPSON
(No emotion.)
Hello, Paris.
(Pause.)
You have a well-behaved dog.

HILTON
Thanks. Her trainer’s the top dog whisperer in LA.

SIMPSON
My dogs listen better when I scream at them.
(Beat.)
I mean, when my dog trainer screams at them. What do you feed her? They say diet has a lot to do with a dog’s behavior.

HILTON
Filet mignon. Caviar. Cristal. Whatever I eat.

SIMPSON
That’s what my dogs eat. I have three.

HILTON
I have 17.

FAVRE
You have 17 dogs?

HILTON
(Putting on lip gloss.)
No – 17 shades of lip gloss.
(To FAVRE.)
Want some?

FAVRE
I’m good, thanks.

SIMPSON
(HILTON offers lip gloss to SIMPSON.)
No thanks. My lips are naturally glossy.

FAVRE
(Studying the dog.)
Excuse me, ma’am.
(HILTON presents her hand for FAVRE to kiss but he shakes it instead.)

FAVRE
Your dog - is that real?

HILTON
Ahh...yah.

FAVRE
It looks to be frozen stiff.

HILTON
(With her mouth down to the Magic 8 Ball.)
“Magic 8 Ball, is my dog real?”
(She vigorously shakes the ball.)
“AS I SEE IT, YES”.
(Showing it to FAVRE.)
See. I love the fact that my Magic 8 Ball is always right. That’s so hot.

FAVRE
I’m not saying it’s not a real dog. I’m saying it WAS a real dog. It looks to be preserved in a frozen state.
(Beat.)
I think they call it "cryogenics".
(He looks at SIMPSON for some support.)
SIMPSON
(She reaches out to pet the dog.)
I think she’s a beauty.
(To FAVRE)
Don’t you?

HILTON
She loves affection. We’re doing a shoot together next week for the Rwanda Travel and Tourism Board so I’m taking her to the groomer.

FAVRE
Hope your groomer’s got an ice pick.

HILTON
Excuse me?

FAVRE
Nothing.

HILTON
“Magic 8 Ball – what did he just say?”
(She vigorously shakes the ball.)
“BETTER NOT TELL YOU NOW”.
(She gives FAVRE a squinty-eyed sneer. Beat.)
I need a latte.

SIMPSON
I need an enema.
(Looking around.)
What? It’s good for you
(Thinking.)
A double mocha coffee enema.

HILTON
I want a latte and an enema. I want a latte-flavored enema. With whipped cream.

FAVRE
(Under his breath.)
I wanna get the hell off this train.

SIMPSON/HILTON
What?

CONDUCTOR VO
Next stop – Kentwood. Kentwood, Louisiana is our next stop.

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"The Bed"

An introspective look at a man's life, from infancy through death.
10-minute, drama (5M, 3W - roles may be double cast)

NEW! *Semi-Finalist, Short & Sweet/Sydney: The Biggest Little Play Festival in the World, Australia, January 2009.

"Good play." - Alex Broun, Artistic Co-ordinator of Short & Sweet/Sydney/Brisbane/Melbourne/Singapore, the largest ten minute play festival in the world, and one of the world's most produced ten minute playwrights

"The Bed"

A Short-Sheeted Play (excerpt)
by
Jeffrey James Ircink

4745 Saint Nicholas Avenue
Culver City, California, USA 90230
c: (262) 806-2808
w: (310) 477-8400
weakknees@gbpackersfan.com
irc_64@hotmail.com
http://www.jeffircink.blogspot.com/
© Copyright September 2008

Cast of Characters

MALE VO, 60+, Standard British accent
FATHER / MAN, 30 (d)
MOTHER / WIFE at 30
WIFE at 75
TEEN GIRL, 18 / NURSE (d)
YOUNG BOY, 7
TEEN BOY, 18
MIDDLE-AGED MAN, 55 /
OLD MAN, 80 (d)

The BOY, TEEN BOY, MAN, MIDDLE-AGED MAN and OLD MAN represent the baby at various stages of its life. Suggested roles may be double-cast (d) if convenient.

Setting
A bedroom. Initially, the bedroom is decorated for a baby boy. As each scene shifts to coincide with the boy’s aging, the bedroom should be decorated appropriately – 2-4 items may be brought in and taken away as the actors shift scenes. Also, regardless of how the light in the room is turned on and off, it should appear as if the lights are manipulated by an actor (i.e. light switch or table lamp).

The prominent piece of furniture in the bedroom is a queen-sized bed, including bed frame, headboard and baseboard, and a nightstand with lamp. “Adagio in G Minor” plays throughout this piece.

Time
The past, present and future.

The Bed
(MUSIC CUE: “Adagio in G Minor”. A door opens and the lights are switched on by a FATHER and MOTHER entering a baby boy’s room. A queen-size bed is the prominent fixture – and a sock monkey sets on the bed. The couple has arrived home from the hospital with their new baby in tow. The couple’s movements – the requisite playing with the baby, feeding the baby, changing the baby – jive with the music and have a 50’s/Capra-esque feel, yet the characters and settings are nondescript. The FATHER exits, the music fades and the MOTHER sings a lullaby as she settles into a rocker to rock her baby to sleep. MAN VO is heard. The MAN VO is an older man’s voice – the baby grown up, reflecting on his life. His tone is contemplative. MUSIC FADES.)

MAN VO: “After my birth and upon my arrival home from the hospital, the first place my parents took me was to my bedroom. It was there that I was introduced to “the bed” – my bed. Not a crib like most infants – but my very own queen-sized bed. As a child, my mother taught me many things, the three most important of those being: do onto others, wear clean underwear and the importance of home décor. Notwithstanding its obvious versatility, ‘One’s bed’, my mother would quip, ‘is the most important piece of furniture in the home’.”

(The MOTHER places the baby in the bed, pulling up the guard rails on either side to keep it from falling out.)

“The bed and I were inseparable. During those early years, it was nothing more than a practical appendage of my own self – a utilitarian object in my life I neither understood nor questioned. I was simply ‘being’ with the bed.”

(The MOTHER walks to the door, turning to have one last moment with her baby, then switches off the light and exits. BEAT. MUSIC FADES UP. The door opens and a YOUNG BOY – age 7 – turns on the light and runs into the room. He has a box of animal crackers with him. The MOTHER and FATHER follow, exchanging the “baby” motif for “young boy” decor. The sock monkey sets atop a pile of other toys. The MOTHER and FATHER kiss the child on the head and exit. The YOUNG BOY jumps up and down on the bed while eating his crackers. MUSIC FADES.)

MAN VO: “As I matured from an infant to a young boy, I began to comprehend the significance of my mother’s wisdom. (The MOTHER re-enters, taking the crackers away from the boy and chastising him, then exits. The YOUNG BOY constructs a tent on the bed out of sheets and blankets.) The bed was more than just a place to sleep, more than respite to cure my ills – it was my playground; my pirate ship; my fort; it was my stage and my cinema. My altar and my alter-ego. My refuge…where I commanded the world to do my bidding or hide under the covers when my bidding fell miserably short of expectations. It was my castle and I was the king. (The lights FADE TO BLACK and a flashlight appears from within the “tent”.) It is where I dreamt and where my dreams came true.”

(Flashlight goes off. Beat. MUSIC FADES UP. Door opens and a 18-year-old TEEN BOY enters and turns on the light – with him is a TEEN GIRL. It’s the whole teenage thing – he’s shy, she’s coy – and then suddenly they start making out on the bed. The sock monkey sits under the bed, staring out at the audience. MUSIC FADES.)

MAN VO: “As a young man, the bed turned from pirate ship to boudoir – a veritable playground where I was consumed with pleasures of the flesh. I took full advantage of my coming of age, delighting myself in the exploration of all the sights, sounds and smells that make a woman tick. (Pause VO. The TEEN GIRL gets off the bed and turns the lights off. LIGHTS UP to minimum – just enough to see the couple’s silhouettes. We hear the couple writhing under the sheets. The TEEN GIRL can be seen while the TEEN BOY is under the covers between the TEEN GIRL’S legs. We hear the sound of sex.) To eat, to sleep, to read, to work, and yes – to fuck. It is said that these are the best days of one’s life. I couldn’t have agreed more.”

(Beat. MUSIC FADES UP. A MAN in his early 30’s sits on an unmade bed – paperwork spread all over. The MAN is wearing an untucked dress shirt and tie, both unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. The room décor has changed to reflect that of an adult. There’s a coffee cup on the nightstand. The sock monkey is lying on the floor. MUSIC FADES.)

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Works-in-Progress

Mudskipper #1 and #2, Aquarium of the Pacific, Long Beach, August 2008.

"The journey is the thing". Writers understand that as well as anyone. So - here are a few projects I'm currently working on:

HOW TO KILL A BOY! (full length) - a dark comedy. This is the project I'm concentrating on completing first. I can't really go into this one right now - it's a secret ("Everybody has secrets, Mummy. Don't you?"). Suffice it to say, the premise has people laughing their asses off. Think the movie VERY BAD THINGS meets HOME ALONE - then put it on stage. 4M, 2W (1W plays multiple parts)

THE EXONERATION OF D. E. S (full length) - a historical courtroom drama. D.E.S are the initials for my protagonist - or is he the antagonist? This politician murdered his wife's lover (the son of a very, very famous man that you would recognize) and was acquitted when he plead not guilty by reason of temporary insanity - a first in American jurisprudence. (Many, many parts)

THE METAMORPHOSES OF AN ASHCAN (or The Dominican, a Satyr and Nymph, Two Vaudevillians and a Clown Discuss Matters of Substance Over Goat Cheese and Tea) (full length) - The characters in four realism paintings come to life in a surrealistic setting, butt heads and are changed forever. (4M, 2W)

Two plays on Frank Lloyd Wright. One is a straight play based on Wright's relationship with Edward Kaufmann, the soon-to-be owner of Fallingwater. The other is a musical based on Wright's life. Wright's from Wisconsin. I'm from Wisconsin. And I love his work - well, most of it anyway (not the California textile block stuff). Read more!

Amor No Fluxo (Love in Flux).

This is a trilogy of erotic plays, comprised of "PASS THE SALT, PLEASE." - (10 minutes), 4 1/2 MINUTES (give or take) TO CLIMAX (20 minutes), and my latest play, REVEILLE! (One Act). You'll find the synopsis for each individual play below.

The idea was to package the plays and market AMOR NO FLUXO as an evening of theater. And, depending on the various markets, I can sell them individually. All three require simple sets and CLIMAX has the most characters with 6, plus one non-speaking. Read more!

Linn County, Iowa

© Copyright 2006 Pete Ylvisaker

Read more!

"Reveille!"

Inspired by Ken Burns’ The Civil War and A.R. Gurney’s Pulitzer Prize for Drama nominated, “Love Letters”, two women in 1862 Virginia strive to maintain a “normal” existence, one in which their perspective on each other is as different as their perspectives on the war itself.

While Catherin - the utilitarian, older woman - manages the day-to-day life on the farm, Amanda fancies herself a writer. Between Amanda's letters to her beau, Dowd, who is off fighting the Yankees, Dowd's letters to Amanda, and Amanda's diary entries (and a healthy spritz of Walt Whitman and Catherin's temperament), a story is weaved that encompasses the thoughts and desires of both Amanda and Dowd - and Catherin, concerning the war, love and life, in general...a story unlike any Civil War tale you've ever heard.

REVEILLE! is a one-act play, the the third in the erotic trilogy, AMOR NO FLUXO (Love in Flux). The other shorts are “PASS THE SALT, PLEASE.” and 4 ½ MINUTES (give or take) TO CLIMAX.
ONE ACT (2W)

NEW! *Official Entrant, Attic Theatre One-Act Marathon, Los Angeles, CA, January 2009; Zoetrope All-Story, September 2008.

"I really liked what I read...Your character development was great. I am not an expert on giving advice on plays...I can tell you if I liked it or I didn't...I think people will have a positive response." - Amy Svoboda, interior designer, Chicago, IL

"Quite lovely...slow-paced but completely appropriate for the time period. And wonderfully poetic." - Val Grant, screenwriter and graphic designer, Los Angeles, CA

"Great one-act. Compelling story, authentic, engaging characters. Surprising ending that felt right, and felt organic to the story. Strong writing all the way around." - Vicki Letizia, producer, Peabody recipient, VP, Development, PorchLight Entertainment, Los Angeles, CA

"I finished your play this morning, and it was so moving. Really...I love the storyline, the setting, the characters are so well conceived. I loved the transition you made from Amanda's love for Dowd becoming realized with Catherine. Wow! I can't believe as a man, you were able to capture two women like that. The conversations were natural and some of it reminded me of how my sister and I talk. I adored the Whitman quotes. I shed a few tears Jeff, reading the last letter Amanda reads." - Katie Anderson, writer, visual artist, member of Inked-In.com, poet, Kokomo, IN"Reveille!"

A One Act Play (excerpt)
by Jeffrey James Ircink

© Copyright September 2007, Jeffrey James Ircink
4745 saint nicholas avenue
culver city, ca 90230
c: (262) 806-2808
w: (310) 477-8400
weakknees@gbpackersfan.com
irc_64@hotmail.com
February 2008

Cast of Characters

Catherin (Older Woman): 32-38

Amanda (Younger Woman): 24-30


ACT I, SCENE 1

(August. 1862. Evening. Somewhere in the Shenandoah Valley of Northern Virginia. The Civil War is in its second year. AMANDA, 25, is sitting at a long table in the living room of a modest farm home - alone. She is wearing the best dress she owns. Throughout the play, another woman - CATHERIN - enters and exits the room. She is eight years older and plays a utilitarian role, busying herself with the day-to-day routines associated with the house and property. With pen in hand, AMANDA reads from a letter she is writing.)

AMANDA
"I arose early this morning, fed the ducks which number around 30, looked over the fields and the garden and gathered some watermelon, say two or three for the day, of which we have a handsome sprinkle and a second growth on the vines. I came in and washed up and had some light breakfast - a roll of bread and fresh butter with a cup of coffee. Then I walked into town to do some shopping and listened to talk of the war and other gossip, including the elections which seem to have the whole town churning about like a beehive. I returned home after deciding war news frightens me so and had dinner – today it was pork, a little batterbread of sweet corn meal, some fresh butter and plenty of good buttermilk. We usually save the pork for special occasions, though I don’t recollect what that special occasion was today. I am thankfully full for which I praise the good Lord. I read some poetry from Godey’s Ladies Book then took a nap for an hour."
(CATHERIN enters from outside, carrying a watermelon, and goes directly into the kitchen to clean it. She is dressed in work clothes. AMANDA looks up, then continues reading her letter.)
"I awoke refreshed and went for a long walk down the lane...at least it seemed long for me. It was still fairly warm outside as I noticed beads of sweat forming on my brow and I had to wipe my face often. It was a clear, beautiful day – clearer than I remember for some time. And quiet – like it used to be before the war. Noticing it was getting late in the day, I started for home, where I ate some fresh raspberries and currents and some leftover cornmeal. I spent the rest of the evening delighting myself by catching up on a particular serial story in Godey’s about a woman who believes her husband has been killed fighting the Yankees and is courted by a country gentleman; however, it all spells disaster as her husband, who turns out to be very much alive, receives a week’s furlough and returns home to find his wife with another man – the country gentleman - who just so happens to be his brother. I will not spoil the ending – in case you happen upon a copy of Godey’s yourself – but I will say thank the Lord and Robert E. Lee that there is still honor left in the South."
(AMANDA glances up at CATHERIN, who is slicing open the watermelon. She reads as she writes.)
"I cut up the watermelon I gathered from the garden and found it to be the sweetest I had ever tasted. As sweet as sweet can be."
(AMANDA continues writing in silence. Then she reads out loud what she has just written.)
"So sweet, as a matter of fact, that I’m beginning to feel tired – probably from fretting over that poor Yankee woman in the Godey serial. Though she and I are on opposite sides of the fence when it comes to the war, we are women, and therefore, I empathize with her misfortunes. I think I shall turn in. I haven’t slept a full night in months. These are the days - "

CATHERIN
Who are you writing about?

AMANDA
Myself.

CATHERIN
Sure about that?

AMANDA
‘Course I’m sure. Who else would I be writing about? I’m submitting a story for publication in Godey’s Ladies Book. They’re asking readers to, ‘tell us about your typical day’, in 500 words or less. So – that’s what I’m doing. I’m writing about my typical day.

CATHERIN
Then it must’ve slipped your mind that I’m the one who picked the watermelon and prepares the meals and goes into town for supplies. I do the milking and chase after the cows in the middle of the night when they get through the fence. I do the sewing and the ironing and the cooking and the laundry –

AMANDA
Alright, alright.
(AMANDA gets up, walks into the kitchen and pours herself a drink. She has a brace on her leg and walks with a slight limp.)
I help fold the laundry.

CATHERIN
Where I really need your help is scrubbing the laundry. Anyone can fold.

AMANDA
Not everyone can fold properly. Besides, I have weak elbows. Doc Clemens said so. And I never said I prepared the meals – only that I ate them. Besides...if I’m going to be a writer someday, I have to learn to embellish. I plan to write fiction, you know. Real life isn’t nearly as excitin’ as embellished life.

CATHERIN
Not the real life we’re living in. Not today, leastwise.
(Beat)
How many words did you say?

AMANDA
500.

CATHERIN
You gonna have enough to go on about?

AMANDA
500 or less.
(Beat)
I detect a jibe in your query.

CATHERIN
The jibe is in those words you’re putting to paper.

AMANDA
Oh go on. You’re just jealous because Godey’s Ladies Book didn’t ask you to submit a story, that’s all.

CATHERIN
I think it’s wonderful Godey’s ran an ad inviting all its readers to send in a story.

AMANDA
How would you know? You never read Godey’s so how would you know the first thing about it?

CATHERIN
(Somewhat irate – she’s heard this before.)
Godey’s Ladies Book is a prissy piece of trash for passin’ time and nothing more. Why, any soul in his right mind would pay good money for the paper it’s printed on just so he – or she – could have something fittin’ to use in the washroom. And I am not referring to washing one’s hands either.

AMANDA
Well that’s peculiar talk coming from a lady. I don’t recall the last time I’ve heard such vulgarity spoken in our home.
(Beat)
I say Godey’s is not a luxury but a necessity. With its helpful hints and its patterns and needle-work and instructions in housekeeping – why we save twice the price we pay for it in less than a few months.

CATHERIN
Anything I’d write would put to shame 99% of the gibberish in that rag – if I had the inclination...or the time.

AMANDA
Then why don’t you submit a story?

(Once she has finished slicing the watermelon, CATHERIN begins ironing.)

CATHERIN
The world is an unhappy place, Amanda. My demeanor would have to be on a higher plain for me to even consider the task of sitting down to write – Godey’s or otherwise.

AMANDA
Well if the world were in a better place, what would you write about then?
(Beat)
Oh, come on. Don’t be such a sour puss. Tell me.

CATHERIN
I don’t know.
(Reflecting.)
I suppose I’d write about living here in the valley – before the war...when even the faintest breeze blows in the smell of sassafras blossoms from a mile away and the mockingbirds swoop down on anyone who gets close to their nest – which they do without reservation because everyone knows you’re never to kill a mockingbird and the mockingbirds know it, too.
(She stops ironing.)
I’d write about how that dog of yours slouches around so much so you’d think she were dead to the world –

AMANDA
Don’t talk unkindly about Molly. She’s never ever even hurt a flea.

CATHERIN
- except for when she nips at the honey bees flying about her head.
(Beat)
Or I’d write about the farm, and how you’re scared of feeding the chickens and how one day –

AMANDA
I am not!

CATHERIN
You are too – and quit interrupting me. And how one day you proposed we eat the Rhode Island Red and Plymouth Rock chickens as they most certainly were Yankee-bred and would do irreparable harm to a Southerner’s palate. I’d tell of midnight walks along 4 ¼ Mile Road, lit up by the slightest sliver of a moon – like a postcard...where you can hear the rippling and splashing of Little Mountain Run in the dark as she snakes down and around through the Shenandoah Valley, and the horned owl joins the bullfrog and the crickets in a symphony that only God could compose. Or the lonesome whistle of the Blue Ridge Railway...clickety-clackety – reminding me there’s a world to explore beyond this valley. I’d write how exhausted I am after drinking it all in and how I’m able to get a full night’s sleep and wake up refreshed, ready to experience it all over again.
(Beat)
Not like now...where the world’s filled with nothing but the suffering because of some men’s war. Not like now when I worry that soldiers might steal off with the horses in the middle of the night or that I might awaken to a rifle barrel stuck in my gut – or worse.
(Beat)
Oh I smell sassafras occasionally. And I’m not saying the crickets have stopped chirping all together. But it’s –
(Beat)
– everything I cherish about this place has been smothered by war. The trains bring men into town, filling our streets with blue troops and gray troops marching off to fight and kill one another. The air is filled with smoke and fire. The Yankees’ blockade stopped Little Mountain Run from rippling and splashing. How many people have we known moved away or killed? This simple life of ours which I derived so much joy is no more.
(Beat)
I used to enjoy the rain – a steady, long, slow rain. It washed the earth clean and made everything smell reborn...new – like fresh laundry brought in outta the sun and the wind. The only rain that falls now brings with it the stench of death and the streets run with the blood of young men who are lost forever. And I’m afraid that everything will change and I’ll forget what it was like.
(Sheepishly.)
I didn’t mean to ramble.
(Beat. She goes back to ironing.)
That’s what I’d write about. The way things used to be. Our reality is the war. What joy would there be in writing about that?

AMANDA
Well I’m fairly certain that’s not the slant Godey’s is aspiring it’s readers to write about – all that blood and guts and such. I, for one, choose to concentrate on the positive aspects of the day. War or no war.

CATHERIN
Why don’t you write about that boy you’re always talking about? What’s his name – Dowd? You two write back and forth enough – I’m sure there’s plenty of inspiration in those letters.

AMANDA
He’s in love with me – did I tell you that? Yes...I’m not entirely sure to what degree I reciprocate those feelings. I feel something for him, though I’m not for certain if it’s real love or just an infatuation. You remember him, don’t you, Catherin? He lived in the next county over. His father bought and sold horses before the war. I think he’s a zillionaire now after selling horses to the army. Makes no never mind to me. I’m not interested in Dowd’s fortune. Just in Dowd - maybe.

CATHERIN
Well whatever you write about I’m quite certain you’ll be optimistic for both of us. Maybe something good will come of it.

AMANDA
Godey’s Ladies Book publishing my story would be good for starters.
(She goes back to writing. Beat.)
Sounds like a storybook – all that...fluff you were talking about. You came up with all that on your own?

CATHERIN
It wasn’t difficult. I’ve lived it all my life. So have you...or did you already forget?

AMANDA
I didn’t forget.
(Beat)
“Sassafras blossoms”. I like that. May I use it in my narration? For Godey’s?

CATHERIN
Not too much fluff for you, I hope.

(AMANDA rises, walks over to a hope chest and opens it.)

AMANDA
I need to be more diligent in keeping up my diary.
(She removes a small, leather bound book and returns to the table.)
It’s not a daily diary if I don’t write in it everyday, is it now? You could help me by reminding me every once in a while – when you’re not too busy.
(She opens the diary and a VO is heard of AMANDA reading from it. CATHERIN continues ironing.)

AMANDA(VO)
Diary Entry - August 16, 1862. Dear Diary. This whole agitation about slavery is the most monstrous humbug since the flood. It is my full belief that the infatuation which has precipitated the North into this war is a judgment from God.

Isn’t it plain to them – them being the abolitionists and the Yankees – that our President Davis is a simple, consistent Christian, and a member of the Episcopal Church, and generally and joyfully observed? I believe we are lucky to have civil and military leaders who acknowledge God. The Commander-in-Chief of our armies, Robert E. Lee -

(The VO fades as AMANDA sets her pen down and continues reading aloud. Overlap with VO.)
- who is an elder in the Presbyterian Church in Lexington and is said to be a Christian of the same stamp as Jefferson Davis and Stonewall Jackson sent a special request via the newspapers calling upon the ladies everywhere to unite in support of prayer for peace.

(She closes her diary, sets her head down and falls asleep. LIGHTS FADE. LIGHTS UP. Late morning. AMANDA is sitting in a chair next to the window. She’s reading a letter.)

AMANDA
August 18, 1862. Dear Amanda. A steady rain fell all day. It’s evening now and the rain has stopped. It is quiet. Seems like it’s only been a few days since the fighting nearby commenced at Cedar Mountain. Battles inevitably bring rain, at least I am told that’s what most soldiers believe. Or maybe it’s the other way around. If Stonewall Jackson keeps delivering one victory upon another, I will pray for a flood a hundred times the size of Noah’s so this war may come to an end.

Your fervor and zeal regarding the South’s involvement in the war is admirable, and yet I can’t help but think it is misdirected love. Maybe all of us are misdirected, misinformed and misplaced. War brings misery and this past year, seeing our world in this terrible upheaval, has been an unpleasant experience for me. I suppose it is natural to take sides – to cheer the South and hate the North, to wish our Rebel boys well and spit at the feet of the Yankees. To join in the fray saying, “Preserve state’s rights and leave us our slaves!”. That would seem to be the proper thing to do as sons and daughters of the Old South, and yet is it the moral thing? I’m at a loss to make sense of this entire, abhorrent affair.

Listen to me...going on like a politician or a preacher. My dearest, sweet Amanda. I pray that this will all be over soon. I don’t know how much more our country can take. This letter is short – I know. We are pulling out tomorrow but to where I do not know. I will write more when we get situated. All my love. Yours. Dowd.

(AMANDA moves from the chair to the table and continues writing a letter she has started. CATHERIN enters from the bedroom.)

CATHERIN
I’m going into town for a while, Amanda. I’ll be back before dark.

AMANDA
Are you stopping by the store?

CATHERIN
I am. We’re almost out of coffee, bacon, flour, sugar –

AMANDA
Would you see if they have some licorice candy drops?

CATHERIN
- and I need nails and new wrench...if Mr. Van Ells will let me put them on credit.

AMANDA
Oh-h please?
(Beat)
Fine. I just thought it would nice for a change to have some luxuries in the house, that’s all.

CATHERIN
You’ll have to forgive me, Amanda, if I’ve forgotten what luxuries are.

(CATHERIN exits. AMANDA reads from a letter.)

AMANDA
August 29, 1862. Dear Dowd. I’m fully aware that you feel my opinions are based on nothing more than emotion and an idealized viewpoint of the South. If my “superficial” views on the war or my levity towards it are bothersome to you, do not take it personally.

With that in mind, I can’t help but wonder how none of this might have happened had Mr. Lincoln not been elected and allowed to let his anti-slavery rhetoric rile the nation into jumping headfirst into this bloodbath. Honestly, if that man and his politician cohorts would have kept their opinion to themselves, the North and South would be left to live free of each other and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What are the people in Yankeedom thinking – hugging the delusion that Richmond will soon be theirs? We shall achieve our independence, and if guided right, shall be far more prosperous than ever before. Never could I for one moment believe that a righteous God would suffer us to be trodden down like the mud in the streets.

By the way, did you hear about the schooner, Minna, which was attempting to run the Yankee blockade? Well I declare, Dowd...those nasty Yankees stole the ship and absconded with 10,000 testaments. What good does anyone suppose those Bibles will do the Yankee soldiers? Will the blessing of God attend stolen goods? Nothing has aroused my indignation so much for a long time - taking the bread of life out of the mouths of our famished soldiers, and giving it to profane creatures who won’t even read a verse or a psalm.

Walt Whitman says, ‘The pervading sentiment or lesson is to be that the only good of learning the theory of the fluency and generosity and unpartiality, largeness and exactitude
of the earth is to use all those toward the theory of character – human character.’ I’m not sure exactly what that all means, but I’m sure that whatever Mr. Whitman’s point is, the North should heed it.

*“This Is the Earth’s Word” from "Poem of The Sayers of The Words of The Earth," by Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1856.

I don’t know how I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight now that I am riled up inside. Well, I have been neglecting my diary terribly and I have much catching up to do – so much has happened and if I wait any longer I most certainly will forget everything I have ruminating inside my head. I will close here and say goodbye, dearest Dowd, and I am hoping to hear from you soon. I am ever yours sincerely. Amanda.

(LIGHTS FADE.)

ACT I, SCENE 2

(LIGHTS UP. Afternoon. AMANDA sits on a chair and stares out the window, sipping a glass of tea. A couple beats later, CATHERIN enters with a basket of laundry. She sits down and begins folding. AMANDA glances over at CATHERIN, then stares out the window. LIGHTS FADE.)

ACT I, SCENE 3

(LIGHTS UP. Early evening. AMANDA, alone, sits by the fireplace. CATHERIN enters from outside.)

CATHERIN
This was waiting for you at the store.

(Hands a letter to AMANDA.)

AMANDA
Goodness gracious. I don’t know what I’d do without Dowd’s letters.
(CATHERIN tosses a bag next to AMANDA.)
And licorice candy drops!
(CATHERIN unpacks groceries while AMANDA reads the letter.)
September 19, 1862. My dear Amanda. I was saddened when I heard how a Yankee patrol had somehow gotten lost and ransacked Bishop Van Duren’s home and property in
Winchester – and just a few weeks after he had passed away. Can you believe he was bishop of the diocese of Virginia for more than 30 years? I remember him as a child - he was one of the meekest and most Godly of men among the Episcopal clergy, if ever there was one. My brother and I would make frequent trips to his home with my mother and father for lemonade and fruit cakes. His home was embellished with the finest fruits and flowers. Our visits were always a treat and it wasn’t unusual for our parents to have to drag us home. My mother said that on his deathbed the Bishop said the cause in which we are engaged is a holy one.

Do not be uneasy when you do not hear from me, my mind is in a million places at once. Your diligence in writing me is appreciated and I hope to reciprocate with a whole package of letters in the next few months. I would give anything to spend time with you in a world without this war.

Goodbye and a thousand kisses to my own sweet, Amanda, for the present. As ever your devoted. Dowd.

(AMANDA closes her diary and exits. CATHERIN enters and sees AMANDA’S diary on the chair. She looks around and picks up it up. She opens the diary and reads aloud.)

CATHERIN
Diary Entry - September 9, 1862. Dear Diary. The 28th, 29th and 30th of August the second battle of Manassas took place. At this battle Col. William Baylor was killed, leaving a heartbroken wife and mother and sister to mourn his loss. James Mullen was also killed in this battle. His brother John was wounded before but died after and was brought home to be buried.

On the 10th, little Mary Bentley died of diphtheria. On the 20th, David Bentley died of the same disease at the age of twelve. If it’s not the war that’s causing death, it’s the things the war brings. So sad. My dearest Dowd, I wish there was something you can do to help rid me of the pain this war brings to my heart. If at any time in our relationship, I think now is when I need you most.
(AMANDA enters.)
I was just reading -

AMANDA
I can see that.
(Grabbing the diary from CATHERIN.)

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Piano in the Key of Mute.

Santa Barbara, July 2008.

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