I have felt my entire life like I was on some kind of mission, and now I find myself in a place where I know the mission was driving me to this specific time and place.

I remember, in every city and new place I encountered, scouring the streets for spaces I thought would make good theatres. I was obsessed with a space. With trying to figure out how any given knook or cranny could be a theatre.

“Just give me a space,” was my mantra. “I’ll do the rest.”

I vehemently insisted–INSISTED–that I move to this specific remote town, get land, be DONE with the fucking rat race that wasn’t WORKING me to death, but was PREVENTING me from getting real work done–from doing what was important.

People didn’t get why I was going to such dramatic ends, were desperate to not indulge my stupid fantasies but rather make it clear to me that it was time to give up and conform–

But from the moment I arrived here, all of the things I’ve been seeking and which seemed impossible have been readily available.

I crash landed in my lot, and was greeted by friends who helped me build a place to live. I got a show produced. And that show got me a space to house a theatre company, and a seat on the board of the playhouse.

We’ve put up 5 weeks of shows, and have a small, but devoted, following.

I have everything I need–except the money to keep it.

These first weeks have mostly been a fact finding mission–trying to determine what exactly this was going to be and who was going to be drawn to it. Now it’s time to hit the ground running.

I have to warn you, I’m going to be relentless. Because I need 150 people to become members at $10 or more a month.

So much of my work has been personal (and SmutMag is the place where I get personal) and independent, that it’s always been extremely hard to also be the salesman and say, “This is worth money.” I try–I sometimes succeed. But doing it has always made me want to vomit. That I’ve had to make asks a lot in my life only means I learned to hold my nose and just fucking do it anyway.

But it wears on you. It doesn’t get easier. Selling yourself is a torturous task.

But I don’t feel that way about Boneyard Theatre. I know exactly why it’s important, and beneficial to everyone–not just the few who relate and share my tastes.

What I’m doing with Boneyard will do a tremendous amount of good, is a tremendous amount of work, and deserves support. I could not be more certain that $10 a month is worth it.

So for your part, the benefit is this: I can actually do the things I do without it destroying me. Like write on the internet, or start a theatre company. You don’t live where I live, and so perhaps the theatre isn’t something you want to support. But doing that enables me to write on the internet, and make music, and give it away for free. All that you got before, you will continue to get-and you will help me stabilize both my town, and myself, and create avenues for self expression offline.

But there are endless benefits. I know, because I started a blog specifically for the theatre. To plan for it, I came up with 100 blog titles about how theatre benefits communities before I said, “That’s enough.” Here’s the first one!

https://the-boneyard.ghost.io/ghost/#/editor/post/6ad9032015b97800016acf91

This is too important to fail. I think we’re doing something special at Boneyard–things I didn’t even get into on this first blog (there will be many). Our entire season is built on giving community ownership of the theatre. We aren’t pandering to their proclivities–we are inviting them to come and make the theatre themselves. We have a series of open mic cabarets, where we bring what we’ve got, experiment with collaboration, and spend a couple of hours listening to each other. Next, we do a series of reader’s theatre workshops with the same basic idea, only with text. Then we build fully staged productions, where we meet people where they are, every step of the way.

The theatre is no longer going to be an exclusive club. It’s going to be exploding with new ideas from people from every walk of life. They will be given time to develop. We want to see what they bring in, and give them more tools to expand, including theatre education. The theatre will be built around who they are as artists, rather than asking them to be who the theatre wants them to be. And what’s most important, the theatre is less dependent on money than it is on people simply showing up. Giving away free shows every week gives people the ability to build up a theatre going practice–rather than asking them to remember their duty to the arts sporadically throughout the year, and at high ticket prices.

Already, we have a small but devoted following–which is miraculous in a town so spread apart. And I’ve built the season in such a way that we have the time to grow.

Imagine what we could do if I had an income.

Anyway–this is not the sales pitch. This is where I am spilling out the contents of my brain. And right now, I’m just warning you:

I want 150 people to set up monthly contributions of $10 or more a month, and I will not stop until I have it. I am so close to this thing NOT being tenuous, but being real, and having forward momentum, I can taste it, and if I have to go full fucking advertising monster about it, I will. If I have to pump the fuck out of my ego until it damn near explodes to work up the nerve to make the ask, then that is what I’m going to do, and I will make the ask every time. If I have to badger every person I’ve ever met into making that donation, I refuse to feel impolite about it. Because I’m not only not asking for the moon, here, I’ve done a tremendous amount on extremely little and no steady income whatsoever, and can make a huge leap with just a steady $1500 a month. (There will be leaps to be made after that, but truly–what new heights 150 people could make happen!).

When it comes to causes, everyone’s always, “Don’t ask me!” I’m asking everyone. I don’t care if you’re in the vicinity, I don’t care if you’re broke right now, I don’t care if you hate my guts: I still want you to be one of the 150 who pledge $10 a month so I can build this thing and keep writing. Now is the time.

So go ahead and make it easy on yourself and just go ahead and do it. If you do, then you can enjoy my creative advertising antics without feeling called out. Rather, you will feel superior.

Because this is the opportunity I’ve been working towards my entire career. And I’m in a place where it can do real and tremendous good for the community, and create a model for the theatre that allows it to have true impact. Impacts like reducing crime, increasing literacy, building the skills you need to have to build anything. Theatres increase tourism and spending at local businesses. They create optimism about our ability to surmount problems. They help tie together other nonprofits, and breed citizens who are likely to volunteer. Society doesn’t work without theatre, and theatre doesn’t work when it’s an exclusive club. In small towns like this one, that are run by Facebook, and where the news channels have been taken over by evangelicals, where the population is getting older, and the developers are closing in, where the only money that ever flowed through the town came from illegal weed, and where all the money left as soon as weed was legalized–a theatre is crucial for building a community that can pull itself together, and withstand fascist forces.

Maybe it’s not everything (I mean…I disagree with that, but I would), but it’s something that helps, and it’s within my scope to do it, and I have the opportunity to do it–now my final test is to fundraise.

Like I said, this is way too egotistical, strangely hostile, and wildly written to be my true fundraising effort–this is a warning. Because I consider a lot of you my friends, and…I know how annoying it is when suddenly your friend is advertising at you.

But I’m going to do it anyway, and I’m going to do it a lot, and I may seem entitled about it, and to that I say: Yep. My work is absolutely worth your $10 a month, and honestly, fuck you to insinuate otherwise, you hypothetical naysayer!

So become a member today! Go to redwoodplayhouse.org , click donate, select monthly, use the drop-down menu to select Boneyard Theatre, enter the amount you want to contribute, and voila!