Asylum No More ... Table Read

Okay, the play reached final draft point. The End was written. Table read date was set before I even started writing the dialogue. (Yes, I'm fearless that way.) On Monday I began the process of printing the play, getting copies made, collated, covered, and so on. One always has to allow for running out of ink (check), not being able to replace said ink (check), finishing the job on a different computer in a different location (check), and so on. I bought water for each reader including stage directions reader, arrived early to get set up, got out my notebook and sat back and listened.
I was thrilled to find that my director for the already scheduled staged reading (January 20 and 21st, 2012, 11pm) was there, he read one of the roles in fact, as well as my writing partner who read another. I knew they would provide great feedback. The reading was delivered well, especially for a cold reading. My thoughts were: I need to show more of Tee's motivation; more of Tee's inner process needs to be outer; and whoa! this climax is TOO BIG for this little team. So, after the "popcorn" responses, and the positive feedback from the audience, it was time for my question to them: did the climax see believable to you? Their responses rained down: in a word: no. Not only did it feel too big, but most people don't believe a nurse would be so unfeeling as to start a fire, even in an empty building if there was a possibility of danger to human life. She would be too compassionate. Okay, I hear you.
I have some work to do. I just want everyone to know I also heard the positive responses re the dialogue, the complex characters, the humor. It's a good play, and now I'm going to make it better. That's why we have a table read. And especially why we have it in front of people who know how to make plays better.

The Purity Argument

In 1970 I organized a protest march against the wearing of fur at a fashion show. This was the first of its kind in Anchorage, Alaska at the time, so the media turned out in force, even though there were only about 12 of us marching on that March day. Nearly all my social sorority sisters were inside that fashion show that day, wearing their furs. They stared at me in shock and horror as they crossed our line to enter the hotel that day. Some spoke to me. And that was the first time I heard the argument that a person could not protest the wearing of fur if she ate meat or wore leather. "What are your shoes made of?" Apparently, if a protestor wore a speck of leather, she had no right to protest the clubbing of baby seals -- which was rampant at that time in Alaska. My hand-made sign had a picture of a baby seal, and the words "He died for your skins!"
Now all of PETA is overly familiar with fur wearers arguments. Those arguments probably contributed greatly to veganism. Fine. I have no problem with veganism and pleather and options to wearing animal skins. I'm a vegetarian. I was then.
Here's the thing though. This is a free country. We have the right to free speech. We have the right to protest whatever we feel is wrong. And we do not have to be pure before we can speak out. So, please if you feel in your heart that you should say something about the fact that the makers of UGG boots are using the skins of raccoon dogs that have been SKINNED ALIVE (see www.hearldsun.com.au), but you eat meat and wear leather shoes, don't let that stop you. Okay?
If you want to join with other protestors in Pioneer Square this Thursday at noon October 6, and protest Wall Street, but you happen to own stocks, or invest your money in bonds, or some combination that you don't even understand, but you still don't believe that the people who brought this country to its knees should get away with it -- well go protest!
Remember the last line from "Some Like it Hot": "Nobody's perfect." That's right, none of us are, and if we all speak up, stand together, do our part, we CAN make this world a better place.

Knowledge is Power, redux

Just coming off a migraine again. But no headache today. Today I want to think again about the universe, about spiritually, about connectedness and what we really know. On June 15 I was musing about these things whilst in the throes of a migraine. I didn't come up with answers about why I believed in reincarnation, but not necessarily in a higher power. I haven't found the answers yet. I don't know whether I believe in karma, though I would like to. It would be satisfying to believe that somehow, somewhere people who perpetuate evil in this world will be repaid. But they might not. And if I believe that, does that mean that people who are now suffering horrible lives are paying for past or future deeds? Or is it all random?
There are millions of people starving to death in another part of the world -- right now, this minute -- while grapes in my garden are falling to the ground and rotting. While people are throwing food away because they're too lazy to eat leftovers, because restaurants give out too large servings, because we buy too much and don't eat it. I can't ship those grapes anywhere, they aren't even "food grade" grapes. I eat some of them, the ones I can reach and pick over. I try not to waste food at my house, and I know I am in the minority. I also know that I do this because I am scraping by financially.
There are millions of people starving to death and we knew the famines were coming, we know about it every day, we know we could end it, and we do nothing much. We could end the famines easily by cutting back on war. Just us, the US. We could. Imagine if all the nations worked together to end the famines. We could continue on with the wars and still end hunger.
If nations worked together, we could end war. End hunger. End disease. End global warming. If we worked together, there is no end to the good we could create. Knowledge of that is more than power, it is heartbreak. Because for some reason, we don't want to work together. We don't want peace. We seem to prefer fighting, conflict, war. Where is the love, the peace, the understanding?

Asylum No More, once more

When I finish a draft, I read it aloud in order to clean up spelling errors that cannot be caught by spellcheck. I also find lines that don't flow well, other little bits that need cleaning up. This time I realized I really did have to include that final scene that I thought I could leave out. The irony is I had started to write it, then thought "oh no, they'll think the play was over with the last scene. I'd better just cut this out." So I deleted it, didn't save a scrap. When I read the play aloud, I thought what? where's the rest of the play? Just like my audience would have. Too abrupt. Fortunately, I had the beat sheet right there in front of me, so I knew what was lacking. This morning I wrote that scene -- again -- this time, fully, and finally. Much better.
I also took a gigantic risk and sent the play out to a producer who is looking for material for Fertile Ground. I am already planning to have this play in Fertile Ground, but if it is accepted, I will let them produce it instead. I will do something else. I sent the producer two plays. Maybe they will choose the other one. Or neither one. Submitting plays is always a risk, a risk of rejection. But if you don't send them out, they will never be produced. And I write mine with the assumption that I will see them onstage at some point. I love the act of collaborating with the producer, the director, the designers, the actors, everyone involved.
I have co-founded and founded theatre companies myself, so I know the work involved, and I know that it is hard, that it takes a ton of organization, of commitment, and I also know that it needs to be fun. No one wants to work with people who are jerks, or who don't follow through, or don't pull their own weight. I love to do my part. I love to hear what others bring to the table. I like hearing others' feedback about my plays, and I will let it in. I want my plays to entertain audiences, so I try to create good stories. I know that other theatre artists may know more about certain aspects of the story that I'm telling than I do. So my ears and my heart is open.
For one of my plays (The Godmother) I have grandiose dreams. It would make a fun and interesting serial. Either live onstage, or on TV. I don't have the money to produce it myself or I would. Then I would produce live serial versions every year. Why? Because I believe in the characters in this play. Everyone of them is real and deep and interesting to me. They deserve to have their stories told. Maybe someday.

Writing Process: A New 10 Min Play

I'm no Mark Harvey Levine. He's had over 700 productions worldwide of his 10-15 minute plays. I haven't seen or read any of them, but I'm guessing he is a master storyteller. If you think writing a full-length play is hard, wait until you try writing a good short play. My play "The Bobbsey Twins Go to Hell," was a finalist for the Oregon Book Award, and also won a production the same year. It has also been adapted as a short film and is in post-production.
Now that I'm using the Blake Snyder Beat Sheet as structure for my full-length plays, I decided that I would adapt the beat sheet for ten-minute plays. First I tried adapting it by number of lines, but that was just too specific, so now I have it by number of pages, just like for the *big* plays. Then I tried the beat sheet out against "The Bobbsey Twins" and found that my play fit the beat sheet structure very well. No wonder that play works, where others have not.
I can begin to create my cast of characters and their back stories now. I know the two main characters already. But who will be my third? Maybe I'll work on creating the back stories for the first two today, and see what that stirs up. There will be more dynamics with a third character, but sometimes the third character is not a person. It can be a city, for example. We'll see where we are tomorrow.

Wrapping that baby up: First Draft Asylum No More

I said I'd finish the last scene today and I did! Look, it's barely noon and I just wrote those magic words: The End. 100 pages. Ten short of what I thought it would take, but actually that's good. That's a good amount of pages. I can still add if I need to, or cut if I need to. Ninety minutes made a full evening and can be run without an intermission. Or if I need to add, we can have an intermission. Either way it's all good. I did this one so it can be rated PG. You could perform this one in Middle Schools. Although it's an adult drama, I'm just sayin'. It could be performed in churches. Maybe. There are a few hells and damns.
There is conflict, both inner and outer. There is soul-searching and there is character arc. There is social change going on. I'm not saying this is a perfect first draft. I'm saying this might be a good play after I get some feedback. It has potential. It has a table read coming up, and it has a staged reading scheduled for Fertile Ground in January. Now to send her out into the world so other readers can lay their eyes on her. Bye bye baby!

Getting a crush when you're a grandmother

Getting a crush on someone not your own age, when you're as old as I am is a bummer. Let me rephrase that. I have a crush on a young woman and it's a bummer. I know it will pass, because this is one of those crushes that a person gets on a celebrity, or in my case a performer. I don't know her. If I did I wouldn't have a crush because it would be totally inappropriate. Men don't feel this way, apparently. Look at all the May/December relationships. But I am not into that. No way no how. I feel brave owning up to this temporary crush, let alone writing about it in a public blog. The thing is, I feel pretty sure I am not the only woman this happens to. If I am, so be it. I know I'm queer in a lot of ways. This is one of them.
Last night I went to a concert of Edna Vazquez and the Mariachi Band Los Palmeros with whom she's been playing for 12 years. She has the most amazing voice. I first saw her at an event at Latina Gay Pride. A friend of mine invited me to go as she was playing piano that night. I was blown away by Edna's voice, so when I saw her name on the calendar I knew I was going to go see her. But when I saw her last night, I suddenly got a crush. While I was watching her sing, I kept wishing I was 30 or 35 years younger so I could ask her out. I thought about how I was when I was 30 and 35 years younger. I would have asked her out back then. Of course, she probably wasn't born back then. So you see how ridiculous this is. But it is a fantasy.
In real life, I do enjoy her singing so much. I tried to order a CD from her website, but as far as I can tell, it consists of nothing but videos of her singing. (And I'm complaining?) I am going to take my two grandchildren with me to her concert on Sunday. Both are singers and I want them to see and hear her. For one thing I want my grandson to hear a woman who can sing as loud as he can. And for my granddaughter to see a woman sing and play the guitar in person who is not her former teacher, not Taylor Swift, etc.
My crush will go away. Probably by the time I publish this post. If not, it will evaporate in its own time. It's one of those strange things that happens to you as you age that you don't expect to happen -- like pimples. What the hell? You have skin tags AND pimples? How is that fare? I certainly don't expect myself to feel like a schoolgirl about someone who is young enough to be my daughter or maybe even my granddaughter. That feels wrong. Then I remind myself it is just a feeling, nothing I have to act on. And it will dissipate as feelings do. Anger doesn't last. Even grief which is perhaps the longest lasting feeling one can have, doesn't last forever. A crush is nothing compared to grief. In fact, it is rather pleasant.
If you're old enough to be a grandmother, and you have or have had a crush lately, I surely would like to know I have some company if you're brave enough to share. :)