All posts by Robin Byrd

Running Up the Side of the Mountain…

LAFPI, Playwright, playwriting, , ,

When I was in the military, one of my duty stations was Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas.  El Paso was so hot that at 0600 in the morning the units were already sweating before the run.  Running during the day could be considered suicidal; it rarely rained so much so, that there was no drainage system.  In order the make the PT (physical training) runs, one first needed to become weatherized and second, one needed to match the stride of a 6’ 2” male (the average height of the males on the post at that time).  I am 5’ 2” and it took me a step and a half to keep up with them.  My solution:  putting in the extra work; so I ran on Saturdays too — first around the base – that kept me about a half block behind which one didn’t want to be because if there was another unit behind you, they would pass you like road kill (not a good look when you get back to formation). 

It was a hard few months just to stay behind the second unit.  One day, one of the male soldiers in my unit (under 6 feet) told me about a mountain about 30 minutes away from the base that was good to run down.  He said that I would never be behind another unit again.  “Running up it,” he said, “was overkill.”  But I wanted to do more than just not be behind another unit, I wanted to be with mine and I did not want to make the other females look bad who were making the run with no trouble.  So, I was going for uphill work.  The thing about unit runs was there was the formation after the run and if you were getting an award that was when you got it.  If you weren’t there…“Shame on you.”  You had all of 3 minutes to catch your breath.

Then there was the CG’s Run (Commanding General) which was always longer than our regular run and if he felt “good” that day, the General would be present for award giving (even if it meant he had to run a little longer past his drop off point).  The entire base was running together during the CG’s Run.  It started at the Head Shed and picked up and dropped off units as we all circled the base once.  Never embarrass your Commanding Officer (CO) and First Sergeant by not being present at the end of that run.  So, 5’ 2” me ran the extra miles on the weekend up the side of the mountain to make sure I was on point should I ever get an award – which I did.  You can imagine the look on my CO and First Sergeant’s faces after the CG run when “Byrd, front and center!” was called and I materialized out of the ranks– completely obvious to everyone that I had made the run and wasn’t out of breath.

I think about those military days…especially when the goal I am trying to reach as a writer seems to be an uphill battle.  I remind myself about the mountain that was hard to even walk up the first time but after some time and diligence, I was able to run it…  I remember how it felt to make the runs.  As long as I use the time I am waiting to continue to hone my craft and expand my repertoire, I am not losing anything, not even time…  I am building… muscle, stamina, and confidence – confidence that when the time is nigh, I will be more than ready to stand among peers and not be out of breath…  I will be ready to report “front and center” with work built on strides perfected by running up the side of the mountain…

Nothing’s Impossible…

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Nothing’s impossible…I tell myself.  As long as I stay focused, writing one line at a time, I can do anything.  I know it will keep me up all night sometimes but I also know the immediate reward of completing something.   To me, it is what I must do.  I have a list of stories I plan to write; I add new ones to the list when they materialize.  I read through the list to remind myself of the stories from time to time.  I never think I have enough finished work because I have so much I want to write…  Keeping my website up-to-date helps me stay focused and on course no matter the challenges of juggling work and writing.  I believe that one day I’ll be free to just write but until then, I try to…   

“Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it.”  Habakkuk 2:2

One definition of “to run” is to “perform something, to carry out or accomplish something.”  There’s nothing like finishing a play, then another, and another…  Adding a new play to my list of completed pieces gives me a sense of accomplishment like no other…  I know that I am running uphill each time I decide to write another play but when I reach “The End”, I also reaffirm that nothing is impossible…

The subConscious…

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Last night I was dreaming about writing Fiddler’s Bridge.  I was dissecting the connections and characters and what their deals are.  I kept running through what was going on in my story all the while trying to sleep.  I awoke this morning wondering why in the world I was dreaming about my darn story.  This is not something I do in the early stages, it usually happens as I approach the end of Act One or the beginning of Act Two.  I was still tired so I tried to go back to sleep.  All I wanted was fifteen more minutes to make up for the interrupt – but that interrupt just continued right on through my extra fifteen minutes. 

“Okay, okay, I see the point where she takes her moment.  I won’t forget.  Yes.  I hear the silences.  Now, can I have my fifteen minutes?”

Thus went my conscious conversation with my subconscious.  It has got a whole lot to say about the structure of the subconscious world of the play.  How does one do that – write the subconscious world?  I try not to think about those kinds of things too hard; it normally takes care of itself without me having to be so aware of it.  My guess is that I have to approach this piece in a new way (along with some of my old ways).  This is about the only place in my life where I can embrace change without too much kicking and screaming.

I trust my subconscious – like hearing from it – it’s free to be…  Sounds like a dream, feels like a dream but doesn’t need interpreting.  It’s always pretty clear and sure of what’s needed to accomplish the task.  It abides in the secret place with my spirit man and is more in tune with the deep flow of things because it is uncensored and un-distracted by life and sleep… 

So on to the sub area…

Building Houses…

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I like watching houses being built especially if they have basements and the ground has to be dug out.  I like watching the pouring of the foundation and the laying of the cornerstones.  I like watching the leveling and anchoring.  I like seeing the little by little progress that eventually ends up being a finished house ready for furnishing.  I like knowing what the inners look like… 

The new dream house for the Home and Gardens network looks like a cabin on the outside but when you go inside, it is a completely modern house.  It’s beautiful (as they always are) but I was shocked by the blatant contrast between the outside and the inside of the house.  I actually gasped and not in a good way because I was thrown for a loop.  But, I was totally intrigued by the contrast and beauty of the house so I could not help looking at every nook and cranny…  And for that split second – at the moment of my gasp – I thought about theater, how the most effective pieces make you gasp as well.  They catch you by surprise and take you to places you never thought you would go to or move you in a way you never thought would be possible.  My first viewing of the house was like watching the revelation of a character whose outward appearance does not accurately depict who he/she is – “the secret”.  But, looking a little closer at the inners when exposed, you suddenly know who they are and why the façade.  And more exactly, why this façade in its inaccurate depiction of the character is still spot on with regards to the secret. 

Secrets – they always cause some kind of friction when revealed.  Quietly or out loud, privately or publicly, a secret revealed changes the atmosphere…  Secrets are always enough in my book to drive a good story or build a good character.  They also make for good gasping moments. 

I’ve been thinking…about capturing that gasping moment somehow in my new play…  So, I’m digging deep.  I have started building this house – this play – from the earth out…

Listening…

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 “Leave dat back dere.  It done.  Let it stay done.”                                                                        Maria  from The Grass Widow’s Son

For a few days and all day today, I have been hearing the above words from the last play I wrote.  At first, I couldn’t place the voice or the words; only the diction was familiar to me so I had to do a search of a few plays just to find out where it was coming from.  Since I am trying to “go with the flow”, I have to at least entertain the thought that part two of The Grass Widow’s Son might be knocking at the door even though I am trying to write a new piece…  Running the “why’s” and “how comes” through my head, I can see that it could be because I have a pressing issue that I need to suppress in order to write my next play.  It’s done and I need to let it stay done.  I need to leave it in the past and deal with it on another level – later.

It’s a really strange feeling to have your characters give you advice after the writing process is over…or not…  I did have a faint thought when I finished The Grass Widow’s Son about what the journey down that mountain would be like.  What a kicker if I have to write part two along with Fiddler’s Bridge – one day this one, next day that one…  Or, it could really be Maw Ria, (named after my great great grandmother) simply telling me to push through the past and do what I got to do now…Now…

Just yesterday, I was debating the state my new play would take place in.  Today, I understand that it was never a debate but the pull of the land – not on the piece but on me.  I’m not finished with the region depicted in Grass Widow and it’s not finished with me…

I’m still excited about writing Fiddler’s Bridge…still expectant about the journey…still going with the flow…  And, whatever else is calling out to me, I’m leaving room for it…  I’m listening…

And, So It Begins…

LAFPI, Playwright, playwriting, ,

I have been internalizing for months.  I’ve named my characters, renamed some.  Heard first words and written them down.  Looked at the symbolism forming, done my research and talked out loud about some of what I think is going to happen – listening intently to the nuances of change in the story on its way to the page…

I am still debating which state the story takes place in but I am sure it will reveal itself to me while I am writing.  Some things just can’t be allowed to hold up the writing.  I can see the room, the scattered toys, the dim path lights and I can hear the sound of the snow cracking the bridge cover.  I’ve stepped to the beginning mark…

Of course, I feel as though I’ve bitten off more than I can chew like I do each time I start a play but I’m writing it anyway…  I plan to stay out of the way as best I can and let Fiddler’s Bridge reveal itself to me bit by bit, layer by layer, word by word, sound by sound.  I’m excited and at peace about it.  I love that it is finally time to write… 

And, so it begins…

Going With the Flow…

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 In my everyday life, I must remind myself to go with the flow and to not talk myself out of the adventure.  It is quite difficult to do 52 percent of the time.  I always feel as though I am wandering around in dimly lit forests without markers or roads, finding it hard to trust “the flow” of the thing.  The trees are so tall and closely set that I can hardly see the sun.  And, if I can’t see the sun, I can’t see my way out of the dark.  When I do trust the flow; it is always an amazing journey.  One would think that I would learn by now but I’m human and I like to have plans that work – most of the time – as opposed to having so many “go with the flow” moments. 

In my writing, there is no other way but going with the flow – regardless of the trees or the dark – the voices of the characters do not speak when tampered with and they have their own rhythm…  I have to be open when I write or I’d never be able to write.  Personally, I cannot do the “not writing” thing – must be writing, always writing…  And, I have come to rely on being open to the processes I use for writing my plays and have spent the last decade plus honing that sensitivity. 

With poetry, I have let it come in when and where it can find a space between plays and work mostly for special occasions like birthdays, holidays, and deaths.  For the last few years, I have been working on a book of poems for my mother – gut wrenching stuff to write but she says it’s like I’m her memory.  I did intend for it to be personal to my mother but did not expect it to take so long and be so emptying.  I literally have to take breaks after every few poems.  Because of that, I had started to think that putting a book together unlike just collecting poems was virtually impossible for me.  I have been planning to submit to a certain poetry contest for a few years but every year, the play submission deadlines overlap with the poetry manuscript submission deadline and in the time before and after submission periods, I was always writing another play.  This year, by some miracle, the deadline was extended two weeks.  So, I figured I would go with the flow by trying to submit something.  I started going through my stash of poems looking for a theme that jumped out at me – a daunting process to say the least as some of my best poems were off limits for this project.  I had to find an “in” so I wrote a poem about whatever it wanted to be about, was completely honest – no secret codes.  It went boldly to the scary dark place and said, “Now what?  You game?”  Suddenly, I knew what the theme was and how to pull poems I had already written into the pile, one being “Before the Red” and I knew I was going to have to keep going back to those scary places to write the manuscript right.  But even knowing that, time was running out.  I was going to have to write and rewrite a total of at least 50 poems in less than two weeks now.  It was new to me; I was completely terrified…scared…”afeared”.  I was traveling into scary dark places at a pace I didn’t think I could keep up…  I was writing through the night, writing through my lunch, writing while trying to get dressed for work…just writing and editing like a crazy woman…  Every time I would get overwhelmed and say, “Lord, I can’t do it.  I can’t finish in time.”  He would say to me, “But, what if you can?”  After a while, I found myself echoing, “What if I can?”  It was the million dollar question that I needed to have an answer to.  So, I continued to push hard; not making it when all I need to do is push hard a little bit longer is the worst kind of not making it.  I told myself I would push till the last available minute and just see what happens – just see if I can.  I could and I did.  I uploaded my finished manuscript with fifteen minutes to spare…New York time.

I had gone to the THERE space to the scary dark place and I had written it scared…but I had written it.  The flow of that thing was like being caught in the swell of a wave that refused to break.  I told a friend that I felt as though, I had become myself….nothing broken…nothing lacking…

Now…I am planning to start a new play to submit before March.  I have two weeks off from my day job and I ain’t scared to go wherever…because  I know I can go to the scary dark places…and still go with the flow…

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…