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Gossip is a fascinating phenomenon in any context, but at the moment I’m examining it in relation to NCAA football. There is a lot of talk swirling right now around a really great quarterback, Cam Newton, who is the star at Auburn right now. He had initially signed to play for Florida and started school there; but he was playing second string to Tim Tebow. Which means he wasn’t playing. So he left Florida for Auburn, where he’s been starting. This year has been pretty golden for Newton. He’s fun to watch: he can pass, he can run, he can hustle. For a quarterback, he’s a big guy. He’s legit. He’s hot (and hawt). He makes plays and raises numbers. So it makes sense that, for a significant chunk of the season, a lot of people have been talking about him being a shoe-in to win the Heisman Trophy in December. (That’s another strange incarnation of gossip — people talking about you like you’re the winner before the contest is close to being over.) If he continues to play as he has been, he probably will not only win the Heisman voting, but will lead his (thus far) undefeated team to play in the national championship game in January. Auburn is solid. Cam Newton is Auburn.

But the gold is starting to tarnish a bit. Over the past couple of weeks, allegations and stories and claims have been circling around Newton. At first, there were rumors that he and his father, when first being courted by major NCAA football schools, asked for money. Not scholarship money, but money money. Nearly $200,000. If that were true of Auburn, if they’re paying him to play, that’s all kinds of illegal. His eligibility would be void and he would be suspended from play, perhaps indefinitely. The school would be sanctioned. Now, it’s not Auburn that is mentioned in the allegations; however, if he did ask for or take money from another school as part of the scouting process… Well, that’s just bad. Dirty and crass and bad.

So Newton and his father both denied those allegations. Gene Chizik, head coach at Auburn, announced that Newton is eligible to play. Great. The golden boy is actually golden. Moving on. Oh, wait — now someone is saying he cheated on exams while a student at Florida. Even before either of these stories came to the surface, there were stories of Newton being part of a ring of laptop thieves, also at Florida.

Sigh.

Two ways to look at it: First, someone is trying to make him look bad; the timing is just too spot-on. Someone’s just making crap up. On the other hand, he’s a college kid. College kids cheat sometimes. Is it different now somehow that he’s famous? Should what he did at Florida matter now that he’s left Florida? And can we even know that he did it in the first place? If a kid cheats and gets caught years later, what happens? We can be disappointed in him, but does that mean he’s not a good football player?

That’s the kicker. All of this stuff being said about Cam Newton — both the good and the bad — so much of it comes, so fast and so thick, that it’s really impossible in the end unless someone provides hard evidence for us to know what he did or didn’t do. Illegal money? Cheating? Is the golden boy of college football really a rake, or is someone just trying to spoil the fun because they’d rather some from their school win? If he was a bad boy party animal at one school, should those actions reflect on his performance at another?

There’s no way to know. So much of what we hear and say is hearsay. (Ha! That’s one for the quote wall.) Think about it, though. A lot of factors go into how we process information Who a particular bit of information comes from actually plays a major role; credibility often hinges on personal connections and trust that’s built over time. Human beings simply trust what is familiar more than what is not. I don’t know Cam Newton personally but, from what I’ve seen, I like him. I want to believe him. But I don’t know if I can simply because I don’t know him. Only the people closest to him know him, and the truth.

As a public, we trust authority figures. We want someone in charge to tell us what’s up. If the NCAA punishes Newton, that’s a powerful statement whether or not he’s in the wrong. People go to prison for crimes they didn’t commit. That time served changes the way they are perceived in society. People also go to prison because they deserve it. If they serve their sentence, shouldn’t they re-enter society with a blank slate? Haven’t they already been punished? That’s a completely different can of worms, but it’s good food for thought.

Even if his father tried to get money, is Cam to blame? If his father did wrong without his knowledge, can Cam be held responsible? Sins of the father, right? Could he know? And if any cash did exchange hands, we can’t assume that this is a new thing. That Cam Newton is the first athlete to ever be bought. I mean, the NCAA has committees who exist to ferret this kind of thing out. Should he be the fall guy for a huge conspiracy, if such a conspiracy does exist? Boosters and alumni trying to get the best guys to come wear their school colors. Should this kid take the blame because he plays good football?

Because I’m not close to him or to whomever is talking about him, I don’t know what’s true anymore than I know what’s not. I know what I want to be true, but what I want has no impact on what the truth actually is. Wouldn’t it be nice if a golden boy could just be golden? Are we only allowed one Peyton Manning in a generation? Anyway.

I recently had an experience where I felt quite misrepresented. Not nearly to the level of Newton (if he’s telling the truth. Oy.) but something difficult for me to work through and process. I’ve been told I’m at a place in my career where I should probably start thinking about what people think about me as a person, and how those thoughts affect how people experience my work. That I should worry about PR. I think that’s a compliment. But it’s also a load of pressure I don’t know that I’m ready to accept.

A play can be personal without being personal. (Boy, I’m full of the deep one-liners tonight.) The point being: what makes the art great for me, both in the creation and the partaking, is the connections that are forged between all involved parties. I don’t expect people to come to the theatre and have a kinship with me; I expect them — rather, I hope for them — to make that kinship with a character. The fact that my voice is clear in a play does not mean that it represents my personality, my beliefs, or my politics. Even my likes. Sometimes those things enter a story naturally just because they are convenient. A short play of mine called “Cherry Pie” started with me, the writer, not loving cherry pie. It ended up an unrequited love story entwined with a pseudo-fascist persecution of thoughtful art. My politics? No. I do believe that art has the power to speak. But that’s as far as things go. My voice is present, but that’s about it.

A play should be personal. Art elicits an emotional response. Emotions are personal. But should I worry about how people talk about me, when it’s me they’re discussing; me, myself, and not the play? Should Cam Newton? Would it be different if I were writing plays from prison, or if Newton was guilty of something far worse than cheating?

We live in a time when Western society is fascinating juxtaposition of truth and fiction. Intense public scrutiny is combined with the fact that it’s easier than ever to inject information, however true or false, into the public sphere. People guess and assume and then make those guesses and assumptions public. Other people read those guesses and assumptions and take them for truth.

I recently saw the film THE SOCIAL NETWORK, writer Aaron Sorkin’s spin on the creation of Facebook.com. I enjoyed it very much; it’s incredibly well made. Sorkin’s screenplay is an adaptation of Ben Mezrich’s book THE ACCIDENTAL BILLIONAIRES, again about the creation of Facebook. The irony of the film is that of course parts of it are true — certain events. But the characters are the creation of the writer, director, and actors because they have to be. They are taking an educated guess at how and why the people being portrayed in the film made the choices they made. Assumptions are made because of someone’s understanding of a half-truth, or even a misunderstanding of an actual truth. Facebook presents certain truths about people — what people choose to show and tell about themselves, anyway. Those choices affect how others regard them. Isn’t that true of everything? Together Facebook and THE SOCIAL NETWORK are keen examples of how people think about other people. The one provides the information; the other shows how that information can be interpreted.

It should be enough for Newton to step forward and say “I haven’t done anything wrong.” Regardless of the truth of his statement, damage to his character has been done. No one will ever think of him the same way again, even while they declare him the finest college football player in all the land.

I don’t think I will ever rise to Newton’s level of notoriety, and I’m okay with that. I want people to think about what I write because I think about it. That’s part of the intent behind the work. But I don’t think I’m interchangeable with what I write. There are pieces of me in everything of course. Is that the point? Should the playwright’s person align perfectly with the intent of the piece? Can it? Does what an audience know about the writer really effect what the writer creates on stage? What the audience sees?

Cam Newton is a fabulous quarterback. If he’s not a perfect person — last time I checked, none of us are — can we deny to award him for the thing he does not only well but superbly?

Insert hypothetical — Think of it this way. What about the guy who will win if Newton is declared ineligible? It really sucks for that guy, because no matter how deserving he is the prize will be tainted. If LaMichael James of Oregon, for example, wins the Heisman the year that Newton is kicked off the ballot, people will think “James is an excellent player.” Because he is. But they will also think “He only won because Newton was ousted,” or “Newton deserved it more, but whatcha gonna do?” That sucks in so many ways.

More questions than answers, I know. Just what’s in my head at the moment.

Last week I was very angry. That doesn’t happen very often. Things are better, though. Cooled down considerably. But it’s NOVEMBER now—When did this happen? Egad—And it’s looking to be a very busy month. Exciting stuff coming up and going by and everything in between.

I need to play some serious catch-up, and I feel like I’m cheating a bit by counting this as a post, but it helps me to be public about things—stating goals and intentions—something about being less likely to back out on them. Ha!

I do have several more essay-like posts brewing, but those do take time… My first drafts always come out ranty. Maybe because I’ve been so very angry? Who knows? But this is potentially a new leaf, so I’m gonna turn it, so help me.

The crazy thing about it being November—aside from the fact that it’s FRAKKING November—is that it’s basically National Writing Month. Poetry, novel, stage play, daily blog, whatever form floats your boat. The trick is—at least with the playwriting rules—is that the new work you’re creating in November has to be just that: a completely new work. Not a project you started last July but haven’t finished. Not a major overhaul of a pre-existing dramatic mess. A spanking new idea, and thus a spanking new full-length play. In a month. Egad.

With the end of the UVU chapter of my career, I found myself looking at several very viable freelance opportunities, so I’ve actually been writing this fall for real. For people who are not me. For pay.

I do have several projects in the hopper, including a couple of screenplays and stage projects I’m collaborating on. So this month, with NaPlWriMo already under way, I’m hoping to be a better manager of of my time. I think I am a master of multi-tasking, but I need deadlines. Structure is a big part of that.

Structure is the one thing missing from freelance work. You’ve got to construct your own and then stick to it. This is the challenge for me and my wandering soul. Pay attention, Mel. Get stuff done.

Because why not get a first draft done in a month? Why not get the thing out on the page so you can tear it to pieces later? It’s the rewriting that takes time, right? At least, when you make yourself get that first draft down. Down and out.

So I’m making myself a schedule for the week. I’ve got work to do! Honest to goodness work. Grown-up work! And fantastic projects that could turn into real work, too.
Work. Experience. Exposure. Break that is big.

That’s the plan, right? The master plan. Whew.

I’ve been going to a ton of shows lately. Two reviews for Utah Theatre Bloggers within a week. Going to another one tomorrow. By the end of this week, my list of Utah theatre going will be: Bram Stoker’s Dracula (Pioneer Theatre Company); Scarlet Pimpernel (Hale Center Theatre Orem); Stage Door (BYU); Dracula (Mortal Fools Theatre Project); Angels in America: Parts I and II (Salt Lake Acting Company); and She Was My Brother and the Script-in-Hand readings, both at Plan B Theatre. Before Thanksgiving there will be Boom at SLAC, Romeo and Juliet at BYU, Drowsy Chaperone at Hale Centre Theatre West Valley, and Little Women at the Empress Theatre in Magna.

Are you impressed? You should be impressed. If for no other reason than the fact that I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

Monday I had the chance to go to my first Producer Briefing at BYU in seven years. Crazy town. The Persuasion design team is hard at work, and Eric Fielding and Landen Gates, the scenic and costume designers respectively, presented their concepts. Good times! I also snuck into the staff production meeting later in the afternoon. Made me realize how much I miss working on a show. Hard to believe Big River was so long ago. August! August was so long ago! Seriously?

Anyway, I am working on a new play and several not so new ones. I’m looking to rename November Serious Productivity Month (SePrMo? Not like NaPlWriMo rolls off the tongue terribly easily). Because every month should be playwriting month for a playwright. The call to focus is good, though. Set a schedule, organize myself so that multiple projects get finished, and not just the one.

Cross your fingers. We’ll see how it goes.

I like hummus!

I type fast. Really, really fast.

Sometimes you just have to give the meanie review. Sigh.

I don’t like the musical version of The Scarlet Pimpernel. It’s an example of a musical that is just too much of a musical.

Someone needs to write a hot, good-looking, soul-meltingly scary Dracula. I am not talking about Edward Cullen, so leave your Twilight jokes at the door. Someone needs to revisit the old bat and think about what would make him scary to us today.

Sometimes the TiVo gets it wrong. Grr, argh.

Benedict Cumberbatch is a fantastic Sherlock Holmes. I heart the BBC.

TEMPLE GRANDIN IS MY HERO! Also, Claire Danes is a pretty kick-ass actress. Wow.

Even when it’s cold outside, ice cream still tastes good. And I want lots of ice in my Coke.

Don’t put too much stock in the six-point lead when there’s still time on the clock. That missed PAT from the first half is going to come back and bite you.

Anger sucks. It sits in your belly and gnaws on your insides and reeks and rots. And yet you can’t help it, because it’s someone else’s fault. Don’t worry, I’m working on the whole cheek-turning thing. It’s just going to take a while.

Too many things.

I make things up for a living. Create worlds and the characters to people them.

I give them drama and pain and fear to overcome. Personal flaws and external forces. Natural disasters. Dead car batteries in the midst of gale-force winds. Babies born early and parents arriving late. Sibling rivalries. Allergies. Large feet. Hairy arms. Fear of dolls (I have that myself, anyway). A taste for blood. Deft fingers when flowers are involved. Perfect pitch.

The possibilities are endless.

The world is endless. It’s that way on purpose, created by a genius builder who wants us to explore. To embrace and enhance knowledge, to pass on what we learn through spoken word and movement and music and image.

I’m upset. The number of people in the world who are ending their lives prematurely is growing far too quickly. I’m at a loss right now. Struck more than a little dumb. I have work to do, deadlines to meet. I’m supposed to be going to a show tonight. Eating a bowl of noodles before they get cold.

But I’m sitting here. I’m sitting here and wondering why. Why?

I think about the reasons I might have to end my life. There have been days when I’ve considered it, I know. We probably all have. Did I wuss out in the end? Or did I simply choose a different option?

Life sucks sometimes. How else would we know when it doesn’t?

I want to live. I plan to live.

If I were to end my life, it would be one of those days when the loneliness is raw and close to surfacing, when sunshine is painful to the eyes and I wish I could hide from God.

I know those days will happen because they have already, more than once. Those days when things can only get better but don’t. When a strong, familiar arm about your shoulders would mean the world but never comes knocking because it doesn’t really exist.

The strange part is I think I’m supposed to be that lonely, at least some of the time. I’m supposed to be just me. Here I am, just—me. There are days when that is grand and days when it’s a punishment. But if my days weren’t like that, if life wasn’t that varied, what would I write about?

I could make stories up. I do. Borrow from history, from real life. But with what could I infuse them? There has to be passion, reaction, emotion. I have to think about how I would react, what I would do. Is the character me, or someone else? How does this person react? What does her instinct say? Her conscience? Are they the same?

If I go write a story right now about a girl who kills herself… Will that make it better? What is “it” exactly? You’re already gone, so who’s to know? Sorry, I don’t want to write that story. I can’t. I pushed myself to that place once on paper and it was dark and ugly. I’m not strong enough to go there now. Not the right kind of strong, anyway.

Life is too full. Too real. Too unexpected. Maybe I’m selfish, but I don’t want to give that up. I have plans. I’m determined to see them through.

I’m sorry if you didn’t feel the same. Couldn’t get past the loneliness, if that was even your Gethsemane. I can’t say; I don’t know you well enough to guess. I can only think what it would be for me.

If there was a right thing to say, I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I don’t know if this makes you feel better, but I will wonder for a long time if I could have said the right thing.