I like working on things. You know, mucking around. I love rehearsal. I love reading plays and picking out scripts to direct. I love auditions (though I hate cutting people). I like writing drafts of plays and thinking about how I would rewrite them. Mulling over characters and the things they might do.
I love all of this so much, the work of the theatre, that I would trade it for the finish line.
You see, by the time a show that I'm directing reaches the polishing stage, I start to lose interest. I've accomplished most of what I wanted to and the actors have to start to make it their own. And I fuss over details, yes, but in a kind of forced "it's my responsibility to point this out" kind of way. For me, the fun is in discovery - helping groups of young actors figure out how to work together, pushing them toward different ways of interpreting their work. Performance, to me, is almost a necessary evil.
Isn't that awful? Isn't performance what it's all about? Yes, it is. All that work is for naught if, ultimately it doesn't mean something to an audience. The audience is who it's for. They determine the true value of a given work by their presence and precious attention. But audiences freak me out. I love them, I do. But I fear them, too. When a production goes up, it's out of my hands, and it feels like I (and more importantly the work I've done for the previous three months or so) meets its maker. Judgement ensues.
I'm fortunate to work in educational theatre. Everyone loves kids and wants to see them do well, so the audiences I have the fortune to work with are always willing and supportive. But, I don't believe that in the theatre, "everything always works out" as they say. Sometimes things aren't ready. Or they just plain suck. I have a mortal fear of that scenario, something I've worked on sucking. Mortal. It's happened, bt dubs. Not always, but I'm aware that it's possible. And that possibility lurks over every show.
So, I think I walk around with this "I'm process-oriented" label I've placed on myself in part as some sort of excuse to not see things through all the way. In terms of my writing, I wonder if I avoid reaching completion and pushing for production. Do I like playwriting limbo? Is my residency there due to mortal fear or a love of mucking about in development/discovery stage?
It's worth thinking about, anyway.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Let There Be Dogs!
So, today I was chatting about my play with a dramaturg (Michelle) from Alberta Playwrights Network. A few years ago, I developed a relationship with APN (love them!). Tooth Sized Holes is the second play I've sent there.
I was expecting her to bring it up. She totally has a point. "So, you have two dogs in this play . . ." (the ellipses being code for " . . . and how do you expect this to ever be produced?" - but in a kind and supportive way).
She began the conversation by asking how I felt about the play - where it was at, etc. I was thrilled to be able to respond by saying that my life has taken a U-turn of sorts and that though a couple of years ago I was quite ambitious about playwriting, I have the luxury now of writing for the joy of it and for the unadulterated thrill of discovering the layers and possibilities of a story. And I think I believe that. Production isn't as much on my mind as it used to be, but I still feel the drive to write plays. Anyhow, it ends up that I am in a good place in my feelings towards this latest draft of Tooth Sized Holes and let 'er rip. Tell me what needs doing.
Hence the dog concern. Yes, there are two dogs in the play and although one of them takes more of a principal role, they are both on stage at the same time for one scene. I realize that rare is the theatre company that will to take that on when they could go for something that, say, doesn't have dogs in it and would be much easier to produce. There was some subtext about theatrical ways of including dogs in the story without actually having dogs on stage.
I responded by saying, "I wrote the play I wanted to write. It has dogs in it. Some people go to the theatre because they want to see something in particular, some people go to everything, some people are dragged there. People have dogs." And then I said something about the fact that maybe Shakespeare and his colleagues wondered about presenting his audience with a severed head, but it doesn't seem so weird now. And maybe it wasn't then either, but it was the first idea that popped into my head.
As I relay it, it seems like the tone of the conversation was much more snarky than it was. It was not snarky at all - I just think sometimes that playwriting in this day and age has become highly limited. That's probably a really great thing. Limitation gives way to creativity. I know that. But is there room to think outside of such strict limitations? What if someone were to take a risk and produce this play and then, suddenly, dogs become all the rage in plays? To the point that everyone spends their time trying to figure out how to put a dog or two in their scripts?
I don't know. Just something I'm thinkin' about.
I was expecting her to bring it up. She totally has a point. "So, you have two dogs in this play . . ." (the ellipses being code for " . . . and how do you expect this to ever be produced?" - but in a kind and supportive way).
She began the conversation by asking how I felt about the play - where it was at, etc. I was thrilled to be able to respond by saying that my life has taken a U-turn of sorts and that though a couple of years ago I was quite ambitious about playwriting, I have the luxury now of writing for the joy of it and for the unadulterated thrill of discovering the layers and possibilities of a story. And I think I believe that. Production isn't as much on my mind as it used to be, but I still feel the drive to write plays. Anyhow, it ends up that I am in a good place in my feelings towards this latest draft of Tooth Sized Holes and let 'er rip. Tell me what needs doing.
Hence the dog concern. Yes, there are two dogs in the play and although one of them takes more of a principal role, they are both on stage at the same time for one scene. I realize that rare is the theatre company that will to take that on when they could go for something that, say, doesn't have dogs in it and would be much easier to produce. There was some subtext about theatrical ways of including dogs in the story without actually having dogs on stage.
I responded by saying, "I wrote the play I wanted to write. It has dogs in it. Some people go to the theatre because they want to see something in particular, some people go to everything, some people are dragged there. People have dogs." And then I said something about the fact that maybe Shakespeare and his colleagues wondered about presenting his audience with a severed head, but it doesn't seem so weird now. And maybe it wasn't then either, but it was the first idea that popped into my head.
As I relay it, it seems like the tone of the conversation was much more snarky than it was. It was not snarky at all - I just think sometimes that playwriting in this day and age has become highly limited. That's probably a really great thing. Limitation gives way to creativity. I know that. But is there room to think outside of such strict limitations? What if someone were to take a risk and produce this play and then, suddenly, dogs become all the rage in plays? To the point that everyone spends their time trying to figure out how to put a dog or two in their scripts?
I don't know. Just something I'm thinkin' about.
Monday, October 22, 2012
What You Do
Have you ever met someone, and got to know them a little bit and been so impressed with the fact that they are doing (job wise) exactly what it is they're supposed to be doing?
I'll give you an example. I know a lighting designer/professor at one of the universities I used to attend. She is a brilliant (pun!) lighting designer and also a fabulous teacher. She is interested in student learning, and makes it her business to make students better (and feel better about their work) when they leave her class.
I've also met people -talented, smart people - who have just never seemed to land where they were meant to. A case in point is an old friend of my husband's. He didn't graduate high school, took a number of jobs, made a lot of money, lost it all, is divorced, has had trouble with the law and from what I can tell, has no place to go. And yet, you should listen to him speak! Gorgeous speaking voice. He has a gregarious personality and relates really well with people. He could easily be some kind of radio talk show host, or even television host for that matter. When we spent a little bit of time with him this summer, I couldn't help but think, "If only he had a good drama teacher, who could have encouraged him . . . "
I've never ever really wanted to be anything but a high school drama teacher. I have a distinct memory as a teenager of thinking to myself, "I just love drama class. I want to be in drama class all day." Which led me, quite naturally, to go down that road. I've been in and out of the drama classroom - I had kids, I taught strictly academic courses for a year and, of course took time off with my recent sabbatical. I often wonder if it's what I'm supposed to be doing. Does everyone wonder that about themselves?
I went to Kidprovisers at the Edmonton Fringe this past summer. Basically, the adult professionals carried the young folks through all of the scenes, but I was so happy to see young kids doing drama and being apprenticed in the craft. I think that was a telling moment: "Kids doing drama. What could be better?"
I love writing, of course. I have precious little time to do any these days, but I hope to do more soon. I hope to have more to say about that next time.
Cheers.
I'll give you an example. I know a lighting designer/professor at one of the universities I used to attend. She is a brilliant (pun!) lighting designer and also a fabulous teacher. She is interested in student learning, and makes it her business to make students better (and feel better about their work) when they leave her class.
I've also met people -talented, smart people - who have just never seemed to land where they were meant to. A case in point is an old friend of my husband's. He didn't graduate high school, took a number of jobs, made a lot of money, lost it all, is divorced, has had trouble with the law and from what I can tell, has no place to go. And yet, you should listen to him speak! Gorgeous speaking voice. He has a gregarious personality and relates really well with people. He could easily be some kind of radio talk show host, or even television host for that matter. When we spent a little bit of time with him this summer, I couldn't help but think, "If only he had a good drama teacher, who could have encouraged him . . . "
I've never ever really wanted to be anything but a high school drama teacher. I have a distinct memory as a teenager of thinking to myself, "I just love drama class. I want to be in drama class all day." Which led me, quite naturally, to go down that road. I've been in and out of the drama classroom - I had kids, I taught strictly academic courses for a year and, of course took time off with my recent sabbatical. I often wonder if it's what I'm supposed to be doing. Does everyone wonder that about themselves?
I went to Kidprovisers at the Edmonton Fringe this past summer. Basically, the adult professionals carried the young folks through all of the scenes, but I was so happy to see young kids doing drama and being apprenticed in the craft. I think that was a telling moment: "Kids doing drama. What could be better?"
I love writing, of course. I have precious little time to do any these days, but I hope to do more soon. I hope to have more to say about that next time.
Cheers.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Fight Club
Can I tell you about something really cool?
Sometimes we have experiences that are so deeply meaningful and profound that it's a long time before we can put words to them. And when some time has passed, to do so is to risk letting go of the immediacy and excitement of that adventure - that the intensity and they way it's remembered will never quite be the same and we want to hold on to our version of those memories as tightly as we can. But there comes a point when the experience demands utterance and defying the call to express it only results in a dull, chronic stomach-rot. I've had a few times like these in my life, but there really is something special about my time in Vancouver during the 2012 Fight Directors Canada National Workshop.
Back in May, I learned that I would be teaching Drama at the high school this fall. That's totally cool, I love that stuff. But, I really want it to go well. And I know that I don't always relate so well to teenage boys (I just don't get them. I mean, I'm a teacher, so I should, but . . . ) and I thought, "You know what? I should really look into taking a stage combat course. If I can teach them how to throw a few punches and kick each other in the nuts for a scene, they'll be thrilled and I'll be golden."
So, I looked into it online - something that would fit the timeline of anywhere between then and the end of the summer. I've never done anything like this before, so I let Google do the walking. The first thing that popped up was an FDC Basic class at Rapier Wit in Toronto. That sounded totally cool. Then I discovered the Nationals which would be a couple of weeks later. A variety of circumstances (to do with timing and family stuff) led me to go with Vancouver. I was looking at two weeks of intense training in unarmed, quarterstaff and sword combat for the stage. Cool, right? Yes. Oh, and at the end we would have to get up in front of a panel of judges and be tested on 3 choreographed partner fights . . . *Cool.*
So, I made my decision. And then I put off doing anything about it. A week would go by and my husband would ask, "Have you registered yet?"
"No."
"You better get on that."
"Yep." And then I wouldn't. This happened a few times. I left it until the last minute.
And then,
"Have you booked your plane ticket?"
"No."
"You better get on that."
"'Kay." More procrastination. I booked. And then I checked the website I don't know, about a week and half before it was to start and noticed that I booked it for a day too late. I must have read it wrong, so I had to change my flight.
I should have been excited and I was, but I was also really dreading it. What the hell was I thinking? I had never done anything like this before and I was completely out of shape. And not that I want it to matter, but 40 is looming larger than I want it to. I'm short. I'm left-handed. I could have just not gone. But as the start date approached, I began to know (in a way that I wished I could ignore) that this was going to be about far more than just teaching kids how to kick each other in the nuts on stage. It would also be about me going through something really hard just to come out on the other side of it still standing.
I had five goals (the pursuit of which took up all the available space in my head):
• learn the moves
• try not to look like too much of a moron
• catch the bus on time (there were two buses from downtown Vancouver to Capilano University in North Van).
• follow the pack and don’t get lost (the classes were in various buildings).
• don’t forget to eat (when you're married you become half-useless. Food is the domain of my other half).
As regards the second point, (for the first week at least) I felt like a moron every day. Every minute of each of those days. I'm talking tears. Most people (including some of the instructors, certainly those looking to be instructors) were younger than me. I thought I could be so cool about learning from younger people, but it was harder than I thought. I mean, it's humbling. I'm usually the teacher - the one who knows and imparts, not the one who doesn't know and is at the mercy of another to impart. But I got over it and then it was wonderful. The young folks (not to the exclusion of the older-than-me-folks, who are master teachers and completely mesmerizing) were extremely cool and smart and funny and totally dedicated, not to mention unrelenting in their high standards. It was not long before I was enchanted by the whole thing.
But. Let's just say I was out of my element.
Cut to the first day of the second week. It was a good start - I had been struggling with all of my choreography for the entire first week and spent some of our one free day studying and rehearsing. Sword class was first and I made it through the choreography fairly smoothly when my partner and I presented it to the class. Therefore, a win.
I pause here to talk about my gargantuan fear of performing.
As a teenager, I loved being on stage. I enjoyed it a bit beyond high school, but then I think something changed. Maybe there was some kind of significant identity shift or something in my early twenties, but I found myself shying away from acting (or even being interested in it.) Drama class? That's my thing - be it teaching or participating. Putting myself out there in front of people, especially professional actors and directors? I could die. In there somewhere is a malignant form of insecurity entwined in narcissistic self-obsession. Any way you look at it, I am most at home in the rehearsal hall, the classroom or in front of the computer - not onstage.
So, I made it through the morning sword class. And I got through most of the rest of the day all right. But then we had a second sword class at the end of the day. I was pretty spent (see above re: completely out of shape). And nervous - getting through the choreography the first time seemed like a fluke and I had so many doubts about being able to reproduce it. The instructor wanted to see the scenes again, pair by pair. I went first last time, so I kept sitting there as each of the pairs went up to show their work. Time marched until only one pair was left other than myself and my partner. Class was due to be over so I just sat there and let them go, relieved that I seemingly dodged a bullet. But it was not to be. We were called up. And I choked. I lost my way and the thing completely fell apart. My partner (who was actually an advanced actor combatant journeying to be a fight instructor) was a champ and made the best of it, but I felt awful because I knew that I didn't really try because I didn't really feel like it.
There was some time to eat before we were due to be back for evening rehearsals. You can't go back and change what happened, you can only change what you do from there. So I took some time to feel bad and let that bad feeling register in my gut for a while so that I could ensure that such a thing wouldn't happen again. As I thought it all through, it became clear to me that this fight stuff isn't about me (What? Something's not about me?) It's about the partnership. And a partnership only really works if both people bring everything they have to serve each other. So, even though I'm new at this, and I fumble over myself every five seconds, my partner (any of my partners) needs me, too. In short, I learned that I don't have a right to my insecurities.
Oh.
I went back to rehearsal and worked like a dog. Things went better from there. Turned out, I had a lot of fun throughout the rest of the week. Classes were great and rehearsals were better. And then, I failed my fights.
Yeah, I failed the fights. Which I expected. It's really cool how the whole thing is run. You have your fights pair by pair and then a bunch of hours pass and the fight masters call you in one by one to give you your results. By that time, you're tired and thinking about going home and wearing real clothes every day and feeling surprised that though you didn't come here with any intent to get to know anyone, that you might actually miss some people. It's an intensely emotional time. The fight masters were really supportive and it all resulted in a good conversation. I may or may not have gushed about how great I thought everyone was. I meant every word.
The game face I hoped to don didn't pan out when I left the room to face my classmates. I totally wanted to pick up my things, take the bus back to downtown and meet up with my sister for dinner like she and I had tentatively planned. That's what I wanted to do. But something inside just said, "Dammit, you're staying here and you're going to hug and congratulate the others when they come out of there." I did. It wasn't easy, but I really was proud of them all and I'm glad I had the chance to show them that.
There was a "do" after. A party at a pub. I didn't want to go to that, either. I would rather have run and hid in urban obscurity with my sister anywhere in Vancouver except the pub where the party was being held. Again with the "Dammit, you're going. It's not going to kill you. And people may want to see you and hang out with you, so just stop your bawling and go."
I'm glad I went. The humiliation of my relatively public failure subsided after a couple of drinks and I was thrilled to be able to enjoy the company of some of the funnest, most interesting people I've had the pleasure to meet (as are most people you meet for a short time I suppose, but it was true in this case for this period of time, anyway).
I haven't taught anyone how to fake-kick someone else in the nuts yet. I don't know if I'm any closer to understanding teenage boys, either. I may eventually, but even if I never do, I have this remarkable experience that has rendered me forever changed in a way that I still don't know if I can fully articulate. Not to mention that it was among the most exceptional learning experiences I've ever had. You can't beat that.
And I'm still intrigued by all this fight stuff. I haven't done any of it since, but I'll be at the Paddy Crean Stage Combat Workshop over the new year in Banff. I think it's going to be totally scary, but I can't wait to find out for sure.
Sometimes we have experiences that are so deeply meaningful and profound that it's a long time before we can put words to them. And when some time has passed, to do so is to risk letting go of the immediacy and excitement of that adventure - that the intensity and they way it's remembered will never quite be the same and we want to hold on to our version of those memories as tightly as we can. But there comes a point when the experience demands utterance and defying the call to express it only results in a dull, chronic stomach-rot. I've had a few times like these in my life, but there really is something special about my time in Vancouver during the 2012 Fight Directors Canada National Workshop.
Back in May, I learned that I would be teaching Drama at the high school this fall. That's totally cool, I love that stuff. But, I really want it to go well. And I know that I don't always relate so well to teenage boys (I just don't get them. I mean, I'm a teacher, so I should, but . . . ) and I thought, "You know what? I should really look into taking a stage combat course. If I can teach them how to throw a few punches and kick each other in the nuts for a scene, they'll be thrilled and I'll be golden."
So, I looked into it online - something that would fit the timeline of anywhere between then and the end of the summer. I've never done anything like this before, so I let Google do the walking. The first thing that popped up was an FDC Basic class at Rapier Wit in Toronto. That sounded totally cool. Then I discovered the Nationals which would be a couple of weeks later. A variety of circumstances (to do with timing and family stuff) led me to go with Vancouver. I was looking at two weeks of intense training in unarmed, quarterstaff and sword combat for the stage. Cool, right? Yes. Oh, and at the end we would have to get up in front of a panel of judges and be tested on 3 choreographed partner fights . . . *Cool.*
So, I made my decision. And then I put off doing anything about it. A week would go by and my husband would ask, "Have you registered yet?"
"No."
"You better get on that."
"Yep." And then I wouldn't. This happened a few times. I left it until the last minute.
And then,
"Have you booked your plane ticket?"
"No."
"You better get on that."
"'Kay." More procrastination. I booked. And then I checked the website I don't know, about a week and half before it was to start and noticed that I booked it for a day too late. I must have read it wrong, so I had to change my flight.
I should have been excited and I was, but I was also really dreading it. What the hell was I thinking? I had never done anything like this before and I was completely out of shape. And not that I want it to matter, but 40 is looming larger than I want it to. I'm short. I'm left-handed. I could have just not gone. But as the start date approached, I began to know (in a way that I wished I could ignore) that this was going to be about far more than just teaching kids how to kick each other in the nuts on stage. It would also be about me going through something really hard just to come out on the other side of it still standing.
I had five goals (the pursuit of which took up all the available space in my head):
• learn the moves
• try not to look like too much of a moron
• catch the bus on time (there were two buses from downtown Vancouver to Capilano University in North Van).
• follow the pack and don’t get lost (the classes were in various buildings).
• don’t forget to eat (when you're married you become half-useless. Food is the domain of my other half).
As regards the second point, (for the first week at least) I felt like a moron every day. Every minute of each of those days. I'm talking tears. Most people (including some of the instructors, certainly those looking to be instructors) were younger than me. I thought I could be so cool about learning from younger people, but it was harder than I thought. I mean, it's humbling. I'm usually the teacher - the one who knows and imparts, not the one who doesn't know and is at the mercy of another to impart. But I got over it and then it was wonderful. The young folks (not to the exclusion of the older-than-me-folks, who are master teachers and completely mesmerizing) were extremely cool and smart and funny and totally dedicated, not to mention unrelenting in their high standards. It was not long before I was enchanted by the whole thing.
But. Let's just say I was out of my element.
Cut to the first day of the second week. It was a good start - I had been struggling with all of my choreography for the entire first week and spent some of our one free day studying and rehearsing. Sword class was first and I made it through the choreography fairly smoothly when my partner and I presented it to the class. Therefore, a win.
I pause here to talk about my gargantuan fear of performing.
As a teenager, I loved being on stage. I enjoyed it a bit beyond high school, but then I think something changed. Maybe there was some kind of significant identity shift or something in my early twenties, but I found myself shying away from acting (or even being interested in it.) Drama class? That's my thing - be it teaching or participating. Putting myself out there in front of people, especially professional actors and directors? I could die. In there somewhere is a malignant form of insecurity entwined in narcissistic self-obsession. Any way you look at it, I am most at home in the rehearsal hall, the classroom or in front of the computer - not onstage.
So, I made it through the morning sword class. And I got through most of the rest of the day all right. But then we had a second sword class at the end of the day. I was pretty spent (see above re: completely out of shape). And nervous - getting through the choreography the first time seemed like a fluke and I had so many doubts about being able to reproduce it. The instructor wanted to see the scenes again, pair by pair. I went first last time, so I kept sitting there as each of the pairs went up to show their work. Time marched until only one pair was left other than myself and my partner. Class was due to be over so I just sat there and let them go, relieved that I seemingly dodged a bullet. But it was not to be. We were called up. And I choked. I lost my way and the thing completely fell apart. My partner (who was actually an advanced actor combatant journeying to be a fight instructor) was a champ and made the best of it, but I felt awful because I knew that I didn't really try because I didn't really feel like it.
There was some time to eat before we were due to be back for evening rehearsals. You can't go back and change what happened, you can only change what you do from there. So I took some time to feel bad and let that bad feeling register in my gut for a while so that I could ensure that such a thing wouldn't happen again. As I thought it all through, it became clear to me that this fight stuff isn't about me (What? Something's not about me?) It's about the partnership. And a partnership only really works if both people bring everything they have to serve each other. So, even though I'm new at this, and I fumble over myself every five seconds, my partner (any of my partners) needs me, too. In short, I learned that I don't have a right to my insecurities.
Oh.
I went back to rehearsal and worked like a dog. Things went better from there. Turned out, I had a lot of fun throughout the rest of the week. Classes were great and rehearsals were better. And then, I failed my fights.
Yeah, I failed the fights. Which I expected. It's really cool how the whole thing is run. You have your fights pair by pair and then a bunch of hours pass and the fight masters call you in one by one to give you your results. By that time, you're tired and thinking about going home and wearing real clothes every day and feeling surprised that though you didn't come here with any intent to get to know anyone, that you might actually miss some people. It's an intensely emotional time. The fight masters were really supportive and it all resulted in a good conversation. I may or may not have gushed about how great I thought everyone was. I meant every word.
The game face I hoped to don didn't pan out when I left the room to face my classmates. I totally wanted to pick up my things, take the bus back to downtown and meet up with my sister for dinner like she and I had tentatively planned. That's what I wanted to do. But something inside just said, "Dammit, you're staying here and you're going to hug and congratulate the others when they come out of there." I did. It wasn't easy, but I really was proud of them all and I'm glad I had the chance to show them that.
There was a "do" after. A party at a pub. I didn't want to go to that, either. I would rather have run and hid in urban obscurity with my sister anywhere in Vancouver except the pub where the party was being held. Again with the "Dammit, you're going. It's not going to kill you. And people may want to see you and hang out with you, so just stop your bawling and go."
I'm glad I went. The humiliation of my relatively public failure subsided after a couple of drinks and I was thrilled to be able to enjoy the company of some of the funnest, most interesting people I've had the pleasure to meet (as are most people you meet for a short time I suppose, but it was true in this case for this period of time, anyway).
I haven't taught anyone how to fake-kick someone else in the nuts yet. I don't know if I'm any closer to understanding teenage boys, either. I may eventually, but even if I never do, I have this remarkable experience that has rendered me forever changed in a way that I still don't know if I can fully articulate. Not to mention that it was among the most exceptional learning experiences I've ever had. You can't beat that.
And I'm still intrigued by all this fight stuff. I haven't done any of it since, but I'll be at the Paddy Crean Stage Combat Workshop over the new year in Banff. I think it's going to be totally scary, but I can't wait to find out for sure.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
0 to 60
Holy fuck. I shouldn't say things like that, it misrepresents me (I like to think of myself as the kind of person who wouldn't say things like that. But obviously, I'm wrong). But, man. I went from a total couch potato to hardly having a minute in the day to even, like, eat.
It's cool, though. It's all good (kinda, except that I have no time). See, I mentioned before about job shuffling . . . So, what happened was that the guy who was originally going to be a partner in crime of sorts in the Drama department at the school is now the Vice Principal. I opted to take his position (there was no middle ground), but it means a steep learning curve. I know nothing about film. And I'm now teaching it. To give you an idea.
I just auditioned kids for You Can't Take it With You. We had such a fun time. I'm in denial about having to make a cast list. I could seriously be happy just sitting about making stuff up with a bunch of kids. These guys are awesome!
A former student from many moons ago stopped by and we chatted through the whole lunch hour. SO good to catch up with her.
That's that. Just gotta breathe.
It's cool, though. It's all good (kinda, except that I have no time). See, I mentioned before about job shuffling . . . So, what happened was that the guy who was originally going to be a partner in crime of sorts in the Drama department at the school is now the Vice Principal. I opted to take his position (there was no middle ground), but it means a steep learning curve. I know nothing about film. And I'm now teaching it. To give you an idea.
I just auditioned kids for You Can't Take it With You. We had such a fun time. I'm in denial about having to make a cast list. I could seriously be happy just sitting about making stuff up with a bunch of kids. These guys are awesome!
A former student from many moons ago stopped by and we chatted through the whole lunch hour. SO good to catch up with her.
That's that. Just gotta breathe.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Cape Fear
So,things are crazy around here right now. There's been some job stuff - changes, shuffling, you know, stuff - and that has thrust me into having to really face the school year coming up and all that will entail. It's all good, it's just there are some unknown quantities that translate into "this school year is gonna be hella busy." Writing 'to do' lists helps to mitigate the chaos. I swore off 'to do' lists when I was an at home mom at the time my kids were little. It is so depressing to come across a piece of paper in May that has "October - finish drapes for Georgia's room" written on it and and it didn't get done and all it felt like I did during that time was hold a baby. But somehow, now, the 'to do' thing helps clear my head. These days, it's things like, "Haircut 12:30", "Meet with Joel 1:45", "Call Dave and ask if he got in touch with Evelyn."
Out of the blue, without being entirely aware of it, I actually wrote this down on my page today: "Deal with fear about sending scripts to companies that have invited me to."
In July, I sent a query to the Wilma Theater in Philadelphia. I got a message back from the guy that deals with that sort of thing (not sure if he's the literary manager or associate producer . . . his name's Will and he seems very nice) wanting to see the full script, so I sent it. That's easy. He asked, I submitted. Now I go on with my life as usual until he gets back to me.
I've been in this position before with a few prominent theatre companies. I would give my eyeteeth to be produced at these places. They asked for a script, I sent it and then they wrote back to say that though that particular script isn't right for them, they really like my work and would I send them something else? At which I get a warm feeling inside and then go on with my day as though it didn't happen.
Ummm . . . what?
I have other plays. Most need rewrites. I've avoided getting to them. Here's the thing: What if I send something and they don't like it? And then they decide that they were wrong about me and write me off? The fear of that scenario is nothing short of arresting. At least this way, I'm sustaining mystery. Who doesn't love a little mystery?
I know. Hence the list item.
I have had some experiences in this past year which have been completely life-changing. I will tell you about them in detail some time. The bottom line is that fear has to go. I don't know how, but it's on my list. Please understand that this is a big deal. Remember the mouse thing way back? Along those lines.
Love you, blogosphere. G'day.
Out of the blue, without being entirely aware of it, I actually wrote this down on my page today: "Deal with fear about sending scripts to companies that have invited me to."
In July, I sent a query to the Wilma Theater in Philadelphia. I got a message back from the guy that deals with that sort of thing (not sure if he's the literary manager or associate producer . . . his name's Will and he seems very nice) wanting to see the full script, so I sent it. That's easy. He asked, I submitted. Now I go on with my life as usual until he gets back to me.
I've been in this position before with a few prominent theatre companies. I would give my eyeteeth to be produced at these places. They asked for a script, I sent it and then they wrote back to say that though that particular script isn't right for them, they really like my work and would I send them something else? At which I get a warm feeling inside and then go on with my day as though it didn't happen.
Ummm . . . what?
I have other plays. Most need rewrites. I've avoided getting to them. Here's the thing: What if I send something and they don't like it? And then they decide that they were wrong about me and write me off? The fear of that scenario is nothing short of arresting. At least this way, I'm sustaining mystery. Who doesn't love a little mystery?
I know. Hence the list item.
I have had some experiences in this past year which have been completely life-changing. I will tell you about them in detail some time. The bottom line is that fear has to go. I don't know how, but it's on my list. Please understand that this is a big deal. Remember the mouse thing way back? Along those lines.
Love you, blogosphere. G'day.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Walking Out
I walked out of a play last night. That brings my count to a total of three (plays that I've walked out of in my life).
The first play I walked out of was 4 Rooms (an adaptation of the movie of the same name) at the Stage Door in Cranbrook. A former student directed it, so we went to support him and the theatre community in general. It was awful. The storyline didn't go anywhere, the characters were completely unlikable (and un-rootforable - and uninteresting - the biggest crime ever), besides which the production was just sloppy. My husband and I didn't even make it through to intermission. Luckily we were sitting at the back and I think we slipped out unnoticed.
The second play I walked out of was Hurlyburly. I think it was at the Carousel Theatre on Granville Island some 12 years ago or so. I'm not sure what company put it on, but I think it was one of those groups of actors (who never really stay together very long) who think they're going to rock everyone's world by getting together and mounting something "edgy." I went with my brother and prior to the show starting (out in the foyer), one of the company members (could have been the director) assured us that the show was going to be great and punctuated the fact that it would be "full on" with such force that it left me unclear as to whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing. It sucked - for many of the same reasons 4 Rooms did. At intermission I looked over at my brother (apologetically) and asked him how he was doing. His answer resembled something like, "In my worst dreams, where I question whether I would really rather live or die and decide that dying would be better, I look around and I'm sitting through this play." I felt the same way, so we left.
Which brings me to last night. Where I live, the theatre community is pretty tight and supportive. As in, no one goes super public when a production sucks balls. Which is good in many ways. I know how hard it is to put up a show, and depending on who you've got in your cast and to support you with lights, costumes and sets at the local level, results are always variable. I've directed good stuff and not so good stuff, so I am thankful that the blows are soft when something doesn't land quite the way I hoped. So, even though my sentiments about this topic are strong, I feel a little guilty about coming clean.
The birthplace of this most recent disappointment is the Wildhorse Theatre at Ft. Steele. Years ago, Ft.Steele had some caché as a professional summer theatre gig for young emerging artists. Some seriously good people (with hefty training and chops) came out and spent their summers there, giving solid crowd-pleasing work. Though the "Fort Steele Follies" as they were called weren't my favourite style of theatre, I was always pleasantly entertained and appreciated the level of execution and I was always impressed. For details on the kinds of theatre offerings currently available at Ft. Steele, check it out here.
I went to the evening play last night, along with 9 other folks (no, that was not the number of people in my party, that was the sum total of the audience), one of whom is my good friend, Eve. I'll let you read about the play (title, synopsis, etc.) yourself, but the first half can be summed up thus: Talk. Talk. Talk. Irrelevant backstories galore. Two characters play a multitude of caricatures (oops, I meant characters) placed in a fictitious historical situation I could not care less about. One of the actors (that's 50% of the cast!) stifled a yawn on two occasions. Right up there in front of everyone. One of them was right before he told the audience (there was a lot of "telling the audience" in this play) how much he adored the girl he was sitting in the boat with. Oy.
After the polite but scattered applause at intermission, I looked over at Eve. She confessed that she was falling asleep and was bored as fuck (okay, she didn't quite say that, but that was her sentiment). Since we were two of ten people in the audience, and since I was pretty sure I was spotted by one of the actors (whom I know - he is a former student - God, I am such a bitch), I was reluctant to leave (but I wanted to leave). We knew a couple of the other audience members - a mother and daughter combo - and we went to the foyer to suss out whether they were going to deke so Eve could catch a ride back to Cranbrook with them. They looked like they were staying put, so I acted on my "I'm leaving and they can just suck it" impulse (a true rarity - I felt so rebellious!). Eve and I bolted. Before we got to the car, we joked, "Will the two leads (whose names escaped us because the plot was so confusing) succeed in convincing the town that there really should be a radio station where young girls can sing mildly jazzy songs?" Who the fuck cares? Not us.
You see, babies are being born. Wombs are closing. The earth is turning on its axis. So many things are happening in this world that if we want people to go to the theatre, we have to give them a reason. The play's the thing. It really, really is. The best acting, the flashiest lighting design and the most fly set in the world cannot cover over the multitude of sins inherent in a bad script. Much of the faults of last night's travesty were due to the horrible, horrible script. It is my prayer that Ft. Steele (and the local theatre community in general) can raise their game at choosing scripts. Aristotle provides a means of determining what's important in that endeavour.
Let me close with this. I, as an audience member do not owe any given production company (should I choose to attend one of their shows) anything more than my money and polite attention. It is I who am owed. I am owed a reason for being there and I am owed engagement. I hereby declare a moratorium on sitting through execrable plays from beginning to end in the interest of being seen supportive. No one needs to be rude, but neither does anyone need to miss out on the glories of laughing and joking with friends or enjoying a night summer breeze (or having pubic hair pulled out one by one, for that matter) because they felt obligated to stay in a dark room with a handful of other people suffering through a terrible theatre production.
Step it up, Ft. Steele. You can do it.
The first play I walked out of was 4 Rooms (an adaptation of the movie of the same name) at the Stage Door in Cranbrook. A former student directed it, so we went to support him and the theatre community in general. It was awful. The storyline didn't go anywhere, the characters were completely unlikable (and un-rootforable - and uninteresting - the biggest crime ever), besides which the production was just sloppy. My husband and I didn't even make it through to intermission. Luckily we were sitting at the back and I think we slipped out unnoticed.
The second play I walked out of was Hurlyburly. I think it was at the Carousel Theatre on Granville Island some 12 years ago or so. I'm not sure what company put it on, but I think it was one of those groups of actors (who never really stay together very long) who think they're going to rock everyone's world by getting together and mounting something "edgy." I went with my brother and prior to the show starting (out in the foyer), one of the company members (could have been the director) assured us that the show was going to be great and punctuated the fact that it would be "full on" with such force that it left me unclear as to whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing. It sucked - for many of the same reasons 4 Rooms did. At intermission I looked over at my brother (apologetically) and asked him how he was doing. His answer resembled something like, "In my worst dreams, where I question whether I would really rather live or die and decide that dying would be better, I look around and I'm sitting through this play." I felt the same way, so we left.
Which brings me to last night. Where I live, the theatre community is pretty tight and supportive. As in, no one goes super public when a production sucks balls. Which is good in many ways. I know how hard it is to put up a show, and depending on who you've got in your cast and to support you with lights, costumes and sets at the local level, results are always variable. I've directed good stuff and not so good stuff, so I am thankful that the blows are soft when something doesn't land quite the way I hoped. So, even though my sentiments about this topic are strong, I feel a little guilty about coming clean.
The birthplace of this most recent disappointment is the Wildhorse Theatre at Ft. Steele. Years ago, Ft.Steele had some caché as a professional summer theatre gig for young emerging artists. Some seriously good people (with hefty training and chops) came out and spent their summers there, giving solid crowd-pleasing work. Though the "Fort Steele Follies" as they were called weren't my favourite style of theatre, I was always pleasantly entertained and appreciated the level of execution and I was always impressed. For details on the kinds of theatre offerings currently available at Ft. Steele, check it out here.
I went to the evening play last night, along with 9 other folks (no, that was not the number of people in my party, that was the sum total of the audience), one of whom is my good friend, Eve. I'll let you read about the play (title, synopsis, etc.) yourself, but the first half can be summed up thus: Talk. Talk. Talk. Irrelevant backstories galore. Two characters play a multitude of caricatures (oops, I meant characters) placed in a fictitious historical situation I could not care less about. One of the actors (that's 50% of the cast!) stifled a yawn on two occasions. Right up there in front of everyone. One of them was right before he told the audience (there was a lot of "telling the audience" in this play) how much he adored the girl he was sitting in the boat with. Oy.
After the polite but scattered applause at intermission, I looked over at Eve. She confessed that she was falling asleep and was bored as fuck (okay, she didn't quite say that, but that was her sentiment). Since we were two of ten people in the audience, and since I was pretty sure I was spotted by one of the actors (whom I know - he is a former student - God, I am such a bitch), I was reluctant to leave (but I wanted to leave). We knew a couple of the other audience members - a mother and daughter combo - and we went to the foyer to suss out whether they were going to deke so Eve could catch a ride back to Cranbrook with them. They looked like they were staying put, so I acted on my "I'm leaving and they can just suck it" impulse (a true rarity - I felt so rebellious!). Eve and I bolted. Before we got to the car, we joked, "Will the two leads (whose names escaped us because the plot was so confusing) succeed in convincing the town that there really should be a radio station where young girls can sing mildly jazzy songs?" Who the fuck cares? Not us.
You see, babies are being born. Wombs are closing. The earth is turning on its axis. So many things are happening in this world that if we want people to go to the theatre, we have to give them a reason. The play's the thing. It really, really is. The best acting, the flashiest lighting design and the most fly set in the world cannot cover over the multitude of sins inherent in a bad script. Much of the faults of last night's travesty were due to the horrible, horrible script. It is my prayer that Ft. Steele (and the local theatre community in general) can raise their game at choosing scripts. Aristotle provides a means of determining what's important in that endeavour.
Let me close with this. I, as an audience member do not owe any given production company (should I choose to attend one of their shows) anything more than my money and polite attention. It is I who am owed. I am owed a reason for being there and I am owed engagement. I hereby declare a moratorium on sitting through execrable plays from beginning to end in the interest of being seen supportive. No one needs to be rude, but neither does anyone need to miss out on the glories of laughing and joking with friends or enjoying a night summer breeze (or having pubic hair pulled out one by one, for that matter) because they felt obligated to stay in a dark room with a handful of other people suffering through a terrible theatre production.
Step it up, Ft. Steele. You can do it.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Back to School Prep
So, because I've had thirteen months of easy living, it is most certainly time to get my head around going back to work in September. A facebook friend of mine (a drama teacher in Missoula) posted that she had justhad her first back to school dream (nightmare). I had my own (in response to hers, I think) the following night. Here's my comment to her post:
"I had my first one last night. Usually, there's a bunch of kids running amok and they have no interest in anything I'm saying (which usually doesn't actually happen until the 3rd week or so). This time, I helped a couple of egocentric boys work out their differences and then I stopped everything to address the fact that my hair had turned grey overnight. I said, "I know you must be all wondering about my hair - it just happened suddenly, but you should know that I'm fine with it. I love grey hair . . ." and then Tina Fey, who was sitting in the front row said, "I do too!" and then we talked about how more women should just let their hair go grey. There was a studious looking girl in the back with her hand up, but I ignored her because I was afraid that she would ask if we could move on so the class could actually learn something. I wanted to keep talking to Tina Fey about my hair."
And so it begins. The phrase "Lazy time is over" has been echoing in my brain. I have indeed been very very lazy, particularly this last month. "Lazy time is over" reminded me of a favourite clip of mine from That 70s Show:
http://yt.cl.nr/0hPL6EgFjK4
The clip has nothing to do with my topic for today. Just a window into things I think are funny.
Cheers to you.
"I had my first one last night. Usually, there's a bunch of kids running amok and they have no interest in anything I'm saying (which usually doesn't actually happen until the 3rd week or so). This time, I helped a couple of egocentric boys work out their differences and then I stopped everything to address the fact that my hair had turned grey overnight. I said, "I know you must be all wondering about my hair - it just happened suddenly, but you should know that I'm fine with it. I love grey hair . . ." and then Tina Fey, who was sitting in the front row said, "I do too!" and then we talked about how more women should just let their hair go grey. There was a studious looking girl in the back with her hand up, but I ignored her because I was afraid that she would ask if we could move on so the class could actually learn something. I wanted to keep talking to Tina Fey about my hair."
And so it begins. The phrase "Lazy time is over" has been echoing in my brain. I have indeed been very very lazy, particularly this last month. "Lazy time is over" reminded me of a favourite clip of mine from That 70s Show:
http://yt.cl.nr/0hPL6EgFjK4
The clip has nothing to do with my topic for today. Just a window into things I think are funny.
Cheers to you.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Little Squeezes
So, my last post was all about how I live in little old Cranbrook where I live out my polar existence, at once decrying the smallness of my geographical location and rejoicing in that same smallness.
Last week, I was exiting the Rec Plex where my kids were having their swimming lessons and who walks by me -nonchalant as all getout - but Brent Carver. Just a Canadian Theatre icon, nbd. Now, I don't know the guy personally. I taught his niece, I go to church with his other niece. His sister is very nice. But our paths have never crossed. It was cool to see him. And it was cool to have an antidote for my existential fears that my writing is in vain because I just live in Cranbook and not some exciting metropolis . . .
It made me think a little differently. Little things like that can spur one on.
Last week, I was exiting the Rec Plex where my kids were having their swimming lessons and who walks by me -nonchalant as all getout - but Brent Carver. Just a Canadian Theatre icon, nbd. Now, I don't know the guy personally. I taught his niece, I go to church with his other niece. His sister is very nice. But our paths have never crossed. It was cool to see him. And it was cool to have an antidote for my existential fears that my writing is in vain because I just live in Cranbook and not some exciting metropolis . . .
It made me think a little differently. Little things like that can spur one on.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Grovers' Corners
Sometimes I get frustrated living in a small town. I don't go to many professional shows. I'm not in any loop. It's not like there are any connections to make here in Cranbrook that will help me take my writing to the next level.
I was recently talking to a young man from Montreal who runs a Chinese Opera company. He fell in love with Chinese Opera in university and he and some like-minded individuals banded together and perform with some degree of regularity. He talked about Chinese Opera a lot. As in, I think it consumes most of his thoughts. That's not a bad thing at all. In fact, I envy him.
There are many people living in Cranbrook whom I've asked to what degree theatre is on their radar, as in do they go to plays(?). More often than not, the answer resembles "If I had to . . ." or, "My girlfriend wanted me to go to a play once, but I was like, 'No' . . ." or "No. Theatre can happen or not happen and my life would be no different." When it comes to the local theatre scene, there is a small band of folks here who will go to everything. There is a larger group who will go to all of the high school musicals. There are others who will go to plays if they know someone in the show or if they heard it's good. Many will visit the touring large-scale musicals in nearby cities. Precious few will attend the shows of local professional companies in said nearby cities (i.e. Theatre Calgary).
So, in contrast to my Chinese Opera-minded acquaintance who is surrounded by folks who may spend days just learning how to get a particular movement sequence just right, I spend most of my time around a wide cross-section of people. Pastors, stay at home moms, teachers, nurses, miners, landscapers and the like.
I often crave to get away and burrow myself into some little theatre cocoon where I'm just around theatre people all the time and I would go to plays and write plays (which everyone would just love and praise incessantly) and talk about plays and my life would just be about theatre. Nothing would be boring and everyone would just get me. I think about that a lot, actually.
But then. I go down to the Farmer's Market on Wednesday night (it took about five minutes to get there). It's pretty packed. There's a girl who I taught a couple of years ago - I really like her a lot. We hug and exchange "You look good"s. I see a whack of people I either currently teach with or have at one time. The musicians are former or current students. There's a bunch of church people - I find out that one of my good friends is going away next week, not this week like I thought. Everyone is glad to see me and I'm glad to see them. I don't know, it's charming. And irreplaceable. That's just one example of why, when to comes right down to it, I in fact do not regret my choice to live and work where I do. The other, more vital example is the shortbread chocolate cookies at Max's Place downtown (mmmmmmmmyummmAH!). They fix everything.
Yep, I'm unproduced. Yep, the biggest likelihood is that I'm going to stay that way. Really, it's true (it's okay). One of the reasons for that could be that I'm remote and don't have my finger on the pulse of our diverse, changing and urban world. But, people love stories. And who else is going to tell the ones that only I can tell? So, I'm telling them. And though yes, sometimes it does make me discontented with Grovers' Corners to go away and see (or think about seeing) other things, I know that I'm where I'm supposed to be. And mostly, I like it.
I was recently talking to a young man from Montreal who runs a Chinese Opera company. He fell in love with Chinese Opera in university and he and some like-minded individuals banded together and perform with some degree of regularity. He talked about Chinese Opera a lot. As in, I think it consumes most of his thoughts. That's not a bad thing at all. In fact, I envy him.
There are many people living in Cranbrook whom I've asked to what degree theatre is on their radar, as in do they go to plays(?). More often than not, the answer resembles "If I had to . . ." or, "My girlfriend wanted me to go to a play once, but I was like, 'No' . . ." or "No. Theatre can happen or not happen and my life would be no different." When it comes to the local theatre scene, there is a small band of folks here who will go to everything. There is a larger group who will go to all of the high school musicals. There are others who will go to plays if they know someone in the show or if they heard it's good. Many will visit the touring large-scale musicals in nearby cities. Precious few will attend the shows of local professional companies in said nearby cities (i.e. Theatre Calgary).
So, in contrast to my Chinese Opera-minded acquaintance who is surrounded by folks who may spend days just learning how to get a particular movement sequence just right, I spend most of my time around a wide cross-section of people. Pastors, stay at home moms, teachers, nurses, miners, landscapers and the like.
I often crave to get away and burrow myself into some little theatre cocoon where I'm just around theatre people all the time and I would go to plays and write plays (which everyone would just love and praise incessantly) and talk about plays and my life would just be about theatre. Nothing would be boring and everyone would just get me. I think about that a lot, actually.
But then. I go down to the Farmer's Market on Wednesday night (it took about five minutes to get there). It's pretty packed. There's a girl who I taught a couple of years ago - I really like her a lot. We hug and exchange "You look good"s. I see a whack of people I either currently teach with or have at one time. The musicians are former or current students. There's a bunch of church people - I find out that one of my good friends is going away next week, not this week like I thought. Everyone is glad to see me and I'm glad to see them. I don't know, it's charming. And irreplaceable. That's just one example of why, when to comes right down to it, I in fact do not regret my choice to live and work where I do. The other, more vital example is the shortbread chocolate cookies at Max's Place downtown (mmmmmmmmyummmAH!). They fix everything.
Yep, I'm unproduced. Yep, the biggest likelihood is that I'm going to stay that way. Really, it's true (it's okay). One of the reasons for that could be that I'm remote and don't have my finger on the pulse of our diverse, changing and urban world. But, people love stories. And who else is going to tell the ones that only I can tell? So, I'm telling them. And though yes, sometimes it does make me discontented with Grovers' Corners to go away and see (or think about seeing) other things, I know that I'm where I'm supposed to be. And mostly, I like it.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Catch-up
I was re-reading some of my earlier posts and realized that I have a few "I'll tell you how that goes" statements, and then I didn't follow through on letting you know how those things went.
Let's start with The Mimic's Riddle. About a year ago, I entered it in the 2011 Yale Drama Series Competition. There's nothing to report. It didn't go anywhere. Didn't hear back from the development programs either.
My overseas trip was totally awesome. Unfortunately, toward the end, the bunch of us got sick and the last few days were spent coughing and gasping. It was really terrific to spend significant amounts of time with friends and family. Favourite things that I had never seen before: The Musee D'Orsay and Newgrange were at the top of my list. I am a gallery/museum junkie and I went to as many as I could wherever I could. There are never too many art galleries! Oh, and I got to visit the Royal Court Theatre in London. That was super cool.
We had a big McSheaffrey hoolie one night in Edinburgh. Got as much of the family together as we could - as far as my trip was concerned, it was a highlight for me.
So, that was that trip. Also went to Florida and did the Disney World thing. Ghastly.
Rounded things off with a Stage Combat intensive in Vancouver at the end of June/beginning of July. Totally life-changing.
The clock is ticking on this sabbatical thing and, though it has been an incredible year (I encourage everyone to just take a year where you don't have to work - it really changes how you look at life), I have accomplished very little writing. I have, in the times where I haven't had activity directly in front of me, spent a lot of time reflecting and thinking. I know! Who does that? How is that productive? But, you see, that's the point. No to do, but to be.
I'm on page 36 of The School Play. It's.going.so.slowly. But again, there's a story in there somewhere - schools are breeding grounds for drama.
Take care and I'll talk to you soon.
Let's start with The Mimic's Riddle. About a year ago, I entered it in the 2011 Yale Drama Series Competition. There's nothing to report. It didn't go anywhere. Didn't hear back from the development programs either.
My overseas trip was totally awesome. Unfortunately, toward the end, the bunch of us got sick and the last few days were spent coughing and gasping. It was really terrific to spend significant amounts of time with friends and family. Favourite things that I had never seen before: The Musee D'Orsay and Newgrange were at the top of my list. I am a gallery/museum junkie and I went to as many as I could wherever I could. There are never too many art galleries! Oh, and I got to visit the Royal Court Theatre in London. That was super cool.
We had a big McSheaffrey hoolie one night in Edinburgh. Got as much of the family together as we could - as far as my trip was concerned, it was a highlight for me.
So, that was that trip. Also went to Florida and did the Disney World thing. Ghastly.
Rounded things off with a Stage Combat intensive in Vancouver at the end of June/beginning of July. Totally life-changing.
The clock is ticking on this sabbatical thing and, though it has been an incredible year (I encourage everyone to just take a year where you don't have to work - it really changes how you look at life), I have accomplished very little writing. I have, in the times where I haven't had activity directly in front of me, spent a lot of time reflecting and thinking. I know! Who does that? How is that productive? But, you see, that's the point. No to do, but to be.
I'm on page 36 of The School Play. It's.going.so.slowly. But again, there's a story in there somewhere - schools are breeding grounds for drama.
Take care and I'll talk to you soon.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Jacob
So, Jacob wrestled with God. You can read about it in Genesis 32 if you want.
I've been thinking about this one a lot today. It's a great story. Jacob was a great big jerk - I've never liked the guy. But, I gotta hand it to him on this one. He went after what he wanted and fought hard for it well into the night. I love the sense of urgency in this story, this sense of "I'm not going anywhere until I get what I came for and I don't care what it costs!"
I want to be like that. I want the characters in my plays to be like that.
I love that he limped the next day because he got smoked in the hip. Our struggles leave their marks, don't they?
I've been thinking about this one a lot today. It's a great story. Jacob was a great big jerk - I've never liked the guy. But, I gotta hand it to him on this one. He went after what he wanted and fought hard for it well into the night. I love the sense of urgency in this story, this sense of "I'm not going anywhere until I get what I came for and I don't care what it costs!"
I want to be like that. I want the characters in my plays to be like that.
I love that he limped the next day because he got smoked in the hip. Our struggles leave their marks, don't they?
Friday, July 20, 2012
Summer Drive
I'm surprised they held my spot here. I don't deserve it, that's for sure. I seem to get more drive in the summer, for some reason. Goes against nature, I know, but I just seem to get more pages written in the summer.
Came across this on the web today:
I know that some people roll their eyes at Robert McKee, but I think he's right about most things. Certainly this.
How can this not be debilitating? I confess I use this as an excuse in being unproductive. It's hard to start a new draft of something when you know that you've got at least 2 rewrites before it's fit to look at. It's a miracle that any of us bother. But we do, because we must. As playwrights, the thoughts of people sitting in the dark watching our stories for up to two hours outweigh the toil of countless hours of writing, rewriting, applying feedback, preparing readings, submitting and, let's face it, the internet detours we take when we're stuck. Which for me, is a lot.
Well. Back to mining for that 10%.
Came across this on the web today:
"Q: How important is the process of rewriting?
Robert McKee: It's absolutely critical. I quote Hemingway in my book who said, "The first draft of anything is shit." What's difficult for writers to come to terms with is to recognize that 90% of what we all do, no matter our talent, is not our best work. We are only capable of excellence maybe 10% of the time."
I know that some people roll their eyes at Robert McKee, but I think he's right about most things. Certainly this.
How can this not be debilitating? I confess I use this as an excuse in being unproductive. It's hard to start a new draft of something when you know that you've got at least 2 rewrites before it's fit to look at. It's a miracle that any of us bother. But we do, because we must. As playwrights, the thoughts of people sitting in the dark watching our stories for up to two hours outweigh the toil of countless hours of writing, rewriting, applying feedback, preparing readings, submitting and, let's face it, the internet detours we take when we're stuck. Which for me, is a lot.
Well. Back to mining for that 10%.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Stirring
Wow! That was a long nap. The last time I wrote, I was going into rehearsals for Noises Off. It closed 3 days ago. It's amazing how much creative energy goes into directing a play, even when it doesn't take up all of one's time.
It was a great success. I'm thrilled at how it all turned out. I was, of course, privileged to work with a great cast and it always helps to have a flawless script. The journey: tumultuous. A story in itself. It's a miracle the play got on its feet, let alone turned out so well.
We leave on a 6.5 week adventure next Wednesday (8 days). Before then I would like to complete a full draft of Tooth Sized Holes. I know. I have touched the script since I last wrote to you, but only just that. 11 pages. That's all I have to do and it will be done. Then I can start research on my next play. I don't know what the central conflict is going to be, but I am curious about the central question: What is the impact of a teacher on a student's success, really? I often wonder with students who end up being successful in one field or another, and who attribute their success to a certain teacher (and let's face it, lots of teachers like to claim a student's success as being somehow related to their influence) would actually have ended up in the same place anyhow.
I'll start putting out calls for stories on this as soon as I get this bleeding Tooth Sized Holes draft done.
Cheers for now. Here's a link to a little blurb on our production of Noises Off:http://www.e-know.ca/arts-entertainment/noises-off-a-madcap-good-time/
It was a great success. I'm thrilled at how it all turned out. I was, of course, privileged to work with a great cast and it always helps to have a flawless script. The journey: tumultuous. A story in itself. It's a miracle the play got on its feet, let alone turned out so well.
We leave on a 6.5 week adventure next Wednesday (8 days). Before then I would like to complete a full draft of Tooth Sized Holes. I know. I have touched the script since I last wrote to you, but only just that. 11 pages. That's all I have to do and it will be done. Then I can start research on my next play. I don't know what the central conflict is going to be, but I am curious about the central question: What is the impact of a teacher on a student's success, really? I often wonder with students who end up being successful in one field or another, and who attribute their success to a certain teacher (and let's face it, lots of teachers like to claim a student's success as being somehow related to their influence) would actually have ended up in the same place anyhow.
I'll start putting out calls for stories on this as soon as I get this bleeding Tooth Sized Holes draft done.
Cheers for now. Here's a link to a little blurb on our production of Noises Off:http://www.e-know.ca/arts-entertainment/noises-off-a-madcap-good-time/
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