Inspiration Playlists

by Cindy Marie Jenkins

Hello! It’s been a while. After an incredibly life changing August (turns out I was pregnant the whole summer and didn’t know it – surprise!), and hustling for audience to attend three very different shows (What Kind of God?, Pato, Muerte y Tulipan and Lagrimas de Agua Dulce), I see the light.

So instead of writing once a week, I’m back to waking up early and writing with as little editing as I can humanly handle, until my official work day begins (around 9am). I’m lucky that I created this flexibility for myself, and turns out a proto-person inside you makes you wake up early anyway. That is, when you don’t stay up until 2a.m. re-reading Mists of Avalon. 

Even though working from home provides the ultimate in productivity – the ability to shut email and social media tabs you just can’t handle, or that only serve to make you mad right now – I still need to create the space to write. Usually this involves four important steps:

1. Leaving my phone in the bedroom, on silent.

2. Turning my old school desk calendar over or removing it from writing area entirely.

3. Using headphones even if I am the only one home.

4. My Inspiration Playlists.

I thought I’d share some of the Inspiration Playlists. They are incredibly specific to me and my projects, and meant to be background (once you’ve already watched it). This especially works for me because although I tend to force myself into a writing focused frenzy, I still need a short break once in a while. These specifically curated Inspirations are meant to be there when I need a distraction, then inspire, and drive me into the next phase of the writing cycle.

Please share yours in the comments.

I’ll add more Michael Wood soon, but he’s incredible. Check his varied netflix selection out as well and you’ll see why he was quite the intellectual British heart-throb.

Ursula K. Le Guin. Just magical.

Neil Gaiman. Because Neil Gaiman.

Storyboard is Hit or Miss, but Sooo interesting when it hits. Mary Robinette-Koval is also a puppeteer, so she references playwrights and theatre frequently.

The By Appointment live streams at East LA Rep in this playlist capture some golden artistic kicks in the butt. I’m looking at you, Luis Alfaro and Adelina Anthony.

Sweet Sixteen

by Jen Huszcza

As I said on Monday, this is my 16th time blogging for LAFPI. I have also decided to go on hiatus for awhile. This hiatus could last six months or six years or sixty years. There’s no scandalous story behind my hiatus. I just need some time off.

I want to thank Jennie Webb, Robin Byrd, and all my fellow bloggers for all the hard work they have put into this blog since 2010. When I started, they gave me a mandate that I could write about anything relating to playwriting and LA Theatre. I also want to thank them for letting me do my thing.

When I turned sweet sixteen, I received a brown leather jacket as a birthday present. It reminded me of Indiana Jones. When I put it on, I felt adventurous. I still have that jacket. It’s a bit beaten up, and I had to patch the shoulder. It doesn’t fit the way it used to, but I still put it on from time to time although nowadays I don’t need a jacket to feel adventurous. I just need myself.

Keep it positive.

Peace.

Jen

On Rejection

 By Jen Huszcza

Today I want to talk about something all playwrights have dealt with at some point. Rejection.

We’ve all been there. We apply for thing we really really want. We think we have a really good shot at getting the workshop/grant/production. We put a lot of work into the application.

Then we don’t get it.

And it sucks.

Now, this is the point where I should be inspirational, where I should tell you to brush yourself off and keep going, where I tell you that you can do it and you will find a place for your play.

But I’m not gonna do that. I’m going to let you relish in the misery of the suckiness of your rejection.

Now, take all that misery and suckiness and anxiety and depression and roll it up into a little ball as tight as you can.

Look at that ball, study its awful grossness until you are ready to vomit.

 Now throw the ball away.

 And move on.

It’s not about how hard we fall, it’s how we get up from our falls. I recently learned that sometimes after a fall, it’s okay to spend a minute or two on the ground to catch your breath. When boxers get knocked down, they get a ten count. Sometimes it’s better to get up at five or six or seven than at one or two. It’s a few more seconds and a few more breaths.

Rejection does suck. Rejection is bad. I wish there was a way for all the playwrights to get everything we want, but playwriting is a dying art with very little financial incentive in a bottom-line country which does not support arts and culture on a government level.

I will also say that I have worked on the other side of the rejection line as a grant reviewer and play reader. I have championed folks on the basis of their work. However, a lot of the work I have read was crap. It needed one more thing, one more element to make it shine. Think about how you want to shine. The people who read your work and your applications are people with a hard job to do. Please don’t make their job harder. Please check your spelling.

And move on.

3 Stages of Writing a Play

By Jen Huszcza

After writing plays for nearly two decades, I have realized that writing a play happens in three stages. Yes, it’s only three stages. Yes, I will tell you what those three stages are.

These three stages might recycle themselves through multiple drafts.

1. I’m on fire! I see it all! I have the vision! I am God! I am King! I am Goddess! This play will be great! This play will stand on the shoulders of previous plays and reach out to future generations! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

2. Okay, let me think about this. What am I saying? What is the setting? What is the space? What are the visuals? What can not be seen? What is the character doing? Who is that character? Who am I? What is my place in the universe? Think. It’s somewhere in the head. Okay, okay, okay, okay?

3. I sooo want to be done with your sorry ass. I can’t write this god damn play anymore. I can’t mentally listen and watch these characters anymore. I have another play idea that will be better. End. End. End. End now.

Mmmfahs

Lately, as I’ve been contemplating the future, I’ve been thinking about my past. One item that sticks out to me is my MFA.

Yes, I have an MFA. Sometimes, I call it Miffa. Sometimes, I call it Mmmfah. During the stoner years, I called it the Master of Farts. I don’t think of myself as a Master or a Fine Art. I have been tempted to change the F to a more profitable B. Mmmbah? Nah.

I’ve been asked several times through the years if an MFA was worth it? The asker was usually contemplating if he or she should get an MFA. I didn’t like to answer that question because it had the word should in it.

Here’s what I think about the MFA:

It’s an accomplishment, not a guarantee. I busted my ass to get it. I feel a definite fellowship with my fellow writing classmates. We all survived twenty wild months.

Does one have to have an MFA to be a good playwright? Of course not. If you’re a good writer, you’re a good writer. If you’re a bad writer, an MFA won’t help you.

I didn’t get my MFA to make you feel bad for not having an MFA. 

I have an MFA. I keep it rolled up in the cardboard tube in an old metal trunk.

How Directors Can Get Themselves into My Good Graces

by Jen Huszcza

Hello, I am back for the 16th time blogging for the LAFPI. This is also the last week that I will be blogging for the LAFPI for awhile. I’m taking a break, but don’t worry I have a week of fun planned.

Today, I want to talk about the director/playwright relationship from my point of view as a playwright. I have worked with some great directors as a playwright, performer, and stage direction reader. I have also had the opportunity to witness directors say and do some stupid things.

So today, I am writing about how exactly directors can get themselves into my good graces. By the way, do people say good graces anymore?

So directors, this is how you deal with Playwright Jen:

Chocolates work.

Don’t talk about conflict. That’s sooo high school. Talk about engagement. How do the characters engage each other? How do they engage the audience?

Don’t talk about character growth, character change, character development. Characters are who they are and exist in their moments. Help the actors find their moments. Help the actors look good.

Don’t talk about story. If I wanted to write a story, I would have written story.

Plays don’t have to mean anything. They just have to have a beginning, middle, and end. Plays don’t have to be socially or politically relevant. They don’t have to be funny or sad. They just exist in time.

Don’t whine. Just don’t.

Don’t yell. If you’re yelling, that tells me you’re out of control. I also get annoyed by directorial waves of the arm and smoking indoors.

Don’t use the following adjectives: crazy, wacky, wild, avant garde, strange, weird, and Beckettesque (shivers).

And please don’t call me insane even in fun. I have too much respect for the insane to be in their company.

Don’t change the words unless I say so. I change words. That’s my job.

I will sit in on any rehearsal. Or I won’t. I can’t sit for long periods of time, so I might stand and pace. It doesn’t mean anything.

Use the word mystery. I don’t offer answers or solutions. I like asking questions.

Look for rituals. I like to create rituals. I like to break rituals. Look for patterns and repetitions.

Be meticulous. Be patient. Be prepared.

Make choices.

Think visually and physically.

Finally, play.

RADAR L.A.: Staging the Political as Personal

By Diane Lefer

A stirring doubleheader of RADAR L.A. productions last night at LATC gave me a lot to think about, including this: I am left wondering if it was coincidence, curators’ choice, or larger cultural influences that gave Los Angeles an international theater and performance festival at which only two plays (of 14 scripted pieces, many involving female artists) were written by women; both women are Latin American; both of their plays look at generational trauma in the aftermath of defining tragedies in their countries; both temper their documentary materials with poetic license as they explore the intimately personal in the political. Whatever. I can thank the forces – occult or otherwise – that brought Mariana Villegas and Lola Arias to town.

image-3For Villegas, in her supertitled 55-minute solo performance Se Rompen Las Olas, the disaster is the Mexico City earthquake of 1985 – evoked through video news clips –  that left tens of thousands dead, discredited the government, and briefly brought together the woman who would be her mother and the man whose absence and abandonment would shake the performer’s life to the core. Villegas holds the stage with a powerfully expressive physicality as when her exuberant and uninhibited dance shifts in an instant to a vision of abuse. At one point, a recorded song asks Where did the earthquake catch you? and goes on to answer dancing with Catalina, shaking the floor so hard, the singer explains, he never noticed the quake. (Can anyone imagine a comparable song in this country citing 9/11?) In Se Rompen Las Olas, these lyrics with their upbeat tune and danceable beat offer a compelling truth of daily life and human desire going on in the midst of catastrophe while Villegas, through her body and her words reminds us that people born in the aftermath of disaster continue to feel the reverberation in their lives.

arias01For Lola Arias, the disaster is the coup in Chile that overthrew the government of Salvador Allende and led to the military dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet. The supertitled script of El Año en que Nací (The Year I Was Born) is drawn from the actual lives of the 11 performers all of whom were born (or were infants) at the time of the coup and who seek to understand the roles their parents played during years of repression, violence, prison, and exile. Notably, the performers come from families all across the political spectrum from participants in the armed struggle on the left to the authoritarian paramilitary organization on the right along with those who had political preferences but tried to go along with the status quo. While the opening scenes of the play suggest the new generation’s commonalities, the picture becomes more complex and fractious (and comical) when the players are challenged to line up to show their political stance, their economic position – When it comes to poverty, does having a dirt floor at home trump going hungry? – and their social status as reflected in skin color. Simple yet inventive staging keeps the production lively with tonal shifts and surprise.

Arias, from Argentina, previously created a similar program exploring the post-dictatorship era in her own country and if you’re familiar with Latin American politics, her work shouldn’t be missed. Know nothing about Allende and Pinochet? The production still fascinates. It runs two hours without intermission without ever inducing fidgets.

Final performances of both productions are Sunday, and then they are gone. See the RADAR L.A. schedule here: http://www.redcat.org/festival/radar-la-festival-2013

Villegas and Arias made me think of another Latin American woman at the head of a company that uses documentary material – Claudia Santiago who writes, directs, and performs with Mexico City-based Espejo Mutable. Their most recent production, Náa-Gunaá, looks at the lives of indigenous migrants (including children) from the south of Mexico who are exposed to exploitation and pesticides as they harvest GMO crops in Baja California. The company would love the opportunity to share this work and explore the lives of indigenous migrants from Oaxaca in our own California fields.

logo_radarla_transparent_0_0And a quick shoutout to three additional RADAR L.A. offerings that have women at the helm if not in the playwright’s chair:

Puppet designer extraordinaire Janie Geiser directs Clouded Sulphur.

Franco-Austrian director Giselle Vienne chose to employ simple hand puppets to create the unnerving effect in Jerk, the story of a serial killer.

Theatre Movement Bazaar, with Tina Kronis as director and choreographer, continues its reinterpretation of Chekhov with Track 3.

 

Diane Lefer is a playwright, author, and activist whose collaboration with Hector Aristizábal, Nightwind, has been performed in LA and in 30 other countries around the globe. Also in LA, her work has been presented by Grupo Ta’Yer at the Frida Kahlo Theater, Indie Chi Productions, Playwrights Arena, Three Roses Players, and Triumvirate Pi. She is co-author with Aristizábal of The Blessing Next to the Wound: A story of art, activism, and transformation as well as several anthologized essays about Theater of the Oppressed, and she has worked with theater groups in Colombia and Bolivia. Her works of fiction include the historical novel, The Fiery Alphabet, published this month, and the short story collection, California Transit, which received the Mary McCarthy Prize. Visit www.dianelefer.weebly.com.

Elephant 15

by Erica Bennett

The best question a director ever asked me was, what animal are you?

I knew my answer before I ever walked on stage; I found my way.

 

What rhythm drives you? Can you hear it?

Is your music fully formed? Or is it a single drum beat?

 

I’ve always been drawn to music from my father’s 45s to Karen Carpenter,

From old time rock ‘n roll to Janis Joplin, balladeers to Queen, Linda Ronstadt to Pink.

 

While I don’t know the language of music, I can articulate how it makes me feel.

When I am sad, it is waves on a moonlit beach. When I am happy, it peals.

 

I am pealing tonight.

High rise

by Erica Bennett

 

I am Wo sans man

I am the Ater

I read Poe; try

My lips Tick

My bed Rocks

But I split Hairs

 

I’m writing a short play in verse using an non-rhyming 4/3/5/2 metered structure. Yet, last night, my play had no action; it was more a dialogue which was my original intention.

Most of my stuff has internal action; perhaps better suited for another medium? Anyway, I threw in a dagger and some ill-intent, the proverbial kitchen sink. The play is based upon a myth and I’m not far off the mark. In fact, it was actually a good note and relatively easy for me to address; a little polished steel waving around the Christ child should get the blood boiling this holiday season… That’s the hope, anyway. I want this experiment in language of mine to be born and born again.

My friend asked me who is looking out for my work, so when I die, it won’t end up in a dumpster with the rest of my personal belongings. That’s a good question. Are you archiving your stuff? You should.

Magic

by Erica Bennett

 

It’s Thursday

Already

And I’m late

And it’s October

Already

And it’s New Years

And spring break

And October again

And I am reminded of When Harry Met Sally

“And I’m going to be forty. When? Someday.”

Only I’ve not been forty for forty years

Because I’m eighty

And I’m dead like the rest of ‘em.

But rather than cry

It makes me smile, wonder

Where did the magic come from?

That single second of unreasoning inspiration

Fueled by adrenalin and cigarettes

Maybe sex and coffee, alcohol and emotion

That kept me up all hours of the night

Not wanting it to end

Warding off sleep = death