That's how I've felt ever since Put On a Happy Face finally closed. Like there's some lingering thing that I keep forgetting about. Like it isn't over. But it is, and when I look back on it I have to tell myself that everyone did a good job and that I can relax.
I know that what I made wasn't perfect. Granted, I love to boast that I think my play was the best, but I have to acknowledge that a lot of that is bravado. Now that it's over, the feedback I'm getting I know is warranted. There were a couple things in my writing that were either overlooked or kept in out of stubbornness. I know I shouldn't care so much, and even then some of the criticism is nitpicky, but I still take it seriously. As is there's going to be a next time, which I know is not likely.
Put on a Happy Face was supposed to be a play that created a rude reality for the audience, one that exaggerates some of our worse traits but also gives them some justification. The idea of putting on a face is something we are all guilty of at some times, and the reason why may be because we are sometimes lacking in a genuine emotion. Esther's face conceals her sorrow and lack of love, Marcus' tries to hide his frustration and desire for control with that of a loving husband, and the Cohens' with the mask of friendship hide their unpleasant actions. While I'm not sure how much the audience use these characters to reflect on their own lives, I have heard good things every now and then. If I did not make something worth thinking about, at least it was entertaining. I know it could have been better, but I have to know I'm right when I say I made something that meant more than just a spectacle, that my writing touched people and made them think about the faces we wear.
As it begins to fade in the background of memory, I have to know I'm right.
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