I want to share something with you, if you feel you're up for it. In its entirety, I give you The Yellow Brick Monologues.

Some time ago, I was living in New York City, a young writer looking to do something, to make something. I'd written a script, The Yellow Brick Monologues, which is pretty self-explanatory: Characters from The Wizard of Oz get the opportunity to voice their grievances, and generally take a moment and think about how things in Oz do (and don't) make sense.

So I took out a bank loan, rented a theatre in Times Square, and produced my own show. I directed it myself, with an asst. director on hand to make sure my ideas weren't eclipsed by my ego. (Some of the worst shows or films I've ever seen were directed by the writer.)

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I am proud of this show: it was the first thing I did that was entirely mine. The actors did a phenomenal job. My nephew was born closing night, a few hundred miles away.

It answers questions like:

- Why doesn't the Wicked Witch of the West ever mention her sister, outside Munchkinland?

- Why didn't Glinda tell Dorothy she could go straight home?

- How did a girl, a lion, a scarecrow, and a tin man all get makeovers in the same building— without paying anything?

- How did the Wizard rise to power in the first place?

- Why didn't Glinda help Dorothy out when she headed into the West?

Anyway. I know we're not supposed to use O-Deck to shamelessly plug ourselves, but since I'm not actually selling anything, I hope they'll let this one slide. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think of it in the comments.

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