Once upon a time a girl fell in love and quit her job and moved 300 miles to live with the boy with whom she fell in love. She kept her blog and her couch and four boxes of books. She made plans with broad strokes: to sleep in a few days, then fix up her office and write her first novel. She envisioned a parade of clamoring agents.
After reorganizing their house with corporate comedown neurosis and nurturing fear of blank Word documents, the girl questioned her original “goals.” She still loved her boyfriend and enjoyed her new city, but artistic impulse stalled like a broken current. She began to suspect it might never come back.
Then the girl’s birthday rolled around, and her boyfriend bought tickets to see a play. “The playwright’s a blogger, just like you, and I hear she’s pretty funny,” he said. The girl closed her computer and suppressed a yawn; she’d wished for a bowl of brownie mix.
A few days later, they went to the show. The girl found herself chucking, then laughing, then crying. She felt the words moving under her skin, a story hot and cold and told by a master. When she stood up to applaud, she heard gentle buzzing, like stage lights or a far-off generator.
“You’re smiling,” he said when they left the theater.
“I want to go home and write.”
* * *
Seven months later, the girl knows a few things. She knows she needs people to feel well adjusted, and she knows that great novels are hard to complete. She talks of herself as a writer/consultant, a marketer who likes great ideas and design. She says these things and knows there’s no knowing. She tries not to worry about it.
At the gym one day, she recognizes a woman: blonde hair and big eyes, a megawatt smile. It’s the playwright from the show.
They talk a little and sweat a lot. The girl learns the show will come back to town. She decides she must see it again.
Then a stranger thing happens than two almost-strangers bumping into each other in a very small city. The actress hears that the girl is a freelancer, and she needs someone to promote her show. Would the girl be interested?
* * *
And that is the story of how I came to be the publicist for DeeDee Stewart’s play, Dirty Barbie and Other Girlhood Tales. The show goes up in just two weeks, and we have some really fun stuff planned. I am SO excited to be part of the process, and since the world of PR is new to me, I plan to blog about it. In other words, prepare for the deluge–and if you’re in C’ville, you should buy your ticket before they sell out.