The Real Reason Dinosaurs Went Extinct is now available!

I've set my plays in a lot of colorful locations. A pirate ship. A Texas ranch house. A restaurant straddling the border between two mythical countries. But if you'd told me that one day I'd write a play set in Antarctica, I'd have thought you were crazy.

And then I wrote The Real Reason Dinosaurs Went Extinct.

Incoming!

Of course, the Antarctica this large-cast comedy is set in isn't the frozen wilderness we know today, but the lush rain forest of the long-ago Cretaceous Period. So long ago, in fact, that the famous Chicxulub asteroid--you know, the one that wiped out the dinosaurs--hasn't struck the earth yet.

But before the play is over, it will.

That in a nutshell is the concept behind The Real Reason Dinosaurs Went Extinct, which was published today by Brooklyn Publishers (yay!). Of course, that doesn't even begin to tell the whole story. 

This blurb, however, does:

Think the dinosaurs were just helpless victims of the asteroid that crashed into ancient earth? Well, they weren't--and this large-cast comedy tells the whole hilarious tale!

As the play begins, two dinosaur scientists discover the asteroid just three days before it's due to strike. When they try to warn the plant-eating citizens of Fernville, however, they get mocked and ridiculed. After all, the scientists have been predicting doom and gloom for years. But when one of their predictions finally comes true, and the town is attacked by a pack of hungry meat eaters, the plant eaters realize that some dangers are too serious to be ignored.

 

Now it's up to a clumsy young dinosaur named Snaggleclaw to venture into the Crags--the very heart of the meat eaters' territory--and bring back a special crystal that offers the plant eaters their only hope of survival. Can Snaggleclaw convince the meat eaters to cooperate? Or will he end up becoming a late-night snack? Find out in this action-packed, easy-to-produce play that teaches the importance of working together while sneaking in a ton of fun facts about the world of the dinosaurs.

Easy peasy

The Real Reason Dinosaurs Went Extinct has a cast of 21 (4M/5F/12E plus extras) and a run time of 90 minutes. And while all of the actors play animals, the costumes are a breeze! The only items you'll need are color-coordinated baseball caps and T-shirts: green for the plant-eating dinosaurs, gray for the meat-eating dinosaurs, and brown for the early mammals.

It was so easy to produce, in fact, that a kid's theater group in New Zealand threw a full production together in just one week!

I've spoken before about what this play means to me. So let me just add that I had a lot of fun writing it. More importantly, young actors will have a lot of fun performing it. After all, how many plays allow them to stomp around and roar like dinosaurs?

For complete details on The Real Reason Dinosaurs Went Extinct, including a script sample, production photos, and ordering info, please visit the play's web page.

Freaky Tiki to be published

Well, I'm flying high. I just received the contract for my 26th play with Pioneer Drama Service, and 30th published play overall.

Aloha 'Oe

This one's a comedy titled Freaky Tiki and it's set at a Hawaiian resort loosely inspired by the partly idyllic, partly creepy one in the HBO dramedy The White Lotus. Of course, the sex-charged plot lines of that Emmy-winning show would be wildly inappropriate for the schools that form the core of my customer base, but I figured I could do something clean and funny in that lush, tropical setting.

That something came from another favorite show of mine, The Brady Bunch.

Anyone who grew up watching the sitcom, like I did, will remember the famous three-episode arc in which the Bradys visit Hawaii and youngest brother Bobby discovers a tiki figure which brings no end of bad luck to the family.

But I didn't want to copy that plot. I needed a twist.

Lucky charms

As I was doing my research for the play, I discovered something interesting. It turns out that in Polynesian culture, tikis are not bad luck at all but are actually considered good luck, bringing power, knowledge, wisdom, and wealth to their owners.

That gave me my twist. What if the staff of the resort blames a string of bad, even disastrous, luck on a tiki that was left behind by a mysterious guest, only to see all of the bad luck turn into good luck by the end?

There was just one problem. I still had to figure out exactly what kind of bad luck befell each of the guests.

I brainstormed for weeks, but none of the ideas I came up with felt quite right. Frustrated, I put the script away.

New eyes

When I came back to the script a couple months later, my path became clear. And that's because I realized I needed to make the curse more specific. The tiki didn't just bring bad luck to whoever touched it. It made them lose whatever was most important to them.

This allowed me to play around with the concept of loss. What different kinds of things can people lose?

Well, obviously, you can lose a valuable like a pricey engagement ring. This inspired a pair of characters: an obsessive young man determined to carry out the world's most elaborate wedding proposal and his sweet but suspicious girlfriend.

You can lose your voice. This led me to a controlling, past-her-prime opera singer and her harried assistants.

You can lose a person. That gave me a group of technology-challenged matrons who wander away from a hike led by the resort's perky activities director, only to become hopelessly lost in the rain forest.

Then, just for fun, I had the resort's hot-headed French chef lose the giant lobster he was planning to cook for dinner. This was the link that tied everything together, since the crazy chase that ensues leads to an even crazier chain of events in which the lobster ends up solving everyone's problems. And everyone's happy.

As I say in my synopsis, sometimes bad luck is simply good luck in disguise.

An excerpt

Want a little taste? Here's the beginning of the play, in which we meet the hapless staff:

ELAINE: Good afternoon, staff. As you know, we here at the Wobbly Palms Resort pride ourselves and being the finest two-and-a-half star resort in Hawaii. And if it hadn;t been for that incident in the goat yoga class last year, we'd still have that third star.

KIKI: Sorry, boss. I didn't think the goats were going to be that big.

ELAINE: Those weren't goats, Kiki. They were yaks.

KIKI: Tomato, tomahto.

NALANI: You would not be saying that if you had to clean up after them.

ELAINE: Look, I know you're all trying to do a good job, but you've got to try harder. The owners are already struggling to make ends meet. If we scare off any more guests, they'll be forced to close the resort for good.

KIKI: They can't close it down!

SPENCER: This is the oldest resort on the North Shore!

MAURICE: What weell we do? Where weell we go?

ELAINE: The unemployment line, probably. But the reason I called you all here was to share some good news. I just got word that a representative from the world's largest hotel chain will be visiting us, and if he likes what he sees, he just may buy the resort.

KIKI: That would be great!

NALANI: We would finally have the money to fix up this dump!

SPENCER: We could all save our jobs!

MAURICE: When ees thees person coming?

ELAINE: I don't know.

MAURICE: What ees hees name?

ELAINE: I don't know that either.

MAURICE: Well, how weell we know who he is?

ELAINE: We won't. That's the point. He needs to stay incognito so that he can objectively evaluate our cleanliness, our efficiency, and most of all, our hospitality. That's why it's important for all of us to remember our motto.

NALANI: We have a motto?

ELAINE: Yes, we have a motto! Come on! What do I always tell you guys?

NALANI: Stop snooping through the guests' belongings?

ELAINE: No, not that thing. the other thing.

MAURICE: Do not throw a temper tantrum in front of ze guests?

ELAINE: A good idea, Maurice, but not what I would call a motto. Spencer would you like to try?

SPENCER: If you drop one more bag, you're fired?

ELAINE: No, no, no! Our motto is every guest deserves the best!

(The STAFF mumbles ad-libbed comments like "Oh, yeah," "Right," and "Now I remember.")

If you subscribe to the New Play Exchange, you can read the full synopsis, cast list, and a 20-page sample on the play's web page. If you don't subscribe, you might consider doing so. For just $12 per year, you get access to the biggest, most easily searchable play database on the web.

I've been a member of the New Play Exchange since it first launched in 2015, and while I was a bit skeptical of it at first (I doubted theaters would actually use it), I've become a huge proponent since. 

Give it a whirl! I think you'll be glad you did.

Route 66 learns to sing (and dance)!

Musicals have always played a big role in my life. I was nine years old when I first fell in love with them, seeing You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown at my hometown community theater. I loved the songs. I loved the humor. I loved the performances. But I especially loved the fact that the actors were people I knew from around town. Seeing them bring those beloved comic strip characters to life was a new form of magic for me, and that magic continued for all the other shows I saw on that stage, from Mame to Camelot to 1776.

Not surprisingly, cast albums played a big role in my life as well. Every summer, when my family piled into our station wagon for our annual two-week camping trip--sometimes east, sometimes north, usually west--it was often cast albums that provided the soundtrack. Our favorite, the one we nearly wore through from replaying and replaying, was My Fair Lady. As I looked out the window, the spectacular mesa-dotted landscapes filled me with wonder, but a part of me found that Lerner and Loewe score to be just as wondrous.

Then there was the time I decided to crack open the big freestanding cabinet in our basement--the one which was primarily used to hold up my dad's ashtray and had remained unopened for years--and discovered it held a veritable treasure trove of cast albums. The shows represented were a little weirder than what the community theater or our summer camping trips offered. I remember Li'l Abner was there. And something called Fiorello! But West Side Story was there too. That album was the one I snuck up to my bedroom so I could fall asleep to those brilliant, heartbreaking melodies every night.

So yeah, musicals have always been important to me. But I never dreamed I'd help write one.

Which is why I was so thrilled six years ago when Pioneer Drama Service approached me about turning my play The Enchanted Bookshop into a musical. And why I'm just as thrilled that they've now offered to do the same for It Happened on Route 66.

The title of this musical jaunt down America's Highway? A very succinct Route 66.

Last time, Pioneer contracted Stephen Murray to provide the music and lyrics. This time, it's the prolific Scott DeTurk, who has worked extensively in TV and industrial films and has been produced at important regional venues like Denver's Buell Theatre and Minneapolis's Guthrie Theatre. And did I mention he studied under the late great Lehman Engel?

I'm excited to see what he comes up with. The play features not one but two romantic couples so I expect there will be some great love songs. But there's plenty of potential for comedic tunes as well, from diner owner Cookie lamenting Otis's gluttonous ways to Sally teaching Lovey that colorful diner lingo. Of course, seeing that the play is set in the 1950's, it's a no-brainer that the score as a whole will be inspired by those great early rock 'n roll songs.

Look for Route 66 to come out sometime in 2025.

Be careful what you wish for

I've wanted to be a full-time writer as long as I can remember.

Okay, that's an exaggeration. For most of my childhood, I wanted to be Walt Disney. Or at least an animator, which is what I thought Walt did. You know, sit around and draw cartoons of Mickey Mouse all day. It turns out he didn't, but that's another story.

For a brief period in my early teens, after devouring all of the James Herriott books, I wanted to be a veterinarian. Not in the mud-slogged farmyards of Yorkshire, necessarily. But somewhere.

Then, in tenth grade, I was introduced to computer programming, and I loved it so much I decided I was going to do that for the rest of my life.

Except that I didn't. But what I did end up choosing as a career--product engineering in the semiconductor industry--was initially inspired by those after-school hours spent coding on an old DEC in my math teacher's office (pretty high-tech in those days).

The muse calls

But all that time, I had one other passion. Writing. Not enough to write for the school paper, of course. That seemed like hard work--and a little dull.

No, I loved writing fiction. From high school on, I always had a short story or a novel or a screenplay I was working on.

By that time, I'd moved on from James Herriott to J.R.R. Tolkien so the bulk of my writing was in the fantasy genre. Elves. Dwarves. Swordplay. My first novel was about an escaped slave named Coran (shades of Conan the Barbarian), and was titled Requiem. Because pretty much everyone died by the end.

I never finished it. And that's because I didn't commit to working on it every day. I only wrote when I felt like it. When I felt "inspired."

But it sparked something inside me that kept me writing all through my twenties and thirties. After fantasy novels, I moved on to picture books when my daughters were little, then middle-grade novels when they entered those angst-torn years and Harry Potter was dominating bestseller lists.

I didn't hate engineering. Parts of it were really challenging and enjoyable. But as the years went on, I became more and more disillusioned and even bored with my career choice. And my longing to leave my career and write full time became stronger and stronger.

Unfortunately, my wife Tammy never made enough money to support us, and we had two girls to put through dance class and theater and eventually college. I felt trapped. So I kept wishing and hoping and dreaming that I would eventually be able to quit my job and write full-time.

A golden opportunity

I finally got that chance in 2016, when I was laid off from my job in Colorado Springs at the ripe old age of 53. I still wasn't making enough money from writing to live on, but I had nine plays with Pioneer Drama Service so that at least brought in something.

It took me ten months to find a job, and in that time, I managed to finish writing six plays and published four of them. I had a blast. But it was time to get back to engineering.

The new job took me to Phoenix, where my wife and I had briefly lived early in our marriage, so it was a happy return. And the job was good--and high-paying. I kept writing, but I figured I would keep the job until I was 66, when I would finally have enough money to allow me to retire from engineering for good.

Then January 17 happened. I showed up a little late for work that morning, and as soon as I sat at my desk, my boss came over to ask if I had a few minutes to talk. He ushered me into the human resource representative's office, and I was promptly informed that I was being laid off. Or, in the terminology of the company, my "position had been eliminated."

I'd been fired or laid off three times before in my career, and each one of those times it was painful. Depressing. Humiliating.

Not this time. I was now 60 years old and I had 24 plays with three different publishers. All I could think about, as the HR rep rambled on about the severance package, was that this was it. This was the chance I'd been hoping for.

I had quite a bit more money saved up than the last time I was unemployed, I was too old to get an engineering job, and now I would be forced to prove to myself, to my wife, to the world that I could support myself as a playwright.

A new beginning

That was six months ago today. And I couldn't be happier. I love working from home. I love being in control of my time. I love not having a boss to answer to or meetings to attend. But most of all, I love creating stories.

How productive have I been? Well, I revised a play I first wrote eleven years ago and got it accepted for publication. I put the finishing touches on another play after it received its world premiere in March and got that one accepted for publication. I wrote a short play--my first in nine years--on commission, and it's now slated for in-class use starting this fall. I gave my publisher approval to adapt one of my plays into a musical. I wrote two full-length plays. And I published one, with another one due out any day now.

Oh, sure. I'm still applying for engineering jobs, just in case a good offer pops up. I even got an on-site interview from one. But the result of that was pretty much what I expected. Companies just aren't interested in hiring 60-year-old engineers.

So I finally got what I wished for. I'm a full-time writer. And I'll be a full-time writer for the rest of my life.

People tell you to be careful what you wish for, and I get that. Sometimes things don't work out the way you expect.

But I've found that the opposite is just as true. Be bold with what you wish for. Because sometimes things work out even better.

Belmont Diary: When fairy tales go bad

I finished my latest commission for Belmont Day School today. And it was a bear. A real bear. 

Not because it was long. As I mentioned before, it's only half an hour. And not because it required a huge cast. The school specified a cast of eight. 

No, what made it a bear is that it has to be a fairy tale.

Not that I have anything fairy tale plays. In fact, I've written two of them.

Rumpelstiltskin, Private Eye came out in 2014 and that's been a perennial favorite of both schools and community theaters ever since.

Wicked Is As Wicked Does came out in 2017 and has not done nearly as well, but I still really love that play. I think it's got some great gags--especially if you like fairy tale-ish puns--and it teaches a great lesson about tolerance and giving people a second chance.

Still, after two of these kinds of plays, I felt kind of tapped out. So when Belmont Day School asked me to write yet another one I was stumped. What would it be about? 

An additional challenge was that, according to the contract, the play had to steer clear of all gender, ethnic, and racial stereotypes. So that eliminated any possibility of including a damsel in distress.

Now the obvious spin on this is to make the princess the hero: wielding a sword, fighting dragons, maybe even wooing the prince. But there are a ton of plays like that. In fact, Pioneer Drama Service publishes quite a few.

No, I wanted something original.

So I brainstormed ideas. Most were bad. Very, very bad. But a few were good. Or at least they were good enough to justify starting on the script.

How to Survive a Fairy Tale saw famous villains (the Three Little Pigs' wolf, Hansel and Gretel's witch) lecturing the audience on how to avoid ending up in a pot of boiling water. Or a burning oven. Or some other uncomfortably toasty place.

I liked the idea, but the same thing happened to me every time I've tried to write one of these episodic plays. I lost steam several pages in, with no idea where to take the story. I need a full-blown plot, characters with a compelling goal, and a classic three-act structure. Not skits.

Cinderella in Hollywood featured a couple of aspiring screenwriters pitching the story of Cinderella to two cynical producers, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. As the The famous characters from the story would then come to life to act out the story as it's being told.

This also seemed to have potential, allowing me to skewer both the silliness that is the story of Cinderella as well as Hollywood itself. Unfortunately, I couldn't get away from those stereotypes. They're baked into the original fairy tale.

How about switching the fairy tale they pitch to Snow White? Or Sleeping Beauty? Or Beauty and the Beast? Nope, nope, and nope. All those are rife with stereotypes too.

Finally, I hit upon the idea of making a fairy tale version of The Play That Goes Wrong. I haven't seen the play yet, but I've watched scenes online and I found them to be brilliant. Hilarious too, of course, but what really struck me about the play was how brilliantly the script exploited each mishap for maximum laughs.

So I threw together eight actors rehearsing a brand new fairy tale titled The Greatest Fairy Tale of All Time. Or at least they thought they were rehearsing it. Turns out they were expected to perform it. Like right then. For a full audience. Unfortunately, there was no set, the costumes hadn't arrived yet, and none of the actors had learned their parts.

No problem, the narrator says. I'll read from the script. The rest of you just follow my lead. Which would be fine if these were professional actors. But they're not. They're high school students, with all the quirks and quibbles of high school students everywhere.

The King questions everything. The Page wants a bigger part. The Dragon has stage fright. And the Princess improvises a big dramatic death scene so she can get into a good theater school.

Once I had the idea, the script came together in about three weeks, which is pretty fast even for a one-act play. And the format allowed me to go wild with it, playing with theater conventions and story structure in a way I'd never felt free enough to do before.

All that was left was a title. And I had the perfect one already thunk out: The Fairy Tale That Goes Wrong?

Stupid me. As it turns out, Mischief Theatre, the folks behind The Play That Goes Wrong, have already trademarked the title.

I thought maybe I could get away with changing one word, but I ran this idea past my publisher to be sure. She pointed out that not only do they have The Play That Goes Wrong but A Christmas Carol Goes Wrong, Peter Pan Goes Wrong, and something on BBC called The Goes Wrong Show. So clearly it's the "Goes Wrong" phrase that they want to protect.

What else? Well, I thought I might "play" on the title of the play-within-the-play by calling the whole thing The Worst Fairy Tale Ever. But that's too good, right? Too generic.

Nope. I was surprised to find that there has never been a play, a movie, a book, or even a fairy titled The Worst Fairy Tale ever. (Okay, there's one YouTube video, but that doesn't count.)

I'm taking it.

So I've got my script. I've got my title. What else do I need? Oh, yes. Someone to produce it. As I mentioned in that earlier post, Belmont Day School is only using the script for in-class instruction, so I'm free to offer the world premiere to someone else. All I have to do is find them. Guess it's time to hit the road (virtually speaking).

If you're a theater director and you're interested in receiving a free perusal copy of the script, just email me at todd.wallinger@gmail.com. I think you'll like it.

And if anyone wants my rejected story ideas, you can have them. I'm done writing fairy tale plays!