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Being an Artist: Playwright and Photographer Marilyn MacCrakin

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Marilyn MacCrakin
Marilyn MacCrakin
Marilyn MacCrakin is an award winning playwright and photographer.  In 2011, Marilyn’s play, “The Family Tree” was a finalist in the “New Voices Playwriting Contest” for Images Theatre in Sacramento, CA.  In 2009, her play, “Dressing Matilda” was produced by the Grand Players in Omaha, NE and went on to win “Best New Play” from the Omaha Arts Council.  In 2006, her short play, “Photo Sensitive” was produced at the MET’s Playwright’s Intensive in Kansas City, MO in conjunction with Arthur Kopit.  In 2000 her play, “In The Time It Takes To Breathe” won Edward Albee’s Yukon Pacific New Playwriting Award.  Several of her plays have been presented at Edward Albee’s Great Plains Theatre Conference and the Last Frontier Theatre Conference.  Her other plays include: “The Brethren,” “Baptista,” and “The Sound of Hope.”  Marilyn’s photo, “Blackbird’s Singing” won an Award of Merit at the 2013 California Fine Arts Competition and in 2011, two of her photos, “A Cat in Mykonos” and “Island at Emerald Bay” won Merit Awards, also for the California State Fair Fine Arts Competition.

 I met Marilyn MacCrakin at the very first Great Plains Theatre Conference in Omaha, Nebraska in 2006.  It was the very first playwright’s conference that I had ever attended.  Attending the conference from 2006 – 2008, we ran into each other each year and have kept in touch encouraging each other and reading each other’s work.  On one of my check in emails, Marilyn mentioned giving up on writing – not something I could understand because she is an excellent storyteller.  I have admired the way she went into a whole other art form and excels in it…  Hoping to get her to change her mind or at least explain why she felt not writing plays anymore was a way to go,  I decided to interview her for LA FPI.  Maybe if she had to answer questions about that decision she’d rethink it.  God forbid that gender parity should play a role in her decision but I wondered how many female writers give up, need extended breaks to rejuvenate themselves,  how many reinvent themselves…basically, how do you keep doing art when you seem to be hitting wall after wall after wall?

 

Robin Byrd:  Where are you from?  Tell us a little bit about yourself.

Marilyn MacCrakin:  I was born and raised in Sacramento, CA.  I was a theatre arts major at Pepperdine University in Malibu, CA and I thought I was going to be an actress so I stayed in the Los Angeles area for a while. When that didn’t work out, I moved to Nome, Alaska to work as a DJ in radio. I also became involved with the Nome Arts Council, establishing a Community Theatre there.  I lived in Nome for six years, producing and writing plays for a “live theatre starved” audience.  In a town of approx. 4,000 people – we sold out every night.  The people would bring their entire families – they would dress up and almost act like they were in “church” – very respectful of the arts.   It was very rewarding, if it wasn’t for the darkness and the cold weather, I might still be there.

RB:  How did you become a playwright? What brought you to theater?

MM:  I studied acting and theatre in high school and as I said, I had aspirations of becoming an actress so I majored in Theatre in College. After college, I joined a writing group; I thought I would write novels. In the writing group, we all read from our work out loud and one of my fellow writers said, “I like your story, but you know, most of your book is dialogue.” The light bulb turned on.  Of course, I started writing plays immediately and had my actor friends read them all.  I thought plays were “just dialogue.”  Even though I had acted in many plays, I soon realized I really didn’t know “how to write” a play so I went back to school at California State University, Sacramento to study playwriting.

RB:  What is your favorite play of yours? Why?

MM: My favorite play that I have written is “Baptista” – a play I wrote about John the Baptist.  I studied everything that was written about John the Baptist because I wanted to make John into a “real” person — a living, breathing, locust-eating zealot who could have been living it up in the temple as a priest (he was in the priestly line and they were treated like “rock stars” in that time)  Instead, he retreated to the desert to listen to the voice of God so that he could prepare to take on the most corrupt political party of his time and turn their thinking upside down!  I found John to be a revolutionary man.  It could be said that he was “up-staged” by Christ (yes, I know this was exactly the plan – and John prepared the way). But therefore, I believe John doesn’t receive enough credit.  I’m very proud of the play because it is based on truth yet I’ve weaved my imagination (based on historical writings) into some of the gaps. (Plays are fiction, right?) In any case, it continues to be unproduced because it seems to be too religious for a secular audience and too controversial for a “spiritual” audience.

RB:  What is your favorite production of one of your plays? Why?

MM:  My play, (really the first play I ever wrote), “The Sound of Hope” which was produced in Nome, Alaska.  It just “worked.” It was a play based on a series of monologs which weaved into a story about the brave women of Alaska — about their experiences which had been recounted to me while I lived there.  A white missionary woman who was raped in a remote Native village, a Native woman who struggled with alcoholism who sobered up after giving birth to a child with fetal alcohol syndrome – a young Native school teacher whose grandmother had been born on a dogsled in the middle of a blizzard. They were all strong survivors.  The play just told their stories – no judgment, no easy “solutions.” I just remember watching the audience as the play was performed – they were fully engaged.  It was very rewarding to me.

RB:  Do you have a favorite playwright?  What about them inspires you and how?

MM:  I would say my favorite play is “Last Train to Nibroc” by Arlene Hutton.  I saw this play at B Street Theatre in Sacramento, CA.  I was enthralled by its pure simplicity, the humor and the unabashed hopefulness that “love conquers all.”  I was so inspired, I went home straight away and wrote a complete play in two days.  It was a two character play about love.  That is where the similarity to Arlene’s wonderful play ended as my play was awful but I wrote it, just the same.

I also admire Edward Albee, Theresa Rebeck, August Wilson, Mercedes Ruhl, Horton Foote, Tom Stoppard and did I say Theresa Rebeck? And the amazing Robin Byrd of course!

RB:  You are very kind. Now if that could just catch on. What would you consider the hardest part of being a playwright? How do you feel about the theater community?

MM:  I would say the hardest thing about being a playwright would be the fact that most of the time you’re “writing in a vacuum.”  It’s hard to find playwriting communities that will “workshop” your work.  It seems that most theatres these days are looking for “production” ready plays.  I understand that theatre is a business. But I have found that even for a “play reading” series at a theatre or conference– they seem to want the play to be “already perfect.” I can’t seem to find places that want you to submit “almost ready” plays that can be read and critiqued by an audience.  With a little tweaking – a lot of my plays could be production ready.

RB:   You have mentioned that you don’t really write anymore. What would you say has put a damper or hindrance on your writing?  You’ve been produced.  You’ve won awards.  Knowing your work personally, I can’t imagine you not ever writing another play.  I feel your voice as a writer is needed.  Is this a break to rejuvenate or have you really given up on your craft?  Will you ever come back to playwriting?

MM:  I would hope this is just a break from playwriting.  In the last couple of years, I have continued to write, continued to submit my plays and although I am very thick-skinned by now, I was amazed by the non-response to my work.  There wasn’t any criticism, there weren’t any questions, there was NO RESPONSE.  I can take, “I hated it.” Or I would love to hear, “I loved it.”  I can sift through the comments of how they think I should re-write it.  But NOTHING, I cannot take.

RB:   You are also a photographer.  What is it about photography that draws you in?  Do you think it is a form of storytelling?

MM:  Photography is a form of storytelling to me.  I was on a trip to Greece several years back, and I had purchased a new Nikon camera. I saw a black cat in Mykonos, (there are many cats in Mykonos) against one of the white stone walls there, so I took the photo.  Only later, did I realize that it told a story of a curious cat captured in a perfectly composed picture.  Someone said I should enter it into the CA Fine Art Competition at the CA State Fair, so on a lark, I submitted it and it won a Merit Award.  I thought it was beginners luck!  Since then I have won two other merits awards and now I realize that it’s very difficult to be accepted into this juried competition!

RB:   What else do you do to keep your creative juices running?  What type of art do you create now other than playwriting and photography? Where do your passions lie?

MM:  I have an Etsy shop for my photography and vintage art items.  Etsy has a “treasury” component that I find very creatively fulfilling.  Basically you find 16 items that you like and put them together into a 16 “frame” work of art. They can be color coordinated or some even tell a story.  Of course, I love the story kind.  Plus, I find it “promotes” my photography shop and also promotes other artists who I love to support and in turn, most of them reciprocate and include my photos in their treasuries — so it’s a win, win.

I find myself sort of addicted to making story treasuries.  It’s a challenge to find Etsy items that match your story.  I did one called “Film Noir” – I found a seller who was selling vintage film reels and a bracelet that looked like a piece of film – vintage fashion posters etc.  The final effect is like a work of art in itself.

Another unique component to treasury making is that there are “teams” on Etsy who support each other.  Most teams are about selling and promoting.  Other teams are groups which band together by theme items or art or photography.  Some teams support each other like a “support group.”  One Etsy member found out that one of her favorite shop owners was going to chemotherapy and started a team to support her.  She made encouraging treasuries with inspiring photos and posters etc.  She named it the “BRAVE” team.  Within weeks the team had grown to 75 members from all over the world, some who have shops with handmade knitted scarfs or necklaces or handmade jewelry, others are photographers like myself.  Other members are care-takers of loved ones who have cancer or an illness – some are supporting parents with dementia or they themselves are going through some kind of health or mental or emotional issue.  They started “Thursday Night Brave Stories” treasuries – the results are amazing!   We all find that a little bit of encouragement goes a long way.  I never seen anything like it.

RB:. How have you evolved over the years as an artist?  Do you feel that it all comes together in some way – the creative outlets?  Do you consider yourself to be somewhat of a renaissance woman?

MM:  Well, I listen to my voice and I really try to be true to that inspiration.  Early on, I tried to “copy” the way other playwrights write their plays.  Now, I write what is true to me.  I guess I must say, this “being true to my voice” has not necessarily been successful in getting my plays produced so I wonder how to balance my voice with the desire for my voice to be heard.

RB:  When did you find your voice as an artist? Are you still searching for it? Where do you feel it is most clear?

MM:  Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I “hear voices.”  (yes, I know how that sounds). But I find “characters” from my play that I’m working on.  They just start talking and pretty soon I have to get up and take dictation!  This happened to me very clearly for my play, “The Family Tree” — a very proper Southern woman was talking to her neighbor about the Mississippi River!  It doesn’t always happen that way, but I find this to be the “magical” part of writing.

RB:  How do you decide when to move to a different creative outlet or when to give one a rest?  How do you know what will fulfill your need to create?  Can you discuss your process?

MM:  Usually, I will be writing one new play and tweaking another.  And if I get stuck then I switch to photography.  Photography to me is like “instant gratification.”  You take a photo – you edit it – you put it on your website and you immediately (usually) get a response.  And for me that response is quite often very positive so it usually gets me through the dry patches in writing.

RB: . Do you ever feel that being a female artist puts you at a disadvantage in any way?

MM: Well, I would like to say “No,” but unfortunately, that wouldn’t be true.  For some reason, male playwrights still seem to get produced more often than female playwrights – I think this is slowly changing but it’s too slow.  I know there are many professional theatres and conferences that include in their mission to seek out female playwrights, but then I look at the list of plays that they are producing or featuring at the conference and the majority of them are male.  I don’t get that because I know other female playwrights are submitting?

RB:   How do you battle the negative voice? (insecurity, second guessing)

MM: Well, usually I adapt an “I don’t care what they think” attitude.  But then I re-write a play to death to try to “please the elusive someone” – the audience, my critics, my mentors – and the edited play doesn’t work, of course.  I think that’s why I’m taking a break so I can quiet the negative voice and just get back to writing what flows out of my voice.

RB:. Do you have a theme that you come back to a lot in your work?  How do you decide which medium to use?

MM:  I think one theme that reoccurs a lot in my plays is “broken people who find healing or redemption.”  I like to focus on positive things that happen in life – even when in reality many, many negative things happen before the final positive outcome.

RB:   What are you working on now?

MM: A play called, “The Patina Principle.”  I wrote it last year after I had to take my mother to visit an emergency room late at night.  The emergency room took on a “support group” type of atmosphere that was amazing to me.  People who didn’t know each other at all were bonding together about their illnesses and brokenness and then in a weird coincidence, I ran into my neighbor there who was having a panic attack from a broken relationship (i.e. a broken heart.)  I didn’t know that about her and I’m her neighbor!  So, I started writing this play to mirror what happened in my life because of it but it isn’t coming out right yet.  So I took a break from writing it, so I can return to it with fresh eyes.  The last time I tried to take a look at it – it was like it was written in a foreign language so I guess I’m not ready yet!

RB:  Where can we find your work?

MM: https://www.etsy.com/shop/PhotosbyMarilyn

To find my treasury stories, click on my name on my shop and then on “Treasury Lists.”

Plays:  I don’t have any of my plays online, but you can email me at [email protected]

RB:  Thank you for taking the time to chat with us, Marilyn.

MM:  Well, I must say, your questions have opened the flood gates of writing in me (at least for this blog) but I feel myself being inspired again!

RB:  Take Wings.

 

To Fee or Not To Fee?

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Full Disclosure: I do not pay submission fees. At first it was mostly because I don’t budget for it, but the more I submit to play-writing contests, the more it just doesn’t jive with me. I liken it to the nearly-only-in-LA procedure of dues-paying ensemble companies. More full disclosure: I used to work for one and was partly responsible for collecting said dues.

It makes my stomach turn.

Submission fees for playwrights isn’t as sickening to me. I understand fees are sometimes considered part of the beast. I mentioned this topic to my husband and he automatically assumed you paid for your play to be in the contest, not just considered. The wide eyes when I explained…

Many people have differing opinions, so instead of this being merely my thoughts, I want to share what I learned as I investigated across multiple social media platforms.

It all starts on Twitter: Local LA playwright Brian Polak was the first to answer my general inquiry.

I detest submission fees. Producing entities unfairly pass the burden of contests and productions on to prospective writers. I believe if you want to have a contest or do a production, fundraise for it. Don’t make writers pay to play.

Brian doesn’t agree that submission fees are equivalent to dues-paying companies however, a situation I could not resolve in 140 characters or less .

Gedaly Guberek of Coeurage Theatre Company quickly agreed, as did Louise Penburthy who added:

I don’t pay submission fees anymore, except for prestigious places with work-shopping. Otherwise it’s obnoxious, [in my humble opinion].

The idea of a play getting work-shopped or a production seemed to matter to some people. Through Linkedin I found the following comments:

Vic Cabrera in LA:  I would, and have, if I get a critique back.

Donald Drake & Evan Guilford-Blake both said yes because the returns can be beneficial. Evan: Last year I paid about $900 and won $3600.

Donald has also gotten more prize money with contests that charge, and sees another benefit: One of my best experiences in the theater came from a competition I paid to enter – the O’Neill, which provided me with a wonderful month in Waterford, Ct. with incredible actors and directors and a wonderful staged reading of my play. I can understand why small theaters can’t afford to pay for running a competition and I see the submission fee as a business expense on my part.

Honestly, the Playwrights Group on Linkedin is so interesting and varied that I encourage everyone to read it.

Ian Hornby‘s perspective was especially interesting: Having run a playwriting competition on behalf of The Playwrights’ Co-operative, there are two edges to this topic. We started with a small entry fee ($10), purely to fund a decent prize at the end. But we had so many sites that would not list us because we had an entry fee that we dropped the fee and made it free entry. What a mistake we made. Although it’s not the right kind of filter and has so many undertones of not providing equal opportunities for those unable to afford the fee, at least it was a filter. We were completely snowed under with entries, and our panel of judges didn’t have time to do anything more than speed-read all entries so as to arrive at a shortlist, which could then be read in detail. Without doubt we’d have missed some gems.

Regardless, he does applaud contests without a fee.

Tony Earnshaw from the UK has an interesting perspective: …in the poetry world it’s difficult to find any contests which don’t have a fee attached and I’ve heard no grumbles. I’ve recently entered a short play for a competition run by a small theatre and am one of the winners (there are ten of us). The read through, at which I met the other writers, the directors and the casts, was worth it in itself.

Anyway, 5 on Linkedin from all over the world say YES, 9 say NO and 1/3 of the NO’s will make exceptions in rare cases.

Gregory Fletcher believes: If a theater company wants to attach their name to my play as the premiere producer, then figure out how to evaluate my play without charging me. Do painters, musicians, dancers, actors, or anybody else in the arts pay to have their work considered for production?

The answer to that, of course, is yes, in some cases.

I then took to Facebook. The results are as follows:

Prefer not to, but will if the contest interests me enough: 17 votes
No, because I usually can’t afford it: 6 votes
No. I am philosophically opposed to fees: 5 votes
Also much more interested if the outcome is a production: 1 vote
Yes, it is just part of the beast: 1 vote
I don’t even read those submissions: 0 votes
I don’t mind and have submissions fees in my ‘expenses’ budget: 0 votes
I don’t mind at all; I just want my work produced: 0 votes
Adam Szymkowicz : Only for Sundance and O’Neill.
Edith Freni : All others I’ll ask for a waiver.
Here is the thing. (We’re back to my opinion now.) Regarding my more recent experiences:
Last summer, I self-produced a Fringe show I wrote with under $500 budget. I felt shame every single time we cut corners, every time I saw how very hard these wonderful actors and director worked for nothing more than a hug and immense gratitude. We had an incredibly supportive and hard-working awareness team as well, who donated their time for some experience and the cause of the piece.
There was a chance to remount and I had to turn it down for many reasons. I knew the team was happy and willing, but I just couldn’t look these artists in the eye and ask them to work for free again. I also have had some fights in my day with supervisors on Equity rules for actors and the worth of one designer versus others.
What’s changed? I often work freelance and negotiate my contracts. On a weekly basis I tell someone my worth and stick by it. When I began working for myself, I undercut my rate. That changed pretty quickly.
I also see way too many people pay upwards of $30/month to join an ensemble company; sometimes I’ve heard of $85/month. Actors may have their reasons – and I fully admit I have it easier as someone who can create my own work – but honestly, I’m fed up.
If you don’t have the money or means to produce a show, you shouldn’t do it. I have done it myself and will not do it again. Personally, it demeans everything in the work that has value, be it the writing, directing, performances, dramaturgy, design, right up to the viewing audience who pays money (in most cases) so that the artists involved may at least get nice thank you gifts.
This is a personal decision after years of self-producing and co-producing. As an extension, I refuse to pay a submission fee. If your readers (and Lord knows, I’ve donated my own time to reading plays) need money, raise the money. If you can’t produce without artists paying into the production in order to be considered, don’t produce.
Some excellent and imaginative pieces don’t “need” money. Artists involved should still be paid.
Yes, it’s hard. So is writing and acting and directing and designing….
Find the people who will donate to your work. They are out there. They are hard to find. They are hard to woo.
Art ain’t easy.
I do not mean any of this as a judgement on those who choose to pay fees and who choose to join ensemble companies, nor do I want to demean the artists who have worked for free on my work over the years. They hopefully got enough in return out of the investment.
They deserve better.
I also know for a fact there are plenty of playwrights out there who will happily pay fees for their own reason. No theater company is crying right now that they won’t get the chance to consider my plays for their competition.
Every even mild success I have from last June onward rests squarely on the backs and pocketbooks of the actors who braved traffic in LA, subways in NY, missed opportunities elsewhere or felt guilty for skipping rehearsal to audition for a commercial (they shouldn’t).
I don’t feel the need to go further into production teams’ sacrifices; just know I married a designer and learned everything about negotiating a contract from friend Cricket S. Myers. By the way, she was nominated for a Tony last year and will walk away from a job rather than accept a mediocre situation.
Often times, she is my hero.
Some may think these arguments are separate. I do not. Every time we de-value our work, an arts education program dies. After all, what value is there in it? Arts advocates are saints. Not all producers or self-producers are money-grubbing and selfish either. Many produce for the sheer joy of art, some for profit, numerous others simply because they’re good at it and theatre needs producers. It’s unfortunate that the most meager of producing codes must dictate paying actors gas money.
That is all.

Go On Anyway

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At my friend Eve’s birthday party a few weeks ago, I found myself in conversation with our mutual pal Kelly, who was asking how “Shorts & Briefs” had gone – an afternoon of 10 minute plays and excerpts of plays that I’d been a part of in March.  I said “Most excellent,” and then launched into why the heck Jan O’Connor, Mary Casey and I had cooked up the event:  the sorry state of affairs for women getting their plays done.

Kelly asked (innocently) why things were that way.  I explained that getting ANY play produced is tough – especially if you’re unknown or semi-unknown without a track record – but that the choosing of plays by literary departments leans towards picking male authors.  It’s not unlike the film or TV business, I said.  Writing staffs on TV shows to this day will have more men than women.  Movie scripts by men still far outnumber those by women.  (All hail Kathryn Bigelow, but don’t get me started on the number of working female directors.)  Why is that, Kelly asked.

It’s been this way for years, I said.  It mirrors the non-show biz business world (even though we’ve made progress on many fronts).  Why is that, she asked again.

This is how our conversation went.  Kelly kept asking why and I kept talking until finally I had a light bulb moment and said, you know what, Kelly?  I think this is the journey of our planet. 

I think we are a planet of polarity.  North and South poles.  East and West cultures.  Night and Day.  Black and White.  Male and Female.  And I think our journey is to reconcile, to integrate what we perceive to be our opposite, to see that we are not opposites, that we are many, many shades, many colors, many gradations all on the same spectrum. 

But what keeps us from doing that?  Fear.  And I think that’s the other great journey of our planet.  We hold on to our little acre of land.  Our rung on the ladder.  Our spot in the pecking order.  Our religion.  Our opinion.  We think that spot, that belief is our tangible proof of… of what?  We’re loved?   We’re okay?  We’re good enough? 

And so we make fear-based choices.  It takes courage to say, “Yeah, I’m gonna take a chance on this playwright who is not of my gender, my tribe, I’m gonna risk my reputation on her.”  But  you can’t stand around waiting for literary managers and producers to get over their fears and integrate “oppositeness” into their world.  We must do it ourselves, in whatever way we can.  Thank you Jan and Mary as well as Laura, Jennie and the other women of the L.A.F.P.I. for taking steps so we’re not standing around waiting.

I will close this first blog with a quote from Robert Henri that I have taped to my bathroom mirror:  “ Do not let the fact that things are not made for you, that conditions are not as they should be, stop you.  Go on anyway.  Everything depends on those who go on anyway.”