Collaborating With Your Self…

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Have you ever started writing a piece only to find out you could not finish it until you lived something out in your life? 

While writing “The Day of Small Things”, taken from Zechariah 4:10: 

“For who hath despised the day of small things? for they shall rejoice, and shall see the plummet in the hand of Zerubbabel [with] those seven; they [are] the eyes of the LORD, which run to and fro through the whole earth.” 

I realized that I had to personally know what “not despising the day of small things” meant in my life.  I had to live the answer – I had to know that to me it means pushing past all the little obstacles that are in my way as I journey to my goals.  The constant bombardment of stuff in the way and the unending task of trying to stay afloat can make one want to get past the “dumb stuff” and just jump ahead to the meat of the matter.  Then there are the “little victories” that seem to delay the big victories and one might want to forgo them as well for the main event – but one should celebrate them because a victory is a victory is a victory…  It’s the getting through all the “dumb stuff” and the “little victories” put together that result in the character needed to eventually reach the goals I’ve set for myself.  It’s the journey… I could have never written that play without them – the “dumb stuff” and the “little victories”…  After feeling like I had had triplets with no epidural, I started the play.  The main character was Robert Raikes, Jr. called “Bobby Wild Goose” by his adversaries – his real nickname.  Imagine all of the wonderful nuggets in that name – enough to spark the way into the story which happened to be about the start of Sunday school and Bobby Wild Goose’s journey to accomplish that feat.  A journey – the essence of which – I knew myself.

In “Dream Catcher“, I knew that one of my beloved characters had to die.  I was unable to write any portion of the play that lead up to and encompassed the death of this character until I lost my father.  His passing is when I knew why I had to wait to write it.  I had put the play down for a year after my father’s death and the day I picked it up again, with urgency it seemed, I was able to collaborate more with my inner self and bring some of the new moments I had experienced to the scenes.  In some ways, it has kept those fleeting moments alive.  I had to deal with the “I don’t want you to leave moments” I had with my father the last time I saw him; we all have them whether we are conscious of it or not.  I had to deal with the dream I had of him the morning he died when he came to see me “we went to lunch” and then the phone call from my sister came, confirming what I knew but didn’t really want to know.  I had to deal with the tribute poem I wrote to the sound of his voice in my head and the secret it – the poem – revealed.  When I returned to “Dream Catcher“, I allowed my “self” to have her say in the telling of the character’s death and she – my self – was a wonderful collaborator – separate, yet fully part of me…

One never knows where the stories will come from, all one can do is listen and be active in the retelling of it.

As a rule, when I sit down to write, I am conscious of being open to hearing from my inner self.  Most times it is the deep reaction to something or someone else that ends up on the page but sometimes it is a piece or part of all the things in my life floating through the lines of story…sometimes it is my self having her say…

When Did You Know…?

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At what point did you know that you were a playwright?  When was the first time you said, “I’m a playwright” or “I write plays” and it sounded right.  Was there some other career you were headed toward; where did you detour?   Or, were you always on track?

Did you study playwriting or learn by trial and error?  When did you find out that you were good at writing plays?  Was it by osmosis or did you get an “A” on a writing assignment or some serious clapping at the end of one of your plays?  What was the play?

When did you determine your voice as a writer?  Did it catch you by surprise?  What were you writing?

When did you know that life without writing was not an option…?

For the Girls Who Tell Stories…

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My month – last month – started off well, full of good intentions with the exception of scrambling for references for a certain competition.  It’s always hard to ask – again.  It’s not hard to know who to ask just hard to ask someone to write that reference one more time and you hope you won’t have to ask next year because you’ll be successful and there will be no need to ask again – you hope.  Near the middle of the month – September, the heaviness that accompanies the submission period hit me like a brick…  This time of the year is also the most demanding period of my “day job” which causes the inevitable fight to replenish myself in order to just keep up with everything.  For some quick R & R, I found myself sneaking moments with Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird” which I had never read and even though I have the beginnings of the perfect play to send…somewhere, I couldn’t stay away from the book.  It was like balm; reading it renewed me…like watching the sun set over the Pacific does.  That’s the thing about a good story, it pulls you into that world and out of yours for a moment.  I found Scout’s voice very comforting even though some of the subject matter was not.  I think it was the pure innocence of the child that grabbed me.  It seemed Atticus, Miss Maudie, and even Aunt Alexandra tried very hard to keep the children viewing the world through unskewed eyes.  As long as I could see the events through Scout’s eyes, I could see the patches of light in the middle of the gray. 

There are things about fiction that I try to bring to my playwriting like the full on description of the world to be materialized in some way in my plays and the lingering of sorts, the way a book lingers with you after you have come to know the characters or come face to face with the clear essence of the piece.  I had that experience this past weekend with Jennie Webb’s play, “Yard Sale Signs” about mothers and daughters (playing at the Rogue Machine Theatre).  It’s a comedy but it is so rich and full of stuff, I have to admit, there was a point early in the piece where I heard myself think, “Don’t you dare do that here and now”.  Who cries at a comedy?   So, I laughed instead, it was easy to laugh because it’s a really funny play.  I wasn’t sure I understood it all till the ride home when I couldn’t stop thinking about it, then I woke up the next morning thinking about it.  I’m still thinking about it.  I had never seen a play like that before, it caught me off guard so I promptly put my guard up.  Didn’t matter, it lingered.

The most important thing I came away with from Jennie’s play is that I need to work my  “Mother things” into the mix with approaching deadlines.  Live theater – it is truly a living breathing thing with a voice.  What really draws me to theater is the “right now-ness” of it – right now you are in the characters’ world and they are flesh and bone and if they stumble, you see it unfold, you feel it jumping out at you and you may even jump with them or in response.  You can’t push pause or sit the actors down till you are ready to get back into it; it’s an “off and running” thing and “ready or not”, it’s a “right now” moment.  But, if it’s a good moment, it lasts a lifetime…

I talk about going there as a writer but the flip side is going there as an audience member.  I should have cried like I wanted to.  Laughing and crying are tied together and sometimes the emotions that cause one to laugh are the same that cause one to cry.  I hope I can get back to see “Yard Sale Signs” again.  I’ll sit in the back and just let the jewels of truth have their way with me… 

It’s all the special moments that make theater so exciting, so spellbinding…like when I saw “For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf” by Ntozake Shange.  I had forgotten those moments until I saw the trailer for the movie “For Colored Girls” based on Shange’s play; the movie will open November 5th.  I tell you, I have to watch that trailer almost every day.  I had to re-read the play and that’s when I remembered…it was after seeing that play that I really began to search for my voice as a woman which has everything to do with my voice as a writer.  It was the first play I had ever seen at a real theater and there were brown girls just like me up on that stage but they were more than just brown girls, they were women talking about women’s things and feeling women’s feelings.  It is impossible to have a true world view without hearing from the women and the men…

So…

for the girls who tell stories…/ and climb trees alongside their brothers, reaching the upper branches to look out on the world/ who dance in spite of the offbeat rhythms running through their lives/ who sing in the wrong key till they learn the notes were never theirs to sing any way/ for the girls who find their own song and their own way to sing it/ who create from wombs, from words, or from living/ having more than a little “somethin’ somethin’” to give/ for the girls who dare to have a say…

i say… thank you…/ i’m listening…

Prickly Pear Heart

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Will the Real Prickly Pear Stand Up?

The fragrance of my shampoo is prickly pear.  While I lather my head with this stuff, without even knowing what it really looks like (the cactus variety) I imagine prickly pear as the delicate Bartlett pear.  (I think the Bartlett variety is the more easily bruised compared to the Bosc or Anjou.)  Then I see the thorns sticking out of it protecting the juicy tasty flesh the inviting light green color and odor of the fruit.  I sometimes feel like a prickly pear.

It’s easy to get use to the mode of being closed and protected when it ALL seems too much – too much betrayal of others and self.  So, I wanted to change this mode of being.  It simply would not do as I was aware that this mode will not sustain a healthy way of living.  Get rid of the thorns and just be yourself; someone who many describe as sweet and sensitive. 

A short diversion about Luther Burbank, a noted botanist, who was a good friend of Paramahansa Yogananda.  He developed a spineless and thornless variety of cactus and he said:

While I was conducting experiments to make ”spineless” cactus, I often talked to the plants to create a vibration of love. ”You have nothing to fear.” I would tell them. ”You don’t need your defensive thorns. I will protect you.” Gradually the useful plant of the desert emerged in a thornless variety. (Paramahansa Yogananda, Autobiography of a Yogi, Jaico Publishing House, Bombay, Second Indian Edition, 1975, Twelfth Impression, p. 353.)

Rounding back to my original thought, I am reminded of an incident when I shared a scene with my class from my play.  My mentor asked me, “couldn’t you have some compassion for …” (a particular character in the story.)  He pointed out that I was lacking love and that I was writing with my thumb on the scale; and being the writer with the omniscient point of view I was writing with an agenda which the audience would easily be turned off about.  No one wants to be dictated to.  So I took a step back.  I wasn’t aware of what was happening in the writing. 

Explore the nature of what I’m trying to express.  This is what is more interesting rather than tipping the scale to say in the story that my hero is right and everyone else constellating around him is wrong.  It’s all of them constellating around the theme. 

The imperfect hero, I decided, is what I want to write about.  I think this is more interesting and real rather than the hero who is shown as perfectly right.  I could show him as thinking he’s perfectly right, and then show his arc when he realizes it’s not the whole truth.  There are other dimensions and not one is perfect. 

Back to prickly pear me.  When I’m aware of my modus operandi then I’ve observed my tendency to inject into my writing what I’m thinking and feeling at a personal level.  The awareness often (hopefully) makes me stop, because it makes for a disastrous piece of writing.  I could do all that in my morning pages.  Use that for all the crap and then get on with the real business of writing.

As I close my blogging week, I wanted to share with you that today I initiated the dialogue with the studio I work with about LAFPI.  I started it with an email to one of the teachers/directors of the studio.  He’ll be back on the week of October 18th, and we’ve agreed to talk in person then.

It feels good to have opened the window.  At least I know he’s open to the idea.  I explained about LAFPI and its grassroots, and described the goals we list in our website.  I also introduced the usage of our logo as “deemed appropriate” by the studio.

The worst of my fear has been slain dead.  It was really the fear of the unknown, and my pre-conception that I would be rejected.  Thinking about it makes me realize the immaturity of that mode. 

– Analyn

Soft & Vermillion

 The soft and red shade of the ripe prickly pear below is what the imperfect hero’s heart is like.  It breathes and bleeds life.

Newtonian Mechanics Applied to the LAFPI Initiative

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Alex Grey Artwork - "New of Being"

Our lives move along its path in varying degrees of speed and directions.  Like any journey it’s a sound practice to stop and re-orient ourselves to make sure we’re not deviating from our target destination.

 In my Yahoo! inbox this morning I found an email from the Dramatists Guild Women’s Initiative.  In reading the content it echoed a lot of what LAFPI is all about.  The email from the Dramatists Guild was an excellent reminder of why I’m part of LAFPI.

Revisiting the goals listed in our website is the same as revisiting personal affirmations we make to align ourselves towards our true path as we move from the micro to the macro in our vision of the shaping of our lives.  The micro influences the macro and vice versa.  The analogy that comes to mind is the 3rd law of Newton’s Law of Motion of action-reaction where as described in Wikipedia as:

The mutual forces of action and reaction between two bodies are equal, opposite and collinear.

This means that whenever a first body exerts a force F on a second body, the second body exerts a force −F on the first body.

F and −F are equal in magnitude and opposite in direction. This law is sometimes referred to as the action-reaction law, with F called the “action” and −F the “reaction”.

A synopsis of the newsletter talks about:

  1.  An “Access Event” in New York, NY which will give writers direct access to people who are in decision making roles.[1]
  2.  The first conference on Women in Theatre: Achieving Gender Parity. [2]
  3.  A general meeting with the topic of  “What am I doing to further parity for women in the American theatre that doesn’t cost any money?”

This last one really stuck an elbow to my side.  I’m reminded to go to my acting studio and ask if they would be willing to support LAFPI in using our logo. 

Asking has always been a weakness for me when it comes to some form of charity.  I’m reminded of a friend who called me recently to ask for a donation for her husband’s political campaign.  I empathized with her when I heard the hesitation exhibited by pauses, carefully selected words, the sighs and mostly the apologetic tone of her voice. After hearing her out, I wondered how the experience for both of us could’ve been different.  I’m changing my viewpoint from “charity” to “how it benefits” the studio to have the LAFPI logo and supporting what we’re trying to achieve.

We’re always championing change as a sign of progress and it takes a lot of courage and action to make it happen.  A segway into Newton’s first law of motion often referred to as the law of inertia:

  • An object that is at rest will stay at rest unless an unbalanced force acts upon it.
  • An object that is in motion will not change its velocity unless an unbalanced force acts upon it.  (source: Wikipedia)

The direct translation in my situation is “Stop procrastinating and just ask the studio if they are willing to support the LAFPI cause.”  I gain more by asking even if I don’t convince them the first time around. 

For completeness sake I’ll include the 2nd law.  F=ma.  I think it’s like the force is proportional to the rate of change (the acceleration) and inversely proportional to the mass of what we’re trying to change. 

We need a lot of force to make the change.  As seen on the page that declares our mission statement “And now the real work begins!”

The Los Angeles Female Playwrights Initiative was created with the following goals:

  1. To create an awareness of the facts: women playwrights are critically underrepresented on the American stage.
  2. To advocate for female playwrights based Los Angeles – specifically by creating an active nexus between theaters, companies, organizations and theater artists who want to produce, promote and employ women playwrights.
  3. To investigate and report the accurate history of producing organizations and plays by women in the Los Angeles area in the 21st century.
  4. To recognize and support LA-area theaters who produce, promote and employ female theater artists through sharing our logo and advocating for – and attending – their productions.
  5. To open channels and create opportunities for women playwrights, and by extension all women theater artists, in Los Angeles and beyond.

Before the end of my blogging week I will report on how I did with asking the studio to support LAFPI.

[1] Event organizer Raquel Almazan said, “I feel access events are necessary because exposure to mid and large theatres, playwriting residencies, fellowships, and development opportunities are difficult to access.  This is especially true for writers who do not come from prestigious academic institutions, are not represented by literary agents, or who work outside the well made play content and structure.” 

[2] This event event marks the first anniversary of the DG Women’s Initiative whose mission is to identify and address the challenges facing women dramatists, and develop action steps to advance and sustain fairness, equality and gender parity for all dramatists.  The keynote speaker for the Symposium is playwright, Julia Jordan, and features two panels moderated by Julie Crosby, producing artistic director of the Women’s Project, and playwright, Tina Howe.  Confirmed panelists include: Tessa LaNeve, literary manager of Primary Stages; Linda Chapman, associate artistic director of New York Theater Workshop; Beth Bickers, agent with Abrams Artists; Emily Mann, artistic director of McCarter Theater; playwrights Annie Baker and Winter Miller. Additional panelists will be announced.  We look forward to welcoming those of you who are coming to New York to participate!

Trusting Your Inner Wisdom

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Thangka Image from Wikipedia

 Just go.  Do it.  Even if what you’re thinking of embarking on is new, foreign and maybe even scary then it’s important now more than ever to trust your inner wisdom.  Trusting the inner voice strengthens our connection to the higher source of our creativity, even if we are blocked creatively.

 Yesterday, I had my first energy healing therapy with a healer whom I met at Jennie Webb’s world premiere of her play, “Yard Sale Signs”.  The Healer came initially as a stranger on Saturday night.  I had a reservation and I was running really late on Saturday evening.  I was ready to forgo the play as  I was afraid of walking in late.  But, my sense of commitment was stronger than my fear so I quickly put on my helmet and fired up the motorcycle.  I wound through traffic and found a spot right in front of the theater.  The doors were open and there was a short line at the box office. 

One of the box-office attendants called out, “Is there a Lauren here?”  I shook my head no.  Then the woman behind me asked “What did she say?”  I said, “She’s looking for Lauren.”  We both settled back into our spots and waited politely for our turn.  After a quick and warm hello with Jennie, I found a seat and settled in for a string of provoking and funny conversations in the next 80 minutes.   The play explores 3 varying mother-daughter relationships.  The impact of the story telling unfolds unconsciously. 

After the play there were pockets of conversations, and I stood next to the woman who, earlier was with me at the box office line up.  She’s a kindergarten teacher and she met Jennie at a fundraiser.  Further into the conversation I found out Hillary is a healer.  She is an Energy Healing Therapist.  Based on what I heard from her I was deeply interested.  She spoke about how Energy Healing Therapy is a healing process that clears blocked “chi” meridians.  This language spoke chakras to me and I was already familiar with the energy systems of chakras based on Christiane Northrup’s book,  “Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom” (Publisher:  Random House.) 

Next thing I found myself asking her if she could see me for a session the next day.  Rather impromptu, but she admitted she’s an impromptu kind of person.   Meanwhile, my left brain was already putting on the stops:  the cost, the trip out to Venice Beach, the traffic because of the Abbot Kinney Festival.  But Hillary was all about finding a way, a solution.  We made the appointment for 10 a.m.; I showed up at her purple painted door at 10:30 (my lateness signals my resistance.)

At Venice Beach the street festivities were well on their way.  Hillary’s home was a canopy of a serene oasis against the stuffy air.  I was boiling underneath all my motorcycle gear and the heat of the engine.  I changed into shorts and a fresh shirt in the bathroom while I stared at Buddhist thangkas.

The session begins with her question, “Why are you here?”  Though she was aware of the reason it was also a question that forces me to be clear on my intention.  I intuited that the problem was my resolve to finish my first rewrite which I’ve been circling round and round with, and never getting to the end. 

I couldn’t get past a certain point.  The path was blocked.  I had the desire to be creative but I lacked something and I was getting tired of trying to figure out how to get through it.  A heavy lethargic grossness overcame me whenever a great idea popped up.  As soon as I make my way towards the computer or pick up the guitar, I allowed myself to get distracted – too easily.  I found excuses:  coffee, sugar, housecleaning, going for a walk with the dog, and mostly “I’m not ready, because I don’t have the confidence that I have something to say.”  I wouldn’t allow myself the permission to just do it, and trust my inner guidance that I am an authority on what my imagination brings up.

I explained in depth to Hillary personal issues from the past, and that I needed helped to move forward.  It was sort of a desperate plea for help, but I wasn’t sure what form that would come in.  As I relayed the “issues” one by one she would stop me to ask where physically I was feeling something.  Mostly I pointed to the abdomen, and she observed a few times that I held my breath.  After the consultation she asked if I was ready to go on the table where she touched on the energy centers.  She began with a pendulum to determine the blocked energy points in my system.  The answers from the pendulum exposed that I was blocked on my 2nd and 3rd chakras.  The 2nd chakra is related to sexuality, creativity, finances, personal power, relationships, sensuality and pleasure; while the 3rd is about the development of personality, self-esteem and ego. (Reference –  Christiane Northrup’s website:  http://www.drnorthrup.com/womenshealth/energycenters/index.php.)

I recognized that my blocked chi in this chakra is related among other things with my disjointed relationship with my mother.  In trying to do my “Physician, heal thyself” I had neglected to dig into my own “sickness”.  Guilt can be like eddies draining you down, keeping you under, preventing surfacing up towards light and new growth.  

Story telling is how we share our humanity.  It is a form of healing that asks of us to share our joys and grievances to a sympathetic ear.  The wonder to me is the magic of how my inner guidance led my path to Hillary.  With the network of people who participated that evening at the Rogue Machine Theater, I wonder what new connections were made.  For myself, continuity of the story about mother-daughter relationships and how my intuition guided me to take the risk of trying something new, and being vulnerable to someone unfamiliar, and then coming to a point of initiating the unraveling of a knot in my chi relating to my family history, my need for security, validation and healing of hurts past forgotten but still resonating in my psyche and body as ailments.

While Hillary was moving energy through my 2nd chakra I found myself unexpectedly sobbing.  Further on, perhaps after that channel opened up I breathed continuously and deeper than ever before.  I spoke to her, “I feel like I’m drinking water for the first time.”  Her response was “the 2nd chakra is associated with water.”  Wow.  This is too bizarre to try to understand, but just accept it Analyn, I told myself.

Afterwards, I had a feeling of deep gratitude and strong sense of well being that everything is going to be alright and I can continue my work on the play.   There are different methods of resolving creative blocks and this is one method which I highly recommend based on personal experience.  The writing process is in itself a healing process and it’s a cathartic process whereby writers need sensitivity to the effects of the process in their bodies, heart and mind.

 To learn more about Hillary go to:  http://hillarybedell.wordpress.com/.  You can contact her via email at hillarybedell@yahoo.com

Part 5 (or) Some and Summation

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I think, then, as I wrap this monster up, that the thing to remember is that we are all of us aspiring towards the extraordinary.

This is not an easy, or necessarily “friendly”, field.  Neither is the theater industry is a snake-pit either.  (Hello Hollywood!)  But the journey of the creative spirit continues to ask of us an incredible balance:  making art for art’s sake is one thing, commercializing it quite another.

If a theater company is interested in diverse theater, or if a theatre company generally produces plays about/by men, and if I am a white female playwright, do I keep writing the way I have, or do I write more characters of color/or/male?  How do we maintain our integrity in our strides to get ahead, be we author, producer, or artistic director, while we also strive to maintain cultural “fairness”?

Or is thinking about it too much a danger of another sort?

As a literary manager, I must remember to value balance – I would not want to see a whole season of plays written by “privileged white men” anymore than I would like to see a whole season of just about anything else.  The key is to create a balance within the designated aesthetic of any given theater company… And the theatre company itself has every right to decide what that aesthetic is.

My job as playwright then is to try to find theater companies who’s aesthetic matches my own… or even (perhaps) those theatre companies who look to be open for a feminine revolution.

The struggle then continues to be both global and internal; to engage in the community we so want to conquer, but to do so as best we, the individual theatre artist, can.  We will continue to juggle our own perspectives of what makes a play “good” and what makes it “necessary” and we will continue to fight for those that stir our convictions.

Meanwhile, there will continue to be conversations among those at the top and between those on the bottom, about how in the world to manage things better…

I guess, what I’m saying is, I can’t wait to be one of those people at the “top” – where the discussion is less about surviving as it is about setting the trends.

Part 4 (or) In Which we Juggle…

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I’ve always been a big advocate of “Competition of Self” – what I mean by this is that as I navigate the playwright’s landscape, I may see many people winning accolades that I myself covet, but I truly believe that the only course of action from such observations is to learn from these talented writers as I myself strive to top my last work with the new.  I may feel a flash of jealousy or of heartache, but I never think to myself “They won!  They beat me!”  Instead, I think to myself “DAMNIT!  (sigh) Alright… well, what can I learn from this writer so that I can do better next time?”

It’s one of the things that keep me sane.

But, in exploring this week’s train of thought, I have to ask myself who my scripts are in competition with…  It’s certainly not the brain-child of Sarah Ruhl or Martin McDonough!  While I like to think I write on par with them (don’t we all) and while I have been influenced by both, no theater in their right mind is currently weighing my playscript and one of, oh, say David Lindsay-Abaire’s, in their hands wondering “Gee, I wonder which we should go with.”   Because I’m simply not a big enough fish yet to be part of that kind of decision.  Instead, my scripts are sitting in piles with other “emerging” playwrights – those that have a few awards under their belts, but no BIG productions… yet.  We are engaged in silent battle for desk space and shelf space… We go head-to-head for literary manager’s time and interest…

Every.

Single.

Day.

We playwrights just aren’t present to witness the literary carnage.

And so, we send out scripts to various competitions, hoping that we’ll win a reading or a ribbon, or, if we’re lucky, some kind of travel or monetary prize… OR, if we’re really lucky, an airline ticket stuffed with cash all wrapped in ribbons and trade magazine announcements exclaiming our brain-child a total GENIUS…

Yeah, that happens.

But the point is, we hope we will win accolades so that we can use the 5-seconds of fame to edge out the other scripts in that “emerging” pile to the left of the Lit Manager’s elbow.  (The pile that sits depressingly close to the lip of the desk and the gaping mouth of the trashcan…)

So what happens when a theatre company run by someone like that first artistic director endeavors to fill slots according to a cross-cultural quota?    Does such thinking narrow the question from “Who’s the best playwright?” to “Who’s the best Latino playwright?  Who’s the best Woman playwright?” or “Who’s the best transgender-African -American-who-walks-with-a-limp playwright?”

And is it helpful?

I don’t know the answer… I wear enough hats to recognize that it’s overly complicated.  There have been times when, in reading a winning script, I’ve scratched my head and thought to myself “Jesus, I wish I had thought of this!”  And there have been times when I’ve looked over lists of contest winners that read like a United Nations meeting, but included plays that I had actually turned away for (what I perceived to be) poor writing.  I’ve been on both sides of the selecting and entering… and I still don’t have an answer.

Because I want to believe that the best man or woman will reach the stage.  I want to believe that if I keep growing as an artist, if I keep writing and dreaming and running this race, that my work will be recognized, produced, and applauded regardless of my gender or (lack of) ethnicity.  I want to believe that I will get there on merit…

But as a woman playwright who is all-to-aware of the numbers before her, I will also take any advantage I can get.

I will enter contests designed to honor female playwrights, and I will challenge any contest or theatre company that seems to eschew balance in (perceived) favor to male playwrights over female.  I will also look at a list like that one from the “UN” and sigh with frustration – What were the parameters of their evaluation if not totally and irritatingly PC?

Because I want it both ways.

And it all speaks to the one achingly human truth – no matter the rules or the designations, we are all of us reaching and scraping for the finish line.  It’s a business, it’s a dream, it’s a damned difficult trail.  We try to find the best shoes to get us there… sometimes they’re ugly, but if they get us there…

Well, more often than not (and no matter their “how”) we will defend those shoe’s merits to the death.

Because that goal, that gold, that rising above the tides to be seen, heard, my GOD, produced?  Doesn’t it seem built on a lot of hard spilt blood and tears all the same?  Isn’t it the mountain we look down on, and not our feet, even as we focus our eyes on the next looming peak?

(Tomorrow: Part 5 (or) Some and Summation )

Part 3, or The Angry White Woman…

LAFPI, playwriting, , , , , ,

Fast forward 6 years to yet another literary job, wherein I’m actually the person in charge this time – Yes, I reported to an artistic director, but this time I was running the literary department, which consisted of… oh…  wait a minute, it was just me again.

Hmmm, maybe “being in charge” was really just a nice way of dressing up an otherwise low paying pile of responsibility 🙂

In any case, I was a woman on a mission!

This theatre company was also dedicated to Los Angeles writers, but specifically plays by, for, and about culturally diverse peoples.  This time it was written into the mission statement, I had a very clear understanding of what they wanted and I loved the energy and the people responsible for this theatre.

I read a ton of beautiful plays (and not-so beautiful, of course) in my time there; all written by playwrights with something to say and with dreams of being heard.  I learned a great deal about the art of the submission, I also learned a little bit more about those who submit…  Particularly in the case of my first nasty email; a vociferous letter written to me by a white female playwright who had read over our submission guidelines and found them lacking.

Among it’s many blistering accusations, the following stood out as the writer’s main beef with me and the theater: “How nice of you to support female playwrights of color… what a shame the rest of us are left out in the cold.”

I sat in shock for a good 10 minutes after I read the thing, wondering how in the world I would respond…   Wasn’t it the theatre company’s prerogative to decide what its mission would be? And had they really denied “white women” a slot in its mission anyway?  In their drive to represent diversity in LA, surely women as a whole were included as an under-represented people… or were we?

I wrote back to this woman in the kindest words possible “Thank you for your interest in our company, and for sharing your heartfelt opinions.  While I, a female playwright as well, hear your frustrations, I encourage you to seek out more opportunities for women playwrights on the web, as there are quite a few…”

What else could I say?  I certainly wasn’t going to ask her for her script- she had been ridiculously spiteful.  She had also signed her email anonymously as “an angry female playwright” or something like that, perhaps forgetting in the heat of the moment that her name would be clear as day in the “from” field of the email. (Note to all:  if you’re going to send an anonymous email, make sure it is, indeed, anonymous.)

In any case, it was an awkward exchange, but one I remembered well… And one that begged the question – Is polarity healthy?  Are the limited support resources that exist fractured and specific for greater purpose?  In creating our own sort of theatrical “Affirmative Action”, are we creating better theater?  And is this system breeding resentment among the very playwrights it is designed to help?

(Tomorrow – Part 4, or, In Which we Juggle…)

Part 2… (or)… Rewind!

LAFPI, playwriting, , , , , , , , , ,

When I was an undergrad, I worked as a literary intern for a Los Angeles theater company.  The company’s mission was to produce work by Los Angeles writers.  I was put in charge of selecting plays for a fall festival of new work.  “Oh goodie!” I thought, “I can’t wait to meet these writers!”  And I proceeded to select a handful of plays that I thought exhibited the most talent and promise.  They were on varied subjects, three were written by men, two by women, one of the women was Latina, one of the men Japanese; all the rest were white.

When I sent an email to the artistic director with the playwright’s names and play synopsis, I received back an email exclaiming that my selection wasn’t diverse enough – why were there so many white men in the line up? – Along with a list of “diverse” playwrights to contact about putting in the festival; playwrights who I had previously heard of, but none of whom had submitted work to me.

I wrote back questioningly, “It looks like you have a quota in mind – are you asking me to fill these slots according to ethnicity?” Which elicited another bristling response “Los Angeles is a diverse community.  It has always been our intent to reflect that on our stages.  We have only once done an all white-cast play, and one of those characters was handicapped”

Wow.

Needless to say, only one of the plays I had selected was for an all-white cast.

So I suggested that the artistic director’s intent be reflected in the company’s mission; maybe more diverse people would submit work and we would have a more colorful (and well written) pool of scripts to pull from in the future.

To say that the whole discussion was “awkward” would be an understatement.

Now… several things must be addressed if I am to be as objective as possible :

  • I am white. It is possible that as such, on a subconscious level, my predilection is for scripts by/for/about similarly pale-skinned persons.  I don’t think this is the case, as some of my favorite authors hail from different parts of the rainbow, but, nonetheless, it could very well be a factor for me in determining which plays I find exciting.
  • I am a woman. As such, my tastes may very well be different than a man’s, or, as recent studies have shown, I might be more critical of  women’s work than men’s… I certainly hope this isn’t the case, but it must be mentioned. Especially since, as I acknowledge in the following bullet point…
  • I am a playwright. What does this have to do with anything?  Perhaps nothing… or perhaps as a playwright, I have developed a certain style/taste and hold material to similar standards of my own work… perhaps I like best the work that I would like best to have written…   I couldn’t tell you.  Certainly I revel most in work that I look at with admiration – but is this admiration based on an internal, completely subjective scale?   Am I secretly lusting after white-centric plays because those seem to be what I write?

I bring these things to the forefront of my discussion because I think it is important  (if I am going to ask what I am about to ask) that I acknowledge what may be my own limitations as a script-reader.  It is important to acknowledge that while I am a heterosexual, white, female playwright, the artistic director was a homosexual, *non-white (I don’t want you all guessing who I’m talking about now), male director, who had a completely different perspective than I .

So who was I to argue for these “White man” plays?  Who was I to be reading for this company in the first place if our aesthetic was so off?  And, as a woman, should I have been pushing them on out the door with the same verve as my AD?

But, more importantly; who were wither one of us to host a new play festival of work we had to go out and ask for, when we had a mountain of engaging submissions from Los Angeles writers before us…  just because those submissions were from predominantly white playwrights.  And was I supposed to include (what I considered to be) weaker material, simply because it was written by someone more “representational” of LA?

Was it my job to go out and ask for new material from established writers of color simply to make our festival better reflect (in the artistic director’s eyes) the Los Angeles community?

Right, wrong, or in-between, what wound up happening is what usually happens when an artistic director makes a request – we shuffled and asked, and put together a line-up much more in line with his vision and much further from the material I’d been reading the past 6 months…  Meanwhile, I had to send “TBNT” letters to a handful of very qualified and talented writers, for no other reason than that they were too pale for us to produce.

Isn’t that a strange and odd turn of events?

~Tiffany

(Tomorrow:  Part 3, or, The Angry White Woman…)