The Team, top row: Courtnee Rouse, me, Winter Miller; bottom row: Mary Glen Frederick, Sandi Stock, Jamie Saunders

I’m home now, resting on my couch after the wonderful whirlwind of new play development at Urbanite Theatre’s Modern Works Festival. I’m exhausted. Like, legitimately feel-like-I-could-sleep-for-a-few-weeks exhausted.

And I’m in no rush to get back to work. That may be the most surprising thing I’m taking home with me.

A lot happened at Modern Works Festival. The Longest Walk underwent a major revision. I made some important discoveries about the play. The play won the Audience Choice Award, which still kind of blows my mind. I met artists I hope to work with again. I deepened existing relationships and made new friendships.

But one of the things I’m proudest of is that I made time to be a person. I went to the beach twice to walk with friends. I got gelato. I went to dinners and coffee when I could have been working.

This probably sounds ridiculous, but that is not normally how I approach a development opportunity. I’m there to do a job. And I work. Every waking minute.

Let’s be honest: I work too hard most of the time. My entire life is development opportunities, formal or otherwise. I’m proud of how hard I work. That’s how I roll.

But this time, I gave myself permission to be social. To make friends. To have conversations that weren’t about fixing a play.

Maybe that’s therapy. Maybe it’s growth. Maybe it’s simply that I don’t have many theatre friends here in Greenville.

Whatever the reason, I’m beginning to understand that those things matter – not just to me as a human being, but to me as an artist. The relationships we build feed the pages we produce.

Going back to Urbanite

Getting the nod from Modern Works Festival two years in a row was mind-blowing.

When I was at MWF last year, I had a hunch my new military play about two badass women, friendship, trauma, and mental health, might be a fit for Urbanite.

It’s a small play (two characters), driven more by language, relationship, and the accumulation of trauma than by plot. It’s intimate. It’s funny in places and brutal in others. And, ultimately, it’s a gut punch.

Still, when I submitted it, it was a first draft. A year old. Very much in need of work. So when Summer Dawn Wallace emailed to tell me the play had been chosen as one of the three finalists for the festival, I was ecstatic.

And now I’m going back to Urbanite in February for the production of 1999. So I’m pretty sure they’re going to get their fill of me for a while.

But I love Urbanite. They’re my family, my peeps. They get my voice. They like me! And I consider them my theatrical home.

I know they can’t do my plays every year. But if I get to exist in their universe once in a while, I will consider that a very good theatrical life.

Summer giving me a needed hug after the post-show talkback, MG and Sandi looking on.

The work

The process started a little… dramatically. My flight was delayed. Then delayed again. And again. And again.

I was supposed to arrive at 5:30 and then go to a fancy dinner with my director and Urbanite’s Producing Artistic Director. I had already studied the menu and was eyeing an epic meal with truly special people who were taking time to hang out with me.

Instead, I ate airport pretzels.

Rehearsals started the next morning with a wonderfully talented team. Mary Glen Frederick, an incredible playwright and actor I had worked with at Sewanee this summer, played Mags. Sandi Stock, new to me but brilliant, played Fee. They both connected deeply with the material and absolutely slayed it.

Jamie Saunders read the stage directions and was such a thoughtful, generous presence in the room. Courtnee Rouse, our stage manager, somehow kept us organized and caffeinated. Apparently caffeine gum is a thing?

And then there was Winter Miller, who came down from New York to direct. For those of us who know Winter primarily from her online writing workshops and have never actually met her outside the Zoom room, I can confirm: she does, in fact, have legs.

We spent an evening walking on the beach, talking about the play, its themes, its content, and life. We watched the sun set, walked a couple of miles, and eventually ended up at a wonderful gelato place after a yogi/competitive ballroom dancer we met on the street gave us a recommendation.

That evening mattered to me. I wouldn’t be the writer I am now, and The Longest Walk would not exist in its current form, without Winter. I’ve studied with her for eight years. She has been there as I’ve grown into writing what I believe is my best work. She’s a gifted teacher, workshop leader, and coach. And it meant a lot to spend time together simply as humans.

Winter Miller and me… We match, except I’m wearing the super cool Urbanite swag! I thought it’d be funny later… it is!

Learning what the play still needs

I made some big revisions during the festival. I didn’t get through the entire work list, but that’s okay. That’s what development is for. The life of the play was pushed forward, both for the festival and for whatever comes next.

Then came the first reading. It wasn’t great. The actors gave everything they had. The problem was the play. It was too long.

I hadn’t been able to focus on cuts as much as I have in previous development processes, and suddenly I could hear sections that needed to go.

After the first reading, I started cutting. The second reading was eleven minutes shorter. Eleven minutes is an eternity onstage.

It’s still too long. There’s still work to do. But now I know what that work is.

One of the highlights of the festival was meeting playwright Jacqueline Goldfinger, our guest speaker. After the first reading, Jackie said essentially: the play is there. It just needs some cutting and shaping. I agree.

Jackie also suggested that I outline the play’s emotional rise and fall—the temperature of the play from beginning to end. That was exactly the kind of note I needed. Because The Longest Walk isn’t really about plot. It’s about the accumulation of trauma and what that trauma does to a friendship over time.

Jackie and I ended up spending the next morning at the beach. We walked. We got gelato. And we talked about working together as playwright and dramaturg.

She is the perfect person to help me with this play. She comes from a military family and has written her own military play. She understands the territory in ways that feel deeply valuable to me. I can’t wait to get started!!

The silly photo of me and Jackie! Jackie said it best: “This is as silly as playwrights get.” Yep.

And then…

The Longest Walk won the Audience Choice Award!! Which honestly shocked me. This is not an easy play. It deals with PTSD, military trauma, friendship, guilt, violence, and the ways women survive things they aren’t supposed to survive. And it was nowhere near a polished draft.

But the audience listened. They understood the play. They were moved by it. That means something is working.

Big, beautiful, life-changing things happened at Modern Works Festival. But it was hard, too. The play is close to me. Making something with a group of people in a very short amount of time can be emotionally intense. There were moments when I was overwhelmed and moments when I wasn't sure the play was working. But I came home knowing more about the play than I did when I left. And I came home with new collaborators, new friends, and a renewed sense of why I keep doing this.

So I’m going to rest now. Happily.

I’m going to rest until the words start calling me back to work again with my two Marines.