When I drive in my car, I don't often have the radio on. When I drive from LA to Santa Clara to visit friends or to guest teach, I don't have the radio on. I find that the quiet time relaxes me. I used to like the noise in the background to keep me company, but now I find that I need the space to hear myself. Maybe part of that is getting older. Maybe part of that is being tired of covering up the messages that the Universe is trying to send me.
But I like the quiet.
When I wake up in the morning, I cherish the time to be alone with my thoughts before I have to start talking to anyone.
I don't like anyone talking to me when I'm writing.
I remember when I used to have roommates when I lived in New York and my favorite thing was being up before everyone else.
I don't even run with headphones on anymore. I have time to do my affirmations. And sometimes, I just like to hear the sound of my own breathing.
I do cleanses a few times a year. And I feel like having quiet time every day is a daily cleanse. It keeps constant communication going between me and myself.
I need the quiet now more than ever because I have major decisions to make about my life. I need to tune out some of the other noise so I can decide what I need for myself the most.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Choices Don't Get Any Easier
My friend Dave has been a spiritual advisor, friend and confidante since I was fifteen years old. That is a long time. He was my theology professor in high school and he knows my progression as a person better than almost anyone outside of my brother and my best friend Alanna. So I called him earlier today because we haven't talked in a while and I wanted to see if he was going to be out in LA for the holidays (he grew up here). Even though he won't be out here until after the New Year, I wanted to fill him in about what's going on with me and this job search.
I told him about the three different opportunities that I've put myself up for. And Dave had different advice than anyone I've spoken to. My recent tarot card reading said that an older man might be important to me. Dave definitely is important to me in a lot of ways. I value his opinion and advisement about everything. He told me that the PSU position could be a smaller opportunity and that if I want to establish myself in a larger way in academia that the University of Iowa job might be where I want to put my focus. And that the job at Emory could be good, but that I want to look beyond the two years of the Fellowship. His concern is that I don't take advantage of my time now as a vibrant, youthful force. Right now, I'm desirable to institutions because I have the right combination of youth and experience. In three to five years, I might just seem old and relegated to the adjunct faculty. This is my time to make a move if I want a serious position in academia.
Dave is usually a very gentle guiding force. This conversation was pointed and exact. He said that he wants to make sure I didn't make the mistakes he made when he started teaching on the University level. His points that I should get on the tenure track now if I want a serious academic role. And that seems to be where I get scared. I think I want to be a working artist, rather than a full fledged professor. Dave's point is that if I don't get serious about it, I won't have a choice and eventually those working artist opportunities and so will the tenure track ones.
I appreciate Dave's advice because no one is giving me that kind of dead serious life advice. I value his judgment and his experience. I do have to decide if his advice is the right advice for me. I think it's very good advice and I think the validity of the advice hedges on whether or not I am entering into full-blown professorhood. Right now, I've been content to dip my foot in and to think on a micro level rather than on the macro level that Dave is talking about. He doesn't want my options to run out.
Here's another opportunity to declare what I want and to get specific about it. But his point is well taken. It just scares the fuck out of me.
I told him about the three different opportunities that I've put myself up for. And Dave had different advice than anyone I've spoken to. My recent tarot card reading said that an older man might be important to me. Dave definitely is important to me in a lot of ways. I value his opinion and advisement about everything. He told me that the PSU position could be a smaller opportunity and that if I want to establish myself in a larger way in academia that the University of Iowa job might be where I want to put my focus. And that the job at Emory could be good, but that I want to look beyond the two years of the Fellowship. His concern is that I don't take advantage of my time now as a vibrant, youthful force. Right now, I'm desirable to institutions because I have the right combination of youth and experience. In three to five years, I might just seem old and relegated to the adjunct faculty. This is my time to make a move if I want a serious position in academia.
Dave is usually a very gentle guiding force. This conversation was pointed and exact. He said that he wants to make sure I didn't make the mistakes he made when he started teaching on the University level. His points that I should get on the tenure track now if I want a serious academic role. And that seems to be where I get scared. I think I want to be a working artist, rather than a full fledged professor. Dave's point is that if I don't get serious about it, I won't have a choice and eventually those working artist opportunities and so will the tenure track ones.
I appreciate Dave's advice because no one is giving me that kind of dead serious life advice. I value his judgment and his experience. I do have to decide if his advice is the right advice for me. I think it's very good advice and I think the validity of the advice hedges on whether or not I am entering into full-blown professorhood. Right now, I've been content to dip my foot in and to think on a micro level rather than on the macro level that Dave is talking about. He doesn't want my options to run out.
Here's another opportunity to declare what I want and to get specific about it. But his point is well taken. It just scares the fuck out of me.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Travel Blog: Putting It Together, Part II
I have been away for a week, spending time with family, so I have a lot of saved up thoughts that I want to get out in a series of blog posts. So while these aren't fresh thoughts, they're not exactly moldy either. I hopefully my perspective from being away from Los Angeles for a week is a fresh one.
So enjoy this barrage of posts from my travels…
After my meeting at PSU, another wonderful thing happened.
The premiere of "Six by Sondheim", a documentary by James Lapine on the amazing American musical theatre composer and resident genius, Stephen Sondheim. I sat down in my pajamas, while my brother and his wife went on their second date night of my trip and my niece and nephew were asleep. My mother had left down at this point, and I had the house to myself. I was free and clear to geek out.
And boy, did I geek out. The documentary took six signature Sondheim songs, but shied away from trying to designate "the best ones." Each song served as a spectacular jumping off point for Sondheim to reflect on the craft of songwriting, his career, his personal life and his reflections on his time on the planet. Included in that were some spectacular archived performances and three brand new performances that were staged specifically for the documentary. I'm a huge fan of when artists revisit their songs and revamp them. It's why I love going to and watching Madonna concerts because she constantly reinvents songs so the audience doesn't hear exactly the same version twice on different tours. I think it's the sign of an artist whose work lives beyond one moment and an artist who creates art of such a level that it deserves revisiting and reinterpreting. I just compared Madonna and Sondheim. I can live with that.
For 90 minutes, I was in heaven. I will definitely watch the documentary again. But this was spectacular. Audra MacDonald sang "Send in the Clowns." America Ferrara, Jeremy Jordan and Darren Criss did a great filmed piece set to "Opening Doors" from Merrily We Roll Along. And in another great move, Jarvis Cocker from Pulp sang "I'm Still Here" to an audience of old broads. It was fucking smart, really stylish and hip and covered all the notes: Broadway diva stripped down, young TV stars with bubbly enthusiasm, and a rocker singing a song with great simultaneous irony and emotion to the group of women the song was written for. It also says so much about Sondheim's music and how it works beyond just being a showcase for great voices. Cocker's voice is a rock voice and he doesn't belt in the way that other singers have belted that song, but it works because the emotion and the sentiment is there.
As a playwright, I have always admired Sondheim's ability to create full flesh and blood characters and allowing them to perform these intricate sung monologues or sung scenes with other actors. His words are the best dialogue and are great conversations. The music is great too, but for me, it's all about the words. I feel like I learn so much about writing by listening to his songs and his shows. In turn, Sondheim attributes his characters to the wishes of the playwright who created them. He makes moments and creates songs out of the characters who have already been laid out for him.
I love how the plays (I see them as both plays and musicals) play around with form and structure. The songs definitely do that. There's a sense that the form is dictated by the subject matter and the content. The best way to tell the story. That's the way I learned to write plays, so that's what I do when I write plays. I learned that in the context of studying with Erik Ehn and looking at theory by Artaud, Peter Brook, Grotowski. Sondheim learned it by studying with Oscar Hammerstein, studying all sorts of music, reading history and living life. His work takes place in the common place, in the public square of the theatre. Even though a lot of it has been performed at opera houses and much of his work does warrant that, his work is in the musical theatre, which means it's for every body. It elevates it, sure. But it also celebrates the musical more than it leaves it behind for more high-minded pastures. Yet, to volley back, it's smart as hell. And that's why I love the man and his work.
The perfect way to spend an evening by myself.
So enjoy this barrage of posts from my travels…
After my meeting at PSU, another wonderful thing happened.
The premiere of "Six by Sondheim", a documentary by James Lapine on the amazing American musical theatre composer and resident genius, Stephen Sondheim. I sat down in my pajamas, while my brother and his wife went on their second date night of my trip and my niece and nephew were asleep. My mother had left down at this point, and I had the house to myself. I was free and clear to geek out.
And boy, did I geek out. The documentary took six signature Sondheim songs, but shied away from trying to designate "the best ones." Each song served as a spectacular jumping off point for Sondheim to reflect on the craft of songwriting, his career, his personal life and his reflections on his time on the planet. Included in that were some spectacular archived performances and three brand new performances that were staged specifically for the documentary. I'm a huge fan of when artists revisit their songs and revamp them. It's why I love going to and watching Madonna concerts because she constantly reinvents songs so the audience doesn't hear exactly the same version twice on different tours. I think it's the sign of an artist whose work lives beyond one moment and an artist who creates art of such a level that it deserves revisiting and reinterpreting. I just compared Madonna and Sondheim. I can live with that.
For 90 minutes, I was in heaven. I will definitely watch the documentary again. But this was spectacular. Audra MacDonald sang "Send in the Clowns." America Ferrara, Jeremy Jordan and Darren Criss did a great filmed piece set to "Opening Doors" from Merrily We Roll Along. And in another great move, Jarvis Cocker from Pulp sang "I'm Still Here" to an audience of old broads. It was fucking smart, really stylish and hip and covered all the notes: Broadway diva stripped down, young TV stars with bubbly enthusiasm, and a rocker singing a song with great simultaneous irony and emotion to the group of women the song was written for. It also says so much about Sondheim's music and how it works beyond just being a showcase for great voices. Cocker's voice is a rock voice and he doesn't belt in the way that other singers have belted that song, but it works because the emotion and the sentiment is there.
As a playwright, I have always admired Sondheim's ability to create full flesh and blood characters and allowing them to perform these intricate sung monologues or sung scenes with other actors. His words are the best dialogue and are great conversations. The music is great too, but for me, it's all about the words. I feel like I learn so much about writing by listening to his songs and his shows. In turn, Sondheim attributes his characters to the wishes of the playwright who created them. He makes moments and creates songs out of the characters who have already been laid out for him.
I love how the plays (I see them as both plays and musicals) play around with form and structure. The songs definitely do that. There's a sense that the form is dictated by the subject matter and the content. The best way to tell the story. That's the way I learned to write plays, so that's what I do when I write plays. I learned that in the context of studying with Erik Ehn and looking at theory by Artaud, Peter Brook, Grotowski. Sondheim learned it by studying with Oscar Hammerstein, studying all sorts of music, reading history and living life. His work takes place in the common place, in the public square of the theatre. Even though a lot of it has been performed at opera houses and much of his work does warrant that, his work is in the musical theatre, which means it's for every body. It elevates it, sure. But it also celebrates the musical more than it leaves it behind for more high-minded pastures. Yet, to volley back, it's smart as hell. And that's why I love the man and his work.
The perfect way to spend an evening by myself.
Travel Blog: Putting It Together, Part I
I have been away for a week, spending time with family, so I have a lot of saved up thoughts that I want to get out in a series of blog posts. So while these aren't fresh thoughts, they're not exactly moldy either. I hopefully my perspective from being away from Los Angeles for a week is a fresh one.
So enjoy this barrage of posts from my travels…
Besides coming to town to celebrate my brother's accomplishments and to hang out with my niece and nephew, I had a meeting with the head of the theatre department at Portland State University. We had met over the summer at a theatre festival and started talking about her interest in starting an MFA program in Dramatic Writing at PSU. So when I knew I was coming to town, I got in touch with her and we sat down for a conversation about what I could possibly bring to the table.
I'm firmly committed to teaching on the University level. I don't want that to negate my pursuit of a television writing career, but I also feel like I need to be better as a writer. Not for the industry and not to prove myself to anyone other than myself. I think that teaching will help me focus on the aspects of craft I already know, by teaching them to students. And I think that getting the opportunity to workshop some of my plays in an academic setting where I have access to a theatre and enthusiastic actors who want to learn from my process will do nothing but catapult me forward. Forward into what, exactly? Well, not just fame and fortune because I realize that both are elusive and not goals that have much reward on a deeper level. I've been out in LA for ten years and my pursuit of those things primarily has left me pretty empty. I just want to be satisfied by the work I'm doing and to let the rest of it figure itself out. I've got a lot of attributes that would make me an excellent successful and rich TV writer/producer, but whether or not that happens isn't up to me. I'm learning to let that go.
So teaching isn't just me cowering with my tail between my legs. It's a chance at a career that's deeply satisfying on an artistic and spiritual level. As long as I have that, I can figure out the money stuff. I didn't have any expectations from this meeting, but I was curious. It was finals week, so our meeting would have to take place in her office instead of us going to get coffee somewhere as planned. No worries. I threw my coat down, smiled and started chatting. She initially forgot why we were meeting. No problem. I reminded her that I was there to talk about this MFA program she was thinking about setting up. She relaxed a bit.
In talking about my background and what I felt I brought to the table, I noticed that she started taking notes. I should be clear that I was basically walking in and I started talking about a job that didn't exist and that I never expressed explicitly that I was applying for. But the old saying goes that you should just start doing the job that you want. In this case, I started interviewing for the job that I want. The new agey types call this manifesting. I'm not shy about using that term. That's exactly what I've been doing.
There are no opportunities out there for me on the horizon. I'm applying for jobs. And I'm writing. But I also know that my unemployment insurance is running out very shortly and instead of moping about that, I just have to start moving in the direction I want to be in. And if money is any indication of where I want to put my energy, I spent money on this trip to Portland to seek out an opportunity. I took time out from my regularly scheduled life of freelancing to put my energy towards something I really want to pursue and think I'd be good at: putting together an MFA program.
I'm not saying that she wants my help or thinks that my expertise would be useful. But I know what I'm good at and I know what background I have. But I won't do it for free. I need a commitment at some point soon, if there's even a possibility. I know my value.
So we continued to talk about the way I approach teaching and playwriting. She asked if I could send her some syllabi and I agreed to do that. At the end of the conversation, I offered to come up and do a master class or a workshop if there was ever any need. She came back and said that maybe we could try out a summer course if there was the budget for it. That was a better result than I expected.
When I got back to my brother's house, after meeting up with a friend, I saw that I had an email from her thanking me for the meeting and expressing that we should talk mid-January about any possibilities for the summer and beyond. I saw that as a good sign. I had made an impression. It went as good as it could have.
But I'm not closed off to just that opportunity. I think that would be a thrilling opportunity for me because I could be in on the genesis of a new MFA program and I could be close to my brother and his family. Both amazing prospects that fulfill me on a professional and a personal level. I do feel like someone in our family should be close to the kids and I think that would make my brother feel great. But more importantly, I feel like I'm putting the energy into being a playwright in academia, so if the opportunity includes the job in Atlanta or the job in Iowa (or any other positions that come up), then I'm sending my intentions to the Universe. If the opportunities also include workshopping plays at various summer play festivals, to support my work as a playwright, then it all adds up to making this an even better opportunity and it shifts the energy into one of productivity, creativity and optimism. I think I'm already heading in that direction, but these opportunities support that.
I feel like the Universe is conspiring in small ways that could go unnoticed, but are propelling me forward.
So enjoy this barrage of posts from my travels…
Besides coming to town to celebrate my brother's accomplishments and to hang out with my niece and nephew, I had a meeting with the head of the theatre department at Portland State University. We had met over the summer at a theatre festival and started talking about her interest in starting an MFA program in Dramatic Writing at PSU. So when I knew I was coming to town, I got in touch with her and we sat down for a conversation about what I could possibly bring to the table.
I'm firmly committed to teaching on the University level. I don't want that to negate my pursuit of a television writing career, but I also feel like I need to be better as a writer. Not for the industry and not to prove myself to anyone other than myself. I think that teaching will help me focus on the aspects of craft I already know, by teaching them to students. And I think that getting the opportunity to workshop some of my plays in an academic setting where I have access to a theatre and enthusiastic actors who want to learn from my process will do nothing but catapult me forward. Forward into what, exactly? Well, not just fame and fortune because I realize that both are elusive and not goals that have much reward on a deeper level. I've been out in LA for ten years and my pursuit of those things primarily has left me pretty empty. I just want to be satisfied by the work I'm doing and to let the rest of it figure itself out. I've got a lot of attributes that would make me an excellent successful and rich TV writer/producer, but whether or not that happens isn't up to me. I'm learning to let that go.
So teaching isn't just me cowering with my tail between my legs. It's a chance at a career that's deeply satisfying on an artistic and spiritual level. As long as I have that, I can figure out the money stuff. I didn't have any expectations from this meeting, but I was curious. It was finals week, so our meeting would have to take place in her office instead of us going to get coffee somewhere as planned. No worries. I threw my coat down, smiled and started chatting. She initially forgot why we were meeting. No problem. I reminded her that I was there to talk about this MFA program she was thinking about setting up. She relaxed a bit.
In talking about my background and what I felt I brought to the table, I noticed that she started taking notes. I should be clear that I was basically walking in and I started talking about a job that didn't exist and that I never expressed explicitly that I was applying for. But the old saying goes that you should just start doing the job that you want. In this case, I started interviewing for the job that I want. The new agey types call this manifesting. I'm not shy about using that term. That's exactly what I've been doing.
There are no opportunities out there for me on the horizon. I'm applying for jobs. And I'm writing. But I also know that my unemployment insurance is running out very shortly and instead of moping about that, I just have to start moving in the direction I want to be in. And if money is any indication of where I want to put my energy, I spent money on this trip to Portland to seek out an opportunity. I took time out from my regularly scheduled life of freelancing to put my energy towards something I really want to pursue and think I'd be good at: putting together an MFA program.
I'm not saying that she wants my help or thinks that my expertise would be useful. But I know what I'm good at and I know what background I have. But I won't do it for free. I need a commitment at some point soon, if there's even a possibility. I know my value.
So we continued to talk about the way I approach teaching and playwriting. She asked if I could send her some syllabi and I agreed to do that. At the end of the conversation, I offered to come up and do a master class or a workshop if there was ever any need. She came back and said that maybe we could try out a summer course if there was the budget for it. That was a better result than I expected.
When I got back to my brother's house, after meeting up with a friend, I saw that I had an email from her thanking me for the meeting and expressing that we should talk mid-January about any possibilities for the summer and beyond. I saw that as a good sign. I had made an impression. It went as good as it could have.
But I'm not closed off to just that opportunity. I think that would be a thrilling opportunity for me because I could be in on the genesis of a new MFA program and I could be close to my brother and his family. Both amazing prospects that fulfill me on a professional and a personal level. I do feel like someone in our family should be close to the kids and I think that would make my brother feel great. But more importantly, I feel like I'm putting the energy into being a playwright in academia, so if the opportunity includes the job in Atlanta or the job in Iowa (or any other positions that come up), then I'm sending my intentions to the Universe. If the opportunities also include workshopping plays at various summer play festivals, to support my work as a playwright, then it all adds up to making this an even better opportunity and it shifts the energy into one of productivity, creativity and optimism. I think I'm already heading in that direction, but these opportunities support that.
I feel like the Universe is conspiring in small ways that could go unnoticed, but are propelling me forward.
Travel Blog: There's a Doctor in the House
I have been away for a week, spending time with family, so I have a lot of saved up thoughts that I want to get out in a series of blog posts. So while these aren't fresh thoughts, they're not exactly moldy either. I hopefully my perspective from being away from Los Angeles for a week is a fresh one.
So enjoy this barrage of posts from my travels…
December 6, 2013
I flew in to Portland, Oregon for a week to visit my brother who was receiving his doctorate. Well, that's a bit presumptuous. He would be receiving his doctorate as long as he defended his thesis properly. This is the culmination of a six year journey for my brother. In that time, he got married to his long time girlfriend, had two kids (a third is on the way), bought his first house, sold it and then bought his second house. Also, our grandmother and our father died in that time as well. So his graduate career has been fraught with a lot of upheaval. But here he was coming in for a landing and his original family (my mother and I) flew up to watch him defend his thesis.
Of course, we knew that we weren't going to understand a single thing. My brother works in the field of Immunology and Infectious Diseases. But even the title of his talk was confusing:
Characterization of the CD8 T Cell Response to a Replication-deficient Murine Cytomegalovirus Infection
Proof positive that my brother is a smartie. I won't break down the finer details of his talk here, but I will say that it was remarkable to watch my brother with a command of his subject matter and a full grasp of his knowledge and abilities. In other words, he knows his shit. So even though I and my mother (to a larger degree) had no idea what he was talking about, it freed us both up to watch the observations of those around him. And those around him were raptured by his talk. My brother has an unassuming presence. He's a brilliant guy but he doesn't throw that in someone's face to try and alienate them. In a way, we're similar because we don't want to push people away with our knowledge and expertise. His talk had a tone of that, but it was completely grounded in his knowledge.
At the end of his talk, he made a list of acknowledgements and at the very end acknowledged his family for their support. He kind of grazed over my parents (or maybe that was my perception) and talked about our relationship. He said we were like "twinsies" and that no one understood him as much as I did, which makes sense since we spent 15 years sharing a room together. I teared up, of course.
After his talk, he went into a private session and then we gathered for an informal reception for him (which I ended up catering, but that's a boring story). At the reception, my mom and I both talked to a bunch of his professors and the folks on his thesis committee. My Mom was so proud because everyone commented about what a compassionate person my brother is. I chatted with a bunch of people about playwriting and an upcoming meeting I had at Portland State. On the drive home, Mom said that people told her that she should be proud with both of her sons. I'm glad she got that recognition because she both deserves it and I think needs it.
It was clear to me after watching my brother talk that we were in fact opposite sides of the same coin. He's a scientist and I'm an artist. But our experiences were very similar in how we navigate through worlds that initially were foreign to us. We have both made our way in worlds that we were not born into, financially and academically. But we have a serious commitment to our personal history and the road that got us to where we are today. It makes me proud to know that I've got someone in my life who understands me that severely. I think his mind works out puzzles in a way that mine doesn't. But I'm articulate and I grasp language in a way that he doesn't. He's involved in the world of academia and I might be heading back there as a professor if things go the way I want them to. It's remarkable how much overlap there is in our experiences. And that's why we will always be close because even though we are different people with different interests and abilities, we ended up on journeys that mirror each other. And in a time of deep uncertainty, it's comforting to know that there is someone there who understands.
So enjoy this barrage of posts from my travels…
December 6, 2013
I flew in to Portland, Oregon for a week to visit my brother who was receiving his doctorate. Well, that's a bit presumptuous. He would be receiving his doctorate as long as he defended his thesis properly. This is the culmination of a six year journey for my brother. In that time, he got married to his long time girlfriend, had two kids (a third is on the way), bought his first house, sold it and then bought his second house. Also, our grandmother and our father died in that time as well. So his graduate career has been fraught with a lot of upheaval. But here he was coming in for a landing and his original family (my mother and I) flew up to watch him defend his thesis.
Of course, we knew that we weren't going to understand a single thing. My brother works in the field of Immunology and Infectious Diseases. But even the title of his talk was confusing:
Characterization of the CD8 T Cell Response to a Replication-deficient Murine Cytomegalovirus Infection
Proof positive that my brother is a smartie. I won't break down the finer details of his talk here, but I will say that it was remarkable to watch my brother with a command of his subject matter and a full grasp of his knowledge and abilities. In other words, he knows his shit. So even though I and my mother (to a larger degree) had no idea what he was talking about, it freed us both up to watch the observations of those around him. And those around him were raptured by his talk. My brother has an unassuming presence. He's a brilliant guy but he doesn't throw that in someone's face to try and alienate them. In a way, we're similar because we don't want to push people away with our knowledge and expertise. His talk had a tone of that, but it was completely grounded in his knowledge.
At the end of his talk, he made a list of acknowledgements and at the very end acknowledged his family for their support. He kind of grazed over my parents (or maybe that was my perception) and talked about our relationship. He said we were like "twinsies" and that no one understood him as much as I did, which makes sense since we spent 15 years sharing a room together. I teared up, of course.
After his talk, he went into a private session and then we gathered for an informal reception for him (which I ended up catering, but that's a boring story). At the reception, my mom and I both talked to a bunch of his professors and the folks on his thesis committee. My Mom was so proud because everyone commented about what a compassionate person my brother is. I chatted with a bunch of people about playwriting and an upcoming meeting I had at Portland State. On the drive home, Mom said that people told her that she should be proud with both of her sons. I'm glad she got that recognition because she both deserves it and I think needs it.
It was clear to me after watching my brother talk that we were in fact opposite sides of the same coin. He's a scientist and I'm an artist. But our experiences were very similar in how we navigate through worlds that initially were foreign to us. We have both made our way in worlds that we were not born into, financially and academically. But we have a serious commitment to our personal history and the road that got us to where we are today. It makes me proud to know that I've got someone in my life who understands me that severely. I think his mind works out puzzles in a way that mine doesn't. But I'm articulate and I grasp language in a way that he doesn't. He's involved in the world of academia and I might be heading back there as a professor if things go the way I want them to. It's remarkable how much overlap there is in our experiences. And that's why we will always be close because even though we are different people with different interests and abilities, we ended up on journeys that mirror each other. And in a time of deep uncertainty, it's comforting to know that there is someone there who understands.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Ways for Playwrights to Succeed
DISCLAIMER:
What do I know?
DISCLAIMER #2:
This could apply to people other than playwrights.
DISCLAIMER #3:
No disrespect to Mat Smart and his article "The Real Reason Why Playwrights Fail." Let's just consider this a companion piece.
This is my third reaction post to an article I read on Howlround a few days ago. I guess it struck a nerve. Not in a way that made me pissed off, but in a way that made me feel like there was more to say on the subject.
I take issue with the accusatory tone of the title, even. The Real Reason Playwrights Fail. This is why I added a disclaimer: "What do I know?" This is just my opinion and I think that's how the article should be taken as just another person's opinion. I think that hard work is a surefire way to make sure that you're even in the arena to play the game that you hope you'll get called off the bench for and then be able to win at. But hard work only gives you access to playing at a competitive level. It doesn't mean that you'll even succeed. So let's start out from there.
Work Harder Than Anyone Else in the Room (or your circle)
You've got to know that you're putting the work in. If for a second you feel like you're not giving your all, then you have to re-evaluate what you're doing. There's no way around hard work. Even if you have a bit of luck in the beginning, eventually you need to work your ass off. When I was a young undergrad, Erik Ehn (Google him if you don't know who he is) told me that everything needs to serve the writing. That way you never feel like you're sacrificing anything. And that assumes that you have a singular focus. Not everyone has that luxury. People have spouses and kids and elderly parents to tend to. But even that can be helpful. If your work is about your spouse or kids or elderly parents. Or if your work is a way to escape your outside responsibilities--if only for an hour or two a day. Make everything feed your desire. When my father was dying, writing was my refuge and I devoted time every day to it. Even when I couldn't focus enough to work on scenes from a play, I wrote in a blog. Or I read a book as research. Or I watched a film to get my mind off of my Dad and into narrative storytelling.
I'm always at it. Except when I'm not. Sometimes I do fail. But I continue on. It's like Thanksgiving. I ate more than I should and worse than I should. But today I am having some oatmeal with almond milk and dried cranberries. I'll have a salad and soup later. I'll go for a run later as well.
If you fail at working as hard as you can today, work harder tomorrow. But don't shame yourself. That doesn't do any good.
There is no hard and fast rule. Write six hours a day. Get up every morning and write. Write for twenty minutes first thing…anything so that you get in the habit of writing. Write every day. You have to do what works for you. I do think that routine helps. I get up and brush my teeth every morning. And my teeth are cleaner for it. So if I write every day, then my career and my sense of self will be better for it. Right?
Make your own deadlines or set writing appointments. Deadlines are helpful. Some of those are self-imposed and some of those are dictated by an actual due date. The Fall play festival submission season is a good one for me. But don't start a project two weeks before its due and expect brilliance. Brilliance may happen, but you're making it a lot harder for something great to come through. I write with my friend Larry once a week. And he's usually the one who breaks the appointments (he has a kid, I don't) if something else comes up. If he can't make it, I'll keep the appointment. I also keep office hours at the West Hollywood library. Since I'm working from home right now, it's helpful to have somewhere to drive to. It's a ritual. Rituals are important for me. They make the moment special.
Understand that working hard also means that sometimes you are not writing. Sometimes you are filling the tank. I have a project I'm working on about advertising that I keep finding materials for. I started out researching Robert Altman films. I watched eleven of them. Then I had a special book that was made for the 30th anniversary of the ad agency I used to work at. I then read about a book by Dave Eggers that sounded like good research. A friend invited me to dinner one night and I told the group about this project and someone suggested a book called "Thought Contagion." Then I listened to a podcast with an author named David Shields. I kept finding things that felt like they were necessary to me writing this play. And it will take a lot of hard work to distill that information, find what's useful and write the play. And that's before one more word hits the screen.
Don't Pay Attention to What Other People Are Doing
That might seem to contradict the statement, "Work Harder Than Anyone Else." But it's really not. We have an internal barometer. We know when we're not working as hard as we should. We only find out we're working harder when we're made aware of it. And by that time, we've advanced so far beyond everyone else that we're winning the race. Plus, if you think that other people are working really hard then you'll push yourself.
But here's where the advice comes in. It's so easy to look on Facebook or talk to friends (and in some cases, read Variety or Deadline Hollywood or Broadway.com or the New York Times) and compare yourself to them. This is going to sound so Pollyanna, but…that is their journey and you're on your journey. I know it sounds like phooey, but I remind myself of that every day. Someone had the success that you wanted and they were younger or they've been at it for less time or there was nepotism involved. That's always going to be the case. But I go back to the arena analogy. If I'm in the stadium, I will see other people make great plays (remember, this is a sports analogy) all around me. But eventually it will be my turn. If I was outside the stadium, I would be on the outside looking it. I would be a spectator and not a participant. Because I'm a participant in the game, I'm seeing more and more of my friends have success. Eventually it will be my turn.
But to combat the loneliness and isolation that goes along with writing, I have to be invested in my work for its own daily reward. I can write. I have that talent. I love these characters. I have to tell this story. I have to feel those successes in the moment, otherwise I'm going to feel like I'm failing. And if I'm failing, I'm eventually going to quit.
And when I'm looking around to what other people are doing, I'm not working. I'm distracted. And I'm setting a standard that is unfair to me. Success happens for countless other reasons than hard work, even though it can't happen without it.
Whenever I see something on Facebook that's good and that's happened for someone else, I hit "Like." It's easier than hating myself. And it's a routine. Even if I don't really like it, it gets me in the habit of being happy for other people's success. Because it's theirs. And I will have mine soon.
Get Your Work Out There
Submit to play festivals! I have friends who are playwrights who are constantly saying to me that they're bad at submitting. How can you be bad at sending an email? What they really mean is that they don't put in the work. And here's where I agree with Mat Smart. It's laziness. Yes, it feels sometimes like all we do is submit. And nothing happens. But you've got to crank work out.
And it takes so many more plays or screenplays or TV pilots than you think it will or it should. I'm on my tenth TV pilot, my tenth or eleventh spec script, my tenth full length play…and am in some stage of development for my eleventh and twelfth pilots and my eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth plays. Mat's right. It takes a lot of work and a lot more work than you expect it to. My old boss said that Shawn Ryan (creator of The Shield) wrote 20 spec scripts before he got his first job.
If you're not on the field, you can't play.
Be Your Biggest Fan
If you're not, no one else will be. And if you're a big, devoted fan of your own work, you won't be able to wait until the next project comes along. And that means you'll write it. It feels good to be exercising that muscle. Sure, it hurts and it gets sore. Sometimes it's hard to get to the gym because you worked so hard the day before and you're sore and tired. But muscles need to grow. They also need rest--that's where filling up the tank comes in. But you need to be on a continual cycle so that those muscles don't atrophy.
Excitement is contagious. And so is wah-wah. If you're down on your work, then that just makes room for other people to be as well. But if you're jazzed, then they're going to want to join your marching band.
All of these metaphors…
Understand What The Note Is
Clearly, these pieces of advice aren't in any particular order.
But this is another way of saying something that Mat Smart said. Some writers aren't open to criticism and to fixing things. But that's because we have a fixed idea of what our play is. And sometimes we throw out a bad note without trying to figure out if there's something good that can be taken from it. Just as we're not always clear with our intentions in our writing (which is why we get certain notes), note givers aren't always articulate with what needs to be fixed in your script. After all, not all of your advisors are writers, so how can they be more articulate than you?
Sometimes someone will give you a note in a bad way that makes you think that it's completely contrary to what you're trying to accomplish. But with a bit more thought, you might discover that they want to solve the same problem you do, but they're just saying it in a different way.
We do have to stop being overly protective of our work. We can still be fans and still nurture the work. But if we don't realize that our work only gets better the more it gets exposed and gets some breathing room, then our work will die. From lack of air.
I write down all notes I get. I don't respond to them in the moment. That's because I need time to get over myself. My first reaction is to defend. To make an excuse. I just need to shut up, write it all down and look at it later. And if the note seems good, I take it. I am not a one man band. I can't think of everything. It's impossible. So I need directors, actors, designers, fans, and loved ones to see the things I don't see: both the good and the bad. Because I can be so hard on myself and impatient that I want to throw the baby out with the bathwater. And I need a friendly reminder that some of it works. Or most of it works. Or ALL of it works--that's my favorite.
Refine Success
On these terms…
What kind of life do I want to live?
How can I be the kind of writer I want to be and be accomplished at the same time?
Where do I want to live?
Who do I want in my life?
Is the work good?
Did I exhaust myself?
Am I happy?
What does money represent to me?
What does balance look like?
The Real Reason Playwrights Fail? According to who? What's failing?
Do I give a shit?
What do I know?
DISCLAIMER #2:
This could apply to people other than playwrights.
DISCLAIMER #3:
No disrespect to Mat Smart and his article "The Real Reason Why Playwrights Fail." Let's just consider this a companion piece.
This is my third reaction post to an article I read on Howlround a few days ago. I guess it struck a nerve. Not in a way that made me pissed off, but in a way that made me feel like there was more to say on the subject.
I take issue with the accusatory tone of the title, even. The Real Reason Playwrights Fail. This is why I added a disclaimer: "What do I know?" This is just my opinion and I think that's how the article should be taken as just another person's opinion. I think that hard work is a surefire way to make sure that you're even in the arena to play the game that you hope you'll get called off the bench for and then be able to win at. But hard work only gives you access to playing at a competitive level. It doesn't mean that you'll even succeed. So let's start out from there.
Work Harder Than Anyone Else in the Room (or your circle)
You've got to know that you're putting the work in. If for a second you feel like you're not giving your all, then you have to re-evaluate what you're doing. There's no way around hard work. Even if you have a bit of luck in the beginning, eventually you need to work your ass off. When I was a young undergrad, Erik Ehn (Google him if you don't know who he is) told me that everything needs to serve the writing. That way you never feel like you're sacrificing anything. And that assumes that you have a singular focus. Not everyone has that luxury. People have spouses and kids and elderly parents to tend to. But even that can be helpful. If your work is about your spouse or kids or elderly parents. Or if your work is a way to escape your outside responsibilities--if only for an hour or two a day. Make everything feed your desire. When my father was dying, writing was my refuge and I devoted time every day to it. Even when I couldn't focus enough to work on scenes from a play, I wrote in a blog. Or I read a book as research. Or I watched a film to get my mind off of my Dad and into narrative storytelling.
I'm always at it. Except when I'm not. Sometimes I do fail. But I continue on. It's like Thanksgiving. I ate more than I should and worse than I should. But today I am having some oatmeal with almond milk and dried cranberries. I'll have a salad and soup later. I'll go for a run later as well.
If you fail at working as hard as you can today, work harder tomorrow. But don't shame yourself. That doesn't do any good.
There is no hard and fast rule. Write six hours a day. Get up every morning and write. Write for twenty minutes first thing…anything so that you get in the habit of writing. Write every day. You have to do what works for you. I do think that routine helps. I get up and brush my teeth every morning. And my teeth are cleaner for it. So if I write every day, then my career and my sense of self will be better for it. Right?
Make your own deadlines or set writing appointments. Deadlines are helpful. Some of those are self-imposed and some of those are dictated by an actual due date. The Fall play festival submission season is a good one for me. But don't start a project two weeks before its due and expect brilliance. Brilliance may happen, but you're making it a lot harder for something great to come through. I write with my friend Larry once a week. And he's usually the one who breaks the appointments (he has a kid, I don't) if something else comes up. If he can't make it, I'll keep the appointment. I also keep office hours at the West Hollywood library. Since I'm working from home right now, it's helpful to have somewhere to drive to. It's a ritual. Rituals are important for me. They make the moment special.
Understand that working hard also means that sometimes you are not writing. Sometimes you are filling the tank. I have a project I'm working on about advertising that I keep finding materials for. I started out researching Robert Altman films. I watched eleven of them. Then I had a special book that was made for the 30th anniversary of the ad agency I used to work at. I then read about a book by Dave Eggers that sounded like good research. A friend invited me to dinner one night and I told the group about this project and someone suggested a book called "Thought Contagion." Then I listened to a podcast with an author named David Shields. I kept finding things that felt like they were necessary to me writing this play. And it will take a lot of hard work to distill that information, find what's useful and write the play. And that's before one more word hits the screen.
Don't Pay Attention to What Other People Are Doing
That might seem to contradict the statement, "Work Harder Than Anyone Else." But it's really not. We have an internal barometer. We know when we're not working as hard as we should. We only find out we're working harder when we're made aware of it. And by that time, we've advanced so far beyond everyone else that we're winning the race. Plus, if you think that other people are working really hard then you'll push yourself.
But here's where the advice comes in. It's so easy to look on Facebook or talk to friends (and in some cases, read Variety or Deadline Hollywood or Broadway.com or the New York Times) and compare yourself to them. This is going to sound so Pollyanna, but…that is their journey and you're on your journey. I know it sounds like phooey, but I remind myself of that every day. Someone had the success that you wanted and they were younger or they've been at it for less time or there was nepotism involved. That's always going to be the case. But I go back to the arena analogy. If I'm in the stadium, I will see other people make great plays (remember, this is a sports analogy) all around me. But eventually it will be my turn. If I was outside the stadium, I would be on the outside looking it. I would be a spectator and not a participant. Because I'm a participant in the game, I'm seeing more and more of my friends have success. Eventually it will be my turn.
But to combat the loneliness and isolation that goes along with writing, I have to be invested in my work for its own daily reward. I can write. I have that talent. I love these characters. I have to tell this story. I have to feel those successes in the moment, otherwise I'm going to feel like I'm failing. And if I'm failing, I'm eventually going to quit.
And when I'm looking around to what other people are doing, I'm not working. I'm distracted. And I'm setting a standard that is unfair to me. Success happens for countless other reasons than hard work, even though it can't happen without it.
Whenever I see something on Facebook that's good and that's happened for someone else, I hit "Like." It's easier than hating myself. And it's a routine. Even if I don't really like it, it gets me in the habit of being happy for other people's success. Because it's theirs. And I will have mine soon.
Get Your Work Out There
Submit to play festivals! I have friends who are playwrights who are constantly saying to me that they're bad at submitting. How can you be bad at sending an email? What they really mean is that they don't put in the work. And here's where I agree with Mat Smart. It's laziness. Yes, it feels sometimes like all we do is submit. And nothing happens. But you've got to crank work out.
And it takes so many more plays or screenplays or TV pilots than you think it will or it should. I'm on my tenth TV pilot, my tenth or eleventh spec script, my tenth full length play…and am in some stage of development for my eleventh and twelfth pilots and my eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth plays. Mat's right. It takes a lot of work and a lot more work than you expect it to. My old boss said that Shawn Ryan (creator of The Shield) wrote 20 spec scripts before he got his first job.
If you're not on the field, you can't play.
Be Your Biggest Fan
If you're not, no one else will be. And if you're a big, devoted fan of your own work, you won't be able to wait until the next project comes along. And that means you'll write it. It feels good to be exercising that muscle. Sure, it hurts and it gets sore. Sometimes it's hard to get to the gym because you worked so hard the day before and you're sore and tired. But muscles need to grow. They also need rest--that's where filling up the tank comes in. But you need to be on a continual cycle so that those muscles don't atrophy.
Excitement is contagious. And so is wah-wah. If you're down on your work, then that just makes room for other people to be as well. But if you're jazzed, then they're going to want to join your marching band.
All of these metaphors…
Understand What The Note Is
Clearly, these pieces of advice aren't in any particular order.
But this is another way of saying something that Mat Smart said. Some writers aren't open to criticism and to fixing things. But that's because we have a fixed idea of what our play is. And sometimes we throw out a bad note without trying to figure out if there's something good that can be taken from it. Just as we're not always clear with our intentions in our writing (which is why we get certain notes), note givers aren't always articulate with what needs to be fixed in your script. After all, not all of your advisors are writers, so how can they be more articulate than you?
Sometimes someone will give you a note in a bad way that makes you think that it's completely contrary to what you're trying to accomplish. But with a bit more thought, you might discover that they want to solve the same problem you do, but they're just saying it in a different way.
We do have to stop being overly protective of our work. We can still be fans and still nurture the work. But if we don't realize that our work only gets better the more it gets exposed and gets some breathing room, then our work will die. From lack of air.
I write down all notes I get. I don't respond to them in the moment. That's because I need time to get over myself. My first reaction is to defend. To make an excuse. I just need to shut up, write it all down and look at it later. And if the note seems good, I take it. I am not a one man band. I can't think of everything. It's impossible. So I need directors, actors, designers, fans, and loved ones to see the things I don't see: both the good and the bad. Because I can be so hard on myself and impatient that I want to throw the baby out with the bathwater. And I need a friendly reminder that some of it works. Or most of it works. Or ALL of it works--that's my favorite.
Refine Success
On these terms…
What kind of life do I want to live?
How can I be the kind of writer I want to be and be accomplished at the same time?
Where do I want to live?
Who do I want in my life?
Is the work good?
Did I exhaust myself?
Am I happy?
What does money represent to me?
What does balance look like?
The Real Reason Playwrights Fail? According to who? What's failing?
Do I give a shit?
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Two Approaches to the Writing Life
A friend of mine posted this article to Facebook from Salon.com about the role of self-loathing in writers.
http://www.salon.com/2013/12/01/literary_self_loathing_how_jonathan_franzen_elizabeth_gilbert_and_more_keep_it_at_bay/
I just wrote a blog response to an article written by a playwright in 2011 that has been making the rounds again lately on Howlround.com. The gist of the article said that playwrights fail because they are lazy and can't take criticism. Interestingly, an almost equal amount of people both agreed and disagreed with his statement. I'm not linking to the article, but you can read my reaction here in case you haven't seen it yet:
http://creativityinrealtime.blogspot.com/2013/12/whos-lazy.html
I preferred the author's reaction to what seems to be a cliche in writers: self-loathing. We do tend to think that being a brooding, tortured soul makes better writing. And I think it's bullshit. In fact, a woman responded to my friend's post by saying she read the first sentence of the article and stopped reading. She missed the point.
We have to understand why this instinct is in us instead of just ignoring it. It's a vicious stereotype, but it's an attitude so prevalent that it's true in most cases. It's difficult to create something out of nothing and when you're trying to create something that could get massacred by critics, by friends, by associates you're going to have major doubts. Writing IS a courageous act. It doesn't make it noble, but the act of creation involves a lot of trauma and pain.
I like what the author has to say here:
The answer, of course, is that it's human nature to struggle with oneself. That icky feeling of discontent we often experience is what sometimes inspires the best art.
"I experience shame and self-reproach more or less continually," Jonathan Franzen (author of "Freedom") told me. "The only way to deal with it is to keep trying to immerse myself in the fictional dream and hope that good sentences come out of that. Once there are good sentences on the page, I can feel a loyalty to them and start following their logic, and take refuge from myself."
Our self-doubt has the power to destroy us. But it also has the ability to pull something out of us that's great. And it's gratifying to know that Jonathan Franzen has to show up at that blank page every day like I do and risk that it won't be brilliant.
What frustrated me about the Mat Smart article on Howlround is that he seemed to say that we had to please the master--the industry of playwriting and theatre--in order to get any sort of recognition. And that recognition is the only goal. And that if we didn't sit down for hours and hours a day and have a continual, ample output of material every day then we were lazy. I do believe that writers have to dedicate themselves to something that involves their writing every day. They need to be dedicated. And some of it has to involve actual writing. But to say that you constantly have to give and give without replenishing the supply is unfair. Maybe he's the kind of writer who can do that. I am not.
I am a social creature. If I'm alone for too long in my "writer's cave" I start to get depressed. I start to feel horrible. It's usually because I turn the lights down or I close the shades so I feel protected in my cave. But it also makes me feel isolated. And when I'm isolated from the world for too long, I start talking to myself. I start eating poorly. I start feeling separate from life around me. Writers say this is a good thing because they can immerse themselves in the fantasy they are creating and I agree somewhat. But if I don't see people for days and days on end, I start to turn on myself. I need physical contact and face-to-face interaction to know that I have compatriots.
I'm not saying that you should procrastinate all day long and call it writing. But too much of anything is bad.
I'm at my best as a writer when my words mean something. When writing is an act of survival. I think I wrote so much when my Dad was sick and dying because I needed an escape from the reality of care taking. It was too much. And in the world in my head was a refuge.
I loved this next paragraph:
"I think the question of self-loathing vs. self-confidence is a false choice when it comes to writing," Gilbert says. "I don't think those are the only two possibilities for How To Be as a writer. (Either blustery or withering, in other worlds. Both of which are just the opposite ends of extreme narcissism.) I think there are writers who take a quieter approach to their work--one that is just about respectfully showing up for your vocation day after day, steadily doing your best, and letting go of the results. Not going to war against anyone else, or against their talents, or against themselves. George Saunders comes to mind as an example of a particularly generous and gracious genius who is neither self-deprecating nor arrogant. Ann Patchett is another. Michael Chabon is another. Our newest Nobel laureate Alice Munro is yet another. Those are my heroes, for the example they set of healthy working, healthy being."
I thought the whole Mat Smart article was an exercise in self-loathing. I'm not getting anywhere because I'm lazy and stuck and dumb. Because not being talented enough (which he sited as a reason for not being successful) translates to stupidity for a writer. Or at least it does for me. I'm not good enough, which means that I'm not smart enough to try to make these characters convincing. The author here says that you don't have to be at war with anyone. You can just be good and get the work done and be happy with the work for its own satisfaction.
But we exist in a world that can pay us for our talent and we'd rather make money as writers than as dishwashers or assistants or substitute teachers. I am getting to a place in my life where I have to trust that the money and the opportunity will be there and not dedicate myself entirely to pleasing other people and taking it as a personal failure if I haven't made them happy. This is a daily struggle. And sometimes my self-loathing takes over. Sometimes it makes me stronger by forcing me to make a choice to shit or get off the pot. And the act of getting off the pot can lead to some great writing.
It's all in how you approach the problem. I have to claim full responsibility for my shortcomings. But I also can choose to be a writer who doesn't look for the reward. Now, you might ask, how would one make a career if they aren't interested in the reward. If you don't set your sights and set a standard for yourself (that's determined by someone else's standard) then how will you know how good you are or how much further you need to go until you "make it?"
And then what? Do you just rest on the pile of cash you make? Do you just rest on your laurels?
Maybe you do. Maybe you have a goal and you set it and you make it and then you're done. I don't know if I would automatically call that person a writer. I would call that person an employee. I'm not anti-compensation or anti-money (or anti-status or anti-power). But I am a writer. I have laid claim to that fact deliberately and purposefully for myself. If you are a writer, you can also be an employee. But I don't think being an employee makes one a writer, if your job is to write. I think you can get writing done and get paid handsomely for it and probably live a comfortable life. It would make me uncomfortable--by nature--if that is all it was for me. I write to survive and to make sense of the world around me. I'm not asking for a pat on the back and I stand on no moral high ground for that. It's just the way I am.
Does that mean that me and my high standards are doomed to a life of poverty? God, I hope not. I just know this about myself and I have to own that. And I can't fault other people for being different types of writers. It doesn't validate me to think that I am better than someone else. I believe that people should live in a way that makes them comfortable and complete. Your idea for that is totally different than mine because we are individuals.
I believe that instead of reprimanding people for what they are not, we need to support them in who they are and help them to be more of themselves, if that's a good thing. Sometimes it's not a good thing to be more of yourself if what you are isn't serving you. But again, I can't make that decision for anyone other than myself.
Where was I going with this?
I think self-loathing is what you make it. Like anything. You either make lemonade or you have a tolerance for a sour taste in your mouth. That' sup to each individual person. I know what I choose and I just try to live my life in accordance with that. That's all I can do.
http://www.salon.com/2013/12/01/literary_self_loathing_how_jonathan_franzen_elizabeth_gilbert_and_more_keep_it_at_bay/
I just wrote a blog response to an article written by a playwright in 2011 that has been making the rounds again lately on Howlround.com. The gist of the article said that playwrights fail because they are lazy and can't take criticism. Interestingly, an almost equal amount of people both agreed and disagreed with his statement. I'm not linking to the article, but you can read my reaction here in case you haven't seen it yet:
http://creativityinrealtime.blogspot.com/2013/12/whos-lazy.html
I preferred the author's reaction to what seems to be a cliche in writers: self-loathing. We do tend to think that being a brooding, tortured soul makes better writing. And I think it's bullshit. In fact, a woman responded to my friend's post by saying she read the first sentence of the article and stopped reading. She missed the point.
We have to understand why this instinct is in us instead of just ignoring it. It's a vicious stereotype, but it's an attitude so prevalent that it's true in most cases. It's difficult to create something out of nothing and when you're trying to create something that could get massacred by critics, by friends, by associates you're going to have major doubts. Writing IS a courageous act. It doesn't make it noble, but the act of creation involves a lot of trauma and pain.
I like what the author has to say here:
The answer, of course, is that it's human nature to struggle with oneself. That icky feeling of discontent we often experience is what sometimes inspires the best art.
"I experience shame and self-reproach more or less continually," Jonathan Franzen (author of "Freedom") told me. "The only way to deal with it is to keep trying to immerse myself in the fictional dream and hope that good sentences come out of that. Once there are good sentences on the page, I can feel a loyalty to them and start following their logic, and take refuge from myself."
Our self-doubt has the power to destroy us. But it also has the ability to pull something out of us that's great. And it's gratifying to know that Jonathan Franzen has to show up at that blank page every day like I do and risk that it won't be brilliant.
What frustrated me about the Mat Smart article on Howlround is that he seemed to say that we had to please the master--the industry of playwriting and theatre--in order to get any sort of recognition. And that recognition is the only goal. And that if we didn't sit down for hours and hours a day and have a continual, ample output of material every day then we were lazy. I do believe that writers have to dedicate themselves to something that involves their writing every day. They need to be dedicated. And some of it has to involve actual writing. But to say that you constantly have to give and give without replenishing the supply is unfair. Maybe he's the kind of writer who can do that. I am not.
I am a social creature. If I'm alone for too long in my "writer's cave" I start to get depressed. I start to feel horrible. It's usually because I turn the lights down or I close the shades so I feel protected in my cave. But it also makes me feel isolated. And when I'm isolated from the world for too long, I start talking to myself. I start eating poorly. I start feeling separate from life around me. Writers say this is a good thing because they can immerse themselves in the fantasy they are creating and I agree somewhat. But if I don't see people for days and days on end, I start to turn on myself. I need physical contact and face-to-face interaction to know that I have compatriots.
I'm not saying that you should procrastinate all day long and call it writing. But too much of anything is bad.
I'm at my best as a writer when my words mean something. When writing is an act of survival. I think I wrote so much when my Dad was sick and dying because I needed an escape from the reality of care taking. It was too much. And in the world in my head was a refuge.
I loved this next paragraph:
"I think the question of self-loathing vs. self-confidence is a false choice when it comes to writing," Gilbert says. "I don't think those are the only two possibilities for How To Be as a writer. (Either blustery or withering, in other worlds. Both of which are just the opposite ends of extreme narcissism.) I think there are writers who take a quieter approach to their work--one that is just about respectfully showing up for your vocation day after day, steadily doing your best, and letting go of the results. Not going to war against anyone else, or against their talents, or against themselves. George Saunders comes to mind as an example of a particularly generous and gracious genius who is neither self-deprecating nor arrogant. Ann Patchett is another. Michael Chabon is another. Our newest Nobel laureate Alice Munro is yet another. Those are my heroes, for the example they set of healthy working, healthy being."
I thought the whole Mat Smart article was an exercise in self-loathing. I'm not getting anywhere because I'm lazy and stuck and dumb. Because not being talented enough (which he sited as a reason for not being successful) translates to stupidity for a writer. Or at least it does for me. I'm not good enough, which means that I'm not smart enough to try to make these characters convincing. The author here says that you don't have to be at war with anyone. You can just be good and get the work done and be happy with the work for its own satisfaction.
But we exist in a world that can pay us for our talent and we'd rather make money as writers than as dishwashers or assistants or substitute teachers. I am getting to a place in my life where I have to trust that the money and the opportunity will be there and not dedicate myself entirely to pleasing other people and taking it as a personal failure if I haven't made them happy. This is a daily struggle. And sometimes my self-loathing takes over. Sometimes it makes me stronger by forcing me to make a choice to shit or get off the pot. And the act of getting off the pot can lead to some great writing.
It's all in how you approach the problem. I have to claim full responsibility for my shortcomings. But I also can choose to be a writer who doesn't look for the reward. Now, you might ask, how would one make a career if they aren't interested in the reward. If you don't set your sights and set a standard for yourself (that's determined by someone else's standard) then how will you know how good you are or how much further you need to go until you "make it?"
And then what? Do you just rest on the pile of cash you make? Do you just rest on your laurels?
Maybe you do. Maybe you have a goal and you set it and you make it and then you're done. I don't know if I would automatically call that person a writer. I would call that person an employee. I'm not anti-compensation or anti-money (or anti-status or anti-power). But I am a writer. I have laid claim to that fact deliberately and purposefully for myself. If you are a writer, you can also be an employee. But I don't think being an employee makes one a writer, if your job is to write. I think you can get writing done and get paid handsomely for it and probably live a comfortable life. It would make me uncomfortable--by nature--if that is all it was for me. I write to survive and to make sense of the world around me. I'm not asking for a pat on the back and I stand on no moral high ground for that. It's just the way I am.
Does that mean that me and my high standards are doomed to a life of poverty? God, I hope not. I just know this about myself and I have to own that. And I can't fault other people for being different types of writers. It doesn't validate me to think that I am better than someone else. I believe that people should live in a way that makes them comfortable and complete. Your idea for that is totally different than mine because we are individuals.
I believe that instead of reprimanding people for what they are not, we need to support them in who they are and help them to be more of themselves, if that's a good thing. Sometimes it's not a good thing to be more of yourself if what you are isn't serving you. But again, I can't make that decision for anyone other than myself.
Where was I going with this?
I think self-loathing is what you make it. Like anything. You either make lemonade or you have a tolerance for a sour taste in your mouth. That' sup to each individual person. I know what I choose and I just try to live my life in accordance with that. That's all I can do.
Who's Lazy?
There's this Howlround article that's circulating again (from 2011) where playwright Mat Smart breaks down why emerging playwrights are failing. Even though this was written over two years ago, it was recently reposted on Howlround and then circulated on a Playwrights group on Facebook where people got all up in arms.
I can't say I agree with him entirely because I think there are factors that contribute to success and failure and one of those is our own personal definition of those terms.
But one of the things he says is that we are lazy. And what's the first thing you say when someone calls you lazy?
Fuck you! I'm not lazy. You're lazy. Asshole.
Or something to that effect. I'm the first person to look inward and try to figure out what I can do that I'm not doing. I'm overly critical in that regard.
What's wrong with me?
And by the way, I always think I'm lazy. I always think it's my fault that I'm not succeeding. So my problem is not accountability. But I think some of that is a huge waste of time. Sometimes you are doing everything you can be doing and you're just subject to an industry that operates a certain way. I do think the conversation is different if you're a man or a woman or a minority or any combination of those three. But since Mat Smart broke it down for all of us and put us on blast, I'm going to break down his article.
There is a widespread defeatist attitude among “emerging” playwrights that the system is broken. It’s impossible to make a living. We don’t have enough time to write after making rent. Sexism, racism, commercialism, stupidism runs rampant in established theaters (i.e., theaters we can actually make money at). Development opportunities are imperfect, too short, too finite. Theaters just need to do our plays already. We’ll do all the work we need to do on the script in rehearsal, trust us; your audience will come, trust us; you won’t take a bath on my play, just do it already—no really, the theater will die if you don’t support new work, assholes. Dear Artistic Director of a Major Regional Theater That Will Only Do New Plays by Playwrights Who Have Won Pulitzers: Fuck you. Sincerely, The Future of Theater That You Are Killing.
I do think the system is broken. I am guilty of everything that Mat accuses me of in this first paragraph. But I don't just depend on the system to get my work out there. I don't know if I'm a playwright who will ever operate within "the system." And why do I need "the system" to tell me if I'm doing good work or not. Well, I need it to win the Pulitzer, the Tony, the Obie and countless other awards that I would love on my mantel piece and that I could use as leverage to get prestigious large lump sums of money that famous and noted playwrights get. But if my happiness as a playwright is based on whether or not I'm approved of by a broken system, then I'm giving too much of my power away and I'm in the business of being important instead of the business of being a writer.
And I'm just not as angry as the person he's speaking about.
Laziness: Last year I wrote three new pilots (including several drafts) and several drafts of a new play. That play hasn't been produced yet and neither have those pilots. I submitted to a bunch of play development workshops and didn't get into any of them, although I did get some honorable mentions. I did get a couple of readings that year and some this year as well. And my father, who I was the major caretaker for, died. You can't call that lazy. This year, I wrote a new pilot and rewrote two plays. I knew that this year would be slower in some regards because all of the mourning I was putting off was going to happen this year. And I'm doing some growth in other areas. I started a new play. I have a complete outline for another play that I want to start. And I have been reading and watching lots of films for that play I'm working on. Sometimes the writing is not actual fingers on keys. Sometimes it's thinking about it and journaling about it and blogging and talking to friends. Fran Lebowitz says that you have to be out in life and socialize in order to get writing done. You have to get out of your own head. I'm also networking my ass off and taking meetings and lunches. I'm meeting with friends to write every week and I'm in writers groups. So if the definition of lazy is that I'm not locked in a room six days a week for eight hours a day…then yes, I guess I'm lazy. But I'm also not trying to get water from the same old dried up well.
Defeatist attitude: Well, some people are just negative and they think this negativity makes them more serious or gives them the appearance of being hard working and dedicated because they're never satisfied. Mat's right here. That's a shitty attitude and has a lot to do with why you're not getting anywhere.
Lack of Talent: Well, here's the thing no one wants to say. Or maybe Mat Smart wants to say because he wants people to get out of the race so he can get there faster. Could a "defeatist" attitude also mean that you want to defeat everyone because you're hyper competitive? In that case, I might be a defeatist. Mat's right. Some people suck and they'll never get anywhere. But we also don't operate in a meritocracy. There are plenty of talentless people (that's what we call out competition…on a bad day) who are huge successes. There are people who aren't as good as us who are having better careers. I don't think that's sour grapes. Because I don't think talent is always a prerequisite. And audiences respond to plays for countless other reasons than being well-written or well-constructed. Some people write technically proficient plays that are boring as hell. But I don't think it's fair to say that lack of talent is a reason someone isn't successful. Who's standard are we looking at? And if we're taking someone who didn't go to NYU/Yale/Columbia/Brown/Julliard/UCSD/New School/Northwestern out of it…well, let's just assume we are. Because Mat Smart might not be talking about you. Because to "the system" you don't exist. So quit now! And I can say that as someone who went to one of those schools. But you see, that's the problem with "the system."
Unwillingness to truly listen or change: Okay, I can get on board with this to some degree. I think there are writers who are just stubborn and who think they came out of the womb a miniature, fully formed Edward Albee at his prime. And if you think your play is perfect as it is, then you will never get any better. But I do think there are theaters who don't always ask the right questions of a writer. I think there are institutions who are also unwilling to listen or change because they own the building (the proverbial building, as opposed to the physical one in some cases). And to be fair, if it's their money, it's their rules. But it's not always their money. It's the money of various trusts and institutions that exist for play development and they're just the custodians of that funding. But they're still in charge of it. Here's where I think we can make some strides to adjust the system or play in a new system adjacent to the existing one: If we use our money or resources towards alternatives, then maybe the system will be forced to listen and change because we're giving ourselves more options. I think that can be as grassroots as self-producing or putting on cheap, public readings. I know we want the cache that a certain seal of approval will give us. But what happens when you are just chasing the system is that you become disgruntled, disillusioned, bitter and frustrated. And that seeps into your writing whether you want it to or not. And that is the real real reason playwrights fail.
This is already getting to be too long, so I'm going to touch on a few points that Mat makes in his article. It's time for a speed round.
We—the “emerging” playwrights—are fucking lazy. This is what we don’t want you to know, Dear Artistic Director. Most of us don’t really know how to keep working on a play. Not what it really takes. To get a play where it needs to be—to get a theater to pull the trigger on a new script—you have to be relentless, indefatigable. You have to love the actual working on the thing—the actual writing—so much that there is an inevitability about it all….There must be a sense that “I am going down with the ship.” And frankly, it is a commitment that I don’t see many emerging playwrights make.
Here's a question Mat doesn't ask: Does this Artistic Director decide how good I am? The answer is yes within the system we're talking about. And some writers rewrite their script and put in the time, but the theatre doesn't do the play. Then they have to engage in another relationship with another AD and undo everything they did to please that AD. It's like the person who changes themselves in relationships to make someone else happy. But when does that writer get to please themselves? But I agree with him about "going down with the ship." You have to stick by your work at all costs.
What if you rewrote and rewrote your ass off? And worked on that script for months until it was exactly the way you want it? What if you had a trusted group of advisors--an eclectic mix of writers, friends, literary staff and audience members who just know what they like--giving you their feedback? And what if at the end of this rigorous process you ended up with a play you could stand behind? What if that was the definition of success in the theatre world? What if those were the plays that were going up and being seen nationally and internationally? Would this conversation be irrelevant? What if we stopped being people pleasers in our role as writer and truly made it about the work?
There's a notion in Kabbalah that the two partners can't make their relationship work if they're just focused on each other. But if they're both focused on God, forming a triangular relationship, then there's a strength, foundation and a structure there. What if we used that example? What if the work was God? What if we put the work first?
All right, I'm not even going to go further with breaking down Mat's article because frankly, I'm tired of it. I don't think it's applicable to me personally. I think he makes some valid points for some writers. And if his point is that we're not working hard enough, then his point has been taken. So once we solve that issue where are we?
I think playwrights fail for too many reasons to count. But some of them include work ethic and others include our choice to buy into a system that doesn't serve everyone because no system can serve everyone. If we are aware of the inherent prejudice in "the system"…and I'm not even talking just a white prejudice (which also includes white guilt, by the way). I'm mainly talking the prejudice that exists because most emerging playwrights working today who are on the radar of major theaters are from one of the schools I mentioned earlier. And it can reflect a certain mentality or at least taste level. If you fall outside of that because you didn't go to one of those schools, you're left out of the conversation.
The major problem I have with this article is that it comes from a place of blame and of what we're not doing instead of telling us what we can do. In other words (thank you Bethenny Frankel), it is not coming from a Place of Yes.
Work Harder Than Everyone in the Room (or your circle)
Don't Pay Attention to What Other People Are Doing
Get Your Work Out There
Be Your Biggest Fan
Understand What the Note Is
I'll explain more of what I mean in another post, but let's just digest that for now. That is what will lead to your success. That is what will lead to good work. The other stuff isn't up to us.
I can't say I agree with him entirely because I think there are factors that contribute to success and failure and one of those is our own personal definition of those terms.
But one of the things he says is that we are lazy. And what's the first thing you say when someone calls you lazy?
Fuck you! I'm not lazy. You're lazy. Asshole.
Or something to that effect. I'm the first person to look inward and try to figure out what I can do that I'm not doing. I'm overly critical in that regard.
What's wrong with me?
And by the way, I always think I'm lazy. I always think it's my fault that I'm not succeeding. So my problem is not accountability. But I think some of that is a huge waste of time. Sometimes you are doing everything you can be doing and you're just subject to an industry that operates a certain way. I do think the conversation is different if you're a man or a woman or a minority or any combination of those three. But since Mat Smart broke it down for all of us and put us on blast, I'm going to break down his article.
There is a widespread defeatist attitude among “emerging” playwrights that the system is broken. It’s impossible to make a living. We don’t have enough time to write after making rent. Sexism, racism, commercialism, stupidism runs rampant in established theaters (i.e., theaters we can actually make money at). Development opportunities are imperfect, too short, too finite. Theaters just need to do our plays already. We’ll do all the work we need to do on the script in rehearsal, trust us; your audience will come, trust us; you won’t take a bath on my play, just do it already—no really, the theater will die if you don’t support new work, assholes. Dear Artistic Director of a Major Regional Theater That Will Only Do New Plays by Playwrights Who Have Won Pulitzers: Fuck you. Sincerely, The Future of Theater That You Are Killing.
I do think the system is broken. I am guilty of everything that Mat accuses me of in this first paragraph. But I don't just depend on the system to get my work out there. I don't know if I'm a playwright who will ever operate within "the system." And why do I need "the system" to tell me if I'm doing good work or not. Well, I need it to win the Pulitzer, the Tony, the Obie and countless other awards that I would love on my mantel piece and that I could use as leverage to get prestigious large lump sums of money that famous and noted playwrights get. But if my happiness as a playwright is based on whether or not I'm approved of by a broken system, then I'm giving too much of my power away and I'm in the business of being important instead of the business of being a writer.
And I'm just not as angry as the person he's speaking about.
On a bad day, that is what we “emerging” playwrights will say. I am not qualified to speak for all “emerging” playwrights, but this is often how I feel and what I hear over coffee or whiskey or the internet. I am not qualified to speak for all “emerging” playwrights because I am a straight, white male, and I don’t have a trust fund. I live on the $19,000 to $31,000 I make per year from a combination of playwriting royalties, commissions, fellowships, teaching, and working part-time at a real estate company. I am not qualified to speak for all “emerging” playwrights because I like to write linear plays with dramatic action and a climax where the protagonist makes a decision that changes him or her irrevocably. The diversity of we—the “emerging” playwright—is vast and necessary and I am unable to speak for all of us. However, this is what I believe, with all due respect to my peers:
our general laziness,
inability to commit,
defeatist attitude,
lack of talent,
and unwillingness to truly listen and change—
are the real reasons we—the “emerging” playwright—fail.
First of all, he says he's not qualified to speak for everybody, but he's feeling entitled enough to speak for a lot of people. And I think he's just qualifying his statement so he doesn't come off as a dick. I say be a dick! It's fine. So I'm just skipping to this last bit.inability to commit,
defeatist attitude,
lack of talent,
and unwillingness to truly listen and change—
are the real reasons we—the “emerging” playwright—fail.
Laziness: Last year I wrote three new pilots (including several drafts) and several drafts of a new play. That play hasn't been produced yet and neither have those pilots. I submitted to a bunch of play development workshops and didn't get into any of them, although I did get some honorable mentions. I did get a couple of readings that year and some this year as well. And my father, who I was the major caretaker for, died. You can't call that lazy. This year, I wrote a new pilot and rewrote two plays. I knew that this year would be slower in some regards because all of the mourning I was putting off was going to happen this year. And I'm doing some growth in other areas. I started a new play. I have a complete outline for another play that I want to start. And I have been reading and watching lots of films for that play I'm working on. Sometimes the writing is not actual fingers on keys. Sometimes it's thinking about it and journaling about it and blogging and talking to friends. Fran Lebowitz says that you have to be out in life and socialize in order to get writing done. You have to get out of your own head. I'm also networking my ass off and taking meetings and lunches. I'm meeting with friends to write every week and I'm in writers groups. So if the definition of lazy is that I'm not locked in a room six days a week for eight hours a day…then yes, I guess I'm lazy. But I'm also not trying to get water from the same old dried up well.
Defeatist attitude: Well, some people are just negative and they think this negativity makes them more serious or gives them the appearance of being hard working and dedicated because they're never satisfied. Mat's right here. That's a shitty attitude and has a lot to do with why you're not getting anywhere.
Lack of Talent: Well, here's the thing no one wants to say. Or maybe Mat Smart wants to say because he wants people to get out of the race so he can get there faster. Could a "defeatist" attitude also mean that you want to defeat everyone because you're hyper competitive? In that case, I might be a defeatist. Mat's right. Some people suck and they'll never get anywhere. But we also don't operate in a meritocracy. There are plenty of talentless people (that's what we call out competition…on a bad day) who are huge successes. There are people who aren't as good as us who are having better careers. I don't think that's sour grapes. Because I don't think talent is always a prerequisite. And audiences respond to plays for countless other reasons than being well-written or well-constructed. Some people write technically proficient plays that are boring as hell. But I don't think it's fair to say that lack of talent is a reason someone isn't successful. Who's standard are we looking at? And if we're taking someone who didn't go to NYU/Yale/Columbia/Brown/Julliard/UCSD/New School/Northwestern out of it…well, let's just assume we are. Because Mat Smart might not be talking about you. Because to "the system" you don't exist. So quit now! And I can say that as someone who went to one of those schools. But you see, that's the problem with "the system."
Unwillingness to truly listen or change: Okay, I can get on board with this to some degree. I think there are writers who are just stubborn and who think they came out of the womb a miniature, fully formed Edward Albee at his prime. And if you think your play is perfect as it is, then you will never get any better. But I do think there are theaters who don't always ask the right questions of a writer. I think there are institutions who are also unwilling to listen or change because they own the building (the proverbial building, as opposed to the physical one in some cases). And to be fair, if it's their money, it's their rules. But it's not always their money. It's the money of various trusts and institutions that exist for play development and they're just the custodians of that funding. But they're still in charge of it. Here's where I think we can make some strides to adjust the system or play in a new system adjacent to the existing one: If we use our money or resources towards alternatives, then maybe the system will be forced to listen and change because we're giving ourselves more options. I think that can be as grassroots as self-producing or putting on cheap, public readings. I know we want the cache that a certain seal of approval will give us. But what happens when you are just chasing the system is that you become disgruntled, disillusioned, bitter and frustrated. And that seeps into your writing whether you want it to or not. And that is the real real reason playwrights fail.
This is already getting to be too long, so I'm going to touch on a few points that Mat makes in his article. It's time for a speed round.
We—the “emerging” playwrights—are fucking lazy. This is what we don’t want you to know, Dear Artistic Director. Most of us don’t really know how to keep working on a play. Not what it really takes. To get a play where it needs to be—to get a theater to pull the trigger on a new script—you have to be relentless, indefatigable. You have to love the actual working on the thing—the actual writing—so much that there is an inevitability about it all….There must be a sense that “I am going down with the ship.” And frankly, it is a commitment that I don’t see many emerging playwrights make.
Here's a question Mat doesn't ask: Does this Artistic Director decide how good I am? The answer is yes within the system we're talking about. And some writers rewrite their script and put in the time, but the theatre doesn't do the play. Then they have to engage in another relationship with another AD and undo everything they did to please that AD. It's like the person who changes themselves in relationships to make someone else happy. But when does that writer get to please themselves? But I agree with him about "going down with the ship." You have to stick by your work at all costs.
What if you rewrote and rewrote your ass off? And worked on that script for months until it was exactly the way you want it? What if you had a trusted group of advisors--an eclectic mix of writers, friends, literary staff and audience members who just know what they like--giving you their feedback? And what if at the end of this rigorous process you ended up with a play you could stand behind? What if that was the definition of success in the theatre world? What if those were the plays that were going up and being seen nationally and internationally? Would this conversation be irrelevant? What if we stopped being people pleasers in our role as writer and truly made it about the work?
There's a notion in Kabbalah that the two partners can't make their relationship work if they're just focused on each other. But if they're both focused on God, forming a triangular relationship, then there's a strength, foundation and a structure there. What if we used that example? What if the work was God? What if we put the work first?
All right, I'm not even going to go further with breaking down Mat's article because frankly, I'm tired of it. I don't think it's applicable to me personally. I think he makes some valid points for some writers. And if his point is that we're not working hard enough, then his point has been taken. So once we solve that issue where are we?
I think playwrights fail for too many reasons to count. But some of them include work ethic and others include our choice to buy into a system that doesn't serve everyone because no system can serve everyone. If we are aware of the inherent prejudice in "the system"…and I'm not even talking just a white prejudice (which also includes white guilt, by the way). I'm mainly talking the prejudice that exists because most emerging playwrights working today who are on the radar of major theaters are from one of the schools I mentioned earlier. And it can reflect a certain mentality or at least taste level. If you fall outside of that because you didn't go to one of those schools, you're left out of the conversation.
The major problem I have with this article is that it comes from a place of blame and of what we're not doing instead of telling us what we can do. In other words (thank you Bethenny Frankel), it is not coming from a Place of Yes.
Work Harder Than Everyone in the Room (or your circle)
Don't Pay Attention to What Other People Are Doing
Get Your Work Out There
Be Your Biggest Fan
Understand What the Note Is
I'll explain more of what I mean in another post, but let's just digest that for now. That is what will lead to your success. That is what will lead to good work. The other stuff isn't up to us.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
It Gets Better
This year (so far) I've submitted to probably about 10 or more play development workshops for next summer.
I have applied to two teaching jobs that would give me the opportunity to develop my work while teaching.
I have been working my ass off on two different play rewrites over the past year. And it's hard to do these rewrites on my own. I could really use actors and a theatre space at my disposal. That's why these teaching opportunities seem so appealing to me. And why I want to do some development this summer at these theatre festivals. The work can only get better and be helped with more hands (and eyes and ears).
I look forward to the opportunity to be in residence at a University and to really get the chance to see the vision of my work come to fruition in a full and complete way. Then I feel like I would be ready to bring in a director to see what I've started working on. I have no interest in directing my own work. But I have no problem directing my own workshops. For me, it's an extension of the writing process and it is still "writing" to me. But there does come a point when I need actors to voice these characters and embody them. And I need a director to help me see the things I don't see. Blind spots. I want a director to have a vision of my play, but I want it to be a vision that involves me. Not a vision that is simply a showcase for his or her own abilities to shine through and outshine my work.
I need a playground. And ideally, I would be working on several different plays in development over the summer at these various summer festivals. It's not me being greedy, but it's me trying to give the plays what they need. Attention. Love. Nurturing.
Then to parlay that into teaching in the Fall…I would love that.
And to even go further…being asked to host workshops or to work with private clients on their own material in the Winter and Spring, which would lead into a Summer of Productive Play Making and Developing and then into the Fall and an entire school year of teaching and play making. I don't think that's too much to ask. And I think that writers should have that sort of attention put on them.
Like I said in a previous post, I want the keys to the theatre. And I want you to leave me alone. And I want you to come and check on me and be in the audience for that first reading. And I want you to tell me what you saw and not what you wish I had done.
I have a lot of plays in me right now. And I want to systematically and with great care get them out. And I want to see them in front of me. And I want to talk about them. And I want to let these children be nurtured.
That's the only way they can be the great plays I know they are.
I have applied to two teaching jobs that would give me the opportunity to develop my work while teaching.
I have been working my ass off on two different play rewrites over the past year. And it's hard to do these rewrites on my own. I could really use actors and a theatre space at my disposal. That's why these teaching opportunities seem so appealing to me. And why I want to do some development this summer at these theatre festivals. The work can only get better and be helped with more hands (and eyes and ears).
I look forward to the opportunity to be in residence at a University and to really get the chance to see the vision of my work come to fruition in a full and complete way. Then I feel like I would be ready to bring in a director to see what I've started working on. I have no interest in directing my own work. But I have no problem directing my own workshops. For me, it's an extension of the writing process and it is still "writing" to me. But there does come a point when I need actors to voice these characters and embody them. And I need a director to help me see the things I don't see. Blind spots. I want a director to have a vision of my play, but I want it to be a vision that involves me. Not a vision that is simply a showcase for his or her own abilities to shine through and outshine my work.
I need a playground. And ideally, I would be working on several different plays in development over the summer at these various summer festivals. It's not me being greedy, but it's me trying to give the plays what they need. Attention. Love. Nurturing.
Then to parlay that into teaching in the Fall…I would love that.
And to even go further…being asked to host workshops or to work with private clients on their own material in the Winter and Spring, which would lead into a Summer of Productive Play Making and Developing and then into the Fall and an entire school year of teaching and play making. I don't think that's too much to ask. And I think that writers should have that sort of attention put on them.
Like I said in a previous post, I want the keys to the theatre. And I want you to leave me alone. And I want you to come and check on me and be in the audience for that first reading. And I want you to tell me what you saw and not what you wish I had done.
I have a lot of plays in me right now. And I want to systematically and with great care get them out. And I want to see them in front of me. And I want to talk about them. And I want to let these children be nurtured.
That's the only way they can be the great plays I know they are.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Six Miles of Good Road
I'm on a jogging jag.
I ran six miles over the weekend. Gosh, that felt good. When I'm running, I feel like I'm on fire. I feel like I am tearing through the world with great velocity and strength. I do feel like I can conquer anything.
On Saturday, there were lots of packs of running groups. It felt like community. I saw fit people, running hard. I saw they were getting the same satisfaction and joy I was getting. I could only assume that they were having the same revelations and epiphanies that were brought on by the endorphins running through their systems. It was pure joy.
Then why don't I run every day?
It is so painful for me to get out the door daily to run. I run a few times a week, which is incredible. But I'm a runner. I love it. And I have the time to do it every day.
But isn't it like writing to me? When I'm in it, I love it. I feel like I'm conquering the world. I feel like Goliath. But when I wake up to start the day of writing ahead of me, I'm David…looking up at the beast ahead of me and wondering how I'm ever going to conquer him.
But I have done it before. I have done it well before. But even if I didn't do it well, it's an amazing feat to finish just one script.
But here's what I'm constantly thinking:
Now I need to do the rewrite.
This isn't perfect.
I have to still write more scripts.
Should I take on that other idea that seems a lot easier? (Newsflash: It's not easier. You'll soon grow to hate the process as much as you're hating this one.)
I am so mean to myself.
And I know why. My Dad pushed me and didn't want me to have a big head about things. So that turned into this feeling that I could never be in the moment and appreciate an accomplishment. I had to constantly focus on what I wasn't getting done because if I stopped, then I would leave an imprint. Like a footprint. That footprint would reflect where I had stopped. It would be a marker and I would never go beyond that point. If I kept moving on--dissatisfied with what I had done--I would be saying that I know there is more ahead of me and that I'm better than what I just did…just you wait.
But how long does one need to wait before they get tired of waiting and move on?
That's the problem with that way of thinking.
I'm going to concentrate on doing what's in front of me. I'm going to run (and write) and enjoy the feeling of my muscles working,
of my eyes looking straight ahead,
of my lungs taking in more air and not feeling stretched, but feeling bigger,
of my mind opening up and taking in as much air as my lungs.
I love running.
I love writing.
I need to stop acting like I hate it.
I'm lucky. I can write. I don't have to will that ability into existence.
I just have to get up.
I ran six miles over the weekend. Gosh, that felt good. When I'm running, I feel like I'm on fire. I feel like I am tearing through the world with great velocity and strength. I do feel like I can conquer anything.
On Saturday, there were lots of packs of running groups. It felt like community. I saw fit people, running hard. I saw they were getting the same satisfaction and joy I was getting. I could only assume that they were having the same revelations and epiphanies that were brought on by the endorphins running through their systems. It was pure joy.
Then why don't I run every day?
It is so painful for me to get out the door daily to run. I run a few times a week, which is incredible. But I'm a runner. I love it. And I have the time to do it every day.
But isn't it like writing to me? When I'm in it, I love it. I feel like I'm conquering the world. I feel like Goliath. But when I wake up to start the day of writing ahead of me, I'm David…looking up at the beast ahead of me and wondering how I'm ever going to conquer him.
But I have done it before. I have done it well before. But even if I didn't do it well, it's an amazing feat to finish just one script.
But here's what I'm constantly thinking:
Now I need to do the rewrite.
This isn't perfect.
I have to still write more scripts.
Should I take on that other idea that seems a lot easier? (Newsflash: It's not easier. You'll soon grow to hate the process as much as you're hating this one.)
I am so mean to myself.
And I know why. My Dad pushed me and didn't want me to have a big head about things. So that turned into this feeling that I could never be in the moment and appreciate an accomplishment. I had to constantly focus on what I wasn't getting done because if I stopped, then I would leave an imprint. Like a footprint. That footprint would reflect where I had stopped. It would be a marker and I would never go beyond that point. If I kept moving on--dissatisfied with what I had done--I would be saying that I know there is more ahead of me and that I'm better than what I just did…just you wait.
But how long does one need to wait before they get tired of waiting and move on?
That's the problem with that way of thinking.
I'm going to concentrate on doing what's in front of me. I'm going to run (and write) and enjoy the feeling of my muscles working,
of my eyes looking straight ahead,
of my lungs taking in more air and not feeling stretched, but feeling bigger,
of my mind opening up and taking in as much air as my lungs.
I love running.
I love writing.
I need to stop acting like I hate it.
I'm lucky. I can write. I don't have to will that ability into existence.
I just have to get up.
It Don't Matter *
* I know that's not proper grammar. Get over it.
I spend a lot of my time trying not to focus on what other people are doing. It's hard when you've taken time off for a valid reason and you're trying to come back into doing what you love. But the fact is that I did take time off and I can't assume that the world has been waiting for me to come back.
I am a changed person.
I have gained a lot by being away.
But the world has gone forward. I have a ton of friends who are making great strides in their careers. It's finally paying off.
And sometimes I ask myself, "Where have I been?" I have a great answer for that. I have an answer that makes people think I did the noble thing. And I have a ton of personal growth to show for it. But I did take time away to do something else that has a hell of a lot more meaning. However, I am coming back to a world that doesn't care what I learned or why I left. It has moved on.
I'm not asking myself the question: "Was it worth it?" I know the answer to that. But now I have to find my place in an industry whose Kool Aid I have lost the taste for.
I love to write.
It gives me meaning.
And trust me, I am holding onto that meaning for dear life.
I saw an old friend for lunch yesterday. This friend started out as an assistant for a major show runner in town and now he works as his Manager of Development (although, due to the way things work…he still gets paid as his assistant because this guy's deal doesn't cover another executive). My friend has a job and has a job for a power player. And he's basically doing the job I did when I worked for these two EPs almost three years ago.
It was a nice lunch. He seems to be living a nice life. But is he doing what he wants to be doing? I don't know. The job doesn't sound like it's that exciting. He's reading scripts for staffing and probably not offering up much of his opinion. When I worked for those Exec Producers years ago, I was actually doing a job that was above and beyond what my job description was. But they acknowledged that and they valued my opinion, which was smart because they got a lot more work out of me than they would have if they just treated me as their assistant.
So if I got another job in the business on that side of things, I would be in the same situation I was over three years ago when I was working a job for another power player who undervalued what I was capable of. And I realize now, that my friend and I were talking about my previous job, and I was complaining about it. I hope I didn't insult his choices. But I realized that those were the same choices I was making three years ago in a job I had been in for seven years. I have more to offer than that.
So in a way, I feel like I am accomplishing more for myself by not just taking one of those jobs, which coincidentally aren't easy to get. The guy my friend works for is considered one of the best in the business. But when you work for someone that big, it is all about them. It has to be. They're an industry. They are not just a person any more. They are responsible for a lot of people's jobs and for tens and maybe hundreds of millions of dollars. That's why they are getting paid many tens of millions of dollars under their overall deals. In the grand scheme of things, their concern can't be you. It's good humanity. But it's bad business.
I'm sure my friend, like many of my friends--and like me at one point--drinks the Kool Aid that he has to suffer through that to get to where he wants to get to. A lot of the folks I've seen in this business are great place holders. They're capable, but not out of bounds intelligent. They get the job done, but they're not going to ever be the leaders. And when you do have someone who is that amazing and that good but not ambitious enough to understand their value, they are undervalued. I have another friend who I saw a few days before who is one of the most intelligent, perceptive and nicest guys I've ever met, let alone worked with. He should be running development at a major studio or high level production company in town. But he's not. He's a "company man." And the company he works for doesn't even know how lucky it is to have him.
I've talked a lot with friends lately about how I don't want my next move to be about advancing my place in the hierarchy. My next move has to be about advancing my abilities. It has to be about being better, getting better and doing better. And that does not just have to be about talent and spirituality. It can and should be about money. Money is energy and direct focus towards where you want to be in life and how you see yourself. Money can keep you afloat. And money can keep you surviving. But if you use money to direct energy towards what you want and to make a statement about where you want to be in life and who you want to be in life, it can be incredibly powerful.
That's what I want to do.
I want money to direct energy towards what I want.
I want money to make a statement about where I want to be in life.
I want money to make a statement about who I want to be in life.
And to do that, I have to see it as energy and not just as currency.
So when I look around and when I get jealous of my friends, it's not because they are buying cars and houses. Sometimes it might be because they're traveling, because I believe that advances the spirit. It can. I get jealous of my friends who are putting energy towards what they love. I get jealous of the people who are doing what they have been put on this earth to do.
But I have to be fair.
I am writing every day.
I am making the statement with my energy about where I want to be in life. I have been sending in applications for fellowships, professor jobs, play development, scripts for people to read to hire me. I have put the time in to write this blog about my struggle and journey to focus on the person I want to be.
And just like money can be turned into energy to make a statement about where I want to be and who I want to be in life…
Energy can be turned into money.
And there is good energy and bad energy. There is good money and bad money. I know that.
I am crystal clear about what my intentions are.
Maybe that's why I am thinking about leaving LA.
I like my friend, but I don't want his life.
Maybe where the money shows up is where the energy shows up and that will tell me where I need to pull focus.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Running Tour: West L.A.
I'm taking my show on the road!
I went for a run in a lovely older neighborhood in West Los Angeles, near some of my favorite Asian places to eat.
Up and down streets in a small area between Sepulveda and Westwood Boulevards. And Santa Monica and Olympic.
Today's run wasn't as pretty as the beach, but whenever I'm running along neighborhood streets I like to imagine making a home in a lovely neighborhood. I imagine what my life might be like.
I started thinking about success and money. I want to have a life where I'm doing what I love and I have enough money so I don't have to worry. But I don't want to just have enough to get by. Living paycheck to paycheck is not for me.
I ran and ran and thought about what abundance means to me. I think it means having a constant flow of energy that you dip into and take a part of, but that you also let go and pass on the abundance to others. It does not mean hoarding or accumulating in order to measure yourself up. It means sharing. As I turned the corner, thinking about money and what is enough for me, the sky opened up. All of a sudden blue was breaking through the thick cloud layer. It felt like light was breaking through on my intentions. It felt like the thick layer that has been preventing me from seeing myself was finally breaking.
Then I started a mantra:
I Work Really Hard
I have to remind myself of that because I don't always see what I am doing. I only focus on where I want to go and lament over the fact that I'm not there yet. But if I don't appreciate what I have accumulated, then I can't appreciate the journey and I feel like I haven't gotten anywhere. And I have gotten far from where I started. It goes back to my marathon training. You run the race which is 26.2 miles, but if you're training regularly for six months you end up running over 500 miles. It's the 500 miles which allow me to run the 26.2 that everyone sees.
I get up every morning. And I allow myself time to wake up. I check emails. I write in this blog. I watch stupid You Tube clips to wake my brain up. Then I write. Or I meet with a friend or colleague to talk about writing or to network or to discuss our careers. I go for a run. I go to the gym. I am constantly working on honing my focus. And, as I was reminded last month in dance class, my focus is deeper than ever.
I have to take stock in my accomplishments in order to give me the push, to remind me that I am very well-trained to run this race.
I came back from my run, sweaty and accomplished, ready to take on the day. My eyes feel like they're about to pop out of my head. My back feels tingly and awake, alive. And I've got to jump in the shower because I'm having lunch with Tim.
I went for a run in a lovely older neighborhood in West Los Angeles, near some of my favorite Asian places to eat.
Up and down streets in a small area between Sepulveda and Westwood Boulevards. And Santa Monica and Olympic.
Today's run wasn't as pretty as the beach, but whenever I'm running along neighborhood streets I like to imagine making a home in a lovely neighborhood. I imagine what my life might be like.
I started thinking about success and money. I want to have a life where I'm doing what I love and I have enough money so I don't have to worry. But I don't want to just have enough to get by. Living paycheck to paycheck is not for me.
I ran and ran and thought about what abundance means to me. I think it means having a constant flow of energy that you dip into and take a part of, but that you also let go and pass on the abundance to others. It does not mean hoarding or accumulating in order to measure yourself up. It means sharing. As I turned the corner, thinking about money and what is enough for me, the sky opened up. All of a sudden blue was breaking through the thick cloud layer. It felt like light was breaking through on my intentions. It felt like the thick layer that has been preventing me from seeing myself was finally breaking.
Then I started a mantra:
I Work Really Hard
I have to remind myself of that because I don't always see what I am doing. I only focus on where I want to go and lament over the fact that I'm not there yet. But if I don't appreciate what I have accumulated, then I can't appreciate the journey and I feel like I haven't gotten anywhere. And I have gotten far from where I started. It goes back to my marathon training. You run the race which is 26.2 miles, but if you're training regularly for six months you end up running over 500 miles. It's the 500 miles which allow me to run the 26.2 that everyone sees.
I get up every morning. And I allow myself time to wake up. I check emails. I write in this blog. I watch stupid You Tube clips to wake my brain up. Then I write. Or I meet with a friend or colleague to talk about writing or to network or to discuss our careers. I go for a run. I go to the gym. I am constantly working on honing my focus. And, as I was reminded last month in dance class, my focus is deeper than ever.
I have to take stock in my accomplishments in order to give me the push, to remind me that I am very well-trained to run this race.
I came back from my run, sweaty and accomplished, ready to take on the day. My eyes feel like they're about to pop out of my head. My back feels tingly and awake, alive. And I've got to jump in the shower because I'm having lunch with Tim.
A Plie is a Journey
I had a dance professor in college named David who always used to say:
"A plie is a journey…see you there!"
I'm not sure if he coined that phrase or if he borrowed it from someone. But we always used to laugh when he would say that. We laughed mainly because it was such a wacky, yet exuberant and expressive thing to say. He also used to say that a plie is necessary because without it, you can't jump as high. You need the moment of preparation, of rest, of planning before you make the big leap.
I have been on that journey for a couple of years now. I had forgotten how important the preparation was because I just wanted people to see how high I could jump. That's the part where you get to show off, right? Look at how high and how far I can go! But the plie has to be there first. It's got to be a good, deep one. And then you can fly.
I have to say that most of the time I haven't fought it. It's only in the past six months or so where I feel sort of antsy. Like I'm ready for something to start moving and stirring up. I'm trying to surrender and open myself up to the infinite possibilities that the Universe can offer, but it is so in my nature to try and control EVERYTHING. But I am limited. The Universe is not.
It's time for me to settle into a deep, deep bend. Take a breath. Go deeper. Prepare for the journey.
"A plie is a journey…see you there!"
I'm not sure if he coined that phrase or if he borrowed it from someone. But we always used to laugh when he would say that. We laughed mainly because it was such a wacky, yet exuberant and expressive thing to say. He also used to say that a plie is necessary because without it, you can't jump as high. You need the moment of preparation, of rest, of planning before you make the big leap.
I have been on that journey for a couple of years now. I had forgotten how important the preparation was because I just wanted people to see how high I could jump. That's the part where you get to show off, right? Look at how high and how far I can go! But the plie has to be there first. It's got to be a good, deep one. And then you can fly.
I have to say that most of the time I haven't fought it. It's only in the past six months or so where I feel sort of antsy. Like I'm ready for something to start moving and stirring up. I'm trying to surrender and open myself up to the infinite possibilities that the Universe can offer, but it is so in my nature to try and control EVERYTHING. But I am limited. The Universe is not.
It's time for me to settle into a deep, deep bend. Take a breath. Go deeper. Prepare for the journey.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Slow Days Suck
I don't really enjoy days like today.
I didn't go for a run. I felt like I needed a day off because my knees were a bit sore. I ran pretty hard two days in a row.
I spent the day with my mother. That isn't bad in itself. It's just that we had to talk about the neighborhood gossip. Then lunch. Then I stayed around a bit to wait out traffic.
It took an hour to get back.
So when it was time to sit down and try to do some writing of any sort, it was late.
I don't feel productive or motivated.
Yes, tomorrow is another day.
But not even the procrastinating I'm doing is very interesting.
Everything annoys me right now.
I did make a list of "fun things" to do with the boyfriend because we're not getting much time together and I think it's starting to affect both of us. So I decided to be proactive and send of an email with suggestions.
That was a few hours ago.
I'm going to bed early so I can try and catch up on sleep.
And I have nothing left to do today.
It's not even eleven.
I didn't go for a run. I felt like I needed a day off because my knees were a bit sore. I ran pretty hard two days in a row.
I spent the day with my mother. That isn't bad in itself. It's just that we had to talk about the neighborhood gossip. Then lunch. Then I stayed around a bit to wait out traffic.
It took an hour to get back.
So when it was time to sit down and try to do some writing of any sort, it was late.
I don't feel productive or motivated.
Yes, tomorrow is another day.
But not even the procrastinating I'm doing is very interesting.
Everything annoys me right now.
I did make a list of "fun things" to do with the boyfriend because we're not getting much time together and I think it's starting to affect both of us. So I decided to be proactive and send of an email with suggestions.
That was a few hours ago.
I'm going to bed early so I can try and catch up on sleep.
And I have nothing left to do today.
It's not even eleven.
Another Santa Monica Run
My run on the beach felt so good that I decided to go back.
I'm on a mission. A mission for health. A mission for strength. A mission to discover what I am made of NOW.
My whole life I have been a fighter. On the playground. In the classroom. On the mean streets of New York. And in the topsy-turvy wonderland that is Hollywood.
And now it's a different kind of struggle. I want the body I deserve and the life I deserve. Running is focusing me and preparing me for that.
Again, no real affirmation yesterday. I thought about some things, but my mind remained pretty focused and clear. I focused on the beach ahead of me and around me. I focused on my breathing. I focused on my legs that felt strong.
I'm working on cutting through all of the bullshit of my life. Running's a great metaphor for that.
I ran longer yesterday. I ran to the Annenberg Beach House and walked around a bit. It was really beautiful.
These runs are really clarifying. They help me focus on what's ahead and not on what's behind me.
I'm not running this morning because my legs are tired and I've got errands to run.
But maybe I'll run tonight or just later. That might be a nice change of pace.
What new things will I find out about myself then?
I'm on a mission. A mission for health. A mission for strength. A mission to discover what I am made of NOW.
My whole life I have been a fighter. On the playground. In the classroom. On the mean streets of New York. And in the topsy-turvy wonderland that is Hollywood.
And now it's a different kind of struggle. I want the body I deserve and the life I deserve. Running is focusing me and preparing me for that.
Again, no real affirmation yesterday. I thought about some things, but my mind remained pretty focused and clear. I focused on the beach ahead of me and around me. I focused on my breathing. I focused on my legs that felt strong.
I'm working on cutting through all of the bullshit of my life. Running's a great metaphor for that.
I ran longer yesterday. I ran to the Annenberg Beach House and walked around a bit. It was really beautiful.
These runs are really clarifying. They help me focus on what's ahead and not on what's behind me.
I'm not running this morning because my legs are tired and I've got errands to run.
But maybe I'll run tonight or just later. That might be a nice change of pace.
What new things will I find out about myself then?
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Running Affirmations on the Road: Santa Monica
I'm cat sitting for a friend of mine, so I decided to drive out to Santa Monica (not that far from where I'm staying) for a run.
Susan and I used to drive out every week when she lived in Santa Monica. That's where these running affirmations started really because we would talk about the things we wanted on these runs. I remember not always enjoying the running part because I could run a lot faster with more stamina than Susan.
So today I was out on my own. I ran along Ocean Avenue at Montana down to the pier and then on the beach and back up on the ramp.
I kept waiting for the words to come. For the affirmation to come. Nothing came.
I just ran. I ran fast and strong. I let the sun pour on me. The sweat came down my forehead and down the back of my neck.
I finished my run and I felt good.
But no words.
I think I needed to silently mediate today. My focus was strong. I didn't even get distracted during the run. There were very few words I even thought to myself. I just took everything in and I ran.
I wasn't trying to talk myself into anything.
I wasn't trying to talk myself out of anything.
I have a lot on my mind, but fortunately none of it came to me during my run.
I turned in a teaching application this morning before the run.
After the run, I went to the gym and worked out.
Then I started my day.
I think I'm going to go on a run tomorrow. See what I hear or don't hear.
Maybe I'll run every day I'm on this part of town.
Maybe I won't have any thoughts.
That would be a real meditation.
Susan and I used to drive out every week when she lived in Santa Monica. That's where these running affirmations started really because we would talk about the things we wanted on these runs. I remember not always enjoying the running part because I could run a lot faster with more stamina than Susan.
So today I was out on my own. I ran along Ocean Avenue at Montana down to the pier and then on the beach and back up on the ramp.
I kept waiting for the words to come. For the affirmation to come. Nothing came.
I just ran. I ran fast and strong. I let the sun pour on me. The sweat came down my forehead and down the back of my neck.
I finished my run and I felt good.
But no words.
I think I needed to silently mediate today. My focus was strong. I didn't even get distracted during the run. There were very few words I even thought to myself. I just took everything in and I ran.
I wasn't trying to talk myself into anything.
I wasn't trying to talk myself out of anything.
I have a lot on my mind, but fortunately none of it came to me during my run.
I turned in a teaching application this morning before the run.
After the run, I went to the gym and worked out.
Then I started my day.
I think I'm going to go on a run tomorrow. See what I hear or don't hear.
Maybe I'll run every day I'm on this part of town.
Maybe I won't have any thoughts.
That would be a real meditation.
Say It Enough
I keep telling people I'm leaving LA.
I've been back here for ten years and a lot of it has not been happy.
I learned a lot about myself. I've been fantastic places and stretched myself further than I thought.
I've transformed my body. Ran a marathon in Florence.
But I want so much more.
I could have been rich and famous in my twenties. If I wanted it enough. And I thought I did want it. Forever, I've been telling myself that didn't happen because I wasn't good enough. That's not true. By the time I hit 30, I had gone from my small LA suburb to the best high school in LA to studying playwriting with one of the most gifted writers who I had mostly to myself to working at the greatest advertising agency in history to moving to the greatest city in America and studying arguably the best school for dramatic writing on a full scholarship.
Then it came to a grinding halt when I moved back to LA when I turned 30. I even had the offer of an agent six months after I moved back to LA, but turned him down because the manager I had just signed with told me to hold off. I often look back at that as a big mistake. And it seems to have been reinforced by being in LA for ten years and not "making it."
But now I know why I didn't make it. And it's not about not making it. I was unhappy fundamentally for ten years. Because I had steered myself away from my passion and started doing what I thought I needed to do to become important. The only thing I needed to do to become important is to follow my passion. And then it wouldn't even matter how important I was because I would be consumed by my passion and that would up my value in the world, but being important would become less important.
A light is turning on within me. Being important isn't important. It's kind of the opposite of "being good isn't good enough."
I am running towards an opportunity that would allow me a house, a building to bring to life the plays I am writing. I am writing bigger than I have before. I am writing bolder and riskier than I have before. It doesn't matter if theaters decide to do my plays if I have a place to bring them to fruition myself in the way I see them. Then I can put them out into the world--after I have raised them on my own.
LA isn't evil. It's just home. And I seem to do better away from home. I'm not running away any more. And I don't look at my thirties as a waste any more. I had to reconcile my past with the person I've become. I flew with more velocity when I wasn't in LA, but I flew recklessly. I'm a more studied person now because of every difficult, uphill experience I've had in my thirties: a bad relationship, a bad work relationship, a father's illness and death.
My friend Steve told me tonight that he was hoping I would be ready to move back into my life months ago, but knew that I still needed my own time. And honestly, I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to jump back into life because I didn't want to go back to the person I was. I didn't want to be careless with my gifts and talents. I didn't want to under appreciate what I had been given.
I honestly think this venture into other possibilities, maybe teaching, will lead me to something greater than just being an important guy in Hollywood. I don't know if I would have known how to handle it before because I was thinking small.
I'm learning that finding a calling isn't an instantaneous "a-ha" moment. It builds over time. It's like a freeway, it takes years. But once it's constructed, there is a new highway--faster and more direct--to where you want to go. There's no traffic on a new freeway--at least not until other people use the road you've built. But then maybe you needed to build it in order to give them a road to travel on as well. But you will always be the one who figured out the path first. You will always be the one who had the vision and who thought big enough to build a freeway.
I'm leaving LA.
I've been back here for ten years and a lot of it has not been happy.
I learned a lot about myself. I've been fantastic places and stretched myself further than I thought.
I've transformed my body. Ran a marathon in Florence.
But I want so much more.
I could have been rich and famous in my twenties. If I wanted it enough. And I thought I did want it. Forever, I've been telling myself that didn't happen because I wasn't good enough. That's not true. By the time I hit 30, I had gone from my small LA suburb to the best high school in LA to studying playwriting with one of the most gifted writers who I had mostly to myself to working at the greatest advertising agency in history to moving to the greatest city in America and studying arguably the best school for dramatic writing on a full scholarship.
Then it came to a grinding halt when I moved back to LA when I turned 30. I even had the offer of an agent six months after I moved back to LA, but turned him down because the manager I had just signed with told me to hold off. I often look back at that as a big mistake. And it seems to have been reinforced by being in LA for ten years and not "making it."
But now I know why I didn't make it. And it's not about not making it. I was unhappy fundamentally for ten years. Because I had steered myself away from my passion and started doing what I thought I needed to do to become important. The only thing I needed to do to become important is to follow my passion. And then it wouldn't even matter how important I was because I would be consumed by my passion and that would up my value in the world, but being important would become less important.
A light is turning on within me. Being important isn't important. It's kind of the opposite of "being good isn't good enough."
I am running towards an opportunity that would allow me a house, a building to bring to life the plays I am writing. I am writing bigger than I have before. I am writing bolder and riskier than I have before. It doesn't matter if theaters decide to do my plays if I have a place to bring them to fruition myself in the way I see them. Then I can put them out into the world--after I have raised them on my own.
LA isn't evil. It's just home. And I seem to do better away from home. I'm not running away any more. And I don't look at my thirties as a waste any more. I had to reconcile my past with the person I've become. I flew with more velocity when I wasn't in LA, but I flew recklessly. I'm a more studied person now because of every difficult, uphill experience I've had in my thirties: a bad relationship, a bad work relationship, a father's illness and death.
My friend Steve told me tonight that he was hoping I would be ready to move back into my life months ago, but knew that I still needed my own time. And honestly, I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to jump back into life because I didn't want to go back to the person I was. I didn't want to be careless with my gifts and talents. I didn't want to under appreciate what I had been given.
I honestly think this venture into other possibilities, maybe teaching, will lead me to something greater than just being an important guy in Hollywood. I don't know if I would have known how to handle it before because I was thinking small.
I'm learning that finding a calling isn't an instantaneous "a-ha" moment. It builds over time. It's like a freeway, it takes years. But once it's constructed, there is a new highway--faster and more direct--to where you want to go. There's no traffic on a new freeway--at least not until other people use the road you've built. But then maybe you needed to build it in order to give them a road to travel on as well. But you will always be the one who figured out the path first. You will always be the one who had the vision and who thought big enough to build a freeway.
I'm leaving LA.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
To TV or not to TV?
I have a writer's group I'm a part of as a part of the Playwrights Union, a group of playwrights who live and work in LA. We meet once a month to read each other's work. It's usually just a fraction of the PU that comes out for this writers group. I never understood that. It gets me out of the house for something other than grocery shopping or the gym. And it keeps me honest in terms of my writing, although lately I seem to be doing okay on my own.
Today there were four of us who met and read work. I opted out of having work read this time because at the last meeting, I brought in pages that brought up a bunch of questions and started me on my next rewrite. So now that I'm 90 pages into this rewrite, I don't want to derail myself. I want to finish the rest of this rewrite and then I'll start bringing in pages again.
But at the end of the readings, we just sat around and talked. I know two of the writers well and another newer writer I hardly know. But we got on the conversation of writing for television, a topic I am all too familiar with. I am at a crossroads with TV writing, something I hesitate to talk about because I live in LA and everyone should want to work in TV. That is why I moved out here. But I'm tired of jockeying for a position in the hierarchy. I think that's the main job of the TV writer: to keep or establish placement in the hierarchy. And I'm competitive, so I understand the impulse. But right now, I just want to follow my passion for writing and put myself in a position that allows me to write.
One of the writers said that to be a writer in TV, you have to be willing to do anything to be a writer in TV. And I think that's true of any endeavor you're passionate about. You have to be willing to do anything. As a playwright, I think less is asked of you. That "anything" is not "everything." So right now, I'm just establishing stricter boundaries on what that anything is.
We talked about the difficulties of writing a pilot. How you have to be a student of the form. Read everything you can get your hand on. Look at scripts to see how they're paced and formatted. Write outlines. Write story bibles. Do all of these things to find out what the right pilot story is.
Gosh, I hope I get one of these teaching jobs. I'm going to be great at teaching TV writing. Oops. Sidebar.
And as I was talking, I got into the mechanics of it. It's a different, thrilling, exciting beast. I know I still love the storytelling aspect of it and I love that it's a different way to tell a story. But I am impatient with the business of it and the inherent unfairness of it. It's not fun when it's not working in your favor and you're knocking down doors. I prefer to return when the door being knocked down is mine. And that's not such a lofty goal. It's not a bad thing to say that I want to be in control. Of course, TV execs and agents and managers don't want to hear that. Especially, with someone who they feel should be kissing their asses. Listen, they've got the advantage in this situation.
But people also want what they can't have easily.
Like I've said before, I want to be somewhere where I can develop my work on my terms independently with huge resources. Right now, the shape that seems to be taking form, is one of a college campus that's interested in new work and wants to develop it. Then I'll be ready to take my work to festivals and other places. But I want to rehearse and workshop and fall in love with the process of working again. That's where my passion is.
And I love TV writers. I have friends that are very successful and very good at it. And they want it. They want it BAD.
Today there were four of us who met and read work. I opted out of having work read this time because at the last meeting, I brought in pages that brought up a bunch of questions and started me on my next rewrite. So now that I'm 90 pages into this rewrite, I don't want to derail myself. I want to finish the rest of this rewrite and then I'll start bringing in pages again.
But at the end of the readings, we just sat around and talked. I know two of the writers well and another newer writer I hardly know. But we got on the conversation of writing for television, a topic I am all too familiar with. I am at a crossroads with TV writing, something I hesitate to talk about because I live in LA and everyone should want to work in TV. That is why I moved out here. But I'm tired of jockeying for a position in the hierarchy. I think that's the main job of the TV writer: to keep or establish placement in the hierarchy. And I'm competitive, so I understand the impulse. But right now, I just want to follow my passion for writing and put myself in a position that allows me to write.
One of the writers said that to be a writer in TV, you have to be willing to do anything to be a writer in TV. And I think that's true of any endeavor you're passionate about. You have to be willing to do anything. As a playwright, I think less is asked of you. That "anything" is not "everything." So right now, I'm just establishing stricter boundaries on what that anything is.
We talked about the difficulties of writing a pilot. How you have to be a student of the form. Read everything you can get your hand on. Look at scripts to see how they're paced and formatted. Write outlines. Write story bibles. Do all of these things to find out what the right pilot story is.
Gosh, I hope I get one of these teaching jobs. I'm going to be great at teaching TV writing. Oops. Sidebar.
And as I was talking, I got into the mechanics of it. It's a different, thrilling, exciting beast. I know I still love the storytelling aspect of it and I love that it's a different way to tell a story. But I am impatient with the business of it and the inherent unfairness of it. It's not fun when it's not working in your favor and you're knocking down doors. I prefer to return when the door being knocked down is mine. And that's not such a lofty goal. It's not a bad thing to say that I want to be in control. Of course, TV execs and agents and managers don't want to hear that. Especially, with someone who they feel should be kissing their asses. Listen, they've got the advantage in this situation.
But people also want what they can't have easily.
Like I've said before, I want to be somewhere where I can develop my work on my terms independently with huge resources. Right now, the shape that seems to be taking form, is one of a college campus that's interested in new work and wants to develop it. Then I'll be ready to take my work to festivals and other places. But I want to rehearse and workshop and fall in love with the process of working again. That's where my passion is.
And I love TV writers. I have friends that are very successful and very good at it. And they want it. They want it BAD.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Silence Feels Deadly
Silence is feels deadly.
It's like hearing nothing from a guy you went out with two days ago.
Oh, he's not interested. He's moved on. I shouldn't have ordered that dish at dinner. I should have let him fuck me. What did I do wrong?
Susan and I were on the phone the other night. We were catching up since she's been out of town supporting her husband on a show he's directing. And she was mid-freak out about not hearing something from a showrunner who's mentoring her, who's already gone out with two other projects. And then she talked about finally getting some help on getting an agent, after feeling like nothing's happening.
We had a Cher moment on the phone:
Snap out of it!
I reminded her that the showrunner is one of the busiest, most successful guys in town. And that she's in the game. This is not six months ago or two years ago. She has made her entrance into the game and she's in the midst of it.
But silence feels deadly. It feels like nothing's going on. It feels unproductive and like you're forgotten. But that's what happens when you have to tend to another part of your life: your family.
I reminded her that she needs to focus on what's in front of her and that all of the other noise has nothing to do with her.
I love my friend. And I'm happy to be able to help her off the ledge. But where is that person for me? That's not to say that she's not supportive. As evidenced by many things on this blog, she's been completely there for me. But sometimes silence feels deadly. The silence of not having people respond to your work the way you want them to. I go through that struggle constantly, but maybe because I have such a self-assured attitude when it comes to giving advice certain people don't think I need a pep talk because I'm so good at pep talks that they assume I'm doing that for myself.
I'm not always. Because it's easier to see what needs to be fixed from afar, with some distance and objectivity. I don't have that when it comes to me.
But maybe that's the lesson. A few months ago, Susan did a tarot card reading for me where the cards said that I've got success around me, but it's not coming in the front door because I don't know it's there. I don't know how close I am to achieving my goals, so I don't answer the door. So if you feel like the guest of honor--success--hasn't arrived yet, you're not going to go answer the door. If you feel like he's far away, you're not even listening for the knock. But that's perception.
And that's a lesson for the two of us. Change your way of thinking.
It's like hearing nothing from a guy you went out with two days ago.
Oh, he's not interested. He's moved on. I shouldn't have ordered that dish at dinner. I should have let him fuck me. What did I do wrong?
Susan and I were on the phone the other night. We were catching up since she's been out of town supporting her husband on a show he's directing. And she was mid-freak out about not hearing something from a showrunner who's mentoring her, who's already gone out with two other projects. And then she talked about finally getting some help on getting an agent, after feeling like nothing's happening.
We had a Cher moment on the phone:
Snap out of it!
I reminded her that the showrunner is one of the busiest, most successful guys in town. And that she's in the game. This is not six months ago or two years ago. She has made her entrance into the game and she's in the midst of it.
But silence feels deadly. It feels like nothing's going on. It feels unproductive and like you're forgotten. But that's what happens when you have to tend to another part of your life: your family.
I reminded her that she needs to focus on what's in front of her and that all of the other noise has nothing to do with her.
I love my friend. And I'm happy to be able to help her off the ledge. But where is that person for me? That's not to say that she's not supportive. As evidenced by many things on this blog, she's been completely there for me. But sometimes silence feels deadly. The silence of not having people respond to your work the way you want them to. I go through that struggle constantly, but maybe because I have such a self-assured attitude when it comes to giving advice certain people don't think I need a pep talk because I'm so good at pep talks that they assume I'm doing that for myself.
I'm not always. Because it's easier to see what needs to be fixed from afar, with some distance and objectivity. I don't have that when it comes to me.
But maybe that's the lesson. A few months ago, Susan did a tarot card reading for me where the cards said that I've got success around me, but it's not coming in the front door because I don't know it's there. I don't know how close I am to achieving my goals, so I don't answer the door. So if you feel like the guest of honor--success--hasn't arrived yet, you're not going to go answer the door. If you feel like he's far away, you're not even listening for the knock. But that's perception.
And that's a lesson for the two of us. Change your way of thinking.
Cave Dwellers
I used to hate the expression "in the writers' cave." I have friends who, when they would get busy writing, would write on Facebook that they were in the "writer's cave."
If you don't hear from me for the next three weeks, I'm in the writer's cave.
I'm not answering any phone calls and only emails sporadically. #writerscave
Plenty of my friends have gotten annoyed that I write about writing all of the time. Here's a recent (maybe obnoxious) message:
78 pages and counting!
I only write about writing so that I can keep myself accountable. But I get how that might be seen as annoying. But I only write about writing because it's my way of sending flares up when I'm in the writer's cave.
I'm in an ugly old school, 70s style county library in Culver City right now because I need a change of pace from the gorgeous, brand new county library in West Hollywood that I normally spend my time in. I am now about 88 pages into a rewrite of a new play and I am very much in the writer's cave. But as a cave dweller, I actually like to cave hop so that still have some contact with the real world.
It's a Saturday morning. I've been up since 7:45 AM and I'm devoting my day to writing. OMG, it's only 10:50 AM.
I think I need to do something. Maybe go to the gym. Maybe go for a run. It's a shitty, cloudy day.
I don't want to be in the cave all day!
Maybe I should send an S.O.S. via Facebook.
If you don't hear from me for the next three weeks, I'm in the writer's cave.
I'm not answering any phone calls and only emails sporadically. #writerscave
Plenty of my friends have gotten annoyed that I write about writing all of the time. Here's a recent (maybe obnoxious) message:
78 pages and counting!
I only write about writing so that I can keep myself accountable. But I get how that might be seen as annoying. But I only write about writing because it's my way of sending flares up when I'm in the writer's cave.
I'm in an ugly old school, 70s style county library in Culver City right now because I need a change of pace from the gorgeous, brand new county library in West Hollywood that I normally spend my time in. I am now about 88 pages into a rewrite of a new play and I am very much in the writer's cave. But as a cave dweller, I actually like to cave hop so that still have some contact with the real world.
It's a Saturday morning. I've been up since 7:45 AM and I'm devoting my day to writing. OMG, it's only 10:50 AM.
I think I need to do something. Maybe go to the gym. Maybe go for a run. It's a shitty, cloudy day.
I don't want to be in the cave all day!
Maybe I should send an S.O.S. via Facebook.
Quiet
Quiet makes me uncomfortable.
As a child I liked listening to the
sound of the shower
As my parents were bathing.
Rain.
I would listen to the rain
on an especially stormy night
like conversations going on
white noise murmuring
in the background. That's why
I love falling asleep to the
television, it seems
like dinner party
conversation that I was not
a part of as a child. Always the
observer even then
even now.
I sit in my bed decades later
and hear the cars pass by
what looks like a quiet street
with its multiple apartment buildings
and cars buzzing past on
their way to the big street. It's the
same thing. Me in bed in my
quiet little corner
as conversations are happening
above me. I still feel
tucked away all of this time later.
Quiet helps me create.
Or being alone.
But that just helps me create
more quiet so I hear
the voices. The voices
are for everyone, Collins to Camus,
we all hear them
the same. They are what we
are guided by and if we don't
listen, we are missing something,
which is why I spent so many
rain puddled nights listening
to them afraid to miss
something afraid to be
left out. Sound is different
now, why should quiet not
be the same?
Quiet shrinks me down.
If I don't move no
one will know I am
here and will keep
talking
around me
falling over
me and drenching me
in their hushed
tones and droning
conversations, thunderstorms
of pitter patter. Quiet lets me
hear. I hear everything.
As a child I liked listening to the
sound of the shower
As my parents were bathing.
Rain.
I would listen to the rain
on an especially stormy night
like conversations going on
white noise murmuring
in the background. That's why
I love falling asleep to the
television, it seems
like dinner party
conversation that I was not
a part of as a child. Always the
observer even then
even now.
I sit in my bed decades later
and hear the cars pass by
what looks like a quiet street
with its multiple apartment buildings
and cars buzzing past on
their way to the big street. It's the
same thing. Me in bed in my
quiet little corner
as conversations are happening
above me. I still feel
tucked away all of this time later.
Quiet helps me create.
Or being alone.
But that just helps me create
more quiet so I hear
the voices. The voices
are for everyone, Collins to Camus,
we all hear them
the same. They are what we
are guided by and if we don't
listen, we are missing something,
which is why I spent so many
rain puddled nights listening
to them afraid to miss
something afraid to be
left out. Sound is different
now, why should quiet not
be the same?
Quiet shrinks me down.
If I don't move no
one will know I am
here and will keep
talking
around me
falling over
me and drenching me
in their hushed
tones and droning
conversations, thunderstorms
of pitter patter. Quiet lets me
hear. I hear everything.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Hand Me the Keys
My friend Larry and I got together, as we try to do every week, to write and to talk. It's often inspiring, even if some of our conversations are energized and passionate (i.e. if I totally piss him off by attacking him with my opinion). This week was good. We got together at a favorite coffee place, went upstairs and wrote across from each other at this tiny table.
Beverages: Coffee (Larry) and Thai Basil Lemongrass Tea (me)
Snack: Cinnamon Roll (shared)
It was great because it felt like we were feeding off of each other's energy even though we didn't speak much as we wrote. It was actually the most productive writing session we've had together (at least for me). Usually we write a bit, get bored and then go grab coffee and tea. This time he was already there. I joined him. We wrote and kept writing.
I'm working on a rewrite right now that is going well. Maybe a bit slow for my taste. I like to pretend that I'm Superman and do a rewrite in a few days. That hardly happens, by the way. But I'm at the end of my third week and I've written 57 pages out of a script that will probably be double that. So I'm just at the half way mark. That's good. I have to remind myself.
So we chatted about this teaching job I'm applying for. I told him that the job is exactly what I want to be doing. I want to be teaching a little bit and I want to be able to workshop my plays on my own. I have a constant frustration that my plays are not making their way to the platform of regional and off-Broadway theatres. But I think that frustration stems from my long-held belief that they need to give me validation. And if I am not accepted by them, my work doesn't mean much. And if I complain about it, then it's sour grapes.
I'm slowly learning to leave that thinking behind. I have several plays that I love and that are well-written. I have written good plays. I need a place where I can be alone with some actors...in a space...in a theatre building to talk about the work, to get it on its feet if we need to and to work stuff out as it exists on its feet in space. I want to start seeing my work as I'm working on it. Instead of writing, writing, writing and imagining the words and the actions in my head for so long then hearing it out loud, then writing, writing, writing more and rewriting, rewriting, rewriting more and maybe seeing some of it up in a workshop at some point several months or years later. No. That's not what I want any more.
I want to take something that I'm working on and play with it with some actors. Fragile, gentle words and actions. I want to pump them full of oxygen. Then see what I have and do some more work on the page and bring it right back. I need that at my disposal.
Then Larry and I were talking about the experience he's having with a play he's doing a reading of. I talked about the last reading of this play that I went to a few weeks ago:
http://creativityinrealtime.blogspot.com/2013/10/in-line-of-fire.html
We talked about the difficulty of working on something for a theatre and then feeling obligated to them, either by their own insistence or our own sense of gratitude. Playwrights are often waiting for crumbs to feed ourselves. I would go as far to call them scraps.
Then Larry asked me what would be the bare minimum that I would need to work on a new play.
Space.
No hesitation. Just give me the keys.
"Why?"
I told Larry that I just need a space to get to work. But it wasn't just about space, but it is actually also about the building. The temple, the synagogue that we come to worship. I need a theatre to give me the keys. Actors will come for me, but also come for the building. It will give it legitimacy and it will make our gathering feel like an event. It also says that the theatre trusts me to keep its space safe, in both a literal and a spiritual way. As long as I'm working on something worthwhile and in a responsible way, I am creating safety for other artists who want to do the same thing.
I think the building is really important. I need room, but not just a room. Not just my living room. Not just a basement somewhere. I need a theatre space to create theatre. A black box. A space that is wide and blank enough for us to create the blank page on stage.
He also asked me what I would do if someone gave me $100,000 to work on a play. I would put some of that money towards a production. But I would also put it towards the development of one or two more plays. To rent space. Or to get space somehow so I could then start the process of development in a way that felt like it catered to what I need.
In the theatre, we give a lot of lip service to the idea that the development process is there to preserve and protect the playwright's vision. But in order to do that, I think the playwright needs to be higher up in the food chain. The playwright needs to be at the top of the hierarchy. Then the vision can trickle down. The theatre has to hand the reins to the playwright--hand me the keys!--so that the playwright can guide their vision. With other administrators, organizers and artists higher up the food chain than the playwright, the playwright's vision cannot come through. This is not to say that everyone else in the process isn't there in support of the playwright, but without the power to make decisions, the purity of the playwright's vision is not there.
So it comes back to my very simple request:
Hand me the keys.
And then let's see what kind of work is created from that vantage point. Shift the power. It takes a different economic model. It takes a different type of involvement from the playwright. It makes the playwright more responsible financially. And it's more of a residency model, I suppose. And it doesn't have to be forever or even for months at a time. I can do a lot with a four week workshop. I can pull results in three weeks. And even make do with two. One is tougher, so pony up and make it at least two. But hand me the keys and see what happens.
That's all I need.
Beverages: Coffee (Larry) and Thai Basil Lemongrass Tea (me)
Snack: Cinnamon Roll (shared)
It was great because it felt like we were feeding off of each other's energy even though we didn't speak much as we wrote. It was actually the most productive writing session we've had together (at least for me). Usually we write a bit, get bored and then go grab coffee and tea. This time he was already there. I joined him. We wrote and kept writing.
I'm working on a rewrite right now that is going well. Maybe a bit slow for my taste. I like to pretend that I'm Superman and do a rewrite in a few days. That hardly happens, by the way. But I'm at the end of my third week and I've written 57 pages out of a script that will probably be double that. So I'm just at the half way mark. That's good. I have to remind myself.
So we chatted about this teaching job I'm applying for. I told him that the job is exactly what I want to be doing. I want to be teaching a little bit and I want to be able to workshop my plays on my own. I have a constant frustration that my plays are not making their way to the platform of regional and off-Broadway theatres. But I think that frustration stems from my long-held belief that they need to give me validation. And if I am not accepted by them, my work doesn't mean much. And if I complain about it, then it's sour grapes.
I'm slowly learning to leave that thinking behind. I have several plays that I love and that are well-written. I have written good plays. I need a place where I can be alone with some actors...in a space...in a theatre building to talk about the work, to get it on its feet if we need to and to work stuff out as it exists on its feet in space. I want to start seeing my work as I'm working on it. Instead of writing, writing, writing and imagining the words and the actions in my head for so long then hearing it out loud, then writing, writing, writing more and rewriting, rewriting, rewriting more and maybe seeing some of it up in a workshop at some point several months or years later. No. That's not what I want any more.
I want to take something that I'm working on and play with it with some actors. Fragile, gentle words and actions. I want to pump them full of oxygen. Then see what I have and do some more work on the page and bring it right back. I need that at my disposal.
Then Larry and I were talking about the experience he's having with a play he's doing a reading of. I talked about the last reading of this play that I went to a few weeks ago:
http://creativityinrealtime.blogspot.com/2013/10/in-line-of-fire.html
We talked about the difficulty of working on something for a theatre and then feeling obligated to them, either by their own insistence or our own sense of gratitude. Playwrights are often waiting for crumbs to feed ourselves. I would go as far to call them scraps.
Then Larry asked me what would be the bare minimum that I would need to work on a new play.
Space.
No hesitation. Just give me the keys.
"Why?"
I told Larry that I just need a space to get to work. But it wasn't just about space, but it is actually also about the building. The temple, the synagogue that we come to worship. I need a theatre to give me the keys. Actors will come for me, but also come for the building. It will give it legitimacy and it will make our gathering feel like an event. It also says that the theatre trusts me to keep its space safe, in both a literal and a spiritual way. As long as I'm working on something worthwhile and in a responsible way, I am creating safety for other artists who want to do the same thing.
I think the building is really important. I need room, but not just a room. Not just my living room. Not just a basement somewhere. I need a theatre space to create theatre. A black box. A space that is wide and blank enough for us to create the blank page on stage.
He also asked me what I would do if someone gave me $100,000 to work on a play. I would put some of that money towards a production. But I would also put it towards the development of one or two more plays. To rent space. Or to get space somehow so I could then start the process of development in a way that felt like it catered to what I need.
In the theatre, we give a lot of lip service to the idea that the development process is there to preserve and protect the playwright's vision. But in order to do that, I think the playwright needs to be higher up in the food chain. The playwright needs to be at the top of the hierarchy. Then the vision can trickle down. The theatre has to hand the reins to the playwright--hand me the keys!--so that the playwright can guide their vision. With other administrators, organizers and artists higher up the food chain than the playwright, the playwright's vision cannot come through. This is not to say that everyone else in the process isn't there in support of the playwright, but without the power to make decisions, the purity of the playwright's vision is not there.
So it comes back to my very simple request:
Hand me the keys.
And then let's see what kind of work is created from that vantage point. Shift the power. It takes a different economic model. It takes a different type of involvement from the playwright. It makes the playwright more responsible financially. And it's more of a residency model, I suppose. And it doesn't have to be forever or even for months at a time. I can do a lot with a four week workshop. I can pull results in three weeks. And even make do with two. One is tougher, so pony up and make it at least two. But hand me the keys and see what happens.
That's all I need.
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