Category Archives: LAFPI

Writing on the Verge…

Over the years, I have found myself writing on the verge…a lot – on the verge of losing the last bit of sanity/strength/peace/hope/ I have…  Yet still…I write, even with the waves of life beating rapidly and endlessly in the fore/back/foreground, with me straining to catch my breath and trying to step out of the way of the onslaught of water but never making it to a dry patch of earth in time.  Drenched/soaked to the bone in water that covers me, my pen and paper, swollen with the wet liquid so wet the ink bleeds the letters into each other, bleeds word into word into word into word but I write anyway because nothing short of death can stop me from putting pen to page, my thoughts ebbing into and through my hands ever so precisely ever so like and unlike the water rushing over me… so… unstoppable… so unmistakably lucid despite the fog…

Writing… on the verge of finding that one sure vein that leads to my well/spring, that sways to my authentic rhythm playing the song of my authentic self…  Writing to find the whole of the story dancing past my inner ear begging to be told, aching to “be born & handled warmly1  On the verge of living my dream of writing full-time…  It’s hard to know and feel the tide is changing but you still can’t quite see it though you feel it deep inside your self and it’s so real you can’t stop writing, can’t stop kicking and pushing against the stones…can’t stop living… and writing on the verge of whatever comes in on the tide…

                                                     

1dark phrases” from For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enuf by Ntozake Shange.

Stones in the Garden…

I’ve always wanted a garden even though I don’t know much about growing things.  I have destroyed a rubber plant twice and they’re supposed to be hard to kill.  I keep thinking that if I have a designated place for plants, they will grow well with water, air and soil and maybe a few stones here and there.  Certain plants need more or less sun than others.  I don’t know the exact planting season for each plant – hope it is on the package of seeds.  What I do know, is the smell and feel of good soil, played in enough of it as a child while digging up ant hills and worms.  I could always find at least one worm under a dug up stone.  The worms were always found in the best part of the soil.  Why did I spend so much time in dirt?  Feeding the pet ants of course!  Yeah, yeah, they didn’t know they were our pets but me and my big brother visited them all summer long with crumbs and water and ice cream so they were “pets.”  And, if we were careful, we could see the tunnels virtually intact once we started the excavation.

The observation and excavation skills I learned those summers work well when I’m writing or collecting moments for my writing.  I have to see the inner workings of things mainly because I believe there is a reason for everything and what’s on the inside affects your outside world more than you know.  So, when I say “does not cry” it is because I am hinting at a backstory to that character not trying to direct the actor.  I am lifting stones to get to the worm-filled soil.  My mother used to tell me that the worms made the soil good; at first sight a worm can appear to be an icky thing but ultimately the icky-ness is what enriches the soil or story…  The simple smell of it is as wonderful as spring rain on pavement and the feel of it in the hands always takes me back to the beginning of things…the place of possibility…

In other words…

One of the things I love so much about the LAFPI is the feeling of momentum.  The artists driving this ship intend to move beyond the present and create a more active future for female playwrights -which sounds strangely contradictory, for the momentum of “Now” is incredibly active – but I imagine the “future active” as something beyond our current state of inspired revolution, and more along the lines of a more inspired Theatrical Canon.

And when I think of just how to do that, I get all over tingly with potential and anticipation.

And when I get all over tingly with theatrical inspiration like that, I go searching for like-minded people…

Which is how I found out about HowlAround.com, Arena Stage’s New Play Institute blog, where I read this blog post today- an interview with Marissa Chibas on the need for aesthetic diversity on stage.  I can’t say I agree with her on all points, but her passion and enthusiasm for change was motivating… because the point at hand for many individuals and organizations such as the LAFPI’s, who’s gathering point is some version of “How do we get theatre to better reflect the world we live in”, is that we are all working against a very stubborn stagnation of thought, so that even though my personal mission as a playwright and theatre -goer may differ from yours, I still celebrate our common desire for the American Theatre to be more.

In any case, as we move forward as an organization, it’s exciting to also pay attention to (and sometimes even learn from) those who are moving beside us.

If Nobody Sings Along…

Chrisette Michele, a phenomenal singer/songwriter, has a new album out titled LET FREEDOM REIGN and on the album there is a song called “If Nobody Sang Along.” In this song, she discusses having an audience to appreciate her work and wondering if the absence of that audience would affect her desire to tell her story… She resolves that when everything is said and done, it’s about the possibility of affecting someone’s world simply because she told her story that drives her to sing regardless…

As a playwright, the answer has to be ‘yes’, as well, otherwise, we would hardly get anything done.   What determines art – productions, readings or simply creating it?  How much stuff going wrong stops or trips you up?  For most of us, we write because we must and the obstacles work their way into and through our stories.  We answer those questions again and again as we endure…  We stand and fight for ourselves as we press through those moments of weakness.  Exhaustion wrapped ‘round our shoulders, we sit once more at the computer or pad and pen and write — something, anything, as long as it is story…

Years ago, at a church that I attended in the Midwest, the young ministers were given time on Sundays to preach from 3 – 5 pm (in the basement of the church).  Service attendance at that time of the day was usually slack; it was in the middle of the day when everyone was at home relaxing before returning for the 7 pm evening service or if they did return to the church early, they would be upstairs talking to other church members.  Most of the time the young ministers would cancel their service because no one showed up or if there were less than 5 people. There was one minister, a Minister Tom Carey, however, who would start preaching to an empty room.  He would preach as if the room was full, as if there was no tomorrow.  And, this brother who stuttered sometimes would preach stutter free.  You could hear him from the stairwell; it would draw you right down those stairs and into a seat.  We asked him why he would preach to an empty room and he would say, “God’s here.  I had something to say.” or “The Word is good all the time, even in a room with no people.”  (I paraphrase from memory.)  After a while, his services would be packed; his gift had made room for him even when nobody was singing along… 

I think about Minister Carey when I am up in the wee hours of the morning typing away at a story knowing my gift is making room for me, knowing God’s here and I have something to say, knowing that even in an empty room, my story is relevant and that I will always sing regardless of whether or not anyone sings along…

The Deliberate…

It’s time to write but the internal mulling over process is growing branches – more like veins – and they’re burrowing…going places I did not expect.  I have been reading a lot of poetry lately – writing more of it than I have in years.  I have entered my sacred circle, searching for stories never expecting to find them in poetry but there they are – visible more to my ear than my eye, writing an old thing a new way.  I found a new poet, too.  Nikky Finney – who is not new but somehow she was hidden from me all these years.  Perhaps, I wasn’t ready for her; she’s intense.  Her poems help me understand the ache in my own poetry to be more than…  They’re like short stories – her poetry.  Raw, refined and full of truth – her poetry is a lesson in the deliberate…   Deliberate as in:  Intentional, on purpose, premeditated, calculated, planned, and not accidental.  Every writer should have/develop the ability to deliberately tell their stories, their way – to flip the switch that turns off all outside interference and just say it…

I am noticing a greater freedom in my poetry lately.  Now that I am focusing on it; it seems to have evolved into another form of storytelling.  It even almosts writes like a play.  In the past, I have written monologues in poetry but I never thought much about the connection to a freedom I haven’t had in my plays.  Not that I am not free already but in poetry, one can be sparse and direct and move on to the next thought.  This is the first time my poetry has become part of my circle where I thought of it as story first.  Putting together a manuscript recently, I found myself looking at the context of the whole, the arch, the subtext of the whole, the imagery, the story…   And, now, I can hear pieces and parts of poetry whispering to me from the shadows; on the verge of the light of day yet always just able to crawl back into their hiding places – too many to catch.  They want me to sit with them by the fire and listen as they slowly tell me – everything…they promise to tell me everything…  But, I have been so busy lately; there has been no time to linger in my sacred circle longer than a moment. Especially, since I was expecting characters from a play to speak and not fragments of poetry. 

Maybe the poetry will end up being a play…  At any rate, if I deliberately go with the flow and write whatever wants to be written now; I am sure it will enhance every area of my writing life.   May be the break will bring me back to the characters more refreshed and ready to rock and roll.  As long as I can meet my deadlines…

“And now?”

Now that we’ve released the results, I’m experiencing feelings of relief and gratitude. 

Relief: that the Study is “done!” 

Gratitude: to all those whose participation and encouragement made it possible. 

The main goal of the LA FPI is to bring people together to support each other, and I really saw that happening with the Study.  I received so many e-mails from people who wanted to participate and were happy we had undertaken this, and so much help from fellow LA FPI badge-holders. 

For my parting words, I’d actually like to point you to the words chosen by participants to describe their experiences.  At the end of the survey, I asked participants to choose one word to describe either their experiences as a female playwright, or the LA theater scene as a whole.

Here’s what they had to say:

What one word would you use to describe the LA theater community?

theater companies:

passionate

Varied.

Saturated

Diverse

Energetic

Disconnected

Elitist

struggling

Struggling

Diverse

awakening

Appreciative

Brimming

mainstream

Growing

underfunded

Male

Vital

tenacious

For female playwrights: what one word comes to mind to describe the experience of being a female playwright in the 21st century?

playwrights:

Courageous

perseverance

Underappreciated

outlier

Difficult

Opportunity

challenging

Perseverance

Frustrating

empowering

wicked

driven

self-actualizing

Difficult

Frustrating

solace

Underestimated

Challenging

outsider

challenging

confusing

Sexist

open

trivialized

Challenging

OPPORTUNITY

dismissed

Undervalued

Challenging

Empowerment

undervalued

HARD

over-looked

exciting

duplicitous

competitive

challenging

challenging

Maddening

Difficult

Frustrated

Tenacity

Challenging

frustrating

innovation

passion

exciting

schizophrenic

Lonely

Condescending

Exciting.

Challenging

dream

exciting

Tough.

Vivid

exciting

challenging

challenging

limiting

collective

no comment

determination

unemployed

frustration

Lonely.

Uphill

discrimination

excellent

Voice

LIMITING

Outsider

potential

destitute

bipassed

Arduous

lonely

marginal

Threshold

Difficult

Challenging

unique

unrelenting

 

Regardless of your gender, being a playwright or a theatermaker is no easy task.  The experience is challenging, frightening, exciting, mercurial… at different times, it probably suits whatever words you can think of.  But perhaps the greatest aspect of theatre is that it reminds us that we are not alone.  Theater is not just about the relationships between performers and audiences, performers and performers, or audiences and audiences, or… any other partial combination of that kind.  Theater is about everyone and everyone… It brings us together.  And for that we can all be thankful.

Persons of Interest “Special Edition” Blog


1.  LA FPI Turns One!

It’s the LA FPI’s One Year Anniversary.  Los Angeles Female Playwrights Initiative Co-Founders, Laura Annawyn Shamas and Jennie Webb, have a few words to say on the matter.

Read their conversation here.


2.  The Study!

The Los Angeles Female Playwright’s Initiative Study results are posted (LA FPI Study).  Please read the results and leave a comment.  We’re looking forward to corresponding with you.

3.  LA FPI Study Director Comments!

Meet Ella Martin, the LA FPI Study Director. Read Ella’s blog articles here about her experience as the Study Director.  Read her results.  Feel free to comment and ask questions.

4.  What LA FPI Instigators have to say about our first year!

Visit this page to read what the LA FPI Instigators are saying…

 
To read the profiles of other LA FPI Persons of Interest Click Here.

“The Why Before The What”

November 2009.  I was working on a project with Jennie Webb and Laura Shamas.  Laura had written a delightful play called Trapper Joan that was getting a staged reading at Theatricum Botanicum.  We were rehearsing at Jules Aaron’s house.  Jennie and Laura announced they had “a scheme” and took me into the kitchen.

“You can totally say no,” they began.

They were interested in doing a West Coast response to the controversial Sands Study released earlier that year.  Someone needed to collect data on the LA theatre scene — specifically, data that would reflect how frequently women’s plays were produced (or, we later decided, “nurtured”) in Los Angeles.  This wouldn’t be a money thing, though they did offer a small commission.  It was to be a labor of love.  Or principle.  Or something.

A number of factors influenced my decision.  (Spoiler alert: I said yes.)

For one thing, I have always been a feminist, though at different points of my life so far I have been more or less interested in describing myself using that word.

My great-grandmother was a suffragette.  In high school, a friend and I gave a long presentation on ‘the feminist movement.’  We reenacted various important moments in women’s history and looked into famous women writers of years past, even reading aloud part of a poem by Sappho.

I use the word “feminist” with my own definition, or rather, a definition that came up during a recent conversation with Cáitrín McKiernan – a young soon-to-be-attorney who recently co-produced a play about Martin Luther King with the National Theatre in China.  (Crazy?  Yes.)  She and I were talking about her experiences there, and I asked her if she considers herself to be a feminist.

Me: “Modern feminism”– I don’t pretend to be an expert or really even knowledgeable about the feminist movement…  I’m in favor of strong women.  But, um, would you say that you are a feminist?  Do you self-identify as a feminist, or… How do you feel about the word and do you think it applies to you?

Cáitrín: Oh my, I’ve had this conversation…  I think it’s an excellent question.  I think that so many women of our generation have kind of eschewed that term– tried to distance themselves from it.  But if being a feminist means believing that women should be equal with men, then I’m down.

Women’s rights have always been important to me– and I don’t think it’s just because I’m a woman.  It’s because I was fortunate enough to be raised by a family in an environment that promoted equality.  Unfortunately, the rest of the world– even the rest of the country– has not been so lucky.  This saddens me.  There are a number of traits associated with women.  True, this could be called / is stereotyping.  But until our minds are reconfigured, stereotyping will continue to exist.

What is too bad, though, is when women are lumped together in a group and the stereotyping is used specifically against them — to harm them, or to harm them indirectly by overlooking them.

This past year, a number of things have happened that have reminded me how necessary this kind of work, and this kind of group, is.

While we may be in 2011, and while we may have “come a long way,” in a lot of ways we are still comparatively in the dark ages when you think of where we’d like to be.  I’m not talking about the Equal Rights Amendment…


I’m talking about what Theresa Rebeck experienced.

I’m talking about the Ovation Awards and the LA Weekly Awards.

I’m talking about the Wasserstein Prize.

I’m talking about Chicago.

I’m talking about New York.


I’m talking about 20%.

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!