Category Archives: Bob Writes Historical Fiction

The War That Made Happiness Wait: Chapter 2


Dear Writer Friend,

Here is the second chapter for your reading pleasure. Remember the original purpose of this blog is for you to either use this short story as a prompt or share a sample of your own historical fiction by replying to this blog.


The War That Made Happiness Wait

By Bob Young

Chapter 2

A tear snuck out of my eye. I couldn’t say which emotion drove out that tear. When it dribbled onto my

cheek, he noticed it and quickly pulled his hand back to re-bandage it.

“Say now, I wasn’t going for sympathy…,”

“I’m sorry, Dennis. I’m just happy you weren’t hurt more badly,” I said quickly trying to regain my

composure and trying not to embarrass him further.

“You can still do almost everything with that hand,” Abbie said taking over for me.

“I should be taking over as a full-fledged baker in a month as I get my strength up.”

“Betts is there to back you up.”

“She’s been great as I tire out in the afternoon,” he offered picking up on Abbie’s attempts to calm me

down. “She was the employee who didn’t gawk at my hand all day.”

“From what I heard she was too busy gawking at your upper body strength,” Abbie quipped. We

laughed both blushing. Besides you are the youngest adult male in all of Greens Park who isn’t married.”

“So that’s why all the women in town look at me that way,” Dennis said, the light dawning.

“There are no eligible men,” I finally squeaked.

“Why do you think we asked you out for a beer your first work day,” Abbie added.

“You’re trying to make everyone think one of you is my girlfriend?” Dennis asked.

“That’s the idea,” I said sheepishly.

“Do you already have a girlfriend?” I asked boldly.

“I had one back in Hawaii, but getting sent home ended that.”

“We’ll be your social life now that you’re home. Our drinking group used to be much larger. Our four

guys are serving all over the world.” I explained.

“Four guys?”

“Yes, four, although none of them had the courage to take us on as a steady girlfriend,” Abbie said.


“They’re more afraid of us than the Axis forces,” Abbie teased.

We all laughed.

“How about we keep everyone in town guessing? I’ll take turns holding hands with both of you when

we are out,” Dennis suggested.

Abbie and I roared at that idea. We finished beer number two and started three. We spent the rest of the

evening filling him in on all of the changes in Greens Park since he had enlisted. The conversation

relaxed into a more familiar tone since the ice had been broken on the critical issues between sailor and

home front girls. Abbie and I seemed to relax into our old beer drinking group mode with Dennis easily

slipping into the ‘friend-who’s-a-boy’ category.

When the three of us got up from the bar to go home, Dennis made a fuss out of taking Abbie’s hand

with his good hand. When he did, we laughed out loud and were still in comic spasms as we hit the


He walked me home first. They left me as he walked Abbie home. She never told me if he kissed her

goodnight. I was afraid to ask. Truth be told, I couldn’t wait until it was my turn to have him hold my


That was the rude new reality. Dennis drove an emotional wedge between Abbie and me in my head.

Abbie acted the way she always had. She talked incessantly and told me everything, I thought. When the

old crowd of men were still with us, we talked about them behind their backs all the time and decided

together who each of us would try to push into a deeper relationship. It seemed the same with Dennis but

Abbie never offered a plan of how she would make him hers. She stuck to her lament that there were no

dateable men in Greens Park now that the war was in full swing.

The fact that she ignored him made me afraid to talk about wanting to date Dennis. Every time Dennis

walked away holding her hand, I had to fight the feeling to follow them.

But weeks went by and no one made any kind of move. We got boring and the three of us looked like

we were just regulars at Connie’s.

Dennis was functioning as a baker at 100% after three months. He would allow me to help him move

pies and iced mini-cakes only so he could harass me about something. He didn’t need any physical help.

He just seemed to enjoy a few minutes of bar talk to break up the day.

About six months after he showed up at work, he stopped out front on his way home while I was

waiting on customers.

“I’m craving sea food. Let’s go to Trainers tonight.”

“Sure,” I said giving him a dirty look for social talk in front of customers.

“Is that your boyfriend?” an old lady said grinning broadly showing me a ravaged smile.

“He wishes I was his girlfriend,” I said sarcastically. The small gathering of customers laughed out

loud. Dennis stuck his tongue out at me and disappeared through the front door of the shop.

I was putting on my coat in the hallway by the shop’s service door a couple of hours later. Dennis

stepped in.

“Hi, Betts. Hungry?”

“I’m always hungry for Trainers.”

“Good.” He grabbed my hand with his bad hand.

That was a first.

Even though that hand was half gone, he had a warm, firm hold on my hand and the fact that he had

used his bad hand gave me an emotional charge.

Abbie wasn’t in the car.

It was just us. I kept my mouth shut waiting to see just what the hell was going on. I watched him drive

the car. He had installed a knob on the steering wheel to give his bad hand something easier to grab. He

looked comfortable. He asked me what I would order. Who my favorite teacher was at Grant High

School. How long I had lived in Greens Park. He didn’t remember seeing me before coming back to

work at the bakery. I told him that was because he was ancient. It would have been illegal for him to look

at me when he was in high school. He took the kidding good-naturedly. Actually, he was only five years

older than me and I was curious why I hadn’t noticed him around town when we were kids.

We pulled into the parking lot and he took my hand again as we walked into the restaurant. They sat us

in a little booth set up for two. We ordered.

“I want to start my own bakery some day,” he said when the waitress was gone.

“Really? Where would you put it?”

“I was thinking out on the north side of town. I think the town is going to grow toward Stony Pt and the

bakery will be right where the new homes will be.”

“Interesting. I’ve never thought how things will change after the war.”

“I really don’t know the best place except not downtown.”

“Sure. Not near Lauhoff’s.”

“By the time I’ve saved up enough to rent a space, the war will have been over for some time and where

to put it will be clear.”

“I’d apply to work in your bakery,” I said with a smile.

“I’d hire you in a second.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” I said.

“Not just nice, it’s really clear you could manage a business. You’re tireless and sharp.”

“Manage…?” I asked.

“You know everything about a bakery from the workroom to the display cases to caring for customers.

Especially customers.”

“That’s very generous. So, I have the job?” I said teasing him.

“Yes…,” he said more softly and very warmly. He waited a beat and said, “You’re hired.”

I looked at him trying to see behind his eyes because I instantly sensed something else was going on.

“Here are your scallops,” the waitress said.

“Thanks,” Dennis said.

“And butterflied shrimp for you.”

“Oh, that looks good,” I said.

We ate.

It was a great meal. While we enjoyed it, we described our families, what they did, and where everyone

was around the country. He described how beautiful Hawaii was and that if he could afford it he would

like to visit there in peace time. We shared other dream vacation spots each of us had.

We talked about what it was like to live with our parents, which we both were doing. We were thankful

but both longed to live on our own.

We topped off the meal with a slice of cheesecake and then he drove me home.

“Could I take you to dinner again soon?” he asked me as we walked up to my parent’s door.

“I’d like that but we can just go out for barbeque next time.”

“Sounds perfect.” He reached his bad hand up to my cheek and gently caressed me. I put my hand on

the back of his, impulsively holding it against my cheek longer than he probably intended looking steadily

into his eyes. After a moment, I turned my head and planted a kiss into the now healed ‘palm’ of what

was left of his hand. I looked back at him and his face blushed and his eyes rimmed with tears. He took a

step closer and slipped his arms around me and gently kissed my mouth. I felt his tears fall on my face.

“Good night, Betty.”

“Good night, Dennis.”

I watched him walk to his car. He waved and got into the driver’s seat and drove away.


Bob Young Interviews Heidi Surprenant – SWSTeam Member


Heidi Surprenant is a long time member of the Broken Walls Community Church Writers Group. She has presented a novel, musical compositions, poetry, several children’s books, and recently helped me turn a one-act play into an operetta. It was amazing to watch Heidi turn very rough lyrics into wonderful songs.

Recently, I had the opportunity to interview Heidi.

Bob: I really enjoyed the process of writing songs with you for our operetta, “Committed.”

So I have some questions:

How does the music come to you when you are bringing the lyrics and the music together? Is it creativity first and then training?

Heidi: Great question! When I’m working with an already-written set of lyrics, writing the music is a matter of truly listening to the rhythm and inflection of the words, then coming up with a melody that expresses the emotional nuances of the text. If the lyricist is open and flexible (as you are) there can be a bit of give and take to create the perfect match. I don’t think of training and creativity as separate things since they are completely intertwined in the process of song-writing. That said, training in music theory definitely helps me transfer musical ideas from my head onto the staff.

Bob: What is your favorite song genre?

Heidi: Musical theatre of any era! I also enjoy folk rock, indie pop, alternative rock, and world-beat. It’s exciting to hear how diverse musical genres from around the globe are influencing and being influenced by one another.

Bob: What is your formal musical training?

Heidi: I have a B.A. in music education from the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater and a M.M. in music composition from UW-Milwaukee. My undergrad degree dates from the late 1970’s though and feels a bit like ancient history!

Bob: You play horn and piano. Do you play other instruments?

Heidi: Violin – although I’ve never actually made it past the “sick cat” stage. Also, I play organ in church occasionally, especially when one of the “big” hymns comes up, such as “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” or “For All the Saints.”

Bob: When you are writing music out of your personal interests, what are you most likely going to write?

Heidi: I love writing song cycles, piano miniatures, and anything for brass!

Bo:b: What is your favorite late night snack?

Heidi: Hot or cold, leftover pizza always hits the spot. I think I’ll grab a slice from the fridge…

Bob: Do you keep paper handy wherever you go in case inspiration strikes?

Heidi: Definitely; a pencil, too! Maybe I should invest in a laptop.

Bob: Who is the last musician you bought on CD or download?

Heidi: The last CD I purchased was Gorecki’s Symphony #3, “The Symphony of Sorrowful Songs.” It’s heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time.

Bob: What is your favorite activity outside of writing and music?

Heidi: I like to bike and hike (and rhyme). Reading is also a great joy for me, especially outside on the porch on a warm summer day.

Bob: What’s your next musical composition?

Heidi: I’m currently working on an extensive arranging project. When I finish it, I’ll treat myself to a brass quintet; can’t wait!

Bob: In summer do you like to stay up late and write or compose or do you like to get a good night’s sleep.

Heidi: When I’m “in the zone,” I stay up late to work on a piece without even realizing the passage of time. I think that’s what happens to most people. I haven’t pulled an all-nighter for a long time, but 3 a.m. sometimes rolls around before I look at the clock and decide I’d better call it a night.

It’s been fun answering your questions, Bob! All the best to you and your family!

Bob: Thanks, Heidi, for letting us take a peek into the life of a composer, poet, and musician. I’m looking forward to experiencing your next work.

I Write Historical Fiction – Here’s a Challenge and a Gift


Dear Writer Friend,
Either use this short story as a prompt or share a sample of your own historical fiction in this blog. Stop back to read the next installment of this story. See whether Betty and Abbie can make Dennis a true friend.

The War That Made Happiness Wait
By Bob Young

In the Spring of 1942, my love life was a wreck. Just six months before, we were having such a rollicking time around Greens Park even though we had very simple jobs and not much money for fun. There were six of us who had found each other as we worked away after high school at a variety of jobs around town. A few of us had known of each other when we went to Grant High School. But our common ground was Connie’s Bar and Grill, as each of us gravitated to this tavern in the working class section of town for respite from the grind of our jobs.

After a year, we gradually developed into a unit, four men and two girls. Both of us girls rotated our crushes among the men. Admittedly, the men were often more interested in every other woman who came into Connie’s rather than us. But Abigail and I always figured we each would end up with one of the guys when they came to their senses and found out how wonderful we really were. But then all our plans and hopes were changed when Pearl Harbor was attacked and we were at war. All four of our men enlisted and by February they were all in the army or the navy. Only because we were known as regulars could we even walk into Connie’s without our reputations being shredded. But it didn’t matter since we were only subjected to the advances of very old men who we easily brushed off.

Most importantly, we figured a real relationship with a man would have to wait for the end of the war. We went into a more foul mood about the war than developing patriotic worry. It would have been different if we lived in New York City. But we were just far enough away in the Hudson Valley of New York State that most of the eligible men were gone or going. The boys still in high school were just boys. The result was that we ended up drinking quite a bit more than we used to as we drank away our disappointment about our singleness. My dark mood started to be noticed at work.

“Betty, are you going to bring that other rack of rolls and bread out of the back and get it on these shelves?”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Lauhoff. I apologize for being a bit off today,” I said sadly.

“You need to take it easy on the number of beers you are drinking on the weekends.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” as I scurried to catch up with my work before the shop opened at 7a.m. Lauhoff Bakery was the high end bake shop in Greens Park.

While I was moving our bread offerings into place, I had already put the fancy sweets out into the glass cases. The sweets and wedding cakes had made the bakery’s renown decades before WWII. I was a lucky girl to be the head clerk in Lauhoff’s. I knew I really had to ease up on my dissolute ways or I would lose everything I had achieved since high school. It was a normal busy day at Lauhoff’s but I was not too busy to notice the sailor with one arm in a sling and a heavily bandaged hand. He didn’t buy anything but was warmly greeted by the staff who had worked there for much longer than I. He was ushered into the second floor offices of the bakery where I had visited only when I was hired. He had stayed for two hours and when he left in his good hand he carried a small box of our signature macaroons.

“Some good news, Betty…,” Mrs. Lauhoff mentioned to me as I put my coat on to go home at the end of the day.

“Oh, Yes, Ma’am…?” I said.

“Dennis Markim is going to return to work for us here. You may have noticed the injured sailor who was here earlier?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Dennis worked for us until he enlisted in the navy three years ago. He was on a ship at Pearl Harbor called the Helena. It was badly damaged and he was hurt badly enough that he was medically discharged. He won’t be able to bake for a while until his shoulder and hand heal, but we’re taking him back to do what he can until he’s ready. I want you to do whatever you can to help him feel productive.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I walked away from work thinking I was now a nurse and a bakery clerk. My mood was not lifted at all by this turn of events. I was headed to Woolworth’s to meet Abbie for a sandwich at their lunch counter. I could hear her before I could see her.

“Just get me my sandwich and malt and keep your snide remarks to yourself,” Abbie announced loudly so that all heads turned in her direction. The pharmacist almost knocked me down as he headed to where Abbie was sitting.

“Please, Young Lady, there’s no need to shout.”

“Mr. Baglien,” Abbie whispered loudly. “Tell your boy to keep his comments about my figure to himself. I just want my sandwich my malt.”
His head snapped in the boy’s direction.

“Darrell, have Sally make Abbie’s ticket,” and he gestured for the high school boy to follow him back into the privacy of the pharmacy office.
As I sat down, Darrell passed us head bowed.

“A compliment from the wrong guy again?” I asked.

“It wasn’t even a compliment. It was stated in terms of what he could do with what I’ve got,” Abbie said completely exasperated. “A compliment would have been nice.”

“Oh, my,” I reacted. “It just rudely makes the point of what a stateside girl sacrifices during this ugly war,” I said commiserating.

“The ‘men’ situation in Greens Park has me thinking about a move to NYC. At least there are on-leave servicemen there.”

“That’s true. I’ll move with me. We can share expenses,” I offered.

“You’re a good egg, Betts. I don’t want to pull you away from kith and kin, but some days I can’t engineer a good mood.”

“Here’s your ham and cheese, Abbie. Sorry about the kid,” the waitress said.

“Just my war jitters, Sal!”

The three of us laughed.

“What can I get you, Betty?”

“Ham and cheese but with a root beer float.”

“Coming right up.”

“Listen to this news, Abbie. Tomorrow I’m nurse to Lauhoff’s returning hero, Dennis Markim, who still is too banged up to work full out. I’ll be his hands until he is fully recovered.”


“Shoulder and mangled hand. He’s a baker but how he’ll do anything for weeks, I’ll never know.”

“But was he wearing pants?” Abbie begged to know.

“Seaman blue and jaunty cap.”

“Was he cute otherwise, the parts that weren’t mangled?”

“A six on your scale…,” and I laughed.

“I weep for you, Betts,” Abbie teased.

“You have to take the long term / short term view. He can bring a beer to his lips at Connie’s this weekend and who knows what else by Thanksgiving.” We laughed.

“All we need is another guy in our club who’s only got eyes for everyone but us,” Abbie complained.

“We just have to find you your own wounded sailor.”


We went on to drown ourselves in root beer floats.


Since, he was technically a baker, Dennis had already been at work for two hours by the time I get to the shop at 6a.m. the next morning. He had modified his bandages so he had a fore finger and a thumb on his bad hand free from restraint. Those digits looked uninjured at first glance. He wouldn’t let me carry anything for him for the first hour. He was all smiles and cheery banter. He claimed that he had gathered the ingredients, mixed, pounded down, and allowed to rise the dough that he had eventually formed into dinner rolls. He had brought them out and dumped them into the appropriate bin. I figured he would be pretty grim that first day facing hard work with barely more than one hand.

“It sure feels good to be back in the bakery,” he said sipping some coffee.

“Don’t you wish you were back on the Helena trying to get her ready to get back in action?”

“I did for a while until I realized I was only going to bug the crap out of them when I could only talk instead of actually work.”

“You’re doing just fine here.”

“Dinner rolls are a long way from getting a floating artillery battalion ready to cut enemy ships to ribbons. I’ve had plenty of time to realize my future is all about working here. I’m fine with that.”

“Greens Park is going to be enough for you?”

“Greens Park is heaven and I’m thrilled I’m alive to enjoy it,” he said brightly smiling easily and comfortably in a way that could only be interpreted as the truth. I could detect no guile in him. He was either on excellent medication or he was just one lucky guy who knew it.

“I’m going to meet a girlfriend at Connie’s for a beer and a burger after work. Want to come along?”

“Connie’s is still there?”


“Sounds like fun.”


I figured I’d keep pushing Dennis into my reality until he ran screaming away from the crazy lady. The day in the bakery rolled along normally. Dennis’ bad hand eventually got too tired to carry much and I was right there to help him as I had been instructed. Dennis took the help without sadness or regret. His day ended and he headed home promising to see me at Connie’s later.

I walked into Connie’s about 4:30p.m. and Abbie and Dennis were at the bar about seven stools apart.

I invited Abbie to join Dennis.

“Dennis, this is my friend.”

“Hi, Abbie,” he said offering her his right, undamaged hand.

“Hi, Dennis,” she said her usually brusque tone moderated by seeing him in the flesh. Her tone seemed to indicate to me that he was more than a 6.
We sat on either side of him and we spent the first beer as we waited for our burgers talking about Greens Park and the town we shared in common. He was about four or five years older than we were but he treated us like equals. We started the second beer and took the first bites of our hamburgers.

“How did you get hurt,” I asked.

“We were fighting a fire caused by the torpedo that had hit the Helena. I was running the nozzle of one of the fire hoses when the fire caught the edge of the ammunition area we were trying to protect and an explosion moved some equipment above me and slammed down on my left hand cutting deeply through two fingers and seriously damaging a third. I was stunned enough that I didn’t retreat from the space when our fire captain tried to pull us back. The fire flared up and burned the shirt right off my left side. A couple of guys pulled me out of there and took me to a place where I could be treated initially. Because the attack was still ongoing, my shipmates couldn’t get me to a real hospital right away. A corpsman kept my hand together and did a rudimentary treatment to my burns.”

“It had to be scary to be hurt with no way to get treated,” I observed.

“The large explosion that resulted from the fire I had been fighting took my mind off of the injury. The officers around us moved us farther from the fire so we were safer and suddenly we had a ring side seat as the Japanese planes finished their last run on the ships and air field.”

“The planes had to be frightening.”

“It was frustrating. I could no longer fight back.”

“I heard you did well at work today. Your injuries are not getting to much in the way,” Abbie said.

“I’ve gotten pretty far in the healing process. Want to see?”

“I wasn’t trying to push you to that,” I said quickly.

“Me either, Dennis. Please don’t feel…,”

“No, no. I don’t feel pushed. I like to get the bandage off as often as possible. I just don’t want to clear the bar. Stand close.”

We were close enough to touch him.

He unwrapped the bandages and he slowly rotated his lefty hand so his pinky space was now visible. We could see the nifty work the surgeon had done to sew the edges of the skin into the knuckle. His next smallest finger was gone and sewn into that knuckle. His middle finger had cuts in several places sewn back together and pink like it should be. His forefinger and thumb looked healed. He rotated the hand so we could see every inch of the damage. We were speechless.

“Hold out your hand,” he said to me.

I slowly put my right hand out palm up, pink and dainty compared to battle hardened and mangled hand he had to give me. He gently set his bad hand on mine. Even mangled it was twice the size of mine. To my surprise it was warm. I somehow expected it to be cold.


Playwriting Tutorial – Bob Young


The Playwriting Tutorial

I came to playwriting from being an amateur actor and out of the necessity of wanting to do theatre with other amateurs and with youth groups. There were some resources out there but there’s nothing like crafting your own material to meet the needs of your local situation. I needed pieces with small casts because our little troupe had only a few members.
You are coming to your playwriting moment out of your own needs and desires. What follows is a series of activities that should be added to your process.
But first a word about how our website works. You can choose one of the activities below and we’ll work together to build a list of objectives for that activity so that when we are done you will have an effective segment of your play built.

I will suggest a few attainable but checkable objectives for the activity. This structure will help you move forward.
If you would like some help with your play, you can simply use the “Leave A Reply” box below. You can just send me a section of your work in progress with a description of what kind of help you are looking for or you can ask me for an exercise for one of the six challenges that you want to start with. For each review or exercise the charge is $14.95 and you can buy that review or exercise in our store. In the store, there will be instructions on how to send a draft of your play if you are buying a review.

Structuring Your Story

Your subject matter needs to have a conscious dramatic structure. Your audiences will be looking for logic in the actions on the stage to lead them to an ending that makes a meaningful point. Sometimes that meaningful message is buried under laughter or violence or tragedy. But you can build the logic in the process of crafting your play so that you have the bones upon which to put the muscle of the characters, location, language, and suspense that is the music of the piece.

Answer these questions for yourself.

What is the premise? What is the action driving the beginning of the play?

What obstacle(s) fall in the way of your premise causing complications?

What actions resolve the obstacles and describes the new reality?

Writing Dialogue after all of the prose you have written all your life

Listen to an active conversation in your life. Notice that it is a series of partial thoughts between two people that eventually adds up to something “dramatic.” Your real conversation usually results in a mundane action, i.e., ordering that pizza, deciding who’s going to the PTA meeting, who is doing the grocery shopping, choosing the next vacation destination.

That style of clipped speech is your task as you build into the dialogue the meaning and the dramatic action of your structural logic.
Imbuing world view and psychological dynamics in your characters.

As I’ve written my novels, the advice I have received from our Writers Group and my beta readers about the psychological grounding of my characters has been crucial to the depth of the writing. “Why would he make such an unusual decision?” stops you in your tracks but strengthens your structural goals and allows you to deepen the dialogue so that hints at motivation are there for the audience to discover. Your story may beg for interesting psychological underpinnings or you may have to add actions that give more depth.

Using the set to advance the action / Planning the set for production simplicity

You may know where your play will be staged the first time and to be practical you are planning for that space. Although usually the director’s turf, a playwright can make suggestions about the physical setting as it informs the meaning of the play. An interesting choice is to make the set one of the characters in your play. The late Milwaukee playwright, Larry Shue wrote the set as a character into his show “The Foreigner.” If you’ve seen it, you know what I mean. If you haven’t seen it, I’m not going to spoil it for you. But French and British farces as a class use the multiple entrances in a one-set show to bring intrigue and humor to their scripts.
Table Readings to discover problems

I once had to write a play whose characters were all much younger than me and would be played by youth all over the country. I worked with an area church to recruit youth from their congregation to do a read through to test my dialogue. I asked the youth who participated to stop the reading whenever it became awkward for them. It was invaluable help. Your play may involve specific content that needs testing. Don’t hesitate to get readers to help you with it.

Don’t feel bad about writing a short play

One thing I find that is hard to do is to write a five act play. I’m a long way from being Shakespeare. But I do love to write short, pithy, surprising one acts. For my personal purposes, a good one act is enough for me. If you’ve got more in you, go for it. The current play I’m working on was pretty serious until I was on vacation in Seattle and my wife booked us into the 5th Avenue Theatre when it scheduled the local Gilbert and Sullivan Society to stage “The Pirates of Penzance.” I was blown away seeing it live. My very serious play is in the process of being transformed into a one act comic musical. I’m trying to persuade one of the members of the Writers Group who has composing skills to help me write the songs.

One of my plays is on the website for you to use as a learning tool. Depending upon what you want to work on, I may point you to moments in that play. It’s called “Four White Russians Make a Coctail.” The play is also available for playing through an arrangement with our website.

Please use the Leave A Reply box below. I look forward to your next step on your theatre project.