As a reminder, here are some of the things I set out to do before 2013 came to a close:

1. Meet the love of my life; allow him to buy me a ridiculously overpriced Christmas present.
2. Finish the play I started in 2011.
3. Start the screenplay I've been thinking about since 2008.
4. Locate missing socks.
5. Join the gym.
6. Get famous.
7. Watch Breaking Bad.
8. Catch up in my journal.
9. Break up with the love of my life and write a play about it; keep ridiculously overpriced Christmas present.


Can you guess which ones I actually accomplished? 

Okay, time's up. Here's an explanation and/or an excuse for each.

1. FAIL

I tried. I went on three dates, which I made through three different forms of dating social media--Scruff, Hinge, and OK Cupid. If you're not familiar with these, here's a brief description:

Scruff - iphone app for men with facial hair to find other men with facial hair to hook up with. Non-facial hair is ok, too, because men are horny bastards. 
Hinge - Takes your Facebook profile, scans it, and finds like-minded people in your extended social network to chat with. But, since most stuff on Facebook is bullshit, I doubt the authenticity of this one.
OK Cupid - Traditional dating Web site that I call, "Ok Stupid." Check it out for yourself if you're curious. 

Now, the men. They are nice, friendly, and really chatty. Over text messages. In person, I was lucky to get a verb out of them. 

2, 3, 4 & 5. FAIL

I don't have any real excuse except I was feeling lazy and unmotivated. 

6. PASS!
I made a list of a theater reviewer's favorite plays of 2013, and a friend e-mailed me to congratulate me on being famous. So, that counts...for now.

7. PASS!
And, I really like the show, too--despite having nightmares about being dumped into a vat of boiling crystal meth chemicals.

8. FAIL
Who has time to journal when you're watching Breaking Bad?

9. FAIL
See explanation #1.
But, I did write a play about an imaginary boyfriend dying, so maybe I'll give myself a C for this one.

I think it may be time for a new list, anyway.

With just a few days left of 2013, I'm jumping on the reflections bandwagon to discuss some my favorite happenings of this year.

If 2013 was my personal Chinese New Year and I got to pick the representing animal, I'd say that 2013 was undoubtedly the year of the cat. 

It started in April. I was watching dogs in Astoria, when a friend of mine asked me if I also did cats. I wish I could tell you I offered up a witty comeback that made light of bestiality, but I gave her a lame, "sure." Then, I was telling another friend about my cat sitting gig when, all of a sudden, she realized that she was leaving town in two weeks, and also needed a cat-sitter. And then that friend knew a friend, and the cycle continued throughout the year. I'd stay a week in, say, the East Village, and then go straight to, I don't know, Inwood. It got to the point where I'd spend weeks--even months--at a time staying at friends' apartments and looking after their cat. And, suddenly the question people asked me the most shuffled from "Why are you still single?" to "Mark, where are you living tonight?"

This drove my Dad crazy, by the way. The constant shuffling around, I mean. He doesn't care if I'm single or not. "I'd just like to know you have more of a...stable...living situation," he'd tell me. But, he's also lived in the same house for the last 40 years, so he's not a fan of change. And, I'll admit that shuffling my crap around could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but it was worth it to get to spend more time in the city, and explore new neighborhoods without having to spend a shit ton of money in rent--which is why I moved out of the city in the first place. Okay, so let's break it down. In 2013, I cared for a total of 12 cats in Astoria, DUMBO, East Village, Inwood, Kips Bay and Long Island City. Plus, two dogs in Brooklyn and Queens. So, I got around, for sure. 

While hanging with these kitties, lots of great stuff happened, such as:

Winning my second award for writing plays--the 2013 Planet Connections Award for Outstanding Playwriting for Straight Faced Lies, a new play I premiered this year. You can read more about that here. The show was a big hit, too. We sold out a few times, and I got a review that compared me to Tennessee Williams, my favorite playwright! I confess: that one made my eyes swell with joy.

Finding out that I was being hired (by the law firm) full-time. So, I now have health insurance and other benefits, which makes me feel like a real person again. And, I still get to be an artist in my real life, just not a starving one.

And, while technically this happened in between cat gigs, I was thrilled that my play, Recovery, made big waves at the Capital Fringe Festival in D.C. I was super nervous to stage the play outside of my New York City comfort zone, but the show took off like crazy--also selling out and earning great reviews, including this one. And, we were even given an encore performance! I had so much fun that I'm hoping to go back in 2014. Also on the theater front, I also remounted Smiles to Saturn for special performances at the historic Loews Theatre in Jersey City, and revived The Other Day for a special birthday reading and for performances at the Fresh Fruit Festival in the East Village.

And, while I didn't get to do as much traveling as I would have liked (other than the back and forths to D.C.) I did get back to the west coast this year, where I got to catch up with friends L.A. and San Francisco, and some wine encouraged this awesome photo shoot--further proof that this was indeed the year of the cat!

Happy 2014 everyone! I hope that you, too, will live like animals.

I was recently interviewed by the news for a special play reading I was doing. This brought great excitement to my life. I spent hours preparing what I was going to say, and making sure that I looked good. I poured out my heart and soul to two people I'd just met, hoping that my story would reach the masses. Maybe even inspire a few people. I told everyone I knew to tune in tonight to watch me. But I was cut out of the story.

Truthfully, the main event was the play reading. It was a special night. Broadway actors reading my words; a professionally produced  film adapted from one of my plays. People were into it. Some even cried. I had close friends there supporting me. I got to stand up and take a bow. There was free wine. All of this was spectacular. Yet, I couldn't help but think about seeing myself on television. Who wouldn't?

You can only imagine my disappointment when I waited all day, sat through one awful news segment after another, and then came away short. Yes, this experience burned me a little, and made me feel sad--a little embarrassed, even. And now it's after midnight, and I can't sleep, and I'm listening to Tori Amos again, because I'm consumed by all of this. I'm a fucking writer. If I don't tell my story, I'll implode. The clocks will stop. The world will end. But, wait. I'm a writer. 

Yes, a writer. I don't need the news to tell my story. I can damn well do it myself. So, here's how the interview went down, as it now lives inside my head:

INTRO: MARK JASON WILLIAMS WAS DIAGNOSED WITH LEUKEMIA TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO, A TIME WHEN THE SURVIVAL RATE WAS ROUGHLY 60 PERCENT. THROUGH STRENGTH, DETERMINATION, AND CREATIVITY, MARK MIRACULOUSLY SURVIVED. TODAY, HE IS A PROFESSIONAL PLAYWRIGHT, HOPING TO INSPIRE OTHERS.

REPORTER: Mark, how did writing help you deal with your illness?

MARK: I had leukemia as a kid, so I thought I was far removed from those experiences, but as soon as I started writing about it, I realized there was a lot of stuff still in my head that I never quite dealt with. Writing helps me explore and deal with thoughts, emotions and experiences associated with my illness. It's a way to get it all out, to let others understand and empathize with what I've gone through, and it's helped me to look back and think, "yes, these experiences were painful, but I can't be bitter because they've shaped the person I am today."

REPORTER: Did you have any breakthroughs during the writing process?

MARK:  I had tons! I think the biggest breakthrough was realizing my play wasn't about my personal story with leukemia, it's really about all of us as a community--patients and their loved ones, doctors, nurses--you name it. The story I want to tell through my play is, "don't give up hope, because we're all in this together."

REPORTER: What have you learned from your writing? 
    
MARK; I've learned that writing is magic! When I write a play, it's become more than just words on paper--it's about bringing together a community to laugh, cry, discuss, and feel. That's an amazing feeling, especially if my words can help others to understand that just because someone is sick doesn't meant his or her life is over.

Pheew, that felt good to get out of my brain. While it didn't make the cut on TV, if these words reach just one person, I'll be happy. Because no matter what anyone says, my story is mine and I'm gonna keep telling it. And, the reason for this is because I have an incredible amount of support. So, thank you to my family and friends, to those who come and see my shows, to a wonderful coach and friend--you know who you are, and I hope you know how lucky I am to have you--and to everyone who enabled me to have another great night of magical theater.

On my way to work today, I came upon a cat. It was black, and dead. Or, maybe just pretending to be dead. I didn't really examine the creature like some kind of taxidermist. Either way, I thought, "Oh fuck, this can't be good."

I'm surprisingly superstitious. I don't walk on cracks or under latters. Umbrealls are for outside use only, and I avoid both hockey games and summer camps on Friday the 13th. Yet, I managed to stay calm and go about my morning---until the train was late, a lady spilled hot coffee on my foot, and I nearly got trapped in the men's room. But that can happen anyday, I assured myself. There was no way crossing paths with a kitty would do me such harm.

And then, I went to lunch at my usual place--a buffet-style deli where you pay by the pound. I got my basics: some greens, some fresh mozzarella and tomato, and topped it with a few slices of skirt steak. My bill was exactly $6.66.

Yep, black cat followed by the "devil's" number. Now, my thoughts multiply to "Oh fuck, I'm doomed." So, I call my mother (never a good idea in a time of panic, by the way) and ask her to finally come clean about where I came from.

"You adopted me from Satan, didn't you?"

"Yep," she tells me, chomping down on a potato chip. "Those horns were a bitch to cut off and everything."

We laugh for a minute, until Mom decides to do that annoying thing that mothers can do sometimes--read into things.

"Mark, you really don't think Satan's after you, right?"
"No, Mom."
"Because...wait, never mind."
"Just...say it!"
"Well...if you believe in the devil, then--"
"I changed my mind, don't say it."
"Seriously, if you believe in the devil, then you have to believe in God again, right?

I make up an excuse--work, something or other--and hang up the phone. Because I'd rather deal with spooky, demonic creatures out to get me than getting into a thelogical debate with my mother. Atleast, with the demons, I still have a fighting chance.




 

I haven't blogged in over two months.

Guess I've been busy. Doing what, exactly who knows? But there's been a birthday (hello, 35), play readings and preparing for shows in New Jersey, New York and D.C. There's been a steady day job (money is always nice) and lots of dog-sitting in Astoria, Queens (nothing puts your life in check like scooping up steamy dog crap on a cold winter's day.) There have been dates, excessive drinking (mostly on the dates--how else are you supposed to make a boring person tolerable; an unattractive person less repulsive, a douche-bag seem like less of a douche--well, actually, I don't think all the booze in the world can cure that, right Mr. Trump?)

The thing is: all of this is good stuff, fun stuff, normal stuff. And yet, I actually feel guilty for not writing more. That's what writers do, in case you weren't aware. Sure, we always tell the best stories and come up with the best jokes and wear the skinniest jeans and rattiest sweaters, but we're also brooding, self-absorbed souls who believe that every breath should be devoted to the written word. And when we go to parties instead of finishing that chapter, or spend too much time naked skyping with HotCowBoy98 instead of starting that screenplay--we'll feel bad about it later.

I don't feel bad about telling you this, though. Because blogs are amazingly open (read: self-serving) nowadays, and I think it's important for people to know that I enjoy spending time with them (unless you force me to eat weird shit, like an avocado) regardless of how I might feel about myself afterward.

The world went a little more nuts than usual in 2012. And, in a year that brought Hurricane Sandy, senseless acts of gun violence, another proposed apocalypse, and the impending fiscal cliff--it's hard to find the silver lining when you've got a shit storm perpetually coming at you. But never mind staying positive, sometimes the question is how do you stay sane? Drinking helps. As does writing and traveling. And, thankfully, I got to do these things quite frequently in 2012. 

It was a good year for writing, actually. On stage, 2012 was the year of the one-act play. I wrote and staged four: Crazy at Heart, Smiles to Saturn and Midnight Musings (as part of Acts of Love in the 2012 Planet Connections Theater Festivity with my playwright buddy Gabrielle Fox), and You Gotta Have Faith (or We'll Disown You) at Arthouse Productions in Jersey City. Though it might seem like less work than a full-length production, staging a successful one-act can be a challenge. You have less time to set-up the story, characters, and convince the audience to take the ride with you. Thankfully, each production went well, and each play was special to me in different and unique ways.

Crazy at Heart, for example, was a screwball comedy about a man and his therapist that also featured painfully funny truths about dating and relationships--and the audience ate it up. I'd never heard an audience laugh so loud at one of my shows, and I took away the notion that I'm way funnier than I give myself credit for. With Smiles to Saturn, a play about a man with autism and the frailty of sibling relationships, I realized that I don't need to create over-the-top drama to tell a provocative story. One person told me after the show, "that was so sweet, I didn't think you'd be the one to write it." In Midnight Musings, about a woman confronting the ghosts of relationships past, present and future during a sleepless night, I also took on the role of director. I'd always been opposed to this, but I really enjoyed the experience, and a critic even said, "everything about this gem--the acting, the writing, the directing--is perfect." That was a huge compliment, and it's the classic tale of how stepping outside of your comfort zone can amount to a huge payoff, both personally and professionally. And finally, You Gotta Have Faith, showed me how much my writing has truly matured. I tackled some big issues here, including being an atheist in today's society, but used my trademark sarcasm and monologue story-telling. It was the first play I've written where I wasn't afraid to offend people. And I loved it.

Offstage, my full-length plays continued to shine. Recovery and The Other Day were both published on Indie Theater Now, the iTunes for independent theater. I also became a participant in Visible Ink, a writing therapy program administered through Memorial Sloan-Kettering Hospital. Established in 2008, Visible Ink offers patients at Memorial Sloan-Kettering the opportunity to work individually with an experienced writer, editor, or teacher on a writing project of their choice, which need not be disease related. Through this program, I met a great mentor and friend, and we've taken Recovery to new levels--to the point where two Off-Broadway theater companies have requested to read the entire script. 

Of course, I wasn't writing all the time. I was easily distracted with trips to Maine, Oregon and Washington. When you can say you visited two Portlands in one year, then it's been a good year! Plus, there's my job at the law firm, where I continue to be a file-bitch, and love it.

So, if there's one thing I can say about 2012 it's that, no matter what, the world did not end, and I like to think and possibly hope that this year has put down the foundation for 2013 to be a highly, creative and successful year.

I was recently asked to come up with a six word memoir that would sum up my life. I wrote, "I keep kissing the damn frogs!"

It's true that I go on a lot of dates. First dates. Not really seconds, and hardly ever thirds.

My last date was no exception. He was a minister. And, given my religious beliefs (I don't believe in religion), I knew going out with him wasn't such a good idea. 
I was almost expecting to have an argument with him--a heated theological debate that would ignite Sam and Diane style hatred turned passion. Instead, I got 22 minutes of the most self-indulgent shit I've ever heard, such as:

Me: What did you do for Thanksgiving?
Him: Well, since I'm a minister, I served meals to needy people.

Me: What are you up this weekend?
Him: Taking some homeless kids to the movies. That's how most ministers spend their weekends.

Me: Do you want another cup of coffee?
Him: I shouldn't. That would be like gluttony. And, you know, I'm a minister...

Yes, and holy shit, please stop talking now! He reminded me of this girl I knew in college, who had an "eating disorder" and would bring it up every five minutes:

"Guys, I can't go to class today because I have an eating disorder?"
"Hey, can you pick up my mail today? I'd do it, but I have an eating disorder."
"Has anyone seen my keys? I'm too tired to look for them because I have an eating disorder."

So, as it became increasingly clear that the minister and I had zero chemistry, and I as sat there thinking of what I needed to buy at Target rather than listening to him talk, I searched for ways to end the date. Sick pet? Dinner with friends? Devil worship? But, he beat me to the punch.

"I have to get to the gym," he said.
"Really? You're not tired after spending all that energy on the less fortunate?"

At this point, the minister recognized my higher power--sarcasm--and left the coffeeshop. And, while I usually get bummed if a date doesn't work out, I wasn't about to loose any sleep over this one, because I realized I wasn't judging him for being a minister, I was judging him for being an asshole. But maybe next time, I'll opt for a rabbi instead.