Are you writing a play? Then you need to read this:
In January, I headed down to Key West to finish my stage adaptation of an Ambrose Bierce novella called The Monk and The Hangman’s Daughter.
Why finish a play in Key West? Because it’s better than freezing your ass off in Manhattan after the holidays.
During January, temperatures in the Florida Keys hover at 80 degrees with practically no humidity. The skies are robin’s egg blue, and clear. You can’t help but wake up happy and stay that way until sundown.
Also, PRO TIP: It’s simple to fly to Miami, pick up a white Ford Mustang convertible at the rental car office, and cruise down Highway A1A into paradise.
Yes, with the top down.
Yes, with the radio on.
Music by Jimmy Buffett is optional.
But, you know. When in Rome …
What hell.
It had excellent pickup.
PRO TIP #2: When writing a play in the Keys, DO NOT RUSH. Rushing is for northerners and other doomed neurotics.
For instance, my first night, after a leisurely two-hour drive, I stopped in Key Largo for a plate of brisket at a roadside trailer marked Bone Suckers BBQ.
A slab of fresh pig at Bone Suckers costs 12 bucks. It came with a side of pork and beans, which turned out to be actual pork and beans, meaning beans that were loaded with brisket and bacon and diced up chunks of ham.
Finished, I hit the highway again and found a grocery store where I picked up a six-pack of Modelo Especial, some carrots (to keep my vitamins up), and fruit for the next morning’s breakfast. All of this went in the Mustang’s trunk while I started scouring thrift shops looking for …
Typewriters. Of course.
(Please note: I’m obsessed with vintage manual typewriters. For more information, please see the Typewriter Collection page at CreateX3.com.)
That evening, I took a room at Captain Pip’s Marina & Hideaway on Marathon Key. Whose backyard is pictured below.
Stuck in their cars while I’m lying here /
‘Neath the sun and the stars.”
— Jimmy Buffett
Yes, in case you were wondering, this is the perfect place to sit back and watch the sun go down while sipping a can of Modelo Especial. It almost made me feel better about not finding a typewriter.
At this point, you may be asking yourself: If you wanted a typewriter so badly, why didn’t you bring an ultraportable with you. Like, say, your 1950 Smith-Corona Skyriter?
The honest answer:
A good night’s sleep at Captain Pip’s. Up the next morning at 7. I wrote until 10 and checked out then drove a mile or so into town to some little Cuban place where they made Eggs Benedict with mahi mahi. Enjoyed said Eggs Mahi Mahi while sipping coffee and reading a damn good book.
Then it was back on the road to the end of the line.
I turned the car in at Key West Airport and couldn’t help noticing that everyone around me was smiling and happy.
This led to a concerted effort at psychological readjustment. Through a sheer act of will, I shook off the vibes of the Northeast Coast. The cocktail I grabbed at the airport lounge likely helped. After which, I grabbed a cab into town, where the real adventure began.
Key West might be the most laid back town in the country. The weather is welcoming. Chickens abound. Even the drunks are congenial. Also, there’s plenty of weirdness afoot, which is just the way I like things.
Why wouldn’t it be?
He totally rocked “Smoke On the Water.”
My bed and breakfast was Old Town Manor, on Eaton Street, off Duval. A quiet oasis of joy in the middle of tropical pure relaxation.
My room was on the second story of a separate structure out back overlooking the garden. Complete with a private outdoor seating area. In other words, it was the perfect place to write.
The hotel cat was named Doc. He had the run of the place (of course). Each day we said hello to each other, he wore a new Hawaiian shirt and yawned at the hens who led their chicks directly past his whiskers, into the garden in search of their breakfast.
Same pose as “Doc not giving a shit.”
Doc was cool. Go visit. You’ll see.
My schedule for writing a play? Write all morning. Read in the afternoon.
Repeat, repeat.
Around four, I’d start feeling hungry so I’d walk up Caroline Street, heading north along the Key West Bight.
BIGHT (noun)
pronounced: bight/bīt/ – a curve or recess in a coastline, river, or other geographical feature.
(I know. I had to look it up, too.)
Dinner was always the same: a plate of Apalachicola oysters and a couple of beers. You could get such fare practically anywhere but my recommendation is Pepe’s Cafe, the best 8-seat bar in the country.
Except that this picture isn’t actually from Pepe’s.
It’s from Schooner’s, across the street.
One afternoon, I visited the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum.
Yes, I saw a shitload of polydactyl cats running around. Fifty-two on that day, to be precise.
No, none of them knew Doc. I asked.
Yes, they were cute as buttons.
No, I saw no litter boxes.
No, I did not see any mice on the premises. Go figure.
Here’s Rusty, my tour guide.
In all? Great digs. Great stories. Great fun.
And of course, the Hemingway House was where I finally spotted … typewriters!
Also spotted: a mid-1930s Underwood Universal painted frieze gray (a ubiquitous model; I have one) and an LC Smith & Corona Standard with a flat top hood, also painted glossy black.
But then …
I could feel my nerves start to quiver as Rusty led us behind the main house, up a short flight of stairs to the loft that squatted above the carriage house.
If you’re going to have a study detached from your abode in the tropics,
make sure it’s in the loft above your carriage house.
The Hemingway House has preserved Papa’s study almost precisely as it was when he vacated the premises in the 1940s. Marital difficulties. For which he was famous. Look it up.
And here was where the magic happened. Here was where a legend once sat at his table and practiced his craft.
a dilapidated Royal Number #5, I think.
And here … on Papa’s work table, preserved for all time behind wrought iron bars … was what appeared to be a late 1930s or early 40s Royal Quiet DeLuxe — a model for which the Big H was said to be particularly fond.
I rebuilt mine from two separate machines.
Check the Typewriter Collection page at CreateX3.com for details.
And now … since I mentioned it in the title of this post, here’s a picture of Hemingway’s toilet.
The father of modern American prose parked his cheeks right here every morning.
I know. I agree. Sort of lackluster, isn’t it?
So … why did I title this blog post after it?
Why didn’t I just call it ‘Writing a Play in Key West’?
Because, at its core, a writer’s job is boring. We sit at a table and scribble in notebooks. Or punch at the keys of some stupid machine until words begin to capitulate and we pin a few down to the mat.
That’s on a good day. On a bad day, it often feels like we’re just “shoveling shit from a seated position.” With thanks to Stephen King for that perfectly accurate description.
In other words, writing a play is just a job … like any other job.
But the thing is, I love my job. For all it’s sham and drudgery, I wouldn’t trade writing a play for the world.
So … how do you finish a play in Key West?
The same way anyone tackles anything.
Get up every morning and do your damn job. Do your best. Give em hell. Then kick back and smile.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
If you can swing it, throw in some travel now and then. I always find it productive to give myself plenty of wacky distractions. ; )
May your creativity be fruitful.
Damon DiMarco
