On August 26th, 2023, I attended a showcase hosted by El Teatro Campesino called Palabra Vol. Take Action. They had accepted a one-act play I wrote and scheduled to perform it that weekend. I attended the show twice, once with my friends, and the other with my family the next day. It was the first time I had seen my writing come alive onstage, and it was one of the most surreal experiences in my career so far — something I never expected.
When I say it was unexpected, I mean it. I — who never considered himself a playwright — had seen the call for submissions two weeks before the official deadline. I had been focused on a feature-length screenplay for much of the year and was not making much progress. My personal life had gotten messy, leaving me with hardly any time to advance on my projects. And, to top it all off, I — who considered myself a failure — had been feeling depressed again.
Thus, I saw the call for submissions from El Teatro’s Instagram page and noticed it included poetry. That said — and I don’t know what compelled me to do this — I chose to challenge myself by writing and submitting a one-act play. I — who never considered myself a playwright — had never written one before and was still swamped with work that I barely managed to even write the damn thing. Then two nights before the deadline, I got home from work after a closing shift, drank a Yerba Mate, and sat down at my desk to write my submission from scratch. I finished in 4 hours, turned it in, and fell into a deep sleep interrupted by an opening shift at work.
For the next two weeks, I forgot about the contest. Life went on. I still went to my 9-5. I tried working on other projects, particularly the screenplay. I received more rejections from previous submissions. This was the life I lived. Nothing special. Just a lot of trying.
Then the email came. I was on my lunch break at work when I saw it. I opened my inbox and saw El Teatro had replied to my submission. They liked my submission and, with a few edits, would accept it for the showcase. I almost dropped my food. On top of all the rejections I received that year — and all the years prior — I’d gone through a lot of drama this year. For that email to appear among all the madness? It was surreal. I replied to the email. I — who never considered myself a playwright — made the edits to the piece later that night and turned it in. A few days later, I got the final confirmation: my one-act play was to be performed later in August 2023.
I was told to keep it a secret until El Teatro made an official announcement, which was incredibly difficult. I wanted to yell it to the void that was social media. I wanted to tell my friends and family. But I kept mum until the day of the announcement to share the news. People were excited for me. And for the first time in a long while, I — who had considered myself a failure — was excited too.
The showcase would take place in San Juan Bautista, near my hometown of Watsonville. I checked my availability for the weekend and luckily had days off from work. I checked my budget. Yes, I could afford to rent a car. I rented a car and made my way up north to see the showcase and my first piece of writing performed on stage.
I arrived in Watsonville on Friday evening. The first performance was that same night, but I had gotten tickets for Saturday and Sunday only. I had scheduled to watch it on Saturday with friends and on Sunday with family. I spent that Saturday with two of my closest friends who were going to watch it with me that night. Despite living in LA for years now, it was always nice to visit my hometown. It gave me a chance to see old friends, visit familiar locales, and see my family. Visiting was always a reminder of what I wanted to do with my life. And I — who often considered myself a failure — needed that that weekend. Near the end of the day, my friends and I made our way to the showcase. We had just made it a few minutes before it started, found parking, checked in at the ticket booth, and found some seats near the back.
When we arrived, I was greeted by the director of the showcase. She had recognized me right away from the photo I submitted for their flyer and mentioned loving my piece. I — who had never considered myself a playwright — heard her words with an unfamiliar feeling of pride. The showcase started, and the first few pieces were performed. I was anxious for my piece, my leg shaking, my finger tapping the edge of my foldable chair.
And then it started. The stage was enveloped in darkness so the actors could take their place. Then the lights came back on and there they were, the actors playing the roles of the characters. My characters. The ones I had written one desperate night highly caffeinated after returning home from a late 8-hour shift. I — who had never considered himself a playwright — watched the characters recite my lines. I listened to reactions from the audience. They laughed at some jokes and ignored others. The one-act play lasted only 7 minutes, but it felt longer to me. It didn’t feel like forever. Only a moment. One in which I — who considered myself a failure and not a playwright — could stop feeling like a failure and feel more like a playwright. The piece ended, like all good things do. The audience clapped and applauded the actors for their performance. I would have been the loudest had tears not started gathering in my eyes. The friend next to me noticed and comforted me. The next piece started, and the showcase continued. It took some time for me to reel in from what I had just witnessed.
After the show, my friends and I took some time to talk to the actors and directors. It was then that I learned the founder of El Teatro Campesino, Luis Valdez, had been in the audience. A legend among the Chicanx/e community, I had already met this man in high school when I was in a performance of his play Zoot Suit. I had also interviewed him for the school newspaper back then. I approached him and introduced myself again. He did not remember me, which was fine. I — who had considered himself a failure — couldn’t blame him. He said he liked my one-act piece and offered some advice for any other play I’d write in the future. I took his advice to heart, thanked him for all the opportunities he had given me, and took a group photo with him and the cast. My friends and I talked about the showcase on our drive home. I thanked them for taking the time to attend. They said they would attend no matter what. After all, I had made them proud that night.
I saw the showcase again with my family the next day for their final performance. I couldn’t greet the cast this time because my family wanted to grab lunch after the show. Before we left, though, the director of the showcase found me and handed me a paycheck for the submission. It was the first time I had ever been paid for my writing. I — who had never considered myself a playwright — finally found evidence that I could make a career out of my writing, evidence my parents witnessed right in front of them. We drove back to Watsonville and had lunch together. We didn’t talk that much — my family isn’t much for discussion. But it was nice of them to attempt to celebrate what I had done.
That same night, one of the friends who watched the showcase returned to San Francisco. They congratulated me again on getting accepted and said they were proud of me. We don’t see each other much given the distance, but we do stay in touch. I thanked them for having traveled far to see the showcase. We said goodbye. We promised to stay in touch.
I returned to Los Angeles the next day. As much as I’d love to have stayed longer, I had to turn in the rental car the next day and then go to work after. I said goodbye to my family again and left my parents’ house. I put in gas in the rental. I thought about the actors on stage and how they interpreted what I had written. It was better than anything I had ever imagined in my head, in my imagination. I thought about the script I was working on and promised myself to get it done soon. There was suddenly a drive in me again, a newfound motivation revived after this. For the first time in years, I could see myself having a career again. Driving back down to Los Angeles, I — who had considered myself a failure and not a playwright — started to think of myself a little differently.
Leave a Reply