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Monthly Play Reading Series
Our monthly play reading series (first Saturday of each month) continues at the lovely Jamul Haven Bed and Breakfast. Come out to enjoy the beautiful facility and gardens, mingle with other San Diego theater folks, enjoy Marianne's cooking, and discover next year's Broadway hit yourself. Best of all, it's free. All readings are at Jamul Haven, 13518 Jamul Drive, Jamul, CA. It's about a 20 minute drive from downtown San Diego.

Out of town guests can combine the reading with a weekend getaway at one of San Diego's best Bed and Breakfasts. Visit for photos or to book a reservation.

We're continuing to look for someone to handle casting for the monthly readings. If you're willing to help out in this area, please send an email to

Next reading:
Saturday, July 3rd, 5 PM - 7 PM (arrive at 4:30 PM)

N.I.C.E., by William Roetzheim

N.I.C.E. was performed in NYC during June. This reading will use a script that is revised based on the playwright seeing the NYC production. In Britain, the National Institute for Clinical Excellence (N.I.C.E.) sets up guidelines about who should live and who should die for
terminal patients. What happens when they decide your comatose mother must die? What starts out as a debate about issues of nationalized health care quickly turns into a debate about the value of human life.

Next Month's Reading

7 August, In the Dream Castle, by Drew Katzman

Dream Castle explores the relationship between lifelong female friends from its early days in childhood through its confrontation with mortality. While the journey is personal and ultimately serious, it takes a prodding, humorous look at a number of the key cultural and social issues that have impacted, and continue to impact, the post WWII baby boom generation.

DREW KATZMAN has been writing in one form or another for more than thirty years. He wrote his first play as a theater major at Syracuse University. His musical LISTEN TO THE
VOICES was produced by Theatre Arts Corp. in Santa Fe where he later was awarded a playwright-in-residence grant to develop a second musical, PANDORA’S CIRCUS. He has
had several one-acts produced in Los Angeles, primarily at Theater West, including MAGIC PALACE, HOW DO YOU SAY YOU NEED, the critically acclaimed TIRED OF LOOKING FOR
BARRYMORE and most recently THE PARADIGM and OVER THE RAINBOW. NOT THE WORLD I WOULD HAVE CHOSEN, was independently produced in NY. A full-length evening
comprised of two related one-acts LITTLE PRISONS, BIG ESCAPES was also produced at Theater West. He is a member of The Dramatists Guild. Drew also has a long history as an actor, director and acting teacher.
Learn more about the reading series here
William's book "Five Poet Plays" won the San Diego Book Awards in the Best Fiction-Drama category.

Borders has decided to stock "The Giant Book of Poetry" and they gave us a large order to kick off nationwide distribution. Yeah!

"Regional Best 2011" is out and from what I understand, now available for purchase. This collection of nine contemporary plays is a must buy if you interested in theater, and at $12.95 for 480 pages, nine plays, it's a bargain. One way you can support American International Theater is by purchasing a copy either from your local bookstore or on-line.

N.I.C.E., Dickinson and Eliot concluded a highly successful run in NYC. Audiences were enthusiastic and discussions are underway regarding the next steps for these shows.

The Music Director for Eliot out in NYC will be doing final arrangements for the songs, including orchestration for a five piece band. He'll be coming out to San Diego during late August to work with William wrapping things up, and there is a possibility that we'll do a reading of Eliot, with band, as our September reading. This would allow us to actually hear the new orchestration. If you know of musicians or musical theater people who would like to participate, please have them contact
Purchase Regional Best 2011 from Barnes and Noble online
Poetry Corner
by William Roetzheim
Here's a July poem from "The Giant Book of Poetry" by Margaret Atwood called "Miss July Grows Older."

How much longer can I get away
with being so fucking cute?
Not much longer.
The shoes with bows, the cunning underwear
with slogans on the crotch—Knock Here
and so forth—
will have to go, along with the cat suit.
After a while you forget
what you really look like.
You think your mouth is the size it was.
You pretend not to care.

When I was young I went with my hair
hiding one eye, thinking myself daring;
off to the movies in my jaunty pencil
skirt and elastic cinch-belt,
chewed gum, left lipstick
imprints the shape of grateful, rubbery
sighs on the cigarettes of men
I hardly knew and didn’t want to.
Men were a skill, you have to have
good hands, breathe into
their nostrils, as for horses. It was something I did well,
like playing the flute, although I don’t.

In the forest of grey stems there are standing pools,
tan-colored, choked with the brown leaves.
Through them you can see an arm, a shoulder,
when the light is right, with the sky clouded.
The train goes past silos, through meadows,
the winter wheat on the fields like scary fur.

I still get letters, although not many.
A man writes me, requesting true-life stories
about bad sex. He’s doing an anthology.
He got my name off an old calendar,
the photo that’s mostly bum and daisies,
back when my skin had the golden slick
of fresh-spread margarine.
Not rape, he says, but disappointment,
more like a defeat of expectations.
Dear Sir, I reply, I never had any.
Bad sex, that is.
It was never the sex, it was the other things,
the absence of flowers, the death threats,
the eating habits at breakfast.
I notice I’m using the past tense.

Through the vaporous cloud
of chemicals that enveloped you
like a glowing eggshell, an incense,
doesn’t disappear: it just gets larger
and takes in more. You grow out
of sex like a shrunk dress
into your common senses, those you share
with whatever’s listening. The way the sun
moves through the hours becomes important,
the smeared raindrops
on the window, buds
on the roadside weeds, the sheen
of spilled oil on a raw ditch
filling with muddy water.

Don’t get me wrong: with the lights out
I’d still take on anyone,
if I had the energy to spare.
But after a while these flesh arpeggios get boring,
like Bach over and over;
too much of one kind of glory.

When I was all body I was lazy.
I had an easy life, and was not grateful.
Now there are more of me.
Don’t confuse me with any hen-leg elbows;
what you get is no longer
what you see.
Visit William Roetheim's personal website
Reading Series:
3 July, 4:30 pm, N.I.C.E. by William Roetzheim
All readings at 13518 Jamul Drive, Jamul, CA 91935
View our calendar on-line
This Issue

About William Roetzheim
William Roetzheim is an award winning poet, playwright, and
writer. He began his career in the fine arts in 2001 after retiring from the technology industry. Since that time he has founded a highly aclaimed small press, written or edited several award winning books, directed and produced fifteen spoken word audio CDs, and with his wife Marianne, started an art focused Bed and Breakfast outside of San Diego.
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