Tag Archives: playwriting

Act Two, Scene Four

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Kitty Felde – January 19, 2011

One other thought about writing this ‘trick myself into writing something’ play.  I’ve decided to try some of the techniques I admire in other plays but never employ in my own. 

I rail against ‘kitchen sink dramas’ all the time and crave a real theatrical experience.  But how often do I write them myself?  Not often enough.

Since this children’s play I’m writing “doesn’t really matter” (that’s what I keep telling myself to stop putting pressure on myself to make it FABULOUS) I can experiment, get outside my comfort zone. 

So here are my rules:

Simplify.  I’m always writing large cast pieces with complicated plots.  For this piece, I’ve decided to simplify the play at its core: it’s the story of a relationship between a girl and her grandmother.  All other characters come and go. 

Well, that was the first thought.  Now a best friend has cropped up for the girl and he’s threatening to become a more fully realized character.  But okay.  Everybody ELSE comes and goes.

Dare to offend.  I’m fairly polite and probably overly politically correct in my personal and professional life.  Why be that way onstage?  I’m going to RISK offending people.  Writing characters that are not from my background or life experience and bring troublesome images on stage.  Yes, in a children’s play.  It will go over the heads of the kids and drive the parents crazy.  Which is the point.

Make stage magic.  My Skype playwriting pal Ellen Struve described a very bad production of “A Christmas Carol” that was saved by one thing: it snowed – not just onstage, but also IN the audience.  Magic happened somewhere in that theatre.  That’s what I want to try onstage.  Vegetables dance.  Pictures talk.  We’ll see how far I can pull this off.  But just giving yourself permission to try things is fun. 

No judgments until you get to the end of the first draft.  I’m making notes about this or that (didn’t I already write a similar scene?  Isn’t this scene inappropriate for the age range of the audience?), but I’m not trying to fix anything.  Yet.  The goal is to get to the end. 

 Have some fun.  So far, so good.

Act Two, Scene Three

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Kitty Felde – January 18, 2011

I keep coming up with ways to trick myself into writing.

I have an act two problem with a play I’ve been struggling with for several years.  It’s the one about which my husband keeps saying, “why don’t you just let it go?”  But you know how it is.  It’s like the troubled kid you know you can see through the bad times so he’ll become an upstanding citizen when he’s done growing up.  So I know I’m committed to that play. 

But I’ve been stuck for months trying to finish act two.  And not writing a thing.

So I’ve decided to trick myself.

The very first play I ever wrote was a melodrama, “Shanghai Heart.”  As an actor, I had played a season in lovely Oceano, California with The Great American Melodrama and Vaudeville Theatre, playing 12 year old ingénues (I had just graduated college!)  Some of the plays were classics, some newer knock offs. 

Melodramas rarely get the kind of serious dramaturg attention that other genres get.  Even musical comedy is taken more seriously.  So when the urge came for me to write my first play, I chose a melodrama.  I knew the style.  But more importantly, I told myself, if the play stunk, no one would know.  It was a melodrama, for heaven’s sake. 

This kind of ploy worked pretty well when I was freelancing as a journalist for several years.  The days that my story ideas were rejected, I told myself I wasn’t a journalist, I was really a playwright.  When my plays came back in that sad, beaten up envelope, I told myself I wasn’t really a playwright, I was a journalist.  Schizophrenic, but it worked for me.

Of course, in my heart of hearts, I was going to write the BEST melodrama on planet earth.  And with a cast of ten (TEN!  What was I thinking?) I had a lot of characters to create and plots to keep straight.  But in the end, my tale of mistaken identity and love on San Francisco’s Barbary Coast was a hit.

The Los Angeles Times said, “Felde knows the melodrama form and has created an admirably intricate plot involving lost children, double amnesia, filched land deeds, a displaced Mountie, vamps, chorines, an evil foreigner, revenge and love triumphant.”

 Drama-Logue raved, “clever, talented and resourceful Kitty Felde…we should be hearing more from this versatile young lady.”

 I went on to write ten other plays. 

 And then got stuck in act two hell.

 So back to my solution. 

 I decided to choose another genre that’s gotten short shrift: plays for young audiences. 

 I’m a Helen Hayes judge here in Washington (kind of like the Ovations or LA Drama Critics Circle awards) and because I’m on the New Plays committee, I see a lot of new kids shows.  And unfortunately, a lot of them are bad.  (I know because the kids I’ve borrowed as my theatre companions tell me that on the drive home.)

 So I decided to write a kids show, using the same rationale I used to write that very first play: if it was bad, who would know?

 Now, before anyone gets all hot and heavy, I know kids’ theatre should be the BEST we have to offer.  Otherwise, why would kids ever pay the big bucks to attend theatre as adults?  And I have seen some WONDERFUL theatre designed for kids that’s MUCH better than the dreck offered to adults.  In my heart of hearts, that’s the play I want to write.  But I won’t admit it to myself.  Not just yet.

 www.kittyfelde.com

The subConscious…

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Last night I was dreaming about writing Fiddler’s Bridge.  I was dissecting the connections and characters and what their deals are.  I kept running through what was going on in my story all the while trying to sleep.  I awoke this morning wondering why in the world I was dreaming about my darn story.  This is not something I do in the early stages, it usually happens as I approach the end of Act One or the beginning of Act Two.  I was still tired so I tried to go back to sleep.  All I wanted was fifteen more minutes to make up for the interrupt – but that interrupt just continued right on through my extra fifteen minutes. 

“Okay, okay, I see the point where she takes her moment.  I won’t forget.  Yes.  I hear the silences.  Now, can I have my fifteen minutes?”

Thus went my conscious conversation with my subconscious.  It has got a whole lot to say about the structure of the subconscious world of the play.  How does one do that – write the subconscious world?  I try not to think about those kinds of things too hard; it normally takes care of itself without me having to be so aware of it.  My guess is that I have to approach this piece in a new way (along with some of my old ways).  This is about the only place in my life where I can embrace change without too much kicking and screaming.

I trust my subconscious – like hearing from it – it’s free to be…  Sounds like a dream, feels like a dream but doesn’t need interpreting.  It’s always pretty clear and sure of what’s needed to accomplish the task.  It abides in the secret place with my spirit man and is more in tune with the deep flow of things because it is uncensored and un-distracted by life and sleep… 

So on to the sub area…

Building Houses…

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I like watching houses being built especially if they have basements and the ground has to be dug out.  I like watching the pouring of the foundation and the laying of the cornerstones.  I like watching the leveling and anchoring.  I like seeing the little by little progress that eventually ends up being a finished house ready for furnishing.  I like knowing what the inners look like… 

The new dream house for the Home and Gardens network looks like a cabin on the outside but when you go inside, it is a completely modern house.  It’s beautiful (as they always are) but I was shocked by the blatant contrast between the outside and the inside of the house.  I actually gasped and not in a good way because I was thrown for a loop.  But, I was totally intrigued by the contrast and beauty of the house so I could not help looking at every nook and cranny…  And for that split second – at the moment of my gasp – I thought about theater, how the most effective pieces make you gasp as well.  They catch you by surprise and take you to places you never thought you would go to or move you in a way you never thought would be possible.  My first viewing of the house was like watching the revelation of a character whose outward appearance does not accurately depict who he/she is – “the secret”.  But, looking a little closer at the inners when exposed, you suddenly know who they are and why the façade.  And more exactly, why this façade in its inaccurate depiction of the character is still spot on with regards to the secret. 

Secrets – they always cause some kind of friction when revealed.  Quietly or out loud, privately or publicly, a secret revealed changes the atmosphere…  Secrets are always enough in my book to drive a good story or build a good character.  They also make for good gasping moments. 

I’ve been thinking…about capturing that gasping moment somehow in my new play…  So, I’m digging deep.  I have started building this house – this play – from the earth out…

Listening…

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 “Leave dat back dere.  It done.  Let it stay done.”                                                                        Maria  from The Grass Widow’s Son

For a few days and all day today, I have been hearing the above words from the last play I wrote.  At first, I couldn’t place the voice or the words; only the diction was familiar to me so I had to do a search of a few plays just to find out where it was coming from.  Since I am trying to “go with the flow”, I have to at least entertain the thought that part two of The Grass Widow’s Son might be knocking at the door even though I am trying to write a new piece…  Running the “why’s” and “how comes” through my head, I can see that it could be because I have a pressing issue that I need to suppress in order to write my next play.  It’s done and I need to let it stay done.  I need to leave it in the past and deal with it on another level – later.

It’s a really strange feeling to have your characters give you advice after the writing process is over…or not…  I did have a faint thought when I finished The Grass Widow’s Son about what the journey down that mountain would be like.  What a kicker if I have to write part two along with Fiddler’s Bridge – one day this one, next day that one…  Or, it could really be Maw Ria, (named after my great great grandmother) simply telling me to push through the past and do what I got to do now…Now…

Just yesterday, I was debating the state my new play would take place in.  Today, I understand that it was never a debate but the pull of the land – not on the piece but on me.  I’m not finished with the region depicted in Grass Widow and it’s not finished with me…

I’m still excited about writing Fiddler’s Bridge…still expectant about the journey…still going with the flow…  And, whatever else is calling out to me, I’m leaving room for it…  I’m listening…

And, So It Begins…

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I have been internalizing for months.  I’ve named my characters, renamed some.  Heard first words and written them down.  Looked at the symbolism forming, done my research and talked out loud about some of what I think is going to happen – listening intently to the nuances of change in the story on its way to the page…

I am still debating which state the story takes place in but I am sure it will reveal itself to me while I am writing.  Some things just can’t be allowed to hold up the writing.  I can see the room, the scattered toys, the dim path lights and I can hear the sound of the snow cracking the bridge cover.  I’ve stepped to the beginning mark…

Of course, I feel as though I’ve bitten off more than I can chew like I do each time I start a play but I’m writing it anyway…  I plan to stay out of the way as best I can and let Fiddler’s Bridge reveal itself to me bit by bit, layer by layer, word by word, sound by sound.  I’m excited and at peace about it.  I love that it is finally time to write… 

And, so it begins…

Going With the Flow…

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 In my everyday life, I must remind myself to go with the flow and to not talk myself out of the adventure.  It is quite difficult to do 52 percent of the time.  I always feel as though I am wandering around in dimly lit forests without markers or roads, finding it hard to trust “the flow” of the thing.  The trees are so tall and closely set that I can hardly see the sun.  And, if I can’t see the sun, I can’t see my way out of the dark.  When I do trust the flow; it is always an amazing journey.  One would think that I would learn by now but I’m human and I like to have plans that work – most of the time – as opposed to having so many “go with the flow” moments. 

In my writing, there is no other way but going with the flow – regardless of the trees or the dark – the voices of the characters do not speak when tampered with and they have their own rhythm…  I have to be open when I write or I’d never be able to write.  Personally, I cannot do the “not writing” thing – must be writing, always writing…  And, I have come to rely on being open to the processes I use for writing my plays and have spent the last decade plus honing that sensitivity. 

With poetry, I have let it come in when and where it can find a space between plays and work mostly for special occasions like birthdays, holidays, and deaths.  For the last few years, I have been working on a book of poems for my mother – gut wrenching stuff to write but she says it’s like I’m her memory.  I did intend for it to be personal to my mother but did not expect it to take so long and be so emptying.  I literally have to take breaks after every few poems.  Because of that, I had started to think that putting a book together unlike just collecting poems was virtually impossible for me.  I have been planning to submit to a certain poetry contest for a few years but every year, the play submission deadlines overlap with the poetry manuscript submission deadline and in the time before and after submission periods, I was always writing another play.  This year, by some miracle, the deadline was extended two weeks.  So, I figured I would go with the flow by trying to submit something.  I started going through my stash of poems looking for a theme that jumped out at me – a daunting process to say the least as some of my best poems were off limits for this project.  I had to find an “in” so I wrote a poem about whatever it wanted to be about, was completely honest – no secret codes.  It went boldly to the scary dark place and said, “Now what?  You game?”  Suddenly, I knew what the theme was and how to pull poems I had already written into the pile, one being “Before the Red” and I knew I was going to have to keep going back to those scary places to write the manuscript right.  But even knowing that, time was running out.  I was going to have to write and rewrite a total of at least 50 poems in less than two weeks now.  It was new to me; I was completely terrified…scared…”afeared”.  I was traveling into scary dark places at a pace I didn’t think I could keep up…  I was writing through the night, writing through my lunch, writing while trying to get dressed for work…just writing and editing like a crazy woman…  Every time I would get overwhelmed and say, “Lord, I can’t do it.  I can’t finish in time.”  He would say to me, “But, what if you can?”  After a while, I found myself echoing, “What if I can?”  It was the million dollar question that I needed to have an answer to.  So, I continued to push hard; not making it when all I need to do is push hard a little bit longer is the worst kind of not making it.  I told myself I would push till the last available minute and just see what happens – just see if I can.  I could and I did.  I uploaded my finished manuscript with fifteen minutes to spare…New York time.

I had gone to the THERE space to the scary dark place and I had written it scared…but I had written it.  The flow of that thing was like being caught in the swell of a wave that refused to break.  I told a friend that I felt as though, I had become myself….nothing broken…nothing lacking…

Now…I am planning to start a new play to submit before March.  I have two weeks off from my day job and I ain’t scared to go wherever…because  I know I can go to the scary dark places…and still go with the flow…

And the beat goes on…

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…and on…. and on…

Is it the rythm of life?  My iTunes Genius?  A steel drum band?

Nope.

It’s the sound of my head, pounding against the desk… and a pile of DEADLINES!

I used to be the “high-anxiety-worry-the-project-to-it’s-near-death-before-it’s-even-close-to-being-due” type.

Now I’m the “I-know-it-will-get-done-because-I’m-such-a-worry-wort/plan-ahead-so-I-guess-it’s-okay-to-leave-things-to almost-the-last-minute-because-this-is-how-the-muse-likes-to-work-(even-if-I-don’t)” type… which means I butt my head right up against those due-due-due-dates till they’re done-done-done-dates… And the ceiling is getting a tad low over here at the moment.

But, anxiety around the task at hand aside, I have actually grown to (gasp) trust this process.

It’s one of the things I’ve learned about myself over the past two or three years; I’m still a worrier, but I’m a confident one.

I mean, the deadlines are looming, and I know I’ll make them all… (knock on wood)… but I’m also trusting that the Muse will poke me when she’s ready to buckle down… and until then, I’ll keep a pillow handy if the wait gets too intense (can’t be bruising up this skull of mine in the interim)

I just wish she would move a little bit faster… adhere to my three-days-before-the-deadline, deadlines… Instead of doing it her way.

(sigh)

But if I’ve learned ANYTHING, it’s that poking and nagging her is the shortest way to a headache… and I’m not in the mood for a tantrum!

Dramaturgy and the Playwright

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I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about this week – Christmas is here, the semester is nearly over, and the possibilities seemed (frighteningly) endless; Should I lament the mountain of submissions that’s been haunting my desk?  Talk about what it feels like to send out job after job after job application as I pray for a professorship teaching playwriting and acting somewhere green (but snowy at all the right times too) allt he while trying to keep up with the algebra class on campus so I can continue to TRY to tutor these kids on absolute values?  Should I talk about my new play?  My new blog that is thrilling me but keeping me up late (www.LosAngelesFAIL.com)?  WHAT SHOULD I WRITE ABOUT?!

Then I woke up to a four-pronged debate happening on the Literary Managers and Dramaturgs of the Americas listserve.

Wow.

And I thought, this is going to be an interesting Monday.

Basically (and I haven’t the permissions of those contributing to the debate, or else I’d repost their comments here) the discussion began with someone sharing a post by a dramaturg lamenting the process of dramaturging a show being directed by the playwright him/herself.  (Woof, did you get all that?  Because, I ran that sentence all the way to the finish line!)  I imagine that in such a case as this, even the best intentioned playwright could be a bit unyielding to a dramaturg’s best intentions – (after all,  there’s certainly the chance for a more balanced discussion with three at the table instead of just two) but the firestorm of discussion it stirred showed me that there is quite a lot of contention amongst two of a play’s (very important) team-players…

Because, as with many things put together through community/committee effort, so many voices are sure to have different opinions on just how the idea at hand is to be realized.

Some interesting points made (on both sides):

  • A script ain’t a Play until others (actors, designers, directors, etc) get involved – the argument stresses that you can write a script, but you can’t predict the Play .  And until it’s “played” it’s just words/ideas on a page.

Hmmmmm….. How do you writers feel about that?  Doesn’t it seem just a wee bit pretentious to assume that a playwright can’t fully understand his/her own work enough to be able to “predict” what it will look like and therefore be allowed to expect that the thing will be treated with some form of reverential realization before getting dressed down by an outside “opinionator” (now, that’s a fun new word!) –  Does such a theory indicate the theorizer believes him/herself a necessary component to “helping” the playwright’s “script” become a Play?  And until it’s a Play, is it just, merely, some thoughtful scribble on a page requiring help?

This discussion point alone saw many comments… One of the best (and most balanced) arguments I read stated that “dramaturgy is a function, not just a title, and nobody has a monopoly on insight” (credited to John Guare in regards to a note he once received, and applied, from an usher)  Isn’t it healthier for the working relationship at large if ALL involved are approaching the play with this mindset?  Rather than approaching the play as a thing that needs to be beat into shape by these new involvees (dramaturge/director/etc.)?

  • A text isn’t ever really fixed… This argument was made a few times in regards to plays “evolving” over time from production to production.  The caveat being that “new/emerging plays” (vs. those by dead playwrights) need to be aware of this “ever evolving” theatrical condition (and presumably, more open to dramaturgical responses) than those “dead” plays, long proven to work (Williams, Miller, etc.) or old enough to allow for as much “evolution” as the public will allow.

Does approaching a script as a constant “work in progress” help/hasten the development process, or does this attitude in fact, get in the way of fleshing out what the writer has written?  Jessica Kubzansky, a talented writer/direct and mentor of much esteem, has oft said “Commit to everything, but marry nothing” when working with new plays.  I LOVE this mentality!  For how can you possibly know whether a thing works, if you don’t first try it out – and try it honestly, sincerely, and to the best of your abilities?  It is only then that the “team” producing a script, and the playwright him/herself can truly decide whether the thing works.  But to approach a script thinking “It’s only words, and it’s going to have to evolve to suit those producing it” is a little too close to Hollywood practicum for my tastes…

And this was right about the time that copyright got thrown in the mix… And also about the time that someone piped in with a flippant remark that

  • Copyright is an American invention and European playwrights expect their work will be meddled with. (obviously, you can discern my opinions on this… the commentator himself did not use the term “meddle”)

Look, I’ve had this discussion before – (who hasn’t?)- when I was at the Kennedy Center Page to Stage Festival with one of my plays, I got to speak on a panel with other playwrights, dramaturgs, directors, actors, and development people.  Someone asked how we felt about letting directors have their way with our work, and the discussion suddenly got a bit frosty.  The argument was made that Shakespeare gets re-vamped/reworked all the time, and my reponse was “Yes, but how many of those ‘revamps’ are ever any good?”  The last thing I need is some cocky director looking at my text as his/her own blank canvas… I don’t write that way.  Some might (Thank you, Charles Mee and others, who write in such open and bold manner as to invite collaborators to “play” with your text.) but, until I write a script and include the author’s notes “Do with this text as ye will” – I’d like those directing or producing the thing to honor my intentions.  After all, why produce the thing if you just want to change it all around?  (I do actually write for designers and directors to have a lot of interpretational freedoms in most of my plays – because I see the benefit to varied productions on those scripts… but I include those encouragements in my author’s notes… and they’re prescribed freedoms within the context/world of the play.)

Ultimately, my response to this argument is that we have copyright and licensing laws to protect the text, and I’m THANKFUL for this “American” process!  I am thankful that we, as playwrights, can write with the expectation that our intentions should be honored and that we can also chose to eschew those protections if we see fit.

In any case… I’m not going to sit here and exclaim that the text as I first excitedly print off is the same that will be left on opening (or closing) night… but I am going to declare that until I’ve worked with actors and directors and maybe even a dramaturg or two, the script deserves to be flexed on its own merit.  It needs to be tested, discussed, tried, and re-worked… and I will do the work/revisions based on my interpretations of those readings/run-throughs/and discussions.

For, if a dramaturg wants to write a play, they should, in fact, take up the pen and paper.

If they want to dramaturg a play, they should approach it as a lover of words and “inspector” of moments/theme/consistency… they should approach the script AND the playwright with respect. (and in my experience, most good dramaturges do just this)

If it’s tearing apart and remodeling a person is into, then I think they should consider a career change… Hollyweird is always looking for new development personnel to “Fix” and “Mangle” screenplays… And the pay is way better too 😉

Stealing Time to Write

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Everyone does it: sometimes in a restroom, in a corner of a park, in your bedroom, hell – some people even do it in a public cafe.

We all steal time to write.

I say steal time because it feels selfish, inward, private.

And it just feels so good. Especially when it feels horrible during the process, it feels so good when you’re done. Writing is very much like spinning class in that way.

The true reason we steal time to write, though, is because we find it so easy not to write.

There’s laundry, the dog, the kids, the love interest, the season finale we could consider research, the day job, sleep, Facebook, Twitter, blogs about writing – no matter how you add, multiply or divide the time, these only equal procrastination.

I recently learned the hardest part about being self-employed: when deadlines aren’t met, you mostly disappoint yourself.

When I don’t write, I only disappoint myself.

Time to stop talking about it and start doing it! See you later………