Shannon Reed is one of those working playwrights who isn’t famous but keeps plying her trade in New York City because that’s what we all do. She and I have never met, though. Our relationship stems from me playing the character of Doc in her play, Sure Not, here in Boston at a SlamBoston about two years ago. Victor Shopov directed. (Victor is a friend and also an actor, having just won an IRNE this past year for best actor for Zeitgeist Theater’s production of Enron.) We held true to her script and, while the Slam is voted on by audience members, I’m proud to say that the producer of that particular Slam confided in me that our little ten-minute production was her favorite.
Anyway, unfortunately, here is a description and a rant of something I suspect happens a lot in the life of a playwright. It’s happened to me once. It’s a horrible, horrible experience where you’re sitting captive in the audience and just want to crawl under your chair. This is the other side of that collaboration that we talk so much about, that we pine for, that we treasure.
