Poetry & Blindfolds

When not practicing my deepest and most sincere humility, I am wont to occasionally troll through the internet in search of ‘Vincent Truman.’  The results that pique my interest, however, rarely have anything to do with me; the gentleman with my same name who might be an Australian long distance runner or a retiring librarian are far more interesting than some stray blog or video that mentions the version of Vincent Truman that is me.  A couple of weeks ago, I found myself fascinated by finding among a list of entrants for a screenwriting competition a play by Andrew Thompson entitled, “The Early Retirement of Vincent Truman.”

It is not my practice to reach out to (other) authors, but occasionally I will give it a shot, either half-heartedly, in the case of Gina Welch (“In The Land of Believers”), or with a mind towards one day sharing a cup of tea, in the case of Kerry Cohen (“Loose Girl”).  However, so intrigued was I with the fact that there existed a screenplay in which a fictional version of myself – OK, I’m reaching, I realize this – was the victim of early retirement that I immediately sent an email to the screenwriting folks, explaining who I was and how my name was used in the title of one of the plays under consideration.  They graciously put me in touch with Andrew Thompson, my not-even-fictional biographer.  Andrew was very kind enough to send along to me a copy of “The Early Retirement of Vincent Truman” and I thought it fair to send a copy of “The Observatory” to him.  Note: this is a common practice for me, I confess; in exchange for Ms. Cohen’s autograph on my copy of “Loose Girl”, I sent her a copy of my cartoon book, “This Is My First Time So Please Be Brutal”, which I presume is propping up one quarter of an otherwise-slanted table in the Cohen household somewhere.

Reading “Retirement” has been a very fun experience for me, and not really because my name happens to be in the title.  Rather, I had the opportunity to read a new work without a critical eye or a thought of producing it or having to learn lines; it’s been sheer entertainment.  A mental Wii.  Since Andrew has requested some sort of feedback, I have read the screenplay with my red pen at hand – but confess I have only used it to write variations on “ha ha ha” in the margins.  It’s quite a funny piece of writing – the scene in which the titular character attempts to reclaim a tie his dead friend is to be cremated in had me in stitches (Andrew, if you’re reading this, I hope this doesn’t give too much away).

Speaking (ever so fleetingly) of Wii, the wife and I were presented with one for our collective birthdays by the wife’s mother.  This mantel of white accomplishment had to be accompanied by the other mantel of white accomplishment: the wide-screen television.  Since these two objects have invaded our home, I have taken to playing virtual tennis and the wife has taken to watching the first season of “Lost.”  I cringe at the idea of “Lost” as I cringed to the idea of “E.T.” all those years ago.  Anything that popular, so goes my logical and atheistic mind, cannot be good for you.

Tomorrow will mark the day of my readthrough/workshop for “The Observatory.”  Even more than getting live feedback for the play, I am thrilled for the opportunity to have so many people I respect and have worked with in attendance.  I am still in the “fun” phase of playwrighting; the eventual production will be the nightmare phase.  But that is for another day.