On risk and rejection (and success!), part eight
Well, I survived (yes, SURVIVED) tonight's reading of "Uncharted Territory" in Somerville as part of the Playwright's Quandrangle. Actually, the experience felt pretty excrutiating, although in hindsight I guess the reading itself went okay. My play was 7th out of 8, meaning I had to wait for about 90 minutes or so til we got to it (including an intermission). My friend D.'s play was third and got a good response, which made me happy (I think both actors did a nice job). The actor playing one of her leads played my female lead, Karen, and she was WONDERFUL. I went up to her afterwards and thanked her, and she thanked me for writing such a strong script. (Maybe yes, maybe no, but it was nice of her to say so.) She also said she hoped I won--the two plays that get the most votes, one a 10-minute play, one longer, 20-30 minutes, like mine, will be produced in the Fall--and I thought "Like hell that is going to happen," but thanked her. She was just what I envisioned for the role, and though I would have changed a few things she did, overall she was great.
Alas, the actor playing Mark truly sucked, and his reading (if you could even call it that) didn't help me figure out what worked well and what didn't with the character and his relationship to Karen. He was too young (probably 25 or so), but that wasn't the problem, and in fact my friend A. and others liked that he was younger than Karen. However, he mumbled, looked down at the script the entire time, and seemed as if he were about to fall asleep. He was in the evening's last play, directly following mine, and it was as if he had to save up all his energy for THAT play so he couldn't be bothered giving any to mine. Too bad, b/c it would have been cool to see Karen and Mark really play off one another--without passion, the play is useless--but I'll just have to guess, and I do see areas I can revise. The monologues worked for the most part, which was great. What was painful (to be kind) was to have to sit and watch. I thought, 'Fraud! Fraud! Why did you ever think you could write?! Never write another word, you fool!' the entire time I watched the play read (about 25 minutes), and my heart was pounding so hard I thought I'd pass out. I say this not so others can say, 'No, no, you are great, keep writing,' but b/c I honestly felt this way as I watched.
I cringed and squirmed and put my head in my hands throughout the reading, and told A. I thought I'd die or something to that effect when it was over. I felt ashamed and embarrassed and desperately wanted to run out of the room. Do others feel this way when they watch their work performed? I'm sure some writers must. It's sort of how I feel when I watch myself on tape, only worse, b/c it was happening LIVE. It was awful and I hoped people would glance at me sympathetically and say, 'Well, at least you tried.' In fact, A. liked the play quite a bit (she had read it, but not since I'd revised some of it, and no one had ever seen it staged, save for D. on Tuesday night at the rehearsal she went to for her play), and my parents said they did, though maybe they were just being kind (hard to say, really, though I suppose they liked it a bit, or didn't hate it). God. I want to write, but this is...this is tough. The good news is that I AM eager to go back and revise it, try to make it a little lighter in places (so the darkness resonates more, for one thing, and so you feel more hopeful and maybe more sympathetic toward the characters), and so I will do so, this weekend, hopefully. (I was going to start a new play, but maybe I'll hold off on that to see what I can do with this one.) I sent it out to two more places, and should they take it (doubtful, but who knows?), I would see if they would take the revised version.
Let me add that as the play began, I wondered, Who wrote that? and wondered if some of the words had been revised, as I didn't remember writing them (still don't). I'm also not certain I understand these characters as well as I might, so I will have to spend a bit more time with them. But I had hoped it would be more fun to see it staged, and instead I felt vulnerable, a bit helpless (as I couldn't go up to the stage and take the male lead off and replace him with myself or anyone, and I also couldn't fix lines I knew didn't work), and...well...exposed. Fraud is a word I've used in conjunction with myself in the past--I even wrote a poem about it, having to do with my improv ability (or lack thereof)--and it's the worst way you can feel, b/c you are so undermining yourself, saying that you are not deserving of anything you receive, and that you ought not receive anything in the first place. I want to write, to have my writing out there, and to feel PROUD of my writing, and maybe I need to work on the third part.
I did not realize how deeply I would feel this, how much it would mean to me, how much it would hurt to feel as if I had failed, had done a bad job, and I'm obviously being overwrought, as the reading was not a crushing failure (though again, I experienced it that way as the play was read aloud; I feel less so in retrospect). But I'm trying to be as honest and candid as I can be about the experience, and I need to be tougher, b/c of course plays need revision, and I need to be able to handle it. And I thought I could--I was in so many workshops as a Master's student at Emerson--but it's been a long time, and I guess I'm out of practice (plus this wasn't a rehearsal or a class but an honest to goodness reading, with a paid audience). I hope it gets easier over time. It seems nothing is ever truly easy, is it?
Alas, the actor playing Mark truly sucked, and his reading (if you could even call it that) didn't help me figure out what worked well and what didn't with the character and his relationship to Karen. He was too young (probably 25 or so), but that wasn't the problem, and in fact my friend A. and others liked that he was younger than Karen. However, he mumbled, looked down at the script the entire time, and seemed as if he were about to fall asleep. He was in the evening's last play, directly following mine, and it was as if he had to save up all his energy for THAT play so he couldn't be bothered giving any to mine. Too bad, b/c it would have been cool to see Karen and Mark really play off one another--without passion, the play is useless--but I'll just have to guess, and I do see areas I can revise. The monologues worked for the most part, which was great. What was painful (to be kind) was to have to sit and watch. I thought, 'Fraud! Fraud! Why did you ever think you could write?! Never write another word, you fool!' the entire time I watched the play read (about 25 minutes), and my heart was pounding so hard I thought I'd pass out. I say this not so others can say, 'No, no, you are great, keep writing,' but b/c I honestly felt this way as I watched.
I cringed and squirmed and put my head in my hands throughout the reading, and told A. I thought I'd die or something to that effect when it was over. I felt ashamed and embarrassed and desperately wanted to run out of the room. Do others feel this way when they watch their work performed? I'm sure some writers must. It's sort of how I feel when I watch myself on tape, only worse, b/c it was happening LIVE. It was awful and I hoped people would glance at me sympathetically and say, 'Well, at least you tried.' In fact, A. liked the play quite a bit (she had read it, but not since I'd revised some of it, and no one had ever seen it staged, save for D. on Tuesday night at the rehearsal she went to for her play), and my parents said they did, though maybe they were just being kind (hard to say, really, though I suppose they liked it a bit, or didn't hate it). God. I want to write, but this is...this is tough. The good news is that I AM eager to go back and revise it, try to make it a little lighter in places (so the darkness resonates more, for one thing, and so you feel more hopeful and maybe more sympathetic toward the characters), and so I will do so, this weekend, hopefully. (I was going to start a new play, but maybe I'll hold off on that to see what I can do with this one.) I sent it out to two more places, and should they take it (doubtful, but who knows?), I would see if they would take the revised version.
Let me add that as the play began, I wondered, Who wrote that? and wondered if some of the words had been revised, as I didn't remember writing them (still don't). I'm also not certain I understand these characters as well as I might, so I will have to spend a bit more time with them. But I had hoped it would be more fun to see it staged, and instead I felt vulnerable, a bit helpless (as I couldn't go up to the stage and take the male lead off and replace him with myself or anyone, and I also couldn't fix lines I knew didn't work), and...well...exposed. Fraud is a word I've used in conjunction with myself in the past--I even wrote a poem about it, having to do with my improv ability (or lack thereof)--and it's the worst way you can feel, b/c you are so undermining yourself, saying that you are not deserving of anything you receive, and that you ought not receive anything in the first place. I want to write, to have my writing out there, and to feel PROUD of my writing, and maybe I need to work on the third part.
I did not realize how deeply I would feel this, how much it would mean to me, how much it would hurt to feel as if I had failed, had done a bad job, and I'm obviously being overwrought, as the reading was not a crushing failure (though again, I experienced it that way as the play was read aloud; I feel less so in retrospect). But I'm trying to be as honest and candid as I can be about the experience, and I need to be tougher, b/c of course plays need revision, and I need to be able to handle it. And I thought I could--I was in so many workshops as a Master's student at Emerson--but it's been a long time, and I guess I'm out of practice (plus this wasn't a rehearsal or a class but an honest to goodness reading, with a paid audience). I hope it gets easier over time. It seems nothing is ever truly easy, is it?
posted by Sue B at 7:45 PM
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