A call to the island’s creative types went out from The Studios of Key West like a bat signal. Come together to write, rehearse and create backdrops for four brand-new 10-minute plays—in just twenty-four hours. Each writer form cast and crew by plucking names from an empty ice cream bucket and loose parameters from others. A line, a prop, a time, a place. We writers then turn in a short play at dawn, passing the baton to a cast and crew who will spend the day rehearsing and staging for two shows Saturday night.

Thus the name: One Night Stand.

After choosing “Tiki Hut Cruise” and “The Roaring 20s,” I sit down with my team and brainstorm. I don’t know any of them. None of them know me. I’ve been in Key West on and off for four years, but have only been on the periphery of the many theatrical productions here. I usually get a free ticket as a friend of the sound engineer and she takes me with her to the cast parties. It was by way of this friend’s invitation that I’ve landed here, wondering how I can possibly blend all this randomness into some sort of performance art for people to actually enjoy. I’ve never written a play, this is not my forte`

It’s my attempt at alchemy that makes me follow the stream to The Roost–a mini-version of a NYC pub around the corner. Reason would send me home to start coaxing creativity from my keyboard, but my highly social soul hates to miss any fun and wants to get to know these people a little better before telling them what to say and how to move. I’m mixing and mingling, scribbling ideas down and sipping champagne for said friend’s birthday eve. In a moment of subconscious clarity, I step outside because I think want to smoke. But what I need is the view looking back inside through the window at everyone drinking and laughing and talking–real Norman Rockwell style–it hits me that no one else hanging around is a writer. These are all the people who don’t start until what I do is finished. They’re due back at 8:00 in the morning. My clock is already ticking—I look over at the clock on the wall, it’s 10:30pm—AH! What was I thinking!!! I’d lost two hours of precious time already. A line from The Matrix blips across my mind, “Time…is always against us.” ~From the main man Morpheus.

So much can be revealed in such a quick pause. I pay my tab, grab my notes and hop on my bike, self-doubt creeping up with every push of the pedal. Halfway through the thirty minute ride home, it starts to come to me. Some lines, some costumes, a bit of a plot revealing a bit of a theme. I tap it out on my laptop, giggling and aha-ing to myself as I watch it gel. Texting others to see what they’re comfortable with, what they can bring from home. It’s a dizzying whirlwind of words and scenes–as creator and first audience member–I’m trying to capture and make stand still on a page to be shared with others.

I hit send and wonder: Would it even communicate outside of my own weirdly wired noggin? Would anyone get it?

To be continued….