There was a time I did a lot more essays in this thing, whatever it is now. I guess that was when it was about playwriting, and I’m not sure I have the strength or the time to throw myself into that insanity again. I cut 50 pages out of Amour Americaine and I really have to find a better name for it. It was stupid of me to write it with the huge cast and numerous sets of Cyrano de Bergerac, but I had to try. Now, it’s down to 9 characters and whatever set you can or cannot dredge up. And now, more than ever, it’s fiction. Roxy never was completely like his inspiration and now I know that he is an innocent in comparison and I, of course, could never be Siriana because she is successful and I am not. And more importantly, the two had a real relationship and mine was only a fantasy and as real as the damned script. And yet, in the script, where I could control everything, I think I got closer to the truth. Unlike Cyrano, Siriana does not become a slave puppy to Roxy. She is a feminist and puts him out of her mind and lives. She is bright enough to know that there is not just one great love and lets herself get involved with Lee. But she is also human enough to end up like Cyrano, dying for love. The one last gallant gesture. And that is total fantasy. Romance. And thank you M. Rostand, for helping me experience Romance and come out alive. We’re going to be reading it in the church group and I will put it into contests, although I’m not so romantic that I forget how show business works. 61 is “too old” and they will not even open the script. So, I think I’ll put my age on the front cover. Talk about a hopeless, romantic gesture. Talk about panache.
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