Not A Competition--not just a play, but a way of thinking
I'm so very sorry for the extended absence (it's been nearly three weeks, I believe!). I have been busy, writing, submitting (though I've exhausted most possibilities at this point), auditioning (that was useless; more in a moment), seeing plays (not at all useless), visiting with family (so-so), being relatively productive at work, exercising, and dreading the onset of winter. That's enough for anyone, I should think!
As for writing: Well, I don't really have anything new or earthshaking to report, aside from the fact that I wrote a one-minute play called "Destination Nowhere" on Tuesday, for a one-minute play contest at the University of Idaho. I kind of think a one-minute play is an oxymoron, but I was game to try, and I think the results were quite successful (though only time, and an acceptance email!, will tell). I wrote a rather absurdist little tale of a man and woman (married? probably but undefined, hence "Woman" and "Man") who arrive at the airport without tickets or a destination. One stays, one goes, and the play ends. (That's a rather simplistic look at it; there's a bit more complexity.) The point is that I decided to take the theme (airports), the restrictions (one-minute, one page), the deadline (asap), and run with them. I actually had fun constructing this play, and two of the playwrights I've shown it to quite like it. (The third had some difficulties with it, which I've decided to discount, because there's only so much you can do with a one-minute play--very little, actually, or using Michael's anology, it's like a 60-second commercial, which means you get in, sell something, and get out.) Most importantly, it was fun to write and wasn't particularly time consuming or frustrating.
Now, of course, comes the waiting. I emailed the play off and have yet to hear anything (perhaps the professor in charge of collecting submissions has been overwhelmed by the quantity received, or perhaps he is email gun-shy, and a receipt notification was never promised, in any event). I hope that I will hear something, though, and soon, because I really do think my play fits the theme of arrivals and destinations and does as much as it can within its confines. Not my call, of course, and I don't want to think how disappointed I'll be if it doesn't make the cut. (You know I will be. I know I will be. Too bad the professor could care less.) In this case, it's not because of the amount of time spent laboring over a hot computer, but because it feels as if I achieved the objectives and then some, so dammit, aren't I entitled to the win? Naturally, it doesn't work that way, and if Professor Caisley feels that 25 other plays fit the criteria more effectively, they will win and I will not. Yes, we're back to winning and losing again, to rejection, which continually rears its ugly head, to competition and the subjective nature of art, and as much as I fight the urge to care and to surrender to negativity, it's hard not to. I realize that writing has to be fun (it is), has to be rewarding (it is), and has to be about the process (and it is as well).
There is nothing so gratifying as finishing a play and feeling the pride in its being (little plays born every month!). Since I'll never have children, this is as close to childbirthing as I'll ever come, and that's fine (less pain, no bloodshed, and no college tuitions or disobediance to contend with; yes, I'm being facetious). But, and I've said this countless times, it's difficult to for me to understand the concept of being satisfied with a play that's not going to be produced. Granted, every one of my plays MAY BE at some point, and two already have been (well, given readings, anyway), but I want every single of them to get the chance. I don't think I'm being greedy; I'm being realistic. A play that sits on my computer or on my desk is wonderful, but if people don't get to see it realized on stage, then really, what is the point? As I've noted to a number of playwrighting friends, if it's merely about the act of writing, I can turn to my journal (or even this blog, though I'm pleased that people do read, and respond, to it; I wasn't sure when I started this if that would be the case, and it has been, so thank you). I stopped writing short fiction when it became apparent to me that no one wanted to publish any of my stories. No, I didn't submit them to 180 journals, like Andre Dubus III did, but I did send one of my stories, the best one, to at least 30, and they all said no. Realizing that this was my strongest work, I decided that either I was unlucky or untalented or both, and gave up.
I can't say I feel the same way today. I think my plays are at least as good, if not better, than many of the works that get produced today (I KNOW IT'S NOT A COMPETITION, hence the title of tonight's blog entry, but I see a lot of plays, at least one or two a week, so I speak from some experience). I understand that I am jumping the gun to some extent, as I've yet to be rejected post-binge. It is entirely possible (albeit unlikely) that every play will get at least one reading and/or production. Maybe some will get more. I don't feel that this will be the case, however. I am quite certain to hear any minute that a Massachusetts theatre company has said no to two or three of my plays (as this company said yes to a fellow binger, and heartiest congratulations to him, completely deserved, as it's a terrific play), and it may just be the beginning. I am a pessimist, I realize, but I don't have a lot to go on otherwise. I didn't succeed in acting or sketch writing or short fiction writing, so what's to say I'll be more successful with my playwrighting. That stated, I do believe that I have an ear for dialogue and I have a drive and hopefully an objectivity I didn't have 10 years ago, which can only bode well. What I have to do, as John recently posted here, is to stop thinking about others and only my own process, my own desire to write. And I'll do it, but some external validation wouldn't hurt. :-)
Incidentally, on the acting front, I did try out for the Zeitgeist Theatre Company about two weeks ago, and not surprisingly, I didn't hear a word, meaning I didn't get cast. I don't think I had a particularly strong audition. I read the part as well as I could, but I didn't feel connected (plus it was the second lead, so forgetaboutit, b/c I'm too old, apparently, at 42, to play any other roles effectively), and so the audition was most likely lukewarm. It would have been nice to have received a brief rejection email, but no news is bad news on the auditioning front, so I've moved on. I talked to Rich from Arlington Players, the group producing "Uncharted Territory" the second and third weeks of June 06 at the Devanaughn Theatre in Boston *subtle hint* in the past, and he goes to a twice-weekly drop-in class that helps with this. (Those who participate put on "Chiefly Checkov" at B.U. last weekend, and it was a fun evening, particularly during the after-play wine and cheese fest in the green room. I don't drink, but I don't need to. Trust me.) Unfortunately, I can't afford these drop-in sessions, so I IMed with my friend Sal, a very strong actor in NYC, and he suggested working with a scene partner, so we could practice auditioning and cold reading. This is a wonderful idea, and I'm seeking friends who would be willing to work with me.
I just don't come alive enough in auditions, and it shows. I don't know why I stiffen up--fear? lack of experience in cold reading? anticipated rejection?--but I know that I do, and am rarely able to "go for broke" for some reason. Since I do want the opportunity to act again (and soon, dammit), I will need to get past this inability to convincingly bring characters to life during the audition process. I'll keep you posted. I feel I can do that with my characters on the page, however, and I intend to keep writing, and then some. I find that having structure and guidelines (e.g., a one-minute play set in an airport or a 10-minute play dealing with a 20-year period of time) really kick-starts me and keeps me focused and on target. The two easiest plays to write have been "Destination Nowhere" and "Not A Competition," respectively, and I think this is why. I just need help in defining my goals. This doesn't work for all writers, by any means, but it always has for me, starting when I was in fourth grade and wrote a play about Arbor Day for my Sunday School class (damn, I wish I still had that play!).
I'm excited that my almost 9-year-old niece has taken after her aunt (yes, I mean me)and recently presented a play to her classmates about Halloween, co-written with her best friend. (I didn't get to see it, but my parents said it was very cute. She read it out loud to my parents, my sister, and me last weekend and I was really impressed, and I'm not easily impressed.) Jami is very excited to just get cast in a play (she is going to be a mouse in the chorus of "Cinderella," being presented in Western Mass in January 06) and has a very positive attitude about the experience of theatre. She realizes it's collaborative (or can be--writing not necessarily so, though it was for her) and that it's fun, and she takes everything she can from it, not thinking of it in any way as a competition, as sport, but as a rewarding activity. I need to, absolutely must, get to a place where I can feel the same. I know that other factors in my life, including my constant battle with overspending and overeating, contribute to a general frustration and anger that constantly threaten to overtake me, and I have to keep an ever watchful eye on bad habits and negative thoughts. Exercise (and today I walked for over 8 1/2 miles with D., and boy did I feel sore but relaxed afterwards!) continues to be crucial (though why I'm gaining weight, or so it seems, continues to mystify me).
Little treats are necessary as well (and the $19.99 offwhite cords that I bought at the GAP this evening--yes, my nemesis--did feel good and will be fun to wear, b/c I can only hold off spending for so long before I need to cave in and acknowledge the demon within with a small offering), and also acknowledging that yes, I do deserve to buy a new bureau (mine is 20 years old and falling apart) and bookcase (I don't have a real one; the bookcase in my bureau is 35 years old, small, and leans to the right, constantly threatening to collapse) at the brand new, not yet opened IKEA in Stoughton next weekend (thank you, $500 check from Year One Freshman Seminar that I'm due to receive this week, just in the nick of time). What is not acceptable is to be angry all the time, to be resentful about others' good fortunes, and of course to compare myself to people whom I feel are more lucky, or better looking, and on and on. I absolutely need to self-soothe, and I need to remember that I write because I want to, not because there is someone looking over my shoulder compelling me to, or because I'm getting rich (or anything else, really, except for proud) off it.
I know some of this derives from working at an architecture school, where I know some but not much about the design professions and cannot lay claim to being either a practioner or a visual artist. When I talk about writing, however, many student and administrators' eyes light up, because they can see a fellow artist in their midst, and because they realize that I get it. I get the subjectivity, the crits and criticism inherent in the arts, I get the discipline needed, I get the process, and I get the rejection. I get it. I really enjoy my job, but it's not enough, not nearly. Without the arts, I would wither away. I need to see plays, discuss them, write them, act in them. I can't be a musician (or not a professional one, anyway) or a painter, but I can be a writer, and dammit, I'm going to continue to be. And maybe my work will touch some theatre's literary manager or artistic director and she or he will say, Yes! That play would be just right for us. I do intend to write a true one-act or full-length play during my December break, but for now, short plays will do. I will keep honing my skills and I will keep working on accepting that I don't have any control over what is, in fact, accepted, but I do have control over whether to continue writing or not, and I choose the former.
As for writing: Well, I don't really have anything new or earthshaking to report, aside from the fact that I wrote a one-minute play called "Destination Nowhere" on Tuesday, for a one-minute play contest at the University of Idaho. I kind of think a one-minute play is an oxymoron, but I was game to try, and I think the results were quite successful (though only time, and an acceptance email!, will tell). I wrote a rather absurdist little tale of a man and woman (married? probably but undefined, hence "Woman" and "Man") who arrive at the airport without tickets or a destination. One stays, one goes, and the play ends. (That's a rather simplistic look at it; there's a bit more complexity.) The point is that I decided to take the theme (airports), the restrictions (one-minute, one page), the deadline (asap), and run with them. I actually had fun constructing this play, and two of the playwrights I've shown it to quite like it. (The third had some difficulties with it, which I've decided to discount, because there's only so much you can do with a one-minute play--very little, actually, or using Michael's anology, it's like a 60-second commercial, which means you get in, sell something, and get out.) Most importantly, it was fun to write and wasn't particularly time consuming or frustrating.
Now, of course, comes the waiting. I emailed the play off and have yet to hear anything (perhaps the professor in charge of collecting submissions has been overwhelmed by the quantity received, or perhaps he is email gun-shy, and a receipt notification was never promised, in any event). I hope that I will hear something, though, and soon, because I really do think my play fits the theme of arrivals and destinations and does as much as it can within its confines. Not my call, of course, and I don't want to think how disappointed I'll be if it doesn't make the cut. (You know I will be. I know I will be. Too bad the professor could care less.) In this case, it's not because of the amount of time spent laboring over a hot computer, but because it feels as if I achieved the objectives and then some, so dammit, aren't I entitled to the win? Naturally, it doesn't work that way, and if Professor Caisley feels that 25 other plays fit the criteria more effectively, they will win and I will not. Yes, we're back to winning and losing again, to rejection, which continually rears its ugly head, to competition and the subjective nature of art, and as much as I fight the urge to care and to surrender to negativity, it's hard not to. I realize that writing has to be fun (it is), has to be rewarding (it is), and has to be about the process (and it is as well).
There is nothing so gratifying as finishing a play and feeling the pride in its being (little plays born every month!). Since I'll never have children, this is as close to childbirthing as I'll ever come, and that's fine (less pain, no bloodshed, and no college tuitions or disobediance to contend with; yes, I'm being facetious). But, and I've said this countless times, it's difficult to for me to understand the concept of being satisfied with a play that's not going to be produced. Granted, every one of my plays MAY BE at some point, and two already have been (well, given readings, anyway), but I want every single of them to get the chance. I don't think I'm being greedy; I'm being realistic. A play that sits on my computer or on my desk is wonderful, but if people don't get to see it realized on stage, then really, what is the point? As I've noted to a number of playwrighting friends, if it's merely about the act of writing, I can turn to my journal (or even this blog, though I'm pleased that people do read, and respond, to it; I wasn't sure when I started this if that would be the case, and it has been, so thank you). I stopped writing short fiction when it became apparent to me that no one wanted to publish any of my stories. No, I didn't submit them to 180 journals, like Andre Dubus III did, but I did send one of my stories, the best one, to at least 30, and they all said no. Realizing that this was my strongest work, I decided that either I was unlucky or untalented or both, and gave up.
I can't say I feel the same way today. I think my plays are at least as good, if not better, than many of the works that get produced today (I KNOW IT'S NOT A COMPETITION, hence the title of tonight's blog entry, but I see a lot of plays, at least one or two a week, so I speak from some experience). I understand that I am jumping the gun to some extent, as I've yet to be rejected post-binge. It is entirely possible (albeit unlikely) that every play will get at least one reading and/or production. Maybe some will get more. I don't feel that this will be the case, however. I am quite certain to hear any minute that a Massachusetts theatre company has said no to two or three of my plays (as this company said yes to a fellow binger, and heartiest congratulations to him, completely deserved, as it's a terrific play), and it may just be the beginning. I am a pessimist, I realize, but I don't have a lot to go on otherwise. I didn't succeed in acting or sketch writing or short fiction writing, so what's to say I'll be more successful with my playwrighting. That stated, I do believe that I have an ear for dialogue and I have a drive and hopefully an objectivity I didn't have 10 years ago, which can only bode well. What I have to do, as John recently posted here, is to stop thinking about others and only my own process, my own desire to write. And I'll do it, but some external validation wouldn't hurt. :-)
Incidentally, on the acting front, I did try out for the Zeitgeist Theatre Company about two weeks ago, and not surprisingly, I didn't hear a word, meaning I didn't get cast. I don't think I had a particularly strong audition. I read the part as well as I could, but I didn't feel connected (plus it was the second lead, so forgetaboutit, b/c I'm too old, apparently, at 42, to play any other roles effectively), and so the audition was most likely lukewarm. It would have been nice to have received a brief rejection email, but no news is bad news on the auditioning front, so I've moved on. I talked to Rich from Arlington Players, the group producing "Uncharted Territory" the second and third weeks of June 06 at the Devanaughn Theatre in Boston *subtle hint* in the past, and he goes to a twice-weekly drop-in class that helps with this. (Those who participate put on "Chiefly Checkov" at B.U. last weekend, and it was a fun evening, particularly during the after-play wine and cheese fest in the green room. I don't drink, but I don't need to. Trust me.) Unfortunately, I can't afford these drop-in sessions, so I IMed with my friend Sal, a very strong actor in NYC, and he suggested working with a scene partner, so we could practice auditioning and cold reading. This is a wonderful idea, and I'm seeking friends who would be willing to work with me.
I just don't come alive enough in auditions, and it shows. I don't know why I stiffen up--fear? lack of experience in cold reading? anticipated rejection?--but I know that I do, and am rarely able to "go for broke" for some reason. Since I do want the opportunity to act again (and soon, dammit), I will need to get past this inability to convincingly bring characters to life during the audition process. I'll keep you posted. I feel I can do that with my characters on the page, however, and I intend to keep writing, and then some. I find that having structure and guidelines (e.g., a one-minute play set in an airport or a 10-minute play dealing with a 20-year period of time) really kick-starts me and keeps me focused and on target. The two easiest plays to write have been "Destination Nowhere" and "Not A Competition," respectively, and I think this is why. I just need help in defining my goals. This doesn't work for all writers, by any means, but it always has for me, starting when I was in fourth grade and wrote a play about Arbor Day for my Sunday School class (damn, I wish I still had that play!).
I'm excited that my almost 9-year-old niece has taken after her aunt (yes, I mean me)and recently presented a play to her classmates about Halloween, co-written with her best friend. (I didn't get to see it, but my parents said it was very cute. She read it out loud to my parents, my sister, and me last weekend and I was really impressed, and I'm not easily impressed.) Jami is very excited to just get cast in a play (she is going to be a mouse in the chorus of "Cinderella," being presented in Western Mass in January 06) and has a very positive attitude about the experience of theatre. She realizes it's collaborative (or can be--writing not necessarily so, though it was for her) and that it's fun, and she takes everything she can from it, not thinking of it in any way as a competition, as sport, but as a rewarding activity. I need to, absolutely must, get to a place where I can feel the same. I know that other factors in my life, including my constant battle with overspending and overeating, contribute to a general frustration and anger that constantly threaten to overtake me, and I have to keep an ever watchful eye on bad habits and negative thoughts. Exercise (and today I walked for over 8 1/2 miles with D., and boy did I feel sore but relaxed afterwards!) continues to be crucial (though why I'm gaining weight, or so it seems, continues to mystify me).
Little treats are necessary as well (and the $19.99 offwhite cords that I bought at the GAP this evening--yes, my nemesis--did feel good and will be fun to wear, b/c I can only hold off spending for so long before I need to cave in and acknowledge the demon within with a small offering), and also acknowledging that yes, I do deserve to buy a new bureau (mine is 20 years old and falling apart) and bookcase (I don't have a real one; the bookcase in my bureau is 35 years old, small, and leans to the right, constantly threatening to collapse) at the brand new, not yet opened IKEA in Stoughton next weekend (thank you, $500 check from Year One Freshman Seminar that I'm due to receive this week, just in the nick of time). What is not acceptable is to be angry all the time, to be resentful about others' good fortunes, and of course to compare myself to people whom I feel are more lucky, or better looking, and on and on. I absolutely need to self-soothe, and I need to remember that I write because I want to, not because there is someone looking over my shoulder compelling me to, or because I'm getting rich (or anything else, really, except for proud) off it.
I know some of this derives from working at an architecture school, where I know some but not much about the design professions and cannot lay claim to being either a practioner or a visual artist. When I talk about writing, however, many student and administrators' eyes light up, because they can see a fellow artist in their midst, and because they realize that I get it. I get the subjectivity, the crits and criticism inherent in the arts, I get the discipline needed, I get the process, and I get the rejection. I get it. I really enjoy my job, but it's not enough, not nearly. Without the arts, I would wither away. I need to see plays, discuss them, write them, act in them. I can't be a musician (or not a professional one, anyway) or a painter, but I can be a writer, and dammit, I'm going to continue to be. And maybe my work will touch some theatre's literary manager or artistic director and she or he will say, Yes! That play would be just right for us. I do intend to write a true one-act or full-length play during my December break, but for now, short plays will do. I will keep honing my skills and I will keep working on accepting that I don't have any control over what is, in fact, accepted, but I do have control over whether to continue writing or not, and I choose the former.
posted by Sue B at 8:05 PM
1 Comments:
Yes, I am so not into that. No one cares if I had an English muffin for breakfast or got my hair cut. I'm only interested in items related to the creative life or education. I leave the fluffy stuff to others. :-) (And maybe I can make this into a novel someday!)
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