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.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
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.
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