GRAF 2026!

Last week Grinder Productions did something amazing. We brought not one but two shows to the Grand River Arts Festivals' 10-minute Play Competition. This was our third year participating, but the first time we've had two shows in competition at the same time, only minutes apart. It was a day filled with laughs, surprises, and friendship, reminding us all of just how much fun a community of theatre people can be when they get a chance to get together and be their weird and whacky selves. 

I'd like to thank the casts of both shows for their time and exuberance, and to Mya, our director for Hellward Bound, cheering her cast on from afar. Special shout out to Cassandra Hunt, who won an adjudicator's award for acting. And of course to the world's greatest wife, making her playwrighting debut with A Husband's Secrets, playing the role of Gail with no more than a cane, a prop gun, and sheer willpower to get her through. 

And of course, there's always talk of next year - what play to do, who to cast, how to make the most of the capabilities of the space. On the day everyone is filled with big ideas, and it's only now, in the afterglow, the long shadow of a lonely winter stretching out before me, that I can finally start to think about what next year's submission to this contest might really look like. 

Because it is a contest - the script you submit has to be good enough to make the cut, and, just because we've made it in for the past three years is no guarantee that our good fortune will continue. And if we do get in, it is a commitment to rehearse and produce, just like any other show, even though it's only 10 minutes long. This year I felt like we had the least amount of time to get ready, and I felt like we were the least prepared that we've ever been. It was enough, but only just. 

And as I mentioned, we did not win, nor did we finish in the top three plays. We've never managed to do that, despite awards for individual achievements. That doesn't bother me - I'm always very clear with the cast every year that we're not there to win, we're there to have fun, and we do. But it's been three years. I know how to write plays that work in that space. My work has been well-received. So without a shred of envy for the success of those who have finished ahead of me I have to ask the question: what else do I need to do?

I have all winter to think about it, I guess. Thinking about it is probably the wrong approach, actually. Nobody ever became a successful playwright by setting out to win a 10-minute Play Contest, and judging by the look of surprise I've seen on the faces of past winners I have a feeling that they didn't go in planning to win either. 

Rather than seeking to tailor a play to fit an objective, I think I'll have more success if I tailor my playwriting to fit the truth of my lived experience. When I do that I tend to produce my best work (even if it's usually a bit on the darker side). It's harder to do, of course, than the airy melodrama and low-grade satire that was my contribution to the stage this year. But whether light or dark, it's authenticity that produces my most visceral work, the stories and characters that stick with actors and audiences, the plays that say something haunting, disturbing, or profound - in short, the type of plays that tend to do well in contests. 

I can't fake that, nor can I force it. It's a chilly night tonight, probably going to get a frost any day now. Winter is on the way. Keep an eye on this space, and see how I fare in the months ahead, as I try to mold my creative voice into something that speaks from my authentic self.