I have to apologize – I’m in a real artistic funk and I leaked some of that frustration in Monday’s post. Rather than spend the week whining (isn’t that a seductive plan), I’m going to attempt to treat your time with care. After all, if you visit this site, chances are you’re some kind of theatrician as well and already well-know the challenges of this life.
So let’s talk about sprinkling yourself across mediums… and the wearing-thin of it.
I started a new blog – it’s called Twaddle Squawk and is devoted to fun opinionation. I’ve assembled a terrific group of talented writers, and we will publish our third issue next week.
I write for that blogzine – I’ve got all kinds of things to say there – but I am not writing full-length plays.
I’ve also been producing new play festivals in AZ… it’s exciting to me and I enjoy wearing the producer hat (most of the time) because the results are tangible. I have some major say in what happens and I usually write my own 10-minute play for each, so that Playwright Tiffany is bearing the benefits of Producer Tiffany’s hard work…
I write for those festivals because I know the result will get produced – but I am not writing full-length plays.
I’m organizing theatre workshops, rounding up students and such – because it’s solid and fun, and teaching feeds my soul! I will spend these workshops giving of my experience and knowledge, sharing my path with young aspirants…
I will teach the sh** out of those classes – but I am not writing full-length plays.
But I wonder – With these other creative outlets eating up my time – am I cultivating creative growth, or am I allowing the feeling of completion and ideas-come-to-fruition-ness (via producing and teaching) get in the way of my passion: writing plays (without any guarantee that anything will come of them or not) and letting my muse run wild?
For the reality of the artist’s life is that we are constantly besieged by the “real” world – demanding we meet our real world needs (like eating, paying rent, getting our knee tended to when it’s busted – that sort of thing) – that we can start to lose faith in the solvency of our dreams.
I used to believe that my plays had no chance at being ignored – that if I worked hard enough at my craft, I would certainly succeed – but here I am at a place where I find myself exclaiming “Certainly I’ve worked hard enough to be further along than this!” – and it leaves me grumpy and feeling stuck.
So, I don my other creative hats and revel in the completeness of different-than-playwriting tasks… and mourn the creative zeal that used to light my fire so determinedly.