31 Plays in 31 Days: #4 - "Worth a Crack or Two"

Today's piece is a scene that could be incorporated into the first sequel to Mrs. Hawking. As I've said, I think Nathaniel is going to want to get more involved in helping Mrs. Hawking. But he's got a lot to learn, not just about her business, but also about how to work effectively with women. He's got a lot of cultural prejudices that will have to be whacked out of him-- perhaps literally, in this scene. But it's the first step to him figuring out what his unique skills and contribution can be, the way he can actually be something truly useful to the endeavor.


Day #4 - "Worth a Crack or Two"

MRS. VICTORIA HAWKING, avenger of downtrodden women
MARY STONE, her housemaid and assistant
NATHANIEL HAWKING, her nephew with ambitions to help her
~~~

MARY: I say, Nathaniel— is that a bruise?
NATHANIEL: Oh, this? It’s nothing, I assure you.
MARY: Nothing? You look as if you’ve taken quite a bash!
MRS. HAWKING: Wherever did you get that?
NATHANIEL: Just— from sport.
MRS. HAWKING: Sport? Taken up boxing, have you?
NATHANIEL: As a matter of fact.
MRS. HAWKING: Surely you’re joking.
NATHANIEL: Not at all, Auntie.
MARY: Why on earth have you done that?
NATHANIEL: Well— if you must know— it’s to make myself more useful to you. So I can handle myself and lend another arm if things come to it!
MRS. HAWKING: Nathaniel. Going a few rounds of gentleman’s boxing is hardly going to ready you for the sort of roughs we encounter.
NATHANIEL: It isn’t right to just hang back and leave it to you ladies. What kind of man would that make me?
MRS. HAWKING: Ha!
NATHANIEL: Go ahead and laugh. But how do you think I feel, knowing the two of you are putting yourselves in danger and I’m not fit to help you?
MRS. HAWKING: I don’t think you quite understand. There are no Marquess of Queensbury rules when you’re fighting for your life.
NATHANIEL: Even Mary’s had to handle herself. And she just a girl!
MARY: Sir!
NATHANIEL: No offense intended, Mary. But if you can swing that poker surely I’m worth a crack or two.
(MARY looks to MRS. HAWKING, who sighs.)
MRS. HAWKING: Very well, then, Nathaniel. If you mean to have a go, have a go at me.
NATHANIEL: I beg your pardon?
MRS. HAWKING: If you think you’re fit to take on a real threat. Take on me.
NATHANIEL: I say, Auntie, how could I?
MRS. HAWKING: If you’d like to cast yourself into the fray, you ought to know what you’re up against. Show me what
you’re made of.
NATHANIEL: I don’t know—
MRS. HAWKING: Take his coat, Mary.
(He and MARY look at each other a moment. Then he shakes his head and throws up his hands. She steps forward and he shrugs out of his jacket. She places it aside as he begins turning up his shirt cuffs.)
MRS. HAWKING: Now come on!
(Uncertainly, NATHANIEL puts his fists and advances on her. He takes a few swings, which she dodges easily, even walking backward.)
MRS. HAWKING: Is that all? You must do better than that!
(NATHANIEL starts punching in earnest, but still she evades him easily. At last he throws himself at her, and she moves like lightning, landing a sound blow almost too fast to see that knocks him to the ground.)
MRS. HAWKING: And if you can’t, you’d best keep out of the way.
(She exits. MARY rushes over to NATHANIEL as he pulls himself up off the ground.)
NATHANIEL: Well, I’ve made a fool of myself.
MARY: Oh, not at all.
NATHANIEL: Go on.
MARY: She’s been in training for years.
NATHANIEL: And made short work of me.
MARY: For my part, I think it’s quite noble of you. That you’re not content to hang back out of harm’s way.
NATHANIEL: Still, perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I’m not cut out for this.
MARY: It’s not all knives and brawling, you know. Even she does more planning and creeping than fighting.
NATHANIEL: I did so want to make myself of use to her.
MARY: And so you will. Who knows, Nathaniel? We may run up against something that only you can do. We’ll just have to find out what it is.
(Pause. Then NATHANIEL laughs.)
NATHANIEL: That was quite a belt she gave me. I wonder how long she's wanted to do that.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #3 - "For Her"

Today's piece goes to that source of inspiration that served me so well the first time around, drawing from the backstory of The Stand. This is an attempt at doing a better job at a scene that would have appeared in Sally and Deadeye, my original thesis piece that for whatever reason wasn't working the first time I tried to write it. (As you'll recall, I ended up abandoning it in favor of writing Mrs. Loring.) But I think it could still possibly be salvaged, especially since I'm no longer morbidly depressed. So, without looking at my original draft, I redid this scene from whole cloth. This is rough and rushed, but it's a stab.

This is extremely spoilerly for The Stand, just as a warning. It follows sometime after No Clean Break, a ten-minute I wrote in my first semester of grad school, which has had several readings now and is considered to be one of my more successful pieces.

Also, surprising no one, it features of one my more common Author Tropes.

Day #3 - "For Her"

FLORA JOHANSSON, formerly an outlaw, now seeking refuge in a convent
SISTER ESME, a nun at the convent
~~~

(FLORA sits up in bed, still tired and disheveled from giving birth, holding her newborn baby. Enter SISTER ESME.)

SISTER ESME: How is the little one?

FLORA: She’s sleeping now.

SISTER ESME: She is a pretty little thing.

FLORA: She is. God bless her. More than I deserve.

SISTER ESME: And how are you, miss?

FLORA: Tired is all.

SISTER ESME: Glad to hear. We’ll talk after you’ve had a rest.

(She turns to go again.)

FLORA: Talk? About what?

SISTER ESME: About what your plans are.

FLORA: My plans?

SISTER ESME: Now that the baby’s come.

FLORA: Oh. I reckon you’ve got rules about keeping babies here.

SISTER ESME: It’s only… there’s a great deal a baby needs besides a home.

FLORA: No mistake. I suppose… I haven’t thought so much of it.

SISTER ESME: You know, we’ve helped many a fatherless baby find their place in the world.

FLORA: What are you saying, marm?

SISTER ESME: We’ll talk when you’ve rested.

FLORA: No. We’ll talk now.

(The sister sighs.)

SISTER ESME: It is a shame for a child to go without a family. We could find her one.

(Pause.)

FLORA: You want me to give her up? Let you… find her some nice mama and papa to take her away?

SISTER ESME: It’s a choice you might consider.

FLORA: She’s my baby. I’m her mother!

SISTER ESME: Just as you say. And as her mother, you’ve got to do the best for her.

FLORA: How can I do that if I give her up?

SISTER ESME: There are decent people you could trust her to. Them who won’t trouble if she hasn’t gotten a father or a name or a place in the world. For they have them to give to her.

FLORA: You folks do that a lot? Find respectable wedded couples to raise babies?

SISTER ESME: Very often. We’ve saved many unwanted babies that way.

FLORA: She ain’t unwanted!

SISTER ESME: I know, child. But you must ask yourself what you can provide for her.

FLORA: I can care for her. I can love her.

SISTER ESME: So you can. But it’s a hard world for a little one with no home and no father to look after him.

FLORA: And a mama what lived how I lived.

(Pause.)

FLORA: And you think that what I ought to do?

SISTER ESME: It’s your decision. We’ll abide by it.

(FLORA begins to cry.)

FLORA: You don’t understand, sister. I gave up… everything. My whole life.

SISTER ESME: You were right brave.

FLORA: I need something to hold to, sister. Something to make it not all some crying waste. She’s all I got now. Sure I
mustn’t… give her up too?

SISTER ESME: Flora, what did you do it for?

FLORA: Why, for her. Why else?

SISTER ESME: Why else, indeed?

(Pause.)

SISTER ESME: You needn’t decide anything now. You best get your rest. We’ll talk more later.

(Exit SISTER ESME. FLORA holds her baby close.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #2 - "Like a Loss"

So I am doing it. I am giving you all the first-ever first person look at the most speculated-upon character in the Mrs. Hawking universe, the late Colonel Reginald Prescott Hawking. I am not sure, in the grand scheme of the story, if it's better to always leave you guessing about him or if your desire to know more about him should be fulfilled, but for scribbling purposes it's all right.

One big question regarding the Hawkings' relationship is how they interacted given the huge amount of silence, secrecy, and distance between them, and the one-sided nature of the affection. It's a little hard for me to conceive of, as it's tough to imagine how little talking and communication there would have to be to allow that, but this scene is my attempt to show a bit of how it might have been. I may decide later this is not entirely canon, but it's a stab at figuring it out.

Also, I've been watching Downton Abbey so this sort of master-servant relationship is in my head right now. I think, after the Colonel's death, Mrs. Hawking got rid of Chapman so fast it made his head spin. Which did nothing to improve his opinion of her. I think he works for Nathaniel or maybe Ambrose or Justin now, but he's still bitter.

This is somewhat spoilery for Mrs. Hawking.

Day #2 - "Like a Loss"

THE COLONEL, Reginald Prescott Hawking, mid-thirties
CHAPMAN, his batman and valet, early thirties

~~~

(CHAPMAN sits in the dressing room, brushing a top hat. He stands when his master THE COLONEL enters.)

THE COLONEL: Evening, Chapman.

CHAPMAN: Good evening, sir.

THE COLONEL: I think I’ll turn in now.

CHAPMAN: Very good, sir.

(He takes THE COLONEL’s tailcoat and helps him undress.)

CHAPMAN: If I might ask… any better today, sir?

THE COLONEL: Much the same, really.

CHAPMAN: I’m sorry to hear it.

THE COLONEL: I expect it shall be for some time now.

(CHAPMAN makes a face as he assists THE COLONEL.)

THE COLONEL: I know that look.

CHAPMAN: What look, sir?

THE COLONEL: Come off it, now.

CHAPMAN: It’s not my place to say, sir.

THE COLONEL: Perhaps not, but you needn’t say at all. I know you don’t approve of her.

CHAPMAN: Sir! I would never presume—

THE COLONEL: Of course, of course. But you can’t pretend to me that you like her.

CHAPMAN: Forgive me, Colonel.

THE COLONEL: For what? You’re not required to. Still. You’ll not judge her for this.

CHAPMAN: It’s not that, sir. Not precisely.

THE COLONEL: After that, she can do whatever she damn well likes.

CHAPMAN: It’s only… what about you, sir?

THE COLONEL: What about me?

CHAPMAN: He was your son, too.

(THE COLONEL tenses and turns away. CHAPMAN is chagrined.)

CHAPMAN: Forgive me, sir. I shouldn’t speak of it.

(Pause.)

THE COLONEL: I don’t know why it should hit me so hard. These things happen all the time. To some people, over and over again. Nothing to be done.

CHAPMAN: It’s normal to mourn a loss.

THE COLONEL: Strange, though, to call it that. We never really had him to lose, did we?

CHAPMAN: Still. It feels a loss, to you.

THE COLONEL: That’s just it, Chapman. If it feels a loss to me… what must it be to her? She would have been his mother, for God’s sake. If I feel like… like this… what must it be like for her?

(Pause.)

THE COLONEL: Tell me, Chapman, how can I ask anything of her now?

(He pulls on his robe.)

THE COLONEL: That’ll be all now, old boy.

(CHAPMAN bows and exits, leaving THE COLONEL there alone.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #1 - "Believing in Heroes"

And we begin with 31 Plays in 31 Days 2013! To start things off, I wrote a piece I've had planned for some time now. It was inspired by this piece, Work-Life Balance, where two superheroes Bantam and Wondra commiserate over how tough it can be leading the life of a superhero. It was performed in New York last December in a short play festival.

Though very unpolished, I like the idea of this piece as an expansion of this little universe that I mean to build up as an amusing parody of the superhero genre. It was interesting because I wrote a complete outline of this piece ages ago but never got around to writing it. It made for a smooth process of at least getting the bones of the piece written. I think I should go to the trouble to outline first more often.

Wish me luck this month!

Day #1 - "Believing in Heroes"

OLIVIA, a young woman, mid-twenties
MATTHEW, her boyfriend, secretly the superhero Bantam, mid-twenties
WONDRA, another superhero, early thirties
~~~

(OLIVIA sits alone in her apartment, trying to read a magazine, but she is annoyed and distracted. She keeps sighing, checking her watch, impatiently waiting.)

OLIVIA: Quarter till? Seriously?

(She tries to go back to her magazine, but is so irritated she can’t focus.)

OLIVIA: Where is he already?

(She considers, then takes out her cell phone. She dials and puts the phone to her ear. After a moment she is surprised to hear the sound of another phone ringing. She looks around and discovers the phone she is calling has been left there on the table.)

OLIVIA: Seriously!?

(She hangs up and slams her phone down in frustration. She slumps back in her chair. After a moment, the second phone starts ringing. She stares at it, then decides to pick it up and answer it.)

OLIVIA: Matthew Christopher’s phone.

(Lights up on WONDRA on the other side of the stage, crouching on a block as if on the edge of a building, cell phone to her ear.)

WONDRA: Um, hi. Who is this?

OLIVIA: This is his girlfriend.

WONDRA: Oh! Oh, geez.

OLIVIA: Who is this?

WONDRA: Oh, it’s— nobody. Don’t worry about it.

OLIVIA: Is there something you wanted?

WONDRA: Um, well, yeah, but— can you just tell him that— W called?

OLIVIA: W?

WONDRA: Yeah.

OLIVIA: No problem. Sure thing.

(She hangs up abruptly. Lights down on a nonplussed WONDRA staring at her phone. OLIVIA tosses MATTHEW’s phone away and begins pacing, angry and upset.)

(At long last, MATTHEW enters, rushed and stressed out, with a huge backpack on his back.)

MATTHEW: Hey! Finally back.

OLIVIA: Where were you?

(He swings his backpack down off of his shoulder and tosses it on the ground.)

MATTHEW: I’m sorry I’m late, traffic was hell on the pike.

OLIVIA: You’re always late anymore.

MATTHEW: I know, I’m sorry. But if I change quickly we can still make our reservation.

(He starts to exit.)

OLIVIA: Who’s W?

(He stops in his tracks and turns around.)

MATTHEW: What?

OLIVIA: Who is W?

MATTHEW: I don’t know what you mean.

OLIVIA: She called. You left your phone on the table.

MATTHEW: I did? Oh, shit.

(He rushes to get it.)

OLIVIA: She wouldn’t give me her name. She just wanted me to tell you W called.

MATTHEW: Oh! W. Yeah, she’s a friend.

OLIVIA: Oh, yeah? Then why wouldn’t she give her name?

MATTHEW: I don’t know.

OLIVIA: You don’t know?

MATTHEW: No, I don’t. Is something wrong?

OLIVIA: What is her name, then?

MATTHEW: Are you mad at me?

OLIVIA: For Christ’s sake, Matthew!

MATTHEW: Is this because I’m late? Look, I really sorry about that—

OLIVIA: Are you having an affair?

MATTHEW: What!?

OLIVIA: Tell me, Matthew.

MATTHEW: Of course I’m not! That’s crazy! Why would you think that?

OLIVIA: Oh, come on. You’re always late to everything, and you always have some lame excuse for why. And now you’re getting anonymous phone calls from women who won’t tell me who they are? What am I supposed to think?

MATTHEW: That’s not what happening.

(She snatches up his phone and goes through it.)

OLIVIA: Oh, my God! She calls you all the time! And you’re going to lie to me about her!?

MATTHEW: She’s a friend. We— we work together! Sort of.

OLIVIA: Then why haven’t I heard of her before?

MATTHEW: It’s— it’s complicated.

OLIVIA: Complicated how?

MATTHEW: You wouldn’t understand.

OLIVIA: What wouldn’t I understand!?

(Pause.)

OLIVIA: I’m losing my mind here. Tell me the truth, Matthew.

MATTHEW: All right. All right.

(He takes a deep breath, and steels himself. He turns away from her.)

MATTHEW: The truth is, W… is Wondra.

OLIVIA: Wondra. The superhero.

MATTHEW: Yeah.

OLIVIA: The superhero who leaps from the rooftops and karate-kicks bad guys.

MATTHEW: That’s the one.

OLIVIA: And why would Wondra be calling you?

MATTHEW: Well, that’s the big thing… it’s because I’m a superhero too.

(OLIVIA stares.)

MATTHEW: You might have heard of me. Bantam. The… the brawler. With the fighting rooster theme. Wondra and I work together sometimes.

(Beat.)

MATTHEW: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve been doing it a while now, before we started dating. And I didn’t know how you would react, and we have to keep our identities secret, and well… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.

(Beat.)

MATTHEW: Please, Olivia. Please say something.

OLIVIA: No.

MATTHEW: Excuse me?

OLIVIA: No. No, I don’t believe you.

MATTHEW: But it’s true!

OLIVIA: How stupid do you think I am?

MATTHEW: Why would I say something like that if it weren’t true?

OLIVIA: I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this.

MATTHEW: But… you said it yourself, you’re starting to see the evidence. And not just that I’m late everywhere, or that I’m hard to get hold of. Why do you think I’m listening to that police scanner all the time?

OLIVIA: You inherited that from your dad.

MATTHEW: What about all the bruises I have?

OLIVIA: You’re a boxer, they’re from fights at the gym.

MATTHEW: They’re from the fights with bad guys!

OLIVIA: Oh, Jesus, why are you doing this to me!?

MATTHEW: Olivia, I swear to you, I’m telling you the truth! Look!

(He grabs his backpack, ribs it open, and pulls out his Bantam costume. He holds it up to show to her.)

MATTHEW: This is my costume! You have to have seen it in the newspapers before. Look at it, Olivia! It’s the real thing! Why would I be carrying this around if it weren’t true?

(Pause.)

MATTHEW: Why can’t you believe me?

OLIVIA: It doesn’t make any sense.

MATTHEW: Why?

OLIVIA: Because! Because… you can’t be a superhero. You just can’t be.

MATTHEW: Why is that?

OLIVIA: You’re not like that.

MATTHEW: Like what!?

OLIVIA: Like… a hero!

(He stares at her.)

OLIVIA: Superheroes are… powerful and strong, and they go out and risk their lives for people! They take crazy risks, and they’re not afraid. They’re heroes! And I— and I—

MATTHEW: And you don’t believe that could be me.

(She stops short but says nothing.)

MATTHEW: I can understand that you thought I was having an affair. But to think that of me… that hurts way more.

(He storms out. OLIVIA collapses into a chair, head in her hands.)

(After a moment, MATTHEW’s phone starts ringing again on the table. OLIVIA stares at it. Lights up on WONDRA perched on the far side of the stage again. Tentatively OLIVIA picks it up and answers it, but says nothing.)

WONDRA: Hello? Hello, is anyone there?

(Beat.)

WONDRA: Hello?

(Beat.)

OLIVIA: Wondra?

(WONDRA gasps.)

WONDRA: Who is this?

(OLIVIA startles and hangs up the phone. Lights down on WONDRA. OLIVIA sits frozen in the chair a moment. Then, slowly, her shocked gaze turns in the direction of where MATTHEW exited.)

Finished this round of Tailor screenplay edits

Submitted my Tailor screenplay to the contest today. Fairly sure that there will be so many other entries I don't have much of a chance, but what the hell. It forced me to revise, to turn my few, very long scenes into many, significantly shorter scenes, which is necessary for modern screenwriting. I think the script is much, much improved now, tighter and snappier, though probably still not perfect. It's probably still too talky, though it is definitely more visual than before. It's also quite a few pages shorter, going from one seventeen down to one oh nine. Whatever, it is submitted now, and I am proud of myself for making it better.

Most scenes are just edited, but one scene I completely redid. I was never quite happy with how I did the scene of Alice and Tom having their first real conversation together, the one where the connection between them was supposed to spark. It was incredibly difficult for me to re-envision it, and it was actually the last thing remaining to accomplish.

I ended up going to the gender well, in a way I had kind of resolved not to before. I didn't want to make an issue of a male dressmaker like Tom, as I didn't want the reader/viewer thinking too much of it. And as you may know, I have a liking for traditionally masculine men doing traditionally feminine things. But throwing it in there worked, gave opportunity to bring a few things up about Tom's passion for the craft-- which was really the element that hadn't been fully explored yet, and really did belong in that conversation. And I don't think it messes up my schema too much.

Read the scene for yourself and see how it came out:

EXT. LORING'S END - FRONT WALK - CONTINUOUS

        Alice stands on the front path, sniffling into a

        handkerchief.

                            TOM

                  That's awful, miss. Listen... thank

                  you. For speaking up for me.

                            ALICE

                  It was nothing, nothing at all.

                            TOM

                  It was good of you all the same.

        Alice is distracted but struggles to compose herself.

                            ALICE

                  Pardon my manners, my name is

                  Alice.

                            TOM

                  Tom Barrows. It’s a pleasure to

                  meet you. Ah, despite the

                  circumstances.

        She dabs at her eyes.

                            ALICE

                  Of course. So you’re the tailor?

                  You're not what I expected.

        Tom grins a little.

                            TOM

                  Not a woman, you mean?

                            ALICE

                  Well-- and so young!

                            TOM

                  I've been at it it all my life. I

                  even stitched for Madam Vayon

                  downtown. The wedding gown I made

                  for Marjorie Hancock made the

                  society page.

                            ALICE

                  That was yours? It’s only… I’d

                  never thought a young man would

                  care so much for pretty dresses.

                            TOM

                  Why, they’re for making girls

                  pretty— and who cares more for

                  that?

        Alice can’t help but smile at that. Tom is suddenly

        self-conscious, and stammers shyly.

                            TOM

                  Of course, I’ve spent more time

                  with the dresses than the girls.

                  It’s the work, really. The making.

                  Tailoring suits is architecture,

                  and dressmaking feels like art.

        Alice is impressed, even a little charmed.

                            ALICE

                  I can see why Aunt Emma came to

                  you.

                            TOM

                  I suppose. I had a good teacher.

                            ALICE

                  Madam Vayon?

                            TOM

                  My mother. It’s thanks to her I

                  know something of embroidery. It

                  was her specialty.

                            ALICE

                  Where does she sew?

                            TOM

                  She passed a few years back. And

                  her eyes went on her early, so I’m

                  afraid her dressmaking days were

                  already behind her.

                            ALICE

                  Oh, I'm sorry.

                            TOM

                  It consoled her that she could pass

                  what she knew on to me. I do my

                  best with it for her sake.

                            ALICE

                  I think you sound like a very

                  decent fellow, Tom Barrows. And a

                  very fine tailor as well.

                            TOM

                  That's very kind of you, miss.

                            ALICE

                  I'm sorry my aunt never got to see

                  your work. Have you done much

                  already?

                            TOM

                  I've hardly started. In fact...

        He unhappily draws Emma's check out of his pocket and hands

        it to Alice.

                            TOM

                  I suppose I'd best give you your

                  aunt's money back.

                            ALICE

                  Oh, my. Are you certain--

                            TOM

                  Please, I can't keep it now. And I

                  should return the bolt of cloth she

                  sent over as well.

                            ALICE

                  You keep that. Perhaps I'll call on

                  you to make something beautiful for

                  me sometime.

                            TOM

                  Anytime, miss. It would be my

                  pleasure.

        They stand at the edge of the path for a moment, then Alice

        seems to grow flustered and attempts to collect herself.

                            ALICE

                  Now… I suppose I should go. Perhaps

                  one of the officers will take pity

                  on me enough to tell me… something.

                  Anything at all.

        Tom turns to go, but hesitates.

                            TOM

                  I am very sorry about Miss Emma.

                  If... if there's anything I can

                  do...

                            ALICE

                  Oh, I’m sure you’ve had far too

                  much to do with our troubles

                  already.

        Tom nods.

                            ALICE

                  Thank you, Tom.

                            TOM

                  For what?

                            ALICE

                  For talking to me.

        She turns back and goes into the house. Tom goes the

        opposite way.

A scene snippet between Mary and Nathaniel

While sitting around backstage after my preshow dance was done, I wrote this little scene, a conversation between Mary Stone and Nathaniel Hawking. I've been thinking about a sequel to Mrs. Hawking quite a bit lately, and I'm not sure where it would fall in this story or in any other, but it's a bit I think would happen between our heroine's faithful maid and favorite nephew. I think the two of them would become good friends after the first adventure, in part because I think they both love having somebody with which to marvel at just how weird Mrs. Hawking is. I get the feelings they spend a lot of time sitting around psychoanalyzing her, the way you would any brilliant/infuriating friend or boss or both. :-) This notion amuses me greatly.

Also, there is the problem of the Colonel. Oh, how delighted I am at the questions posed by the Colonel, as it gives endless opportunity for speculation. I love how the audience wonders about him, and I love how the characters cant stop arguing over him. This is a particular bee in Nathaniel's bonnet, because he idolized the man and had such a firm image of him in his head that he must now reconcile with Mrs. Hawking's perceptions and experience. And I think it's also interesting how Mary has to construct an idea of the person who she has never met but has had such a profound effect on two people who are so important to her.

~~~
MARY: I wonder... did she ever tell the Colonel?
NATHANIEL: Tell him what?
MARY: How unhappy she was.
NATHANIEL: I don't know. But, if I were to guess... I should think she didn't.
MARY: No?
NATHANIEL: I really think not.
MARY: She was so angry, though. One says things in anger.
NATHANIEL: She would have had to trust him to tell him what she really thought. And that she could never do.
MARY: It would have been an incredible risk.
NATHANIEL: I know. And that was not something she would have undertaken for his sake. Still... I wonder if he knew anyhow.
MARY: Do you? If she went to great pains to keep things from him?
NATHANIEL: Oh, I don't doubt that. Heaven knows she is capable of things I never would have fathomed possible... but he wasn't a fool, Mary. And he loved her, blast it; if there's one thing I shall never disbelieve of him, it's that. He would have... had a care that she was so... miserable... with things as they were.
MARY: But if he knew, how could he have done nothing for it, then?
NATHANIEL: She would never have wanted him to.
MARY: Certainly not. But still... I should think he might have tried.
NATHANIEL: Not if he understood.
MARY: Do you think he did?
NATHANIEL: He may have hardly known her, Mary... but I think he knew her well enough to know that. And I believe he would have loved her enough to give it to her.
MARY: If that's so... I wonder what else he might have given her. If he knew she needed it.

Beginning work on the first Mrs. Hawking sequel

The other day I sat down to work on editing the play I wrote for my thesis. Which meant, being me, I could not focus on it at all and felt compelled to work only on another project. The bright side of this was that what I worked on was a concrete idea for the first sequel to Mrs. Hawking. I have an idea for the direction of the plot, and what the next stage of the arcs of the characters will be. To that last end, I wrote this very short scene to give you a taste of where the conflict is going.

I picture Nathaniel wanting to get involved more with helping Mrs. Hawking in her superheroing work. Now that he's onboard, he's enthusiastic, but perhaps not as swift at picking the tricks up as Mary was. But Mrs. Hawking is not making it as easy for him as she could be, and after he is frustrated to find that she seems to be shutting him out his efforts to contribute, he finally calls her on it. It's not exactly a departure from my preferred style of scene writing that involves "You know that thing you don't want to talk about? Well, we're going to talk about it now!" but I think with some polishing it could be an interesting and character-revealing scene.

~~~~~~~~~~~

NATHANIEL: Aunt Victoria— why won’t you trust me?

MRS. HAWKING: Oh, do spare me, Nathaniel.

NATHANIEL: No. No, you mustn’t put me off. I know I haven’t been the quickest study when it comes to this business of yours, but I’ve been giving it a serious go. I surely do mean to be of help to you, and by God, on occasion I even have. Isn’t that so?

MRS. HAWKING: Yes. You have.

NATHANIEL: Then… why won’t you let me on? Really let me on? Is it— is it because I’m a man?

MRS. HAWKING: Nathaniel.

NATHANIEL: Is it because I’m not clever enough? Do you think that once in a tough spot, I’ll lose my head and disappoint—

MRS. HAWKING: You look so much like him!

(Pause.)

MRS. HAWKING: Too damn much.

MARY: Like whom? Do you mean— the Colonel?

NATHANIEL: You never told me that. Others have, but not you.

(MARY looks to the portrait on the mantle.)

MARY: I never noticed it.

MRS. HAWKING: The years and the whiskers throw it off, but all the men in the family have that look. Your father, your uncle, and you. Your boy will have it too before long. Strong jaw, devil-may-care grin, handsome as the day is long. The sort of face to win anything a man could want in the world. But that was face I first looked into twenty years ago when a promising young soldier was first transferred to New Guinea and trammeled up my life forever. The same eyes from which I had to hide everything of any meaning to me so I might be permitted to have it.

NATHANIEL: I don’t want you to feel that way about me anymore.

MRS. HAWKING: I know that, and not for nothing. But the years I lost and the pains I took…

NATHANIEL: I know.

MRS. HAWKING: Yes. Now you know. So it galls me, boy. I tell you, it galls me to look into those eyes and that face and give all the game away to them.

NATHANIEL: I can’t help who I look like.

MRS. HAWKING: No. But all the same, he’s in everything in you. His blood and his name and every effort in the world to be just like him.

NATHANIEL: But… I’m not like him.

MRS. HAWKING: To your eternal sorrow.

NATHANIEL: Still. I’m not him. I can learn better.

(Pause.)

NATHANIEL: And I mean to. But I’ll need you to teach me. I can’t do it without you.

(NATHANIEL draws himself up with a quiet, cold dignity.)

NATHANIEL: Rather… none of could. The Colonel neither. Because the God’s honest truth is you don’t know if he couldn’t have learned. You never gave him the chance.

(NATHANIEL turns and strides quickly from the room.)