Today I got a package from Dramatic Publishing, the company that published the The Theory of Everything and handles the play's performance rights. (By the way, if you do not own a copy, shell out $6.50 right now and buy one online. If you need a list of awards the play won or copies of Singaporean fan mail I got because of it or rave reviews that my review monkey compiled, then bend over and I will shoot them over to you through a pipe.)
Apparently, the publishers lifted three monologues from the play and shoved them into Editor's Choice: Audition Monologues for Men and Editor's Choice: Audition Monologues for Women. I guess I approved this some months ago, but, man, I don't remember. Am I really supposed to keep track of these things?
People are surprised to hear that I don't have an agent. They wonder how I've managed to get eight plays produced, snag over a dozen productions, and drum up multiple commissions and grants all by myself. Well, first of all, it takes motivation, e.g., "No agent's gonna get 10 percent of my money!" Second of all, it takes a little bit of savvy, e.g., "Hmm, I think I'll send my play to someone." (You'd be surprised how many playwrights I know will finish a play and then just let it sit on their computer for months and even years.) People talk, word travels, self-confidence grows. And sometimes you get surprises like, "Oh, my work is in a book. That's cool. I wish I remember signing that contract. By the way, where are all my contracts?" And then I tear my house apart. But instead of finding complicated legal documents, I find my entire collection of Fantastic Four comic books. And I think, "Forgetting ain't so bad," because everyone loves surprises.