All posts by TiffanyAntone

Garlic Fingers

My whole kitchen smells like BBQ and I’m typing with fingers that have peeled more garlic than fingers should peel and yet… they’re really happy, these digits of mine, for making something delicious today.

You can’t always say that about your fingers, you know?

I mean, sometimes we labour (I prefer the “our” kind to the “or”) for (what feels like) eons on a project, only to ship it off to a respected pair of eyes and get naught but a raised eyebrow in return…

So it feels good to know that today I made something awesome, and that people will love it (because let’s face it, almost everyone loves themselves some springtime BBQ!) and now, as I sit working on other things less certain… well, the Muse celebrates a little instead of just holding her bated breath.

I think it’s important in this marathon we have selected to run, to remember the little joys and pleasures and the small victories in which we have some actual control.  It’s important to celebrate the satisfaction in crafting a thing, no matter how pedestrian and it’s important to remember that we ARE mighty – even if our might shows up a bit more readily (sometimes) in the crock pot than on the page 😉

Mold and Things Left Forgotten

Horror of Horrors last month, as I ventured to the garage to finally open and put to use some of my most favored theatre books: I found instead a damp, moldy, spongy mess in their place, as apparently some snow melt had made its way beneath the garage door and into my precious box of books.

But what the hell were they doing there in the first place?

You see, when I moved into my parents house, oh, nearly a year ago, I never expected to be here this long.  Or I don’t know, maybe I didn’t have any expectations, period.  Which amounted to me guessing which boxes would most benefit from unpacking, and which could linger longer in uncertainty…  Although I (rightly) thought that this box should be brought inside and my beloved books put on shelves immediately, I had already used up most of the shelf space in my room and so adding these to the fray would require a fair share of rearranging that I (in my I’m-so-tired-of-packing/unpacking-that-I-could-pitch-a-fit-that-would-render-a-five-year-old-jealous) simply didn’t have the interest or wherewithal to tend to…

So I left the box, midway between safety and safer-still -all too near the garage door.

Where it lingered, hopeful and neglected, for 11 months.

And so, dear reader, is it not a gross metaphor for the negligence I’ve visited upon my own theatrical fires, that this box of Hagen, Meisner and Mamet, of Viewpoints, Shakespeare, and Limericks, of Collected Works and Collected Histories, be completely overrun by the very herald of disuse; Mold?

Which isn’t to say that I’ve completely abandoned the theatrical ship – oh no, far from it – what with a new play, a screenplay, and that time-consuming play festival I was coordinating, I can hardly beat myself up for being a deserter.  However, I’ve not been as deeply in tune with The Muse as I’d like to have been these past few months either… and I’m left wondering, as I hope and pray that the books dry “Useable”, could I not have spared myself the heartbreak of seeing those pages wrinkled and flecked with grey if I’d only made more of an effort to feed The Muse and brought those damn books inside where they could remind me to buckle down and create?

(sigh)

I suppose the answer lies somewhere between the guilt of “what if” and the incredible urging said moldy books now offer to redouble my efforts and get back in the game.

Because I will be teaching some acting and writing classes this spring, and I have two new plays crock-potting between The Muse and The Laptop…

And I don’t want any of that to grow mold!

Staying Relevant

I have a strange little confession to make:  I hardly watch the news anymore – instead, I read Twitter.

It’s faster, it’s concise, I can skim through piles of stories in a single sitting and hop over to those that scream at me the loudest…

Only, the overwhelming immediacy of that Twitter feed is making me sick.  It brings every blessed blemish to the forefront of my digital world to fester in my overly sensitive frontal lobe… which leads me to produce overly grandoise rants on my blog and scheme bloody cirque du soliel plays about the futile nature of our masochistic being untill my head hurts.

Sometimes, I wish we were back to newsreels and radio.

Because the world is this huge throbbing thing, and we but the meager players making it spin, and I’m not convinced that all this psycho-techno-spinning is good for the soul.

In fact, I’m pretty sure it isn’t.

And yet…  As a writer and artist, isn’t it my job to stay aware of this crazy place?   Isn’t it a responsibility to keep Rueters in my Twitter Feed and get riled up at all 140 of those damned intrusive characters?

Can I stay “relevant” if I unplug, move to the mountains, and tend goats?

(sigh)

I don’t know… it’s just kind of a difficult time to be living in the world, but ignoring it all isn’t going to solve anything either.

Is anyone else in the LAFPI-Sphere feeling the unbearable weightiness of our constant state of updated-ness?

Snow day!

I’m driving in a snow storm – it’s coming down so hard that I can barely see the road signs and my back window defrosters are having a hard time keeping the snow from piling up… which means I can’t see for beans… And I’m thinking “I could turn around… I could turn around and just stay in town with the Fella and be done with this snow/slush/siding car nonsense…”

But my laptop…

My laptop is 8 miles away…

If I had that with me, I’d have no qualms whatsoever about bunking down for the inevitable snow-day… But instead, I’m white-knuckling my ass through the snow.

WHAT. Is. WRONG. With. ME?

There is a very good chance I’m obsessed.

Because I’m not even going to pretend I can excuse this behavior with the heat of a rewrite or even the flush of a first draft, oh no…  No, I’m concerned with things like blogging and email and… well… what if I wanted to do some re/writing?  What would I possibly do?!

Pick up pen and paper, perhaps?

GAH!!!!  The thought gives me the heebie-jeebies!  What does it mean that technology holds me (and presumably some of you) in such a cold, hard, technical grasp?

So I keep driving…

Because there are few things I “need” to feel at ease in any location – my laptop, my cell phone, my camera (and of course, if we’re doing the whole “the house is on fire, what do you grab?” thing, my family and my cats… and my hard drives and blankets)  – and I’ll be damned if this snow is going to keep me from them…

I am technology’s little snow-covered bitch.

Writing Things Delightful

Don’t say it was delightful; make us say “Delightful” when we’ve read the description. You see, all those words (horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite) are only like saying to your readers “Please, will you do the job for me? – C.S. Lewis

I am in love with this quote.  As a writer of often fantastical worlds, I am constantly striving to paint my script descriptively enough while still allowing plenty of play room for my imagined designers and directors… And yet, I’ve often tried to steer clear of using these “adjectives” of awe, for Lewis’s exact reason; I mean, what kind of author would I be were I to limit my own imagination with oft-used phrases like such, rather than diving deeper into the “meat” of such a statement?

For what is more exciting :  She wanders into a scary woods. OR  She wanders into a forest, black with night and alive with a chorus of things that go bump in the night.

I mean, it’s a slap-dash example, but you get my point.

I’m working with a bunch of youngsters right now who have written plays (some of them their first) as entrants in our inaugural Young Playwrights Festival.  It’s thrilling and frightening, and exhilaratingly difficult – the people wrangling, the ego tending, and the director guiding…  Because as a playwright and a less-than-a-handful-under-her-belt director, I’ve not yet had the privilege of coordinating anything quite of this scale.  Yet, here I am, at the center of things, and I find that the switching of shoes (from hungry playwright, to playwright wrangler) I’m going to bat for these kids like a proud mama bear!

And I’m jonesing to take them all under my wings and whisper C.S. Lewis quotes to their novice ears and help them unlock the magic of playwriting so that next year their plays are even more exciting, more daring… more delightful.

But until my class opens in the Spring, I’m simply going to go on collecting these lovely little bits of commentary from the “Greats” – collect them, hold them close to my heart, and sigh at the glow they carry within.

And I’m going to try not to go crazy as we enter the final two weeks before the festival itself goes up… in all her new-born glory!

Over-Extended and Under-Funded: an Exercise in Remembering to BREATHE

Breathing… Breathing…

I have to remember to breathe.

I’m producing a Young Playwrights Festival, and although I’ve headed up smaller such things before, all the people (and kiddo) wrangling has got me feeling a tad overwhelmed.  I mean, this is quite a bit different than wrangling characters and inventing location… this is tangible, frustratingly human, manuevering…

And it’s got me cringing at all the variables.

Which is why I need to remember to breathe… that it’s all going to be just fine…  That ultimately, all the worrying and fretting don’t actually do anything except make you miserable.

But I am sitting here, wondering how in the world I got myself so mightily committed overall – I mean, I’m earning a 19-hour a week paycheck at my “job” and probably logging an additional 25 a week for non-paying endeavors:  There’s the Festival (Gah!) and rehearsals for the show I’m directing, and the countless emails from the other directors and committee members and… woof!  Then there are my blogs – I have a personal space that allows me to pontificate periodically on anything from cat-hairs in my breakfast to the agony and love-lust of art – plus I edit a larger scale Los Angeles-centric blog-collective with a bunch of other writers (Ahem, and might I say, we’re always looking for more people to blog for us, my fellow scribes!)  And then I have my playwriting log – which consists of an ever increasing list of characters and plot-lines banging down my mental door, demanding to be paid attention to…

No wonder I’m tired!

So I’m sitting here, in the midst of things, wondering just when the heck I’m going to be able to pay Visa back (and Mastercard, and Discover…) from all my below-the-poverty line living, and actually manage to eek out some sort of existence that doesn’t land me gasping for air and sanity every Friday night as I clutch my empty wallet in shame over my under-funded dinner…

Woe. Is. The. Playwright.

And yet…

I can’t fathom having a laundry list of over-compensated-for tasks that looks like an accountant’s sheet… I can’t imagine finding happiness in a full-time paycheck if it was sans-flexibility for these things that alternately drive me crazy and flood me with joy… I NEED to be able to flit from project to project; writing, directing, producing, editing… I NEED THE UNCERTAINTY!   I just want to get paid better for it 😉

So… as I sit down at my desk and hammer out a few fumbling sentences here, I’d just like to tell the universe that I’m not complaining – not really.   I am so thankful for my life – I’d just like my life to start paying for itself so that I can afford the massages I need to soothe the worries my over-committments manifest and to move out of my parents house and into some big-girl living once again.

But until that happens, I guess I just have to continue to remind myself to B-R-E-A-T-H-E.

My Funny Little Valentine…

What a week I have ahead of me… (actually, what a few weeks!)  I’m coordinating a play festival for young playwrights and directing one of the winning plays, as well as in the final three weeks of our Spring I session at NAU-Yavapai in which I’m teaching a class on “How to be a Master Student”…  My head is, as one says, spinning.

But that’s not what I want to talk about today, no, today I want to talk about my funny little Valentine…

Ooooooh, my sexy little MacBook Pro, where would I be without you?  Your shiny faux-metallic keys that spin a musical clackity-clack to tease even the most stubborn of ideas from hiding…  Your bright friendly screen reflecting a happy glow against even the most unpleasant of hours…  Your ability to “force close” programs at the drop of a cranky-ass-hat…  I can’t imagine, no, don’t WANT to imagine, where I would be without you!

When I think of all that we’ve accomplished together… The laughter and tears, the smiles and frustration, the agony of edits paired with the sweet joy of “BLACK OUT” pridefully blinking from the page –  Pages upon pages of jokes, banter, punches, flying props (and sometimes people) – I rejoice, I cheer, and I pray that you never, ever, ever, crash (like you did that one time) Because… sweet MacBook Pro… I think, I think I love you.

~Tiffany

Hats off (no, really) to Committees

“A camel is a horse designed by committee” – Vogue, 1957

Mayhaps you’re all watching what is happening on The Hill… a room full of (mostly) men are sitting firm on their political high-horses, battling over what IS and IS NOT good for the American public…  They’re making decisions based on what they deem “right” (OR) “left” and the rest of us restlessly sit and wait.

Anybody else find this macrocosm representational of the more mundane parts of life?  Anybody ever scratch their heads at the “people in power” and wonder just “How in the hell” they became the megaphone for our “Voice”?

I’m interested in the parallels in politics between “their” and “here” – the White House to Theatre House -because it seems that I’ve been privy to a few conversations lately that make me wonder just when it was that these people lost touch with the world and began, for lack of classier language, touching only themselves.

I think it has something to do with hats.

You see… I’m broke.  And I live IN the world.  I’m not shoveling gravel, or hauling garbage… no, those blue-collar citizens might look at my liberal artistic self and roll their hard-working eyes.  But I am struggling, I am walking around in the shoes of the well-traveled and hungry.  And I’ve got about a dozen or so hats to juggle as a result.

Which means I can’t ever get too comfortable in just one.

I write, I teach, I tutor, I am the web-master/social media maven for my current employer – I also blog (for my own sake and as the occasional guest) and edit a LosAngeles centric webzine.  I am a daughter, friend, and (yippee) girlfriend – which means I am involved in the lives of those around me and I have a stake in their happiness as well as my own.  I work with students and faculty, and I do my own friggin’ laundry… I drive a beat up little Hyundai and my “grand” dreams of upgrading involve another… wait for it… Hyundai.

So, you see, I wear a lot of hats…

And I live a pretty down-to-earth existence.

But the people in “power” seem to have forgotten what it is like to live like this

It requires compromise… it requires flexibility and ingenuity…

It requires the ability to put oneself in other’s shoes.

But instead, we get people wearing their “Control” hat (the one that shoots you the whammy if you disagree) and folded arms, standing atop their pillars of salt as though it’s all going to go their way or no way at all.

Mayhaps, and here’s the theatrical segue, the answer is to tear down and start over.

Whoa, whoa, wait a minute!  WHAT?

Just hang in here with me a moment longer…

I hear a lot of chit and a lot of chat about theatre companies NOT producing enough: new work, work by women, culturally specific work, devised work, political work, etc.   I hear a lot of theatre companies turn around and bemoan the lack of quality in said work, the lack of faith, and the lack of $$…

The people in charge, are dealing with budgets and spreadsheets, and trying to read the minds of their paying audiences and benefactors and otherwise worrying about keeping the “business” afloat, while the people creating the art are dealing with paying rent, trying to get produced, struggling to be relevant, and worrying about keeping their lives afloat.

What would happen if the two switched places for a while?

Probably something on par with what would happen if our Congress and Senate switched places with some “real folks” for a while:  Total and complete madness, followed by a (gasp) revolution of thought and of practice.

I mean, I am talking about some good old fashioned Freaky-Friday changes in perspective here, people!

Might we not all be able to head back to our “tired, stuck-on, and stubborn” hats with a little more perception?  Might we possibly come back to our “positions” (as power-player or peon) with a little more flexibility and ingenuity?

Or would it only strengthen our resolve to lock ourselves away in our tight little corners, unwilling to trust or listen to those we stand among, atop, and for?

(sigh)

It’s all really a bit of a mess, isn’t it?

Kind of like the camel…

And the beat goes on…

…and on…. and on…

Is it the rythm of life?  My iTunes Genius?  A steel drum band?

Nope.

It’s the sound of my head, pounding against the desk… and a pile of DEADLINES!

I used to be the “high-anxiety-worry-the-project-to-it’s-near-death-before-it’s-even-close-to-being-due” type.

Now I’m the “I-know-it-will-get-done-because-I’m-such-a-worry-wort/plan-ahead-so-I-guess-it’s-okay-to-leave-things-to almost-the-last-minute-because-this-is-how-the-muse-likes-to-work-(even-if-I-don’t)” type… which means I butt my head right up against those due-due-due-dates till they’re done-done-done-dates… And the ceiling is getting a tad low over here at the moment.

But, anxiety around the task at hand aside, I have actually grown to (gasp) trust this process.

It’s one of the things I’ve learned about myself over the past two or three years; I’m still a worrier, but I’m a confident one.

I mean, the deadlines are looming, and I know I’ll make them all… (knock on wood)… but I’m also trusting that the Muse will poke me when she’s ready to buckle down… and until then, I’ll keep a pillow handy if the wait gets too intense (can’t be bruising up this skull of mine in the interim)

I just wish she would move a little bit faster… adhere to my three-days-before-the-deadline, deadlines… Instead of doing it her way.

(sigh)

But if I’ve learned ANYTHING, it’s that poking and nagging her is the shortest way to a headache… and I’m not in the mood for a tantrum!

Dramaturgy and the Playwright

I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about this week – Christmas is here, the semester is nearly over, and the possibilities seemed (frighteningly) endless; Should I lament the mountain of submissions that’s been haunting my desk?  Talk about what it feels like to send out job after job after job application as I pray for a professorship teaching playwriting and acting somewhere green (but snowy at all the right times too) allt he while trying to keep up with the algebra class on campus so I can continue to TRY to tutor these kids on absolute values?  Should I talk about my new play?  My new blog that is thrilling me but keeping me up late (www.LosAngelesFAIL.com)?  WHAT SHOULD I WRITE ABOUT?!

Then I woke up to a four-pronged debate happening on the Literary Managers and Dramaturgs of the Americas listserve.

Wow.

And I thought, this is going to be an interesting Monday.

Basically (and I haven’t the permissions of those contributing to the debate, or else I’d repost their comments here) the discussion began with someone sharing a post by a dramaturg lamenting the process of dramaturging a show being directed by the playwright him/herself.  (Woof, did you get all that?  Because, I ran that sentence all the way to the finish line!)  I imagine that in such a case as this, even the best intentioned playwright could be a bit unyielding to a dramaturg’s best intentions – (after all,  there’s certainly the chance for a more balanced discussion with three at the table instead of just two) but the firestorm of discussion it stirred showed me that there is quite a lot of contention amongst two of a play’s (very important) team-players…

Because, as with many things put together through community/committee effort, so many voices are sure to have different opinions on just how the idea at hand is to be realized.

Some interesting points made (on both sides):

  • A script ain’t a Play until others (actors, designers, directors, etc) get involved – the argument stresses that you can write a script, but you can’t predict the Play .  And until it’s “played” it’s just words/ideas on a page.

Hmmmmm….. How do you writers feel about that?  Doesn’t it seem just a wee bit pretentious to assume that a playwright can’t fully understand his/her own work enough to be able to “predict” what it will look like and therefore be allowed to expect that the thing will be treated with some form of reverential realization before getting dressed down by an outside “opinionator” (now, that’s a fun new word!) –  Does such a theory indicate the theorizer believes him/herself a necessary component to “helping” the playwright’s “script” become a Play?  And until it’s a Play, is it just, merely, some thoughtful scribble on a page requiring help?

This discussion point alone saw many comments… One of the best (and most balanced) arguments I read stated that “dramaturgy is a function, not just a title, and nobody has a monopoly on insight” (credited to John Guare in regards to a note he once received, and applied, from an usher)  Isn’t it healthier for the working relationship at large if ALL involved are approaching the play with this mindset?  Rather than approaching the play as a thing that needs to be beat into shape by these new involvees (dramaturge/director/etc.)?

  • A text isn’t ever really fixed… This argument was made a few times in regards to plays “evolving” over time from production to production.  The caveat being that “new/emerging plays” (vs. those by dead playwrights) need to be aware of this “ever evolving” theatrical condition (and presumably, more open to dramaturgical responses) than those “dead” plays, long proven to work (Williams, Miller, etc.) or old enough to allow for as much “evolution” as the public will allow.

Does approaching a script as a constant “work in progress” help/hasten the development process, or does this attitude in fact, get in the way of fleshing out what the writer has written?  Jessica Kubzansky, a talented writer/direct and mentor of much esteem, has oft said “Commit to everything, but marry nothing” when working with new plays.  I LOVE this mentality!  For how can you possibly know whether a thing works, if you don’t first try it out – and try it honestly, sincerely, and to the best of your abilities?  It is only then that the “team” producing a script, and the playwright him/herself can truly decide whether the thing works.  But to approach a script thinking “It’s only words, and it’s going to have to evolve to suit those producing it” is a little too close to Hollywood practicum for my tastes…

And this was right about the time that copyright got thrown in the mix… And also about the time that someone piped in with a flippant remark that

  • Copyright is an American invention and European playwrights expect their work will be meddled with. (obviously, you can discern my opinions on this… the commentator himself did not use the term “meddle”)

Look, I’ve had this discussion before – (who hasn’t?)- when I was at the Kennedy Center Page to Stage Festival with one of my plays, I got to speak on a panel with other playwrights, dramaturgs, directors, actors, and development people.  Someone asked how we felt about letting directors have their way with our work, and the discussion suddenly got a bit frosty.  The argument was made that Shakespeare gets re-vamped/reworked all the time, and my reponse was “Yes, but how many of those ‘revamps’ are ever any good?”  The last thing I need is some cocky director looking at my text as his/her own blank canvas… I don’t write that way.  Some might (Thank you, Charles Mee and others, who write in such open and bold manner as to invite collaborators to “play” with your text.) but, until I write a script and include the author’s notes “Do with this text as ye will” – I’d like those directing or producing the thing to honor my intentions.  After all, why produce the thing if you just want to change it all around?  (I do actually write for designers and directors to have a lot of interpretational freedoms in most of my plays – because I see the benefit to varied productions on those scripts… but I include those encouragements in my author’s notes… and they’re prescribed freedoms within the context/world of the play.)

Ultimately, my response to this argument is that we have copyright and licensing laws to protect the text, and I’m THANKFUL for this “American” process!  I am thankful that we, as playwrights, can write with the expectation that our intentions should be honored and that we can also chose to eschew those protections if we see fit.

In any case… I’m not going to sit here and exclaim that the text as I first excitedly print off is the same that will be left on opening (or closing) night… but I am going to declare that until I’ve worked with actors and directors and maybe even a dramaturg or two, the script deserves to be flexed on its own merit.  It needs to be tested, discussed, tried, and re-worked… and I will do the work/revisions based on my interpretations of those readings/run-throughs/and discussions.

For, if a dramaturg wants to write a play, they should, in fact, take up the pen and paper.

If they want to dramaturg a play, they should approach it as a lover of words and “inspector” of moments/theme/consistency… they should approach the script AND the playwright with respect. (and in my experience, most good dramaturges do just this)

If it’s tearing apart and remodeling a person is into, then I think they should consider a career change… Hollyweird is always looking for new development personnel to “Fix” and “Mangle” screenplays… And the pay is way better too 😉