Tonight I begin writing my next play, an adaption (or “adaptation”, if you’re from Hollywood) of Homer’s classic story.
I’ve been commissioned by a director who has never read my work, seen only one other play I’ve written (Calderon’s Life is a Dream), and who has only spoken with me at parties. And so, with my payment uncertain (and my performance even more so) I begin.
I begin in the house of Telemachus, with the suitors of Penelope lounging about drinking wine and calling for a story. Telemachus gladly obliges. And so, with the fortunate arrival of a travelling storyteller at the gates, the play begins.
“Sing to me, O muse, of the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course…”