Apr/May 2008

e c l e c t i c a
s p o t l i g h t   a u t h o r


Steven Schutzman

(These are excerpts—click on the title to view the whole piece!)

The Salesman: A Fifteen Minute Play

This man had just laid a big egg between us, and I could choose right then: Deal with the egg or not, say what I was thinking or not. Again, I felt a lawlessness in the charging train and a kind of permission in the speed of us flying through the darkening twilight of no country at all.

The Bank: A Play in One Act

Three skinny Africans sleep in my room across two single beds pushed together. One, a Somali, talks in his sleep in a language that sounds like crying. Or perhaps the Somali is crying. Who knows? The other, a countryman of mine, roams the bed on all fours like a stalking wild animal. And my feet dangle, Sir. Dangle. And the crack between the beds is like a stone in the shoe of my sleep.

Ancient Island in the Brain: A Play in One Act

Playing poker to poke her. Laughing and playing for laughs. Stoned and playing for stones, hee, hee. Stoned used to mean, the whole village against you. Imagine that. Stoned to death. What a way to go.