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Eminence Front – The Who

I chose to preview the blog with this song by the Who, because I think Pete Townshend is an artist who’s embraces these … Work – Play – Authenticity

It’s work. We’ve all heard at one point someone refer to work as “another four letter word”.  Good.

Surprise. Work is good. Work is good for the soul. It’s the vehicle of expression of our essence. I think there’s a general negative attitude about the word in itself – “Work”.  I imagine the chain gang in “Cool Hand Luke”.  And do you remember Jack Nicholson as Jack Torrance in “The Shining”?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1O0ZfZGF8l8

The scene:  Wendy discovers what Jack had been toiling over  –  pages and pages inscribed with a single phrase written into paragraphs and dialogue of “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” This is the product of 4 to 5 months of work.  He comes upon her discovery, and she is the one freaked for being found out. Brilliant irony. He moves towards her with that Nicholsonesque menace (the eyes, the grin, the rage) and she backs away sobbing and weakly wielding a bat between them.  He tears into her with his guilt, “Have you ever thought about a single solitary moment about my responsibilities to my employers… Does it matter to you at all the owner have placed their complete confidence and trust in me?… do you have slightest idea of what the moral and ethical principle is, do you? Has it ever occurred to you what would happen to my future if I failed to live up to my responsibility?”

Whoa Jack. You’re taking all this too seriously. You’re identifying yourself a little too deeply with the man.

Fast backward to yesterday. Twilight. I am sitting at an outdoor cafe finishing the last few chapters of a book. I am enjoying the weather, the quiet idle of the day and watching people between the lines. A man in a t-shirt emblazoned, “Eat, Sleep, Play”. I didn’t pay much attention to it till this morning after I spoke with a fellow writer. I called to check up on him, because he missed class yesterday which was unusual. I wanted to find out if he was okay. And he wasn’t and I heard why. He was agonizing about not writing for two weeks.  He’s feeling the pressure of not having finished the memoir, and is disappointed that he doesn’t have a product when we are so close to the end of our workshop. I felt his anxiety, but I wasn’t prepared to indulge in a conversation that seemed inane of self-mutiliation. That wasn’t going to help this person get past the self pity and moving on with the work at hand.

I told him it’s okay to hit some bumps, but work through it. Stop beating yourself up over the past. Writing is visceral and cathartic and writers have to be good to themselves and realize when they need to stop channeling for a little while, or at least be aware when they’re not well (spiritually, physically and mentally) for the job at hand.  Do what’s necessary to be well again. Plus everything he’s doing outside of writing will also feed his writing.  Relax.

If we can change our belief that the work is play then maybe there wouldn’t be so much agonizing over the result and looking for a product. Play is not about product. Play is about being in presence of the moment. Is what I’m doing fun, inventive, new, authentic? Play is many things and right now the strongest association I have with play is authenticity. I ask myself for what purpose am I creating this. If it’s anything near close to the truth – the essence of me – it’s fun and it becomes play. But ‘working for man’ is not my essence. I do work for the man 5 days a week, and thank goodness I work at a place where the people are real. They have a passion for what they are doing and it shows in how they work and the byproduct of the process. I dream for the moment to see my play come alive on stage, but overall I am joyful and thankful when I’m writing, because my spirit demands it.

I leave you with thoughtful words from Roy Orbison’s song who’s gotta a plan to stop working for the man.

Hey, now, you better listen to me everyone of you
We got a lotta, lotta, lotta, lotta work to do
Forget about your women and that water can
Today were working for the man

Well, pick up your feet, we’ve got a deadline to meet
I’m gonna see you make it on time
Oh, don’t relax, I want elbows and backs
I wanna see everybody from behind

Cause your working for the man, a’working for the man
You gotta make him a hand when you’re working for the man

Oh, well, I’m picking em up and I’m laying em down
I believe he’s gonna work me into the ground
I pull to the left, I heave to the right
I oughta kill him but it wouldn’t be right

Cause Im working for the man, working for the man
Gotta make him a hand, a’working for the man

Well, the boss man’s daughter sneaks me water
Everytime her daddy’s down the line
She says, meet me tonight, love a’me right
And everything is gonna be fine
So I slave all day without much pay
Cause I’m just abiding my time
Cause the company and the daughter you see
Their both gonna be all mine

Yeah, I’m gonna be the man, I’m gonna be the man
Gotta make him a hand if I’m gonna be the man

Working for the man, a’working for the man
Gotta make him a hand a’working for the man

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At work, my first cup of tea had the teabag wisdom words from Goethe

“Choose well, your choice is brief and yet endless.”

Teabag wisdom comes from the little square piece of paper at the tip of the string holding together the tea leaves found with most Celestial Seasoning brand.  I thought the quote profound.  The theme had been cropping up these past months in different aspects of my life… Well, life abounds with choices, so maybe not so profound afterall.

Onwards with my day.  I bring up the news and use the headlines to poke my imagination awake. What’s happening in my world? Further along I plant the question how some stories fit into the theme and layers of my play.

The creative sources are abundant:

• the headlines of your favourite online or printed news cast
• a snippet of a conversation you couldn’t help overhear
• a momentary image you witnessed on your way to someplace or while sitting somewhere suspended in time
• an incident with someone close to you that incites something deeply buried in your nerves

BP’s “Deepwater Horizon” blowout from 5 weeks ago has been prominent in the headlines.  Today the company is attempting a Top Kill to choke off the oil spill.  Other headliners today included Hillary Clinton’s reaction to another provocation by North Korea accused of sinking a South Korean submarine.  And there was a short piece about  a US Activist, Lori Benson, who was released on parole after spending 14 years in a Peruvian jail.

What is important to me?

There are months, weeks, days and moments when I don’t want my world to be so vast. I can imagine myself to be content to be in my living room, drinking wine and listening to my favorite music and nothing more, except for the simple companionship of my dog.   It’s not easy to be removed from the outside world for very long.

A walk one block from my apartment and there is a homeless guy resting on the side of the church building. He’s invisible to the people attending the gatherings there.  My mind moves on, and wander to asking why it’s only the US government wagging its finger at BP for the oil spill.  Are my news sources limited?  Where is the real source of good objective news reporting? This oil spill is a global mess. We share this big ocean and shouldn’t we all do something, a little something?  A sense of powerlessness tinges my outlook.

I’ve got things to do, and it’s a goddamn long list:   a functional design spec due, meeting with users and the developers; a status update to my manager… It’s almost lunch.  I hanker for sushi… haven’t had it in a while.  The Gulf of Mexico is a spawning ground for the critically endangered bluefin tuna. I’m going to New Orleans in mid June, and I’m looking forward to the seafood feast.  Meanwhile, the shrimp farmers have already noticed the effects of the spill in their industry. I should go for a walk during lunch; get fresh air and exercise. Or I can hole up in the non-descript cafe down the street and bury my head in a book.

My mind, cluttered with thoughts fighting for a slice of time and attention, distracts me from a purpose (which is now a blur) , and I feel exhausted.  My precious time and energy had bee dissipated away into churning thoughts and worry.  I have 10 minutes left of my lunch so I pick up my book:  The 2nd section in on Love.  The topic is: “Love is Disciplined”. (Source: The Road Less Traveled: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1978)

“Because genuine love involves an extension of oneself, vast amounts of energy is as limited as the hours of our day. We simply cannot love everyone. True, we may have a feeling of love for mankind, and this feeling may also be useful in providing us with enough energy to manifest genuine love for a few specific individuals. But genuine love for a relatively few individuals is all that is within our power. To attempt to exceed the limits of our energy to offer more than we can deliver, and there is a point of no return beyond which an attempt to love all comers become fraudulent and harmful to the very ones we desire to assists. Consequently if we are fortunate enough to be in a position in which many people ask for our attention, we must choose those among them whom we are actually to love. This choice is not easy; it maybe excruciatingly painful, as the assumption of godlike power so often is. But it must be made. Many factors need to be considered, primarily the capacity of the prospective recipient of our love to respond to that love with spiritual growth.”

Every story is about love is what my writing mentor tells his students.

I am curious about the choices of my protagonist and the antagonist of my story in their blind quest to get what they want in the face of adversities. The dangers they face in their journeys faced with the choices with their limited and unlimited capacities for love.

Choices galore. I think I understand what “choice is brief” means.  I am walking on this planet in blip of time, and my characters have an even shorter lifetime – less than 2 hours.  I’m sure someone, one day, will write into their story about the Deepwater Horizon Blowout and how it affected somebody – maybe somebody who asked “What’s a bluefin tuna?”

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Attitude is Altitude.

Give this some thought before you continue.

These words sprung up at a time when I encountered a moving incident that shook me through my core and tore me away from my good intentions of being conscious and aware of my thoughts, words and actions. An anonymous neighbor had tampered with my motorcycle to send a message that they wanted me to stop parking at a spot that the building manager had designated as my parking spot.

This anonymous person refused to identify their name after a series of notes exchanged. He/she was engaged vigorously to their idea that they are right to ask me to move or make arrangements to move. When I didn’t follow their bidding they resorted to passive violence by tampering with the motorcycle.

One morning I got on the bike and rode to work and found the side mirrors were loosened. I couldn’t repair it without stopping and without a tool. The side mirror dangled loosely and uselessly when I sped up, and my emotions rose higher as I revved the engine louder. In my anger and pain the words “Attitude is Altitude” came to me while sitting at a stoplight. They were a salve to my emotions.

When I got to my computer I e-mailed to my friends the words only, the responses were:

“It means that your attitude can be a conscious or unconscious decision. Preferably conscious. If you are aware enough, even if you are in a negative mood you can choose to have a positive attitude. Then eventually through self fulling phophecy your mood will change to positive. But if you are not aware your mood & attitude will just stay negative. It’s sounds simple, but not always easy to do. The first step is being aware.”
– Steve (Technical Consultant)

“This lovely quote that you’ve sent me, I’ve heard it a couple of times. And it is a quote that has made me think. I do agree with it…and can mean something different to everyone. To me attitude plays a big role on how far we get in everything. Whether it is on your goals in life or just getting through the day… Attitude is a choice. A choice between proscrastinating or not. A choice between being thankful about everything that comes our way or not. A choice between taking action or not. So it is a choice, and only when we make the right choices than we grow and reach a great altitude in our souls, which is the most important thing, and also in our goals and our “success”.

I can see this quote in different ways. But ultimately our attitude is definetely the place where we should begin in order to reach the altitude we have in mind.”

-Evelyn (Actress/Film Student)

“That’s awesome, our belief is what breaks down our limitations.”
– Terry (Business Analyst)

“am not sure about the meaning of this…From the point where Altitude means elevation I agree, the energy required for the elevation of ourselves implies attitude (i guess)…Now, if Altitude refers to something related with a high rank , superiority , I disagree”
– Diego (Musician)

The Beauty of Mathematics – a powerpoint presentation
– Michael IT Consultant (See the attachment.)

Beauty-of-Mathematics-Jan02-1

I had decided, after cooling down, I don’t have to be right. If this person can resort to indirectly trying to hurt me by putting a stranger’s life in jeopardy then I will concede and look for a different parking spot. Still, I felt indignant. Another neighbor recommended legal action. I weighed the gravity of that action, and decided it’s not worth anymore of my time and effort to pursue being “right”. My final action towards the anonymous neighbor was a note. I said “Thank you for being my teacher in the nature of humanity.”  A distant observer of the events told me I was also being passive aggressive by writing those words, and I explained that I didn’t want to raise the stakes higher that could lead to further violence which would be a no-win situation for either side.

Sometimes I find in my writing that I have an agenda and I am forcing my idea onto the page rather than letting the nature of the dilemna rise up from the rich earth of the subconscious. In writing my first draft, my subconscious created the scene with the characters and the circumstances. Now in my rewrite I am scrutinizing closely what they are saying and doing. And for me, the writer, it’s often that I am in the way and have to remind myself to get out of the way. Get my idea of what it is the characters are saying to each other out of the way, and allow them to talk,  like human beings, in a situation.

“Attitude is Altitude” in my writing means – get my ego out of the way.  I don’t want to be right. I want to express rather than impress.

Going the Distance

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I am Analyn Revilla. I’ve been working on my first play for two years. I asked my writing mentor, “How long does it take to finish?” The question was posed among a group of students of varying backgrounds and writing experiences. The melange was: a lawyer and a published poet writing her first novel; a chef working on her memoir that begins with finding herself in a homeless state; an elementary teacher creating her first screenplay; an accomplished journalist reveling in her third novel; a busy actress expressing her story of an 8 year old boy in her first novel; a retired legal secretary exploring the story of an orphan seeking her birth mother in post WWI Germany; and then there’s me, an IT Specialist who has been “dabbling” in writing since I was eleven, and recently started my first play.

My co-writers and I have been gathering for the past 5 months at 9 am on Saturdays for 3 hours sharing our work and our experiences in the process of our “rewrite” of the first draft.

The question was an impulse to get the class started. It seemed thoughtless and absurd, after I blurted out the words. Then I realized it may not be as thoughtless as I felt, because I noticed the others look on with piqued interest at the mentor in front of class. As he started to speak people began jotting notes into their notepads or their laptops. He responded that he can’t answer the question in directly, but the first thing he wanted to emphasize was “There are no rules.”

As he continued to speak my mind was still resisting the idea of “there are no rules”. I can’t go on imagining the life of this story, because I could go on forever. The characters evolve and they all have their arcs and shifts in perceptions (small and big), and maybe none at all. Then he said that he’s not interested in the product. What? my mind screamed. He doesn’t care about my play? I heard his words – I am here to help you through the rewrite process and teach you to be curious and to ask the right questions about the nature of the dilemma of your protagonist.

Finally he said that it’s not any easier for a professional writer. It’s hard work. When he concluded my brain took a tangent to the idea of how marathon runners train. I followed up with a comment: When you said it isn’t any easier for a professional writer I thought about the rigorous training of the marathon runner. The first draft and the rewrite is like it is for an amateur runner learning to run a race. The expert just has more experience in the process and knows how to train to be able to complete a race regardless of whether or not they win the race. And there are varying beliefs in what “winning” is.

One of my classmates spoke up: I’ve run marathons, and it’s all about the distance.

When I got home I dug up a book I had lying around: “The Triathlete’s Guide to Mental Training” by Jim Taylor and Terri Schneider (published by VeloPress.)

The first chapter on Introduction to “Prime Triathlon” talks about the philosophy of “Prime Triathlon”: Before you can begin the process of developing Prime Triathlon, you want to create a foundation of beliefs about triathlon on which you can build your mental skills. This foundation involves your attitude in three areas: (1) your perspective on competition; (2) your view of yourself as a competitor – how you perform in training and races; and (3) your attitude toward success and failure – how you define success and failure and whether you know the essential roles that both success and failure play in becoming the best triathlete you can be. Clarify your view in these three areas will make it easier to win the mental race and to achieve Prime Triathlon. (source: “The Triathlete’s Guide to Mental Training.)

I replace the triathlon parts with writing:

My views on competition is that there are merits in healthy competition with others when it’s about improving the writing. For instance, I saw a couple of good plays last weekend, and was delighted with seeing the techniques the playwright had used in conveying the idea and the feeling. I thought, ‘Wow.’ then “How can I do that in my own unique way,’ or ‘hey, I can use something like that’. But the real competition is within myself. This answers both (1) and (2). The struggle of the balancing act to schedule the time and the energy into the writing, and being dedicated to dig deeper and deeper to unearth the subtexts, and having the endurance to rewrite and rewrite until the gem has been cut and polished to show it off at its best.

My attitude toward success and failure. Right now (and I say right now because it may change because “There are no rules”) is I will be successful as a long as I don’t give up. I may have a shift in my perception as to what success is. But only I can measure this and not allow other forces to shape my vision of success. As I heard one musician tell it to another musician as they waved good-bye after another unpaid gig, “Keep fighting the good fight.”

Going back to my mentor’s initial response that “There are no rules” is applicable in what I’ve learned from meditating on the three questions from the book on “The Triathlete’s Guide to Mental Training”. There are not any rules that can be applied universally to specific situations i.e. the writer. We have varying attitudes about competition, ourselves and what we define as success and failures.

Everyday as I go down this path deeper and deeper into the woods I can never ask the question if I can find my way back, because there is no turning back. That’s probably one universal rule that can apply, because I can’t undo what I’ve learned along the journey to evolve in exploring my impulse to write. I expand my heart with each step walking in the shoes of my characters as I witness their choices under the circumstances they are in. It’s that journey, though sometimes sorrowful and sometimes joyful, that has enriched my humanity.

It Takes a Village

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I love it when people ask me “How do you do this?!”

I love it even more when it is coming from someone who does something I can’t fathom or make sense of (firemen, doctors, people who run charity organizations or fly to Ghana to teach kids…)

There are so many people in the world doing so many amazing things, and yet… we wonder at one another’s ability to do the things we ourselves simply can’t.

And to me, this is the universal proof that we are each of us meant to follow our own path… in the hopes of arriving at (perhaps) some collective betterment of mankind.

Which is why, as when those very same people ask me about the theater process, I tell them that, much like any grand accomplishment, it takes a village.

It’s not enough to have an idea, you need the encouragement to pursue it.

It’s not enough to put words to page, you need the mentorship to help you sculpt it.

It’s not enough to write a thing, you need eyes and ears to experience it.

And then you sit down and get to work at making that thing better.

Because if you’re patient, if you’re tenacious, if you keep at it and keep at it and keep at it… that thing of yours just might come to life.

A painter might get an exhibition, a cellist might get a concert, and a playwright might get a production…

…Which is when all the other villagers truly roll up their sleeves; all believing in the magic of your imagination.  This is when they commit to helping deliver this egg of yours to the masses (be it twelve noble ticket holders or hordes of Broadway die-hards)

And you sit in awe and wonder of this living, breathing, writhing beast of theater taking shape before you – a beautiful exquisite beast…

Yes, it takes a friggin’ village.

And this is why I’m so excited to be a part of the LAFPI movement.

Yes..  Movement.

A word with implied resistance to stagnancy.   It infers, no in fact, demands change…

The LAFPI is an opportunity for revelation of thought, practice, and life…

But it will take the whole village…  can you hear the shirtsleeves rolling?

~Tiffany~

THE POLISH

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I didn’t blog yesterday because I was polishing Wind in the Willows like mad. It’s to be given to the cast on Saturday, ready to go. I should have been looking for typos, misspellings, and incorrect indentations, but couldn’t stop myself from tweaking. I tightened a line, took out a word, added a word, then took out the line, etc. At one point, cross-eyed, I thought, “I’m changing the ending. Why am I changing the ending!?” A small voice said, “Because this ending is better.”

Maybe.

I could find out. One of the amazing and wonderful things about living in L.A. is that actors are everywhere. They fall out of trees and into the arms of aspiring playwrights and if lured with wine and cheese and crackers, they will read their plays for them. They will read in Starbucks, in living rooms, in church basements, in recreation centers, and they help the play to change and grow.

I am grateful to all those kind people who have read first, second, and third drafts of my plays. Actors always bring something to the table and just to hear the words is so instructive. You can hear where the holes and missteps are, can hear what is overwritten, can smell the filler and the false sentiment.

The theatres that offer staged readings are invaluable. The Blank Theatre’s Living Room Series, Seedlings at Theatricum Botanicum, New Works labs, ALAP’s In Our Own Voices, Live@the Libe, to mention only a few, are worth submitting to and offer great staged readings for works in progress.

The Q. and A.s are always bracing. My play, The Last Of The Daytons, was read several times. At one reading, an audience member, another playwright, said after a long silence, “I think you’re missing a scene.” The light went on. That one comment transformed the writing for me. I added the scene and learned a lot that was new about the characters and the play took a different turn. Beautiful.

Not everybody is helpful, of course. I can always spot The Spoiler, the man or woman who comes to all the readings for the joy of cutting the playwright down.

I enjoy going to readings by other playwrights, too. It’s like going to a club to hear a fellow musician play. Here’s two coming up: The Happy Wanderer by Nancy Beverly at the Celebration Theatre, June 1 at 7:30 pm, and Sara Israel’s Bad Art at the Powerhouse Theatre in Santa Monica, June 6th at 7 pm.

Next week, the kids will start studying their parts in Wind in the Willows. Rehearsals begin after school ends and I hope to be back to share what comes next.

COLLABORATIVE WRITING

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Working on Wind in the Willows made me think about collaborative writing. During what is called (by whom we don’t know) the Second Wave of the Women’s Movement, I worked with a cast to write a play about the Canadian suffragists, during what is called the First Wave of the Women’s Movement.

I researched, decided on the characters, wrote an outline, and sketched out the scenes. Then, I joined a cast of five actors and we improvised. The dialogue and eventually Nellie! How The Women Won The Vote, grew out of that work.

It was often exciting, sometimes very frustrating, and in the end, truly rewarding. We learned a lot about Canadian history of that period, beginning with this: No woman, idiot, lunatic, or criminal shall vote.

We also learned something about our own assumptions and prejudices about gender roles. In 1915, the suffragists held a burlesque of Parliament in which the roles of men and women were reversed. We wanted to recreate that but I couldn’t find a copy of the piece. Nobody seemed to have written it down. (Nothing changes in experimental theatre.)

So, we tried to improvise one in which giving men the right to vote was debated. We assumed that when they were in power, the female members of Parliament would smoke cigars, shout “Har, har,” clap each other on the back and talk about backroom deals and money. In short, they would act like men. It didn’t work.

Then, the penny dropped. If women were in charge, their values and attributes would be respected and they would treat men the way they were treated. Men, those second class citizens, would have to be taken care of, treated with chivalry, and ultimately dismissed. It worked like a charm and the Mock Parliament debated questions in 1915 that were still being debated in the 1980’s.

Here’s a bit of it:

LILLIAN (Government)
“Madame, Speaker, it’s a well known fact, and I speak as a mother, that the male child is more difficult to toilet train than the female child, and the same would undoubtedly hold true when training men in parliamentary procedures.

CORA (Opposition)
Speaking as one who is rather keen on men, I submit it is poppycock to shut out half of the world’s population simply because of a minor biological difference.

LILLIAN (Government)
This difference. A minor one, you say? Let me appeal to your finer sensibilities, woman to woman. Would you want this room, this very room, filled with the reek of cigar smoke? Would you want to hear the clink of brandy glasses in caucus? Would you want the halls festooned with spittoons, echoing with ribald laughter? Think. Can you, in all honesty, still say a minor difference?

And have you considered the suggestive nature of male attire – the colored waistcoats, the embroidered suspenders, the bay rum behind the ears, the waxed ends of moustaches and the tight trousers?

FRANCES (Opposition)
My husband doesn’t want the vote. He’s the power behind the throne. That’s good enough for him.”

I think we’re in what’s called the Fourth Wave of the Women’s Movement now and the debate about gender roles and women in power isn’t over yet. Hillary Clinton might have a lot to say on the subject.

There’s a one woman play if I’ve ever heard of one.

AUDITIONS FOR WIND IN THE WILLOWS

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I’ve never written for kids before, so the audition process was a revelation. Dorothy, Michael and I had three days to accommodate everybody.

Kids smiled for photos, holding nametags under their chins. They sang a cappela, just stood on the edge of the stage and sang. The songs linger. I can see the happy little bluebirds fly and I know that the sun’ll come out, tomorrow. I might not want to run into raindrops and kittens for a while.

Some came in soft jazz shoes and gave us a little shuffle. One girl had tapped since birth. Some were gymnasts, performing bendovers and cartwheels.

They took direction well. Dorothy would say, “These are her favorite things, not her almost favorite or her maybe favorite but her favorite! The change in delivery was immediate.

The greatest thrill for me was hearing them tear into the dialogue. It’s easier to sing, I think, than read. Often voices that belt out a song disappear when faced with words, but all of the kids read with intelligence.

Then we counted. Nineteen girls and three boys (count them, three!) had signed up.

Why more boys don’t show up is a mystery. There’s the summer lure of soccer, boy scout camp, and swim teams, but hey, girls like soccer, girl scout camp, and swimming, too. Perhaps, kids segregate themselves into gender groups when they are eight to twelve years old. I don’t know. I do know that making the male characters female was a pretty good move.

Nineteen girls meant more changes. Wiley is now Wilhemina (call me Willy) Weasel. The weasels pride themselves as being the “mean girls.”

However, thanks to the three extraordinarily talented boys, Toad is still a boastful and none too bright gentleman, and his lawyer, who gave us a spirited rendition of Return to Sender, is male, too. Wilmer is still Wilmer, played by a young man who let us know that the finish to his song was going “to be amazing,” which it was.

By the fourth day, one girl’s vacation plans took her out of the show, which means more rewrites to do. I suspect there will be more throughout the summer.

So much of writing is sitting in front of the computer, all alone, without hearing the words aloud, making changes and hoping that they’re the right ones, hoping that a reader or producer will like the finished project Somehow, Someday, Somewhere!

This is more fun.

Gender Neutral

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I’m Diane Grant, a playwright who is happy to be with the LAFPI.

A few years ago, a composer named Bill Elliott, asked me to adapt the classic 1908 children’s book, Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame. The book tells the stories of several creatures, Mole, Ratty, Badger, Otter, Toad, and friends, who live by a riverbank in the English countryside. Bill had written some beautiful music for it.

The book is full of rich, gorgeous prose but without a clear dramatic structure. I struggled with the loosely connected stories and found a strong through line by making Mole the protagonist. An underground creature, she leaves her home to visit the world above. Impetuous but shy, she learns about the four seasons, makes friends, and proves an intrepid and imaginative adventurer. I added characters, Wiley the Weasel and his punk cohorts, the Hedgehog family and Wilmer Otter, the not too swift guard in the dungeon, but concentrated on Mole’s story.

Then, Bill decided that he wanted a play about Alastair Grahame, Kenneth Grahame’s son, instead.

So, there I was with a play in the drawer, one of dozens of other Wind in the Willows plays, until I teamed up with director Dorothy Dillingham Blue and composer Michael Reilly to produce it this summer at Theatre Palisades.

What is most exciting about the project is that Dorothy loved my idea of changing the main characters from male to female. So often in youth plays, when characters are called “gender neutral,” girls lower their voices and stomp around. We wanted characters that all the jillions of girls who turn up to audition would want to play and could make their own.

I was encouraged by the recent sale of a first edition of the book, dedicated to the daughter of Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, who was thought to have been the model for the character of Ratty.

Now our version features Miss Mole, her mentor and soon to be best friend, Miss Ratty, the rather severe widow Badger, and the garrulous gossip, Miss Otter. Isn’t public domain fabulous?

Should Wiley the Weasel be a girl as well? Or even Toad, renowned as the feckless gentleman of Toad Hall?

The audition process would let us know.

my own best/worst critic

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Sara Israel, May 7, 2010

I’ve spent some time today with a comfortable friend— my play, bad Art.

It will soon receive its second public reading, and I’ll be directing it as well, so suddenly I am wearing two caps at once.  This morning I worked my way through the script making special formatting changes for the actors and stage directions reader, changes I explicitly make for readings.  I’m happy to report that I was able to read from page 1 all the way through page 94 purely as that director, keeping my writer’s urges to tinker and edit and fret completely at bay.

As a director, I spend 99.9% of my time celebrating the text before me, reveling in its depths with the actors.  But as a writer, my goal is always to make my play better.  I think I have pretty critical eyes, ears, and instincts when it comes to assessing my own writing— which in some ways makes me my own best critic, and in other ways make me my own worst.

Even if they are still very much in development, as a director I choose only to work on plays that I truly love and feel like I truly “get.”  It pains me to admit it, but I feel this sharp slice of doubt. . . Has what I’ve created here as a playwright worthy of me as a director? I’ve had to quite literally remind myself of the wonderful and empowering feedback I’ve received from theater professionals, to remind myself that bad Art was named a semi-finalist for the Princess Grace Award.  It.  Is.  Worthy.

I’m curious to see how I balance improving what I have written (the playwright) and celebrating what I’ve written (the director) with the cast I have assembled.  I admire all of their work.  Some of them are long-term friends; some of them I’ve joyfully worked with before; some were strangers who I implored to hop on board.  They are all really smart and really honest, so no matter what, I know I’ll learn a heck of a lot.

My goal will be to sit back, listen closely, watch well— and enjoy. . . in some ways wearing both caps, in some ways wearing neither.