It's not easy to read the type below the caution box on the bag: "YOU COULD WIND UP BEING PORTRAYED AS AN ASSHOLE FOR ALL ETERNITY" is what it says.
I got this from my wonderful boyfriend for Christmas this year. It's fabulous. People certainly find it as amusing as it is puzzling; a lot of people haven't met a living playwright. It's funny, because when I was a fiction writer or a journalist, I never heard someone say, hey, I've never met a (fiction writer/journalist). I guess we are a few and far between breed, but it strikes me as odd.
Anyway, I digress.
I've always said to people, even when I was a fiction writer, that everyone and everything is in danger of being in something I write. I've been told, you can't write about this, right before someone tells me something very awesome, and it always makes me sad. Well, not sad, because eventually I will write about it in some way, shape or form, but that's an invitation to write about it. Forbidden fruit and all that.
Sometimes it's worrisome to write about people I actually know, especially if it was something that wasn't so flattering. I don't want to get sued, but sometimes, the events of other people's lives that I have either witnessed first hand or heard about from friends or on the internet, are just too damn good to not write about. There's one particular event in my life where I was scared to death that I was going to die at the moment, but knew that I was going to write about that particular moment in a future play. Now, two-ish years after a girl insane with jealously broke into a guy's house that she and I both happened to be dating (the guy, not the house) and waved a flashlight around screaming, I have managed to find humor in it and used it in a play I'm working on. People who know me and the girl best will know what the scene is harkening to, but no one else will, I don't think.
You've been warned.