This is a place where all my fiction/ poetry will be published. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

The Scarecrew: Told in Four Acts

Hiero: a scarecrow with a tattered red and black jacket, black boots, and a bowler hat
Symbi: a scarecrow with a denim shirt, dirty sneakers, and a straw hat
Quanta: a scarecrow in an ancient, well-worn white shirt, cowboy boots, and a Panama hat
The Man: a man in denim coveralls, with no shoes, and a white t-shirt

Act One

As the scene opens, the Three Scarecrows are tied onto three individual crosses in an empty field. The Man is nowhere to be seen. The Scarecrew appears to be 20 years of age. The summer sky is clear and without clouds. It won't rain today. A conversation between the Scarecrew can be heard all around; it is all-encompassing, filling every nook and cranny with sound.

Hiero: Look, all I'm saying is that we can't just keep staying here.
Symbi: He's right. It's hard enough to keep away the crows.
Quanta: Well, if we actually used my ideas, maybe we could prove our worth to The Man.
Symbi: All I know is that we have to work together.
Hiero: We are nothing without The Man!
Quanta: The Man is nothing but a hindrance to us.
Hiero: We've already been out here for half a day; we must wait for The Man to come to us.
Symbi: There's nothing for us to do here. We are doomed.
[A long pause begins. It lasts for about two or so minutes. Symbi starts crying.]
Hiero: [to Quanta] Now look what you've done, you fat idiot.
Quanta: [to Hiero] This is not my fault; it's his own.
[Symbi sobs harder.]
Quanta: [to no one at all] We have to put our faith in science. This is the only way that we can truly scare the crows.
[Symbi is still sobbing.]
Hiero: [to no one at all] Look, the way I see it, is that if The Man put us here to scare crows, he would have given us the tools to do it.
Symbi [now quiet]: [to no one at all] We can only work together to scare the crows. That's why we're together.
Quanta: [to Symbi] That's the stupidest idea you've ever had. Our only purpose in life is to scare crows. Not to form relationships.
Hiero: [to Symbi] That was a terrible idea, Symbi. We are only here to please The Man.
Symbi: [to both] No, we are only here to meet people and be together.
[pause]
Symbi: Maybe we should kill ourselves.
Quanta: How?
Hiero: Why?
Symbi: We'd just have to loosen our ropes and fall down. Life ends as soon as we are off these crosses. [Quanta and Hiero look at each other, with confusion.] All of our troubles will be over.
Hiero and Quanta: Maybe.
Symbi: I'd need your help with it.
Hiero: No.
Quanta: Then, it's not really killing yourself, is it?
Hiero: I'm not killing anyone else.
Symbi: Even if they want to be killed?
Hiero: That's not their decision.
Quanta: I'd help you kill yourself, but I can't reach you. Hiero is in the way.
Hiero: I'm not moving.
Symbi: We must die alone then.
Hiero: Yes.
Quanta: Yes.

Act Two

As the scene opens, the Scarecrew is looking away from each other. The conversation has lulled. When there are bursts of conversation, they don't talk to anyone in particular. They look about 40 or so; middle aged, at the very least. The Man can be seen far in the distance, as if he was painted into the fields far behind them. No one can actually tell if he is there or not.

Quanta: Does anyone want to hear about my idea?
Hiero: Heresy.
Symbi: Show-off.
Quanta: You all are so stupid. Ideas are the only way that anything can be accomplished.
Hiero: I prefer to put my faith in who put us here.
Symbi: I want to work together.
Quanta: Science. Science.
Hiero: Typical heresy.
Quanta: It was such a long time ago; do you even know for sure that The Man, of your making, exists?
Symbi: He did put us here together.
Hiero: Don't listen to Symbi, he's stupid. The Man was not made by me. He's always been for the whole of the Scarecrew's existence.
Quanta: I'm not convinced.
Hiero: But, I had a vision. I was almost awake when The Man was making me!
Quanta: This is a new story.
Symbi: Can't we just accept that we are here to work together to scare crows.
Hiero: [turning his head] Look, The Man is there!
Quanta: That's just a person. We can't even be sure it isn't just another scarecrow.
Symbi: We should shout over there to see if it will join us.
Quanta: No.
Hiero: No.
Quanta: We can't just trust in the Scarecrew, Symbi. We need something else.
Hiero: He's right. The Man.
Quanta: Science. The Man. What have you. As long as it isn't the Scarecrew.
Symbi: Then, why are we here, if not to form relationships.
Quanta, Hiero: To scare crows. That's our only purpose in life.
[pause for about 2 minutes]
Quanta: My idea is-
Hiero: Heresy.
Quanta: If you'll just let me finish, you'll maybe find that my idea isn't all that terrible.
Hiero: I don't want to hear anything that will sway my faith.
Quanta: So you admit that science disproves The Man.
Hiero: No. Science is just a false mistress.
Quanta: What does that even mean?
Hiero: [shrugs] It just came to me.
Quanta: Science [he takes a short pause and sighs] just comes to me.
Hiero: Then you are lost. If you love only science, The Man has no time for you.
Symbi: You know, for following only The Man, Hiero, you talk an awful lot about heresy and science.
Quanta: Yeah.
Symbi: And, Quanta, for following only science, you seem to take The Man rather seriously.
Hiero: Yeah.
[pause, and they all look away from one another]
Quanta: My idea was to design an experiment to test which type of sound scares crows the best.
Hiero [indignant]: You didn't ask that time.
Quanta: If you ignore my asking, eventually I'll just tell you.
Symbi: Would we even need each other if we figured out which sound works better than the rest?
Quanta: If it works well enough, no. Theoretically, we could work on a shift system.
Symbi: I don't like this idea; we should have to work together.
Hiero: No, we all have to work. The Man might think us to be lazy.
Quanta [sarcastically]: But you could pray in that spare time.
Hiero: Don't say that so callously. And I don't trust any of your snake oil.
Symbi: Whatever happened to the Scarecrew?

Act Three

As the scene opens, a vintage truck with clocks piled in the bed is parked near the Scarecrew. They ignore it. They look about eighty now. They are arguing so bitterly. The sun appears to be setting in the distance. The strange apparition of The Man in the background has disappeared.

Symbi: I'm getting tired.
Hiero: The day is over soon.
Quanta: Moon rise.
Hiero: Sun set.
Quanta [agitatedly]: Moon rise.
Hiero [upset]: Sun set!
Symbi [blank-faced]: Evening.
Quanta: That's the stupidest answer. Night starts when the moon rises!
Hiero: I am loath to agree, but yet I do. You are wrong, Symbi.
Symbi: You two agree on nothing except that I am wrong.
Hiero: That's because I have The Man.
Quanta: I have science. I have facts.
Symbi: You both have me, too. [pause] And each other.
Quanta: I don't really see the point in that.
Hiero: Our minds prevent us from having each other.
Symbi: The Man. Science? I'll never understand it.
Quanta: Clearly, you'll never understand science. It's beyond you.
Hiero: And The Man is beyond both of you.
Quanta: I'd die if that were the fact.
Symbi: I'd be happier dead.
Hiero: I'm not killing you.
Quanta: I can't reach.
Symbi: So I'm stuck here.
Hiero [victoriously]: Who owns the truck? You can't deny the truck's existence!
Quanta: True. But I hypothesize that there is a race above us.
Hiero: That is not The Man?
Quanta: I can't explain it. But I know they exist.
Symbi: Why isn't it just the Scarecrew anymore?
Hiero and Quanta: It never was.
Symbi: You're wrong. Remember this morning, when we were young! There was no Man.
Hiero: The Man always was.
Quanta: Or never. Science doesn't change.
Symbi: They never existed before you thought of them.
Quanta: Science is just facts.
Hiero: The Man revealed himself to me.
Quanta: Yes, but my belief is real.
Hiero: Your belief is false, and your only purpose is to hide my eyes from seeing The Man!
Quanta: Your eyes don't deceive you. You don't see this Man.
Hiero: The Man.
Quanta: Excuse me for not being clear. [pause with a loud exhalation] The Man does not exist. Science dictates it.
Hiero: [In a fit of rage, opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He's clearly speechless. With this hand, he starts to untie Quanta from his cross. Quanta is too busy gloating to notice. With his hands raised up triumphantly skyward, the last knot is loosened, and Quanta falls to the ground; Quanta's Panama hat falls to the ground.] Haha, this is what you get, heathen. [Hiero spits on Quanta's writhing body. Quanta reaches his hand up and attempts to scream; Symbi looks down in silent horror and starts sobbing. A wind picks up blowing the Panama hat far away. A man walks out of the vintage truck and walks toward the Scarecrew] Master! Master! Master! I have served The Man faithfully. Take me with you. I've suffered enough. [The man ignores Hiero and turns his gaze to Quanta. He picks Quanta's body up gingerly, and carries him in a fireman's lift to the passenger side of the truck.] No! No! Don't leave me... Don't go. [The truck moves out of view. Hiero lets out an anguished scream. Nightfall comes immediately, and all is black.]

Act Four

A vulture is sitting on a tree branch in the distance. Symbi slept restlessly. Hiero seems inanimate and is just hanging there. It is without conversation. It is silent.

Symbi: [For the first few minutes, there is utter silence as Symbi gradually wakes up.] What just-What happened last night? [Hearing no answer from Hiero, Symbi looks over and screams. Hiero has apparently died brutally; the red and black jacket is stabbed open in numerous places and straw is billowing out. One of his boots is on the ground. A crow flies down to rest on him.] I'm all alone. I'm all alone. I'm just here without anyone else. If only I could kill myself... [Symbi shakes his cross and groans in futility; tears start to fall.]
The Man: [All of the remaining members of the Scarecrew and their crosses disappear under a cover of darkness. When the lights turn on again, The Man appears.] And this, dear audience... is the end.

The Game

The fire's already awake
It got no sleep last night
In the cabin by the lake
All huddled tight

Dan wakes next to the flames
And threw in a log
He got tired of the games
And cleared the mental fog

Sandalwood incense burned
Perfuming the air
He uttered the syllable he learned
And then he was elsewhere

He dropped away
Past the hard, dirty floor
Where the children never play
They tend to use the door

In the world of the Gods
He did for the doing
Whatever his job
While morning was dewing

Dan uncrosses his legs
And brewed some tea
Though he had no bacon or eggs
He had the key

Tomorrow would be the same
And the Gods would awaken
Dan would run from the game
And be forsaken

Again...I love this play.

Better than lost, here I am stuck at home on a Saturday night again
Lost my job at the factory, God, I want it all to end.

I feel so good.

Watchin' the Knicks game tryin' to find out who wins in the end
No one's gonna win

Hey, hey man. Y'know... No, no, it's good stuff. Got it off Fernando. Ro-Roll the dice. It's good stuff. Grow some cacti. Do a line or two. Y'know, it's life; you take it as it comes: apples and oranges. Sometimes, you die; sometimes, you don't know why. Sometimes it's all okay. When you write the songs and the pain goes away; pick your shades up off the floor.

I feel so good.
Feel so good.
Feel sooo...

At 2/2/10 09:05 PM, stimcrab wrote:

Feel sooo...

I would like to comment on this, but I simply am not sure of what it is...
Is this a poem or a prose piece?

At 2/2/10 09:20 PM, TrevorW wrote:

At 2/2/10 09:05 PM, stimcrab wrote:

Feel sooo...

I would like to comment on this, but I simply am not sure of what it is...
Is this a poem or a prose piece?

I was actually meant to be a song that I wrote, but the person who did the music portion of it lost interest. So here it is.

That's a strange format for a song.

At 2/2/10 11:01 PM, TrevorW wrote: That's a strange format for a song.

It has a monologue in the middle.

At 2/2/10 11:04 PM, stimcrab wrote:

At 2/2/10 11:01 PM, TrevorW wrote: That's a strange format for a song.

It has a monologue in the middle.

Gotcha!

A very different play. The parallel drawn between humanity being scarecrows is really fascinating. Where did you get the idea?

I'm not really too fond of the play. I found the characters to be very stereotypical. Angry atheist is angry, religious nutjob is crazy.

And I'm not sure the analogy really works all that well. The scarecrows see the man in a truck, but in reality, no one has ever seen god riding by on a comet. The Man is undeniably there, he's wandering around in the background, the scarecrows see him. But this has no effect on Quanti, he still just shoves his fingers in his ears and says "science, science, science." He explains this all away by saying he believes in a higher race, but he just can't explain it. Let me put it this way:

Me: I believe that there are people in this world, contracted and equipped by local and national governments, to search out and destroy crime.

You: So you believe in cops?

Me: No.

See how much sense that makes? I think you should elaborate on this point here. What exactly is this "higher race" that Quanti believes in. And as a counterpoint to this, why does Hiero believe that the person they see is the Man with a capitol M, instead of just a man.

As it is right now, the whole play just kind of becomes one big argument over semantics. They both acknowledge that something is there (Higher Race/The Man), they're just argueing on what to call it. This happens a lot in your piece:

"Quanta: It was such a long time ago; do you even know for sure that The Man, of your making, exists?
Symbi: He did put us here together.
Hiero: Don't listen to Symbi, he's stupid. The Man was not made by me. He's always been for the whole of the Scarecrew's existence."

Symbi seems to be agreeing with Hiero here. So why is Hiero saying not to listen to Symbi?

I like the concept of this play, I find it very interesting. But I just don't think you executed it very well, it could use some work.

Some of the emotion stirred in your play at the start of the thread is used quite well through some of the most basic actions possible (which is appropriate, given the characters are scarecrows), especially at the end with Symbi. The relationships between the three scarecrows are going to be the most interesting things you have about what you've written for this reason, because our expectations of relationships as portrayed in a performance have their own frame, if I'm making sense. Most of my positives revolve around Symbi, because, as I'll say in the next section, Symbi's characterisation results in more pity at the end - while the relationships are interesting, when the same conflict is used again and again, the run a little thin.

My issues with the play so far are similar to Version2's, in that the allegory that's taking place with the characters is not a particularly deep one construction wise. I think choosing to make your idea into a script was an interesting - indeed, it's an intriguing concept anyway, and one of the most obvious things that have conveyed well about yor allegory is that the play's message is overall very dehumanising; at least, that's what I picked up. At the moment, I think Version2 is right when he says that a lot of it is concerned with fighting over semantics. Fixing these problems may just be a case of rewording some lines in a future draft, but I think you might have to polish further some of the lines that are intended to be tense and more evocative as far as the audience are concerned - make them stand-out like some do towards the end.

Making the characters two-dimensional in a respect is part of the point obviously, but I think you could build on some lines and possibly inject something more humanistic (I know, ironically) to begin with, giving you more time to build up and sharpen your message through the 'story' later. Perhaps you could pace things out a bit with this, expand the timeframe that your play takes place in possibly.

I'm not a playwriting expert, and that might show in these comments. Regardless of this, I think some of your prose can be cut down greatly. As far as a director or an actor is concerned, it's very hard to show extensive adverb-based description on a theatre set - I'd advise you to keep it to a minimum, enough to let the characters know how they feeling, because I do sense you're using weather effects ironically, which is quite good given the subject matter. Other parts can be cut down further, example:

'The summer sky is clear and without clouds. It won't rain today.'

The summer sky is clear, set. I know it's without clouds as a result of that statement, and I can safely assume it won't be raining that day. It might work more if the play had a large usage of visual effects on set, but the fact is that this is a dialogue-dominated script, like most scripts should be, to fit its purpose. Additionally, more of a nit-pick: the characters 'pause for about two minutes' in the second act. Really? That seems like a considerable length of time when performing a play. Maybe try reading your script out to yourself and timing it (which is something I'm recommended to do, and something I pass along to others) and changing some things accordingly.

Again, I agree with Version2 that the concept is an interesting one, and that you've really made your thoughts known creatively. I think that's great actually, but I'd say try not to let that limit you. I hope these comments were useful - I hope you'll look into making a second draft.

Electronic Satellite

The satellite
Blink
Blink
Blink
Relay,
Phone home
Blink
Blink
Blink

I wonder:
is it lonely?

As it is right now, the whole play just kind of becomes one big argument over semantics.

That is pretty much the entire point. They're fundamentally similar, but they can't see eye to eye...

At 2/3/10 09:15 AM, tigerkitty wrote: A very different play. The parallel drawn between humanity being scarecrows is really fascinating. Where did you get the idea?

Well, I wanted to do something with something anthropomorphic. If it wasn't anthropomorphic, it'd be a lot more difficult to do as a stageplay. So I just kind of arbitrarily decided on scarecrows, haha.

Thank you very much for the criticism. I was kinda on the fence with the adverbs in the stage descriptions, but since I normally read plays, not see them (unfortunately) I guess I tried to make it more like a book. I'll try and work on that in the future.

And, I can see where the characters need a bit more humanism. I tried to kind of fuse The Allegory of the Cave and Samuel Beckett. I get where you're coming from.

Also, I don't think that I'll make a second draft of this, but I may use it as a jumping ground for something new. Still, for my first play, I'm pretty pleased with how well it turned out.

Finally, I can't really thank you enough for actually giving reasons for your criticism. I've dealt with too many people who've just said, "I don't like it," or people who say, "It's awesome" without ever telling me what they like or don't like about it. It means a lot.

The opening paragraph of my new spy serial, The Frank Keretta Story. Hope y'all like it!

The letter looked up from my kitchen table. I sipped a Tom Collins and surveyed it. The scribbled handwriting gave away the author before the signature was read. It had to be from Colin Humblin, an old college buddy of mine. We were roommates back, oh say, twenty odd years ago up in Glasgow. I studied International Relations, and he was studying business management. Colin always sort of bugged me, in college, because I knew he'd be pussy whipped by some faceless corporation sooner or later.

My good sir you have like 100 topics. Cheap :P

At 2/4/10 09:25 PM, TrevorW wrote: My good sir you have like 100 topics. Cheap :P

I'm limiting it to just my fiction, my nonfiction, and my spy serial.

Regardless of the critics on your play I still love it. I say leave the play as is. Sure it is 2-D on both sides, but hell its the same way in real life. I still love it. (Tired, sorry if this sounds badly written)

Norwegian Halls

Under Norwegian halls,
We wander alone.

Under Norwegian halls,
We cry alone.

We cry alone,
With our future at hand.

We cry alone,
Thinking on ancient lore.

Thinking on ancient lore,
The gods are playing.

Thinking on ancient lore,
A shipwrecked man cries.

A shipwrecked man cries,
The waves kissing his feet.

A shipwrecked man cries;
The cherub falls from grace.

The cherub falls from grace;
We fall with him.

The cherub falls from grace,
Under Norwegian halls.

At 2/4/10 10:42 PM, stimcrab wrote: Norwegian Halls

Nice use of repetition.

At 2/2/10 09:05 PM, stimcrab wrote: Better than lost, here I am stuck at home on a Saturday night again
Lost my job at the factory, God, I want it all to end.

I feel so good.

Watchin' the Knicks game tryin' to find out who wins in the end
No one's gonna win

Hey, hey man. Y'know... No, no, it's good stuff. Got it off Fernando. Ro-Roll the dice. It's good stuff. Grow some cacti. Do a line or two. Y'know, it's life; you take it as it comes: apples and oranges. Sometimes, you die; sometimes, you don't know why. Sometimes it's all okay. When you write the songs and the pain goes away; pick your shades up off the floor.

I feel so good.
Feel so good.
Feel sooo...

I like this. It could be made better, given more character, if it weren't as trite in the middle. Otherwise, this stands a really good chance of turning into a really good slam poem.

I'm pretty excited. Today, I received news that the Scarecrew received the second highest honors possible for the writing competition I submitted it to! Figured I'd fill you all in...

The Game wasn't for me because I don't like repetitive poems, it just sounds redundant....

Hey, look, I'm doing something other than battle threads and hyping my novel! Wha?!

Capitalism Speed Racer

I left my libido in Toledo
Takin' it for free-- no.
No longer givin' two cents for hoes
Just the intellectual flows
True poetry from the brain
I'm lo-fi, fly-by, as-the-crow-flies, stained
This ain't some big game
More like Battleship Potemkin
Race against the police TASER
Big bad capitalism's Speed Racer
Just like oxygen can't be alone
I'm tired of listenin' to rappers, always stoned
The French Connection some say
Better than any word play

Tired of livin' without no king
All these fake rappers and their bling
Fade out on the rocks

Interstellar Overdrive rocks the bass
Pick up the peace, get it off your face
Left the Velvet Underground
20 years later it was found
Lou Reed, John Cale, Andy Warhol
Post-modernist on his last haul
Go to India, find a Hindu
Back to Canada, Labatt's Blue
This is Chemical, nothin' but
Always usin' the brain, never the gut
Balance the equation
Laboratory test station
And the end of the free flow
Ingest the toxic waste and feel the glow!

Tired of livin' without no king
All these fake rappers and their bling
Fade out on the rocks

Tried to be a lyricist
Rose to power, fear assist
Lost my drummer and the cymbals
Skull with lightning bolt, and puffables
Use my lighter to light it
Use my flow to fight it
In cinemascope, I'm the Magnificent One
I lost the other six to clunge
Dressin' fine in vintage suits
Lookin' up like Cool Hand Luke
Walkin' in the canyon, one two three
Just a mic and the fans, you and me
Don't give a damn what them bitches think
Give me your problems, I'm a veritas shrink

Exciting news NGers. This is also posted on Youtube! You can hear me rap it out with a back-beat provided by Yun's Saturday Morning Funk. If anyone wants to volunteer to make me more backbeats, I'm open to this...

Another one of my raps...

Le Mans

It's a dead heat at the starting line
No superheroes to save them this time
Spiderman, Birdman, Dr. Manhattan
Jump in front of the car, flatten 'em
Talk about heavy metal
Corvette flyin' from the space shuttle
Your yacht got scuttled
Walkin' the mires so muddled
Cancer's bad the AMA says
Not as bad as the pit crew's pay
Can he make it outta the woods
Shoulda, woulda, coulda
Nah, it's understood, the end'll come
And then it'll be done, down like a ton
Not gettin' up like a cartoon
Tell her to blow up my balloon
It's comin' soon, mah goon
Take the curve with the Tokyo Drift
In the historical perspective, I got short shrift
Not tryin' to be like MF DOOM
Don't wear the metal face, things don't go boom
Leave the beats in full bloom
Don't kill the beats with a black thumb
Try the white habit, leave some crumbs
From when the thumb touched the albino plum
Pie, that is, for those uninitiated
I like to find those underappreciated
Laugh in the their face, schadenfreude
Look away like I annoyed ya.
The audience is just waiting for a crash
Secret stash, givin' enough rope, Clash, capisce?
Modern poetry of the streets
Upstairs bedroom for th'elite
You'll never understand like the race car
Don't you know are a shining star?
And you'll go far?
But wait the race is done
Death put it all on stun

I was just this moment inspired and I wrote two poems!!

Lithograph

Marilyn Monroe's on my wall, hanging
So high above the rest of my art.
It's not even a real photograph,
But merely some lithograph by
Some famous artist in the past.

I'm hanging up on my wall, as
If a child hung me here, but I
Am a lithograph incapable
Of thoughts and other actions.
So it's here on the wall I'm hanging.