by Kimberly Shelby-Szyszko

They were gorgeous and exhilarating at first blush, at conception. Gave me pains and pissy-ness shortly afterward. They took a long time to grow, yet often blossomed overnight. They were my engine fuel, my mood enhancers, and a physical testament to my ability to persevere. My plays were my babies. Before I birthed a human.

Now I split my nurturing, my guidance, my anxiety, my mania, and of course my time. And, necessarily, not evenly. And, indeed, my old, occasionally elusive though fundamentally trusty comrade Productivity has often taken a shocking dip in the pool of not-quite, as a result.

Although it’s quite obvious and quite wonderful where the priority lies (and I’d have it no other way), I often wish it were easier to take optimal care of both, babe and play. Simpler – and I know this is just me – I wish there was more time. But, shock, there isn’t. Which leaves me with, only really, the promise of reconfiguration.

Reflecting recently on the rhythms of labor and my son’s journey into this sphere, I recalled successive waves of intense — no, cataclysmic stabbing, shuffling, and churning, punctuated by small periods of what I’ll call alternative otherworldly activity. This has led me to consider that, perhaps, these need be the new rhythms of my life now, of my writing: Bursts of activity, productivity, intense, chaotic, but consistent, controlled—and short, spread out over the day. The rhythms of birth over and over again, every day. Really feeling the work, in order to deliver it.

Although it’s a little more touchy-feely a thing for me, this way of working, more or less, has often been credited to Francesco Cirillo, and this recent post from a blog called “The Write Life” does a nice job of outlining his Pomodoro technique, which I’ve tried (casually) before, in my pre-maternity days. But I’ll be bringing so much more to those bursts today.

To anyone having difficulty finding the time to write, whether parenting in the conventional sense or not, you might give it a go.

by Cynthia Wands

There is a wonderful interview with Janelle Jansted, in the current publication of The Shakespeare Standard, By Jeffrey Kahan.

The interview with Janelle Jenstad

It’s a bit of a read, but by god, what a fascinating woman.  She’s very clear about her first disinterested forays into the cult of Shakespeare, but her life story of academia, and travel, and discovery is really inspiring.

I also love that her discovery of maps, street maps, ancient maps, have appeared in her life.  A recent story that I’m writing has changed (a lot) because I decided to draw a map where the characters lived and migrated to.

At any rate, it was a nice read about a woman I really admire.  And that was a nice find this week.

by Cynthia Wands

Some weeks back, I went with a group of friends to a burlesque show to see a “vintage” performance of the art of burlesque dance.

I’d seen burlesque represented in lots of plays and movies, I just have never seen one in the flesh, as it were.

It was a very interesting form of storytelling:  the women were dressed in rather cheesy vintage outfits, (lots of feathers flying around) and created characters who seemed funny, sly, clever and for the most part, naked. I’d never seen pasties on a woman before, and they looked…odd. It just was strange to see a woman’s breast, and so much focus on looking at a woman’s breast, but then the nipple had to be covered up. With pasties. Very odd.

The emcee was a very charismatic performer, crooning away, winking at the crowd, with a terribly sophisticated and bored persona. The crowd was very young, as in late twenties, early thirties (I seem to see a much older audience in the plays I see here in Los Angeles).  And they seemed to have great fun: lots of laughter and joking and carrying on.

I’m still amazed at the graciousness and generosity of the dancers – they really included the audience in their form of tribal dance (“opps, I lost my clothes” kind of tribal dance), but they conveyed a kind of self that I really admired. And it was great to see a part of Los Angeles culture that I had never seen before.

by Cynthia Wands

I remember when I worked in San Francisco as an actor, yes, in the 1980’s, and there were the “Equity” and the “Non-Equity” theater wars. This was during a period of time when Equity Waiver contracts were being negotiated for the smaller San Francisco houses, and a non-union organization, BATWA, wanted to be part of the dialogue. (BATWA stood for “Bay Area Theater Workers Association”.)  I was a member of Actors’ Equity Association (AEA) and I was a member of BATWA.  There were yelling, screaming sessions with small theater managers and actors and playwrights. I remember that it did not end well. Thank God those days are over.

I ended my membership in AEA in the 1990’s, for many reasons, but especially after attending some of the Los Angeles area AEA meetings.  (Yes, there were more of those yelling, screaming sessions  that did not end well. This time between AEA members and AEA union officials. I remember thinking when I left those meetings for the last time: Thank God those days are over.) And now here we are, in 2015, with a similar conflict going on in the theater community once again.  In this Bitter Lemons article, you’ll find some of this yelling and screaming behavior still going on in the comment sections:

Bitter Lemons: Just a National AEA Councillor and a Los Angeles AEA Member Having a Friendly Conversation…

In the past few weeks I’ve been following the conflict and the articles and the calls to action:

Stage Scene LA: 99 Seat Plan in Jeopardy

The Huffington Post: A Love Letter Wake Up Call

Backstage: Equity Fires Back at LA Theater Critics

There are so many real and passionate issues to be considered in this conflict: I wish the noise of it all could be voiced without the mud slinging and fury.

Ballots for the vote on the plan will be mailed to the AEA members on March 25. The ballots will need to be returned by April 17, and the union’s council will make a final decision on the new 99-seat plan April 21.  I’m no longer an AEA member, so I won’t be voting on this issue, but I can see that this new plan will affect the future of how theater is produced here in Los Angeles. I might not be saying Thank God those days are over.

by Cynthia Wands

This has been a difficult period of time for Los Angeles area Equity waiver theatre.  There have been very emotional, bitter and articulate messages from the union members about keeping waiver theatre at it’s current structure. There have been notices and interviews from Equity members about the need for new financial realities. And I hate it.  I hate it because of the bickering, disrespect and hysterical name calling. I hate it because, frankly, I hate conflict. Not a good thing if you’re an artist. Or an actor. Or a writer. Because I know that conflict is necesary for growth, comedy, negotiating, and change. Yeah. I know all that. I just hate the divisiveness and angst that seems to implode this particular issue.

So I’m going to share something completely different from the ongoing saga of the Equity Waiver War here in Los Angeles Theatre. It’s an interview with Kathleen Marshall, and here is her closing quote on the article that appeared in THE INTERVAL:
What’s something you think people can do to improve gender parity in theatre?

 I think that one of our responsibilities as women working in theatre is to give opportunities to other women working in theatre. And that can be in all kinds of ways. That can be having them as an assistant or observing on a show. Supporting other women who are artists, which could mean just going to their shows and being a positive presence in other people’s lives. I believe that good work is the best way to promote yourself and if you create good work that, hopefully, is also successful then that will be what gets you noticed.

http://the-interval.com/ints/km/

How I write: In spurts. But, always, I am writing. And, always I am composing in my mind, if not performing the physical act of writing itself. It is my perfect sickness because I ache when I am too long away from it. I grapple with this addiction. I push it aside because I love my other work. Even so, I eventually listen to it, because if I don’t it springs into life anyway, into some type of form, and it’s better when I direct it’s being. Take a juicy apple. Bite off a larger piece than you can easily handle.

Don’t wait for somebody to tell you it’s okay. Just chew.

By Erica Bennett

I. I know my life will end

Like my voices told me,

At twenty when I first learned

Someday, I’d die.

II. They came upon me

While bathing, like Undine

Rising from the waters

In search of her soul.

III. They stayed to taunt me,

Leading me forward and beside,

Never showing me a clear path,

But, a gravel road instead.

IV. I couldn’t decipher their intent

In my youth, yet my compass led me

Beyond the sandstone blocks

Of Southern California.

V. I drove north westerly,

Made the city my own.

Down Santa Monica Boulevard

In a hazy orange VW dreamscape.

VI. I stayed, maybe fifteen years.

And then, waited five more

For the cancer to leave me

Before I rode those voices hard.

VII. I find myself now

Aged distinctively by the sun,

My face a craggy coastline,

No cream can soften the blow.

VIII. Yet, I fear not this time.

I have not faded.

And hot pink streaks my hair,

No ma’am am I.

IX. My voices speak lively words

Inside my head

Not that I could distinguish them

Until those twenty years went by,

X. When I finally put pen to paper

Fingertips to keyboard

And spoke their words aloud

For the first time.

XI. It was then I heard

The interior life of an aging,

Overweight ingénue, ripen with age.

Growing ever more bold and imperfect.

XII. And, I introduced myself

To Angry Old Woman,

Whose guttural English and sailor mouth

Belie a golden heart.

XIII. I’ve always wondered

Where the nasty comes from…

But, as long as I let her speak,

Her words on paper, no one is hurt.

XIV. There is separation in ink

That the spoken word cannot penetrate.

It is as if evidence of worth

Is only in the recording of them.