Come One, Come All to The Renaissance Faire


For those of ye who have never experienced the excitement of a Medeival Faire, I beg of ye to attend such an gala event. Sure, to the reserved lady and lord, it may appear a bit trite or trivial, but I assure ye, many pleasures await.

It was a more than a handful of years ago that I drug my mom and my son to our first Renaissance Faire at the Great Lakes Medeival Faire in Rock Creek, Ohio. We just showed up in our best casual clothes of the day, shorts, tank tops and sandals. We realized the error of our clothing choices as we pulled into the Faire’s parking lot. As we followed the line of cars to out parking area, we saw glittering fairies with wings driving pickup trucks, and Knights piloting sedans. We saw a long haired Barbarian, complete with bulging muscles and very little leather clothing covering his manly bits, on a motorcycle. His passenger, a Princess, of course. Her beautiful light blue silk and taffeta gown rolled up around her and held between his back and her bosom, so as not to interfere with the mechanical workings of his Iron Horse. She was quite the sight, sitting atop that bike, trying to tame her wind-blown hair before placing her tiara atop her head. That’s all it took. I was hooked!

A few minutes later after finding a parking spot, we were still in awe of all the sights around us. Gathering our belongings before leaving the car, I noticed that we had parked next to a girl with a pair of cute fluffy ears. I told my mother and Koty that I wanted to see what she transforming into. The three of us sat there, in our car, taking turns peeking over at this girl. Yeah, kinda creepy, but I justified this with…If you don’t want people staring at you, don’t put ears on…It’s obvious this is for people to SEE, right?

So, we watch her get out of her car. She is sporting fur cuffs on her ankles and wrists. The fur is multi shades of brown with bits of black thrown in. She straps oblong pelts on her calves and forearms, tying them with stings of suede. Our car is all abuzz with what type of animal she is. Koty says fox. I say goat. Mom just stares, and makes mention that it’s supposed to be 90 degrees today. Won’t she be hot? Uh, hell yeah, but even better, she’ll be SEEN, and isn’t this what it’s all about? The girl finishes tying her arm furs and reaches back into her Honda, pulling out her tail, which was long and very big and bushy. She steps through it like a thong. It has a very small attached miniskirt of fur which covered her boy-type shorts she wears underneath. Leaning back against her fender, she pulls covers over her shoes. Her feet are instantly transformed into hooves. She has hooves. Ha, I win. She’s a goat! She stands, grabs her belongings, and turns to smile at us, before slamming her car door and walking away. Busted!

When we finally made our way to the front gate entrance, I was totally alive with excitement. I hated to admit it at the time because to be honest, I kind of expected to laugh at these people the way I laugh at The Big Bang Theory. It seemed nerdy to me that people would need to do this for fun. Leonard, Sheldon, and the gang at Star Trek conventions, dressed as their favorite characters. It was ok for kids, but adults? Come on, peeps, grow up! Well, I changed my mind before the Faire Opening ceremony even started.

As we stood there in our regular world shorts and tank tops, surrounded by Princesses, Princes, Pirates, both scary and sexy, Barbarians, Vikings, Scottsmen in kilts, and assorted farm animals, my body rang with anticipation. A row of trumpets and horns blared loudly. A gentleman appeared on the terrace of the castle built at the entrance of the Faire. The horns grew silent and he announced the arrival of the King and Queen. The huge wooden doors opened inward and there between them stood the King and Queen. Him in his black tights, royal red robes and bejeweled crown sparkling atop his head. In his left hand he held a septre crowned with a very large ruby. On his right hand was the Queen. Her ground length purple dress was trimmed in fine gold laces and sparkled with a thousand points of light in the form of crystals bestooned across the bodice. On her hands were rings of gold, her wrists held ribbons intertwined with jewels, which matched the beautiful jeweled necklace that lay across her mountainous bosom. Her hair was the color of the sunset, ranging from the lightest blondes to the darkest reds, and was pulled back and onto the top of her head, with ringlets falling softly around her face. Her choice of hair do was the perfect bed for her crown, which sparkled and dazzled the masses with every movement of her royal head.

As the horns struck up again, the King & Queen walked through the door. They strolled along the path towards the center of the court yard to engage with their subjects. As they past the rows and rows of adoring fans, Lords took to bow, as the ladies curtsied. They didn’t stand erect again until the King & Queen had passed. As the pair neared to us, I debated on what to do. Should I curtsy? I had never curtsied in my life. Deciding that I would only look like a complete idiot trying to curtsy, I chose instead to stand there, un-moving, as they slowly passed by. The King made eye contact with me, and for a split second, guilt overtook me. I should curtsy. No, you fool. It’s 2012, and we don’t have Kings and Queens to bow to. Although, I did think that maybe I would bow to that Barbarian I saw on the motorcycle on the way in…


Flash forward to 2015, I am happily married to a Barbarian of my own, and I talk him into going to the Faire. This time, we attended the Ohio Renaissance Faire in Harveysburg, Ohio, which is down Cincinnati way. I had somehow mistakenly purchased tickets for the wrong venue, so we made the best of an impromptu get-a-way. I never pictured John ever wanting to dress up for ANY event, but I found an outfit in the thrift store that begged me to re-fashion it and give it life again. I set to work. Every once in a while, I would show John the progress. His face said all I needed to hear. But, by the time I had the outfit completed, he put it on with such gusto that I thought maybe he had become possessed. He was like a kid in a candy shop with a $100 bill. He was going to be the hottest looking, not to mention the most sparkly and colorful, jester that ANY Faire had ever seen! My costume consisted of flashy jewelry, flowing skirts, scarves, and mini bottles of potions tethered around my Fortune Teller neck.

When we arrived at the Faire that day, I was flabbergasted by the sheer amount of people who either stopped to compliment his costume. He was so proud when he told them, “My wife made this for me.” People even asked to take pictures with him. He was on Cloud 9. My man sized little Jester boy.


So, once again, when I suggested another trip this year, it was met with excitement. This time, I would not only drag my mother and son again, but would also include Koty’s girlfriend, Emily, and my nephew, who I call Red Bull. We had 3 months to come up with costumes. Thank heavens, mom and I just went ahead and took care of it because if not, her and I would have been the only ones dressed on the big day.

Since we planned to go on Pirates & Mermaids weekend, it was decided that John, Koty and Red Bull and I would all be Pirates. Emily was going to be a mermaid, and mom was going to be a Gypsy/Fortune Teller. Due to unfortunate circumstances, we ended up going on Barbarian & Viking weekend instead, but it made no difference. We all had a wonderful time. I especially enjoyed the comedy shows and the dirty Pirate talk, John enjoyed the bands and the music. Red Bull enjoyed the old fashioned kiddie rides that are human-powered. Koty & Emily, well, their teenagers, so I’m sure they enjoyed whatever young people enjoy these days. I’m sure moms favorite part was that she got to spend such quality time with her family, but I could be wrong about that…lol

I don’t know what the rest of them were thinking about that ride home, but I know what I decided. Next year I’m going as a Fairy….Yep, I’m getting my wings! Stay Tuned!

Love, Gwynny

2017 Pirate Koty w friend





Shhh…The Shows About To Start

Well, howdy ya’ll. I wanted to share with you about my first foray into sharing my script in a public setting. It was quite a few years ago when I first heard about The Dark Room at the Cleveland Public Theater on Detroit & W. 65th. I was attending Tri-C at the time, and I was devouring all the classes they had to offer in the Film making Department. I had a wonderful teacher named Ms. Simone Barros who taught the Screenwriting class. She was very encouraging and her words gave me a sense of confidence that I had never felt before. She had an eye and an ear for what was good and what was crap. She was honest and very patient. I revelled in the realization that she didn’t have to do what she did. She was very successful in her own right. She had written her own plays and saw them come to life on stage, she had written for major television shows, and here she was, in Cleveland, teaching us closeted script writers…Ok, maybe I was the only one who was closeted. I had for so long, poured myself into my writings that it was too personal for me to share. I had heard that I was good, and had a natural comedic way. That was when I got scared. Yeah, hard to believe, right? People that know me have no idea that under this crass, bitchy, and crusty outer shell, that I am a sack of over-emotional puss and guts just waiting to explode at any time. I also have a very bad reaction to public speaking, almost to the point of crippling anxiety. Sure, I’ve been known for my impromptu stand up routines in general, but when it comes to my writing, I am a totally different person. Ok, so I’m babbling here….let me get to the point already…

The Dark Room is held in the old church next to the Cleveland Public Theater every 2nd Tuesday of each month at 7 pm. If your a writer of any kind, you can bring up to 10 pages of your work to be read, publicly, and on stage. Both writers and actors show up about 30 minutes earlier. After handing in your piece, actors are chosen on the spot to act out each of your characters after a short read thru. Then at 7pm, it’s show time. The best thing is that you never know what’s going to happen. Sometimes you’ll find yourself laughing so hard you fall from your chair, others you may find a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. Either way, it’s a roller coaster that I’m sure everyone would enjoy!

I had planned to submit a script of mine for some time, but it wasn’t until my friend, Valerie really coaxed me into it. It was a full month before the next meeting, so of course I was full of confidence. As the days flew by, I became more and more agitated. So bad were the last few days that I contemplated backing out. I wanted to call her and make an excuse, any excuse not to have to go. Even as I tried to choose between “my car breaking down” or “my cat died”, I went through the routine of making copies of the script. Eight of them. One for each character. Still trying to decide how to break the news to Valerie; by email or by phone, or maybe even text, I went through each copy highlighting each characters dialogue. I tried to remind myself that I was not made of money and that the ink cost me $65. I felt guilty because Valerie lived in Canton, and she probably wouldn’t be too keen on me ditching her after such a long ride. OMG! It became very clear to me, that I had to freaking GO! I didn’t sleep the whole night before. I tossed, I turned, I almost threw up. It was decided that since I will not drink and drive, that I would buy us some non-alcoholic beers, and try to “trick” my body into relaxing before the reading. So, the “Old John” would have been proud that his 46 yr. old wife was in a parking lot on the corner of W.65th and Detroit where we used to buy dope when we were younger, pounding near-beers in her car. I must confess that I did have 1 real beer that night when we got seated in the Church. It was an Edmund Fitzgerald from Great Lakes Brewery. Whew, for a non drinker, that was strong, and very satisfying. I can’t stress the “stong” taste enough.

As the festivities began, it was announced that I would be #4 on the list. I felt the nerves start anew. I almost had a compete panic attack. Not good. I don’t know how the hell I did it, but I was able to head it off. I think it was the belly full of Labatt Blue NA beers…When my opportunity came to stand up and say a few words to describe my work, I let the moment pass. I knew at that moment that I didn’t really have any concrete control over my bladder, so I sat there, motionless but quaking internally. The actors took off like a rocket. My butt cheeks were so clenched up and tight that I don’t think they were even touching my chair. My thighs were on fire and aching. My head was swimming, I was sweating. Oh shit, for a split second, I thought I was peeing my pants. My armpits were leaking and I felt the beers coming up into my throat, hot and foamy. It was swallowing the regurgitated beer that had 100% of my attention until I heard that first laugh from the audience. When that sound reached my ears, I was sure it was my imagination. Were they laughing at me? With me? Then it came again. Valerie turned to me and offered me a big smile. Holy Crap! They were laughing at my writing. She gave me a nod. I still didn’t have the confidence to turn around and watch the audience’s reaction, as Valerie picked us a nice spot right in the FRONT ROW! I didn’t need to see the faces. I heard what I needed to hear. I felt what I needed to feel.

I hear my husband tell me all the time that he thinks I’m good at what I do. Sure, my mother, my son, and my family support me, but I don’t think they’d tell me HONESTLY if they thought I sucked, or heaven forbid, if I really did suck! But, if you can find an audience that is blind to your work and to you, that’s a true reaction, a true gauge of their feelings. They have no commitment to me, no emotional attachments, no strings. It’s just raw instinct on their part.

Oh, in case your wondering, the Dark Room offers Free Beer, yes, you heard that right, it is Free, but donations are accepted. Don’t hog the brews. Man!

For more info on CPT & The Dark Room, check out their website here.  CPT Dark Room

Love, Gwynny