In keeping with a SlowLearner tradition going back to the old blog, I will continue to bring you incisive, cutting-edge analysis of the rejection letters I get. You'll recall my droll observations after getting dropped like a roast full of larvae by the New Dramatists, and you can't have forgotten my penetrating insights after getting the Hairy Defenestration from SPFNYC.
Well, folks, if the Actors Theatre of Louisville doesn't end up taking the Rejection Letter of the Year award, there must be one hell of a rejection-letter coming my way.
Actually, it's more like a full-on rejection-packet. The contents:
1) The rejection-letter itself. As kindly-worded as the best of 'em, most of the way through, with the usual "due to the large number of submissions," "we appreciate your interest," "best of luck," etc. The letter explains that the Actors Theatre no longer accepts unsolicited one-act and full-length scripts. The the third paragraph, in full: Enclosed is a list of theatres which do accept unsolicited one-act scripts, and we encourage you to send your play to them.
Dude. They're not kidding.
2) The next page in the envelope is actually a legal-size 8 1/2 by 14 piece o paper headlined "DON'T FILE THAT SCRIPT AWAY!" listing thirty-three places you might want to send your freshly rejected manuscript. Chicago Dramatists, INTAR, Theatre Rhinoceros, it's all here. The list is specifically described at the top as "production opportunities for unsolicited one-acts not selected for production or prizes by the Actor's Theatre of Louisville."
Now, the wording could possibly be viewed as bit careless. "Here are the dregs, the miserable second-class theatres to whicf you're reduced to submitting now that the Actor's Theatre of Louisville has sent you packing."
But you know what? I'm gonna take it at face value. I'm gonna take their advice. I'm gonna submit to these companies, at least the ones I haven't hit before. Condescending advice isn't necessarily useless advice.
3) Last but not least, a pamphlet with a 1950's catalogue-looking picture of a distressed woman on the cover with her chin in her hands, and above her: "Madge has the playwriting blues..." Below (presumably) Madge are (presumably) her thoughts: "There just aren'yt enough hours in the day..."
Now, this had me pretty psyched. Enough hours in the day has been my obsession of late, now that I'm simultaneously trying to figure out how to both write more and sleep more. Did the AT of L actually include a self-help approach to playwright-scheduling?
I opened the pamphlet.
"THE NATIONAL TEN-MINUTE PLAY IS THE ANSWER!"
"With today's busy lifestyle, can I really find time to write a play?"
"OF COURSE YOU CAN! All with the Modern World's answer to a hectic schedule: THE TEN-MINUTE PLAY" 95 out of 96 medical professionals agree - ten-minute plays are shorter than full-length plays! And therefore more manageable for nerves stretched to the limit by the pressures of our fast-paced world."
The pamphlet goes on to be an ad for next year's AT of L ten-minute play contest.
Okay, have you ever had that sensation of: You know, I would find that pretty funny under other circumstances. I mean, this pamphlet is kind of funny. It's just that I'm so not in the mood to joke about this stuff right now. These days I often feel time riding up tight under my chin like an undersized wool turtle-neck. Plus I've written about a trillion short plays in the last two years and I'm trying to write something really long and ambitious right now.
It's kind of like if you watched A Fish Called Wanda right after losing your dog. A Fish Called Wanda is one of the funniest films I've ever seen. But I'd never show it to someone who just lost a dog.
Look, the Actor's Theatre of Louisville clearly has the very best intentions with this rejection-packet. This organization is staffed by people who know artists and therefore can't help but care about the feelings of artists. They wanted their rejected entrants to have a bit more to hang their hats on than a kindly-worded dismissal. And I'm being a bit of a dick here. Nonetheless, I'll complain about one more thing.
Every other rejection I've ever gotten has been in a thin envelope. That way you know it's a no as soon as you pull it out of the mailbox. With the full-on support-packet the AT of L puts together, you feel like you just got accepted into a college when you heft that envelope in your hand. I'm just sayin'.
In closing, I'm self-aware enough to know the only thing the AT of L really did wrong was to not select my play as one of their finalists. Believe me, I'll have a thing or two to say about this at my Pulitzer luncheon. But in the mean-time, just let me make fun of their rejection letter a little. I'm gonna submit again this year anyway.
--SlowLearner
Just got mine from the 10-minute play festival. I didn't get an amusing retro brochure!
Posted by: Dan | July 20, 2004 at 10:20 AM