“The Theatre Critic Searches for the Microsoft Word Setting that Adjusts her Blinking Cursor as She is Forever Frightened by the Sudden Appearance of Black Things in Her Life”
A play in one scene
(Lights up on a lone woman at her desk. This is our CRITIC. At her desk is a small laptop computer and all the accoutrement of a writer: pens, pencils, sticky notes, playbills, talismans, a photo with the original cast of the television series “Superior Donuts,” etc. Behind her is a projection of what is on her laptop screen — presently, a blank Word document, cursor blinking. An unseen figure voices the narration and CRITIC’s thoughts.)
VOICE (from beyond): A gap. A fleeting gap. In that gap — she thought — in that gap between the cursor being visible and invisible, there is something of great comfort. A pure white page, unbroken by this single dark line standing, then gone, then standing, then gone. “Simple,” she thought. She had always found things better when simpler. This blinking cursor was no exception.
(We see CRITIC open the Options window in Word and begin to click around.)
VOICE (continued): She smiles digging through the settings of Word. Surely there was a tool that could widen that gap. Perhaps one that could lighten the shade of the cursor at least? What would you call that?
(Time as CRITIC clicks around further. She adjusts her theme to “Bubbles” then sighs returning to her blank screen.)
VOICE (continued): It was an unproductive sojourn through the options panel. She did find out how to change her theme to “Bubbles,” and felt some small joy in that.
CRITIC: Boop. Boop. Boop.
VOICE: Taken away by the floating soapy spheres, her mind drifted back many years to a storefront production of “Wizard of Oz” that had used bubbles throughout anytime Glenda the good witch appeared.
CRITIC: Ah, yes. So tacky. (she laughs sweetly to herself) I would have made such a lovely Dorothy. A young Gary Sinise as the scarecrow. John Malkovich as the Tin Woodsman, and a sinewy but tinder Michael Shannon as the Cowardly Lion. Hmmm…
VOICE: She let her mind drift for a moment but snapped back as her screen fell dark in its sleep mode.
(Screen falls to sleep mode then shifts back from darkness as she frantically taps her mouse.)
CRITIC: We don’t procrastinate. No. Not when there is so much to say. And a deadline. And my readers.
VOICE: Seldom would she think of it was a literal crown that she bore, but she did feel an obligation, a true weight, to let people know where they should stand on matters of artistic preference. As a lighthouse, she guided vessels away from the hiding obsidian rocks of controversial, less-refined theatre. She was safety. She was a changeless beacon in the stormy twilight of her beloved Chicago theatre.
CRITIC: (with the cursor) Blink. Blink. Blink. (with the bubbles) Boop. Boop. Boop. (she makes various lighthouse and ship noises)
VOICE: She missed Clippy. Though unpopular with many in her industry, something about him / her (“Do we gender paperclips”, she wondered) always shrouded her with solace. No matter where she was led astray. No matter how the outside world was trying to bedevil her with its changing ways, Clippy was there: steely and steadfast. Clippy would know how to make the black cursor go away. Clippy always cared.
CRITIC: Focus, woman!
VOICE: This must be written before midnight, she knew. An expectant editor sat outside a vacant inbox. And if she let herself sleep, it was unlikely she would remember anything from the day before, making the whole article a bit hazy. She had done this many times before, but it was not her preferred method of reviewing.
CRITIC: Focus. Focus. Oh, I bet HE never procrastinates. HE has probably already penned his piece and is laying down to sleep. And it’s perfect. And thought-provoking. And his wife probably cooed over it as they fell asleep atop his 2015 George Jean Nathan Award.
(CRITIC squeals as screen falls black again.)
CRITIC: Come on, old girl. Once more unto the breach and all that.
VOICE: There was no time left to put this off. She needed to start writing, to be the voice her readers needed, to remind us of simpler times when men were men and women were women and cops were friendly and systems were made to help people and theatre reminded us always of these things.
She closed her eyes and began to think back on the play she just saw. She opened her eyes as she remembered that she was afraid of the dark. Then she began to type.
(END OF PLAY)
