In our Christmas Play Lineup this month we’ve already featured Rejected: The Inside Story and Christmas at The Three Bees, and today we’re covering two more plays in one post. The Gift and Padlock Homes and the Case of the Missing Splinter are similar in length and tone, so they make a great pair to feature side-by-side.
This month, while we’re running our annual Christmas Sale, we’re featuring each of our Christmas scripts on the blog! We started two weeks ago with our post about Rejected: The Inside Story, and today we’re on to number two in our Christmas play lineup: Christmas at The Three Bees.
Before I get to the blogpost proper, I’ve got news! We’re hosting our annual Christmas Play Sale this month—ALL month! Through October 1st, all our Christmas scripts are 20% off, so if you plan to perform a play this December now is the time to find a good script to use!
Four years ago today, we published our very first script, Rejected: The Inside Story. To this day, it’s still our best-selling play (although our skit Just Ask Pastor!, released last September, has been giving it a run for its money lately).
I watched Little Women (the old 1994 film) last weekend, for the first time in years. Going into it I had this vague impression that I’d seen it once or twice when I was much younger, but I couldn’t recall anything specific.
August always feels like a weird month (as I’ve said before, last year at this time). Not bad weird, just different. It’s an in-between month.
Between ten days of camp with very little quiet time and all my Saturdays last month spent working on the campground preparing for said ten days of camp, I wasn’t able to read quite as much in July as I was in June. That said, I did polish off two great books and made progress in a couple others.
When I was little, Mode Camp was THE event of the year for me. (Well, along with Christmas.) And in some ways, it still is—at least the main event of the summer.
Our little church camp set on a hill in the Middle of Nowhere, Illinois, has shaped my life in more ways than I can explain.
Writing a new play always hammers this truth back into my head: I have nothing to write.
I know—I’m a writer. I write things. It’s what I do. But the truth remains that I really have nothing to write.
A few lines robbed of their contexts, from my current play-in-progress:
“At least you don’t get thrown to sharks.”