Everlasting Ephemerality: Playwright as Oxymoron

A FIGURE of speech full of contradictions

CSUSB made these shirts, and I where that shit proudly every chance I get.

My play came and went, like I knew it would, and I was afraid of that.

My biggest fear was that I didn’t do enough to capitalize on this moment. Rather than enjoying this moment for what it was, I found myself fixating on what comes next.

Did I do enough social media posts?

Did I send enough emails?

Did I invite the “right” people?

All these questions lingered in the back of my mind, and were present while I was sitting in the audience watching people watch my play.

I wanted this moment, this whole experience, to last forever, but I also wanted it to be over as soon as possible.

It’s been five months since the production of You don’t even speak Spanish! was presented at California State University of San Bernardino, and for the past five months I’ve been struggling to find the words, time, and courage to write about it.

A lot of shit has happened in my personal life since then, but a whole lot of nothing has happened in my playwriting life.

For the past five months I’ve been busting my ass at Center Theatre Group listening to callers in our call room talk to subscribers, donors, and single ticket buyers as they pitch subscription packages and pitch the importance of donations for non-profit organizations.

Most of the time the phone rings and no one picks up, and for the most part, when patrons do answer the phone, they are generally polite, even if they are not interested to what the callers have to say, and hang up. But sometimes, some patrons are rude as fuck, and sometimes, I find my self questioning the purpose and value of theatre. (I know I'm not supposed to let that shit get to me, but sometimes it does.)

Especially when everything was going down in downtown L.A.: Helicopters hovering overhead, a menacing police presence in the streets, and a curfew set in place for some, while others were able to freely congregate on The Music Center Plaza… it all just made me wonder why. Why the hell are we doing any of this for?

Why would someone pay $944 for a premium subscription?

Who has that kind of money for theatre?

How are those folks, with that much disposable income, ever going to relate to the shit I got to say in my plays?

And I know it costs a lot of money to produce quality theatre: equity actors, union crews, sets, costumes, and all the marketing and administrative tasks associated with creating a live performance.

But damn, this shit makes no sense. Somewhere along the way theatre lost its way. This model and the way we are currently doing things is unsustainable. Yet, I find myself working my ass off to support this failing regional theatre industrial complex, so much so that a couple of months ago, when a new caller said,

“I heard you were a playwright”

And I was like, oh shit, I guess I am, huh, as I took my leftovers out of the microwave in the breakroom.

Just like that, I had forgotten who I was. I was too busy striving to be the best cog in the regional theatre industrial complex machine. And don’t get me wrong, I’m learning a lot, I’m enjoying the work, I have a lot to offer, and this job is very supportive of me and my family, financially, as well as my schedule flexibility, but it’s coming at the cost of my artistic expense.

It was only recently that I started to pick up my pen again. Friends like Esther Banegas Gatica, Melanie Queponds, and Miguel Ángel López reminded me that I am a playwright.

• Esther texted me congratulations on my play “Cry Now, Laugh Later” making it as a semifinalist for the 2025 Bay Area Playwrights Festival. (Her play “LatiNext” was also a semifinalist)

• Melanie emailed me and encouraged me to apply to the Seven Devils Playwriting opportunity and I did. :) Thanks Melanie.

• And Miguel called me to say he wants to direct “You don’t even speak Spanish!” and that he would like to pitch the idea to a local theatre company.

Then there are all of you, the readers and supporters of this great playwriting experiment, reminding me that I have a job to do. Every time I see an annual or monthly contribution made, I remember I have to live up to this contract:

To be the most honest, courageous, and dopest playwright I can be. And to write about it. To give you access to my thoughts, process, and reflections.

Maybe for the past five months I didn’t have anything to share, or maybe for the past five months other things were more important than theatre. Or maybe I just had to let my self be a human for a little bit.

I don't know… I’m still trying to find the words for not writing…

I’m still trying to find the words for not even thinking about writing for these past five months.

I’m still trying to process and find the words to measure the metaphysical impact my play had on me, the cast and crew, and everyone that sat in the audience those nights and witnessed the performance.

I guess I’m slowly realizing and accepting that part of the reason why I started writing in the first place was because I want to be remembered. I want to remind myself that I exist, that the people and places that I love exist. But the contradiction of the craft of playwriting which produces a script/document/archive, coupled with the ephemerality of the art form of live performance really trips me out when I start to think about it.

As a playwright I write this script, and that exists on paper, but if no one ever reads that script it doesn’t exist in the world, right? It only exists until some crazy mother fuckers like Dr. Guillermo Aviles-Rodriguez and Dr. Ricardo Rocha want to make it exist as a performance, or to study the script as a scholarly artifact.

Jumping into playwriting 13 years ago, I never really considered this paradox, but teaching intro to theatre at ELAC, and having the experience of one of my plays produced, made me reflect on my role as a playwright, as a human, and as a figure of speech full of contradictions.

Your continued support in this experiment has not only provided me with the motivation and inspiration to keep on writing, it also has provided me with a much needed coffee or beer from time to time. It helps me afford submission fees to some of these playwriting festivals and contests, and at times it has even put food on the table or tires on my car.

• This production will forever always go on my resume

• This production will forever always be archived in CSUSB’s theatre department.

• This production will forever always have a lasting impact on me, and I can only hope it has had an everlasting impact on those who experienced the play.