Crystal Jackson

Archive for the ‘writing’ Category

like camp, only with booze

In running away, theatre, things that make me happy, travel, writing on June 4, 2013 at 1:47 pm

Great Plains Theatre Conference. Nine days in Omaha. Spirited conversations with witty, articulate people from all over the country. Warm Midwestern hospitality. Lots of wine, good food and new friends. No sleep, quiet time or tornadoes. And I would happily do it all over again (but let me take a nap first).

When The Singularity was chosen for the GPTC, I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into. I’d never been to Nebraska. The conference dates included my ten-year anniversary with James. The only planes that fly non-stop to Omaha are tiny. I didn’t know any of the people who were going to be there, including the director and cast of my play.

Whatever fears I had were quickly washed away during the first breakfast at the hotel when I met the other playwrights. They were a welcoming group, and we had instant chemistry. Within a day or two, I felt like I’d known some of them for years. We fell into easy friendships the way you do when you’re a kid, spending the entire conference laughing, telling stories and supporting each other. A bit of magic in an otherwise indifferent world.

Intellectually, the concept of seeing three or more full-length play readings each day sounded difficult but doable. And it was, though I was surprised at how mentally and emotionally taxing it is to hear so many stories in a row. This wasn’t passive theatre watching. We were filling out response forms and giving feedback during the talk backs, and because we wanted to be supportive of each other we really concentrated on what we were listening to. My playwright’s brain was stretched from seeing so many new pieces that incorporated different themes, language and structure than the plays I write. I look forward to seeing how that exposure will impact my writing going forward.

I owe a debt of gratitude to the people who make the GPTC happen. I’ve never before had this sort of opportunity to let the day-to-day worries and responsibilities of my life go and just concentrate on something I love.

It was camp, for adults.

asdfads

I received helpful and positive feedback after my reading that identified a few moments that could use some tweaking – changes that, once made, will hopefully help this play find its first production (St. Fortune, a theatre collective in NYC, provided the cast and director for my play – they are a talented bunch – if you live in New York, go see them perform)

adsfa

an unfortunately named apartment building near the hotel

;lkj

the tornado siren outside my hotel room – it sounded for about two minutes on the third night (around 1AM), and my heart almost made it all of the way out of my body via my mouth – I thought its cry meant there was a tornado skipping down the street and heading straight for my room – in fact, the warning siren will go off 15 minutes or more before a tornado might hit – freakout time comes when the siren continually blares (I found this out when I got dressed and went down to the lobby where I sat with the old folks and watched the weather radar until the threat had passed, quizzing them about how the sirens work and whether or not it was odd for tornadoes to be forming in the middle of the night) (it was)

look at those happy faces

just like camp, we were carted around in a big yellow school bus – interesting to note: this photo was taken on the first day of the conference – everyone is already bright and happy

;lkj

the Friday night fringe festival took us to places all over the Metropolitan Community College campus, which I’d wager is the nicest community college campus in the country – it’s on the site of an old fort and is full of 1800s-era buildings with tall ceilings, ornate woodwork and wraparound porches (and probably a few ghosts)

asdf

in addition to the historic buildings, there’s also a bright and shiny new culinary institute – the chef/professors fed us delicious and healthy lunches each day, and they let the conference use their culinary theater for the fringe festival

;lkj

I submitted a short play I wrote during one of the workshops to be read at the play slam on the last day of the conference – this lovely octogenarian agreed to read a part in my play, which caused her to say words she’d probably never uttered before (at least not in polite company) – it was a great feeling to throw something on stage that had been written in a hurry just a couple of days before – everyone was so supportive, I felt totally comfortable letting it all hang out

;lkj'lj

the mainstage playwrights and other special guests stayed on campus in some of the historic homes – porch parties organically erupted some nights, providing a break from the theatre and the chance for music and conversation – this was taken on the last night of the conference, which was bittersweet

LINKS OF INTEREST
Great Plains Theatre Conference
St. Fortune (the kickass company that presented my play)
Fort Omaha campus of the Metropolitan Community College (our gracious hosts)
Element Omaha Midtown Crossing (our spacious digs – each room came with big windows and a kitchen with full-size fridge, dishwasher, microwave, oven and stove – they also provided a great breakfast, never repeating the same item in the nine mornings I was there)
House of Loom (hipsters abound in Omaha – this place features delicious craft cocktails served by the hip and tatted)

a few things

In books, family, travel, writing on April 17, 2013 at 11:46 am

- Each day, to and fro, my 13-mile commute features heavy traffic. Sometimes it’s stop and go, and other days it’s just slow going. What I never understand is why people tailgate during heavy traffic. We’re all not going anywhere fast, and riding my ass is not going to make me disappear or make the cars in front of me get out of the way. One dude in an SUV (of course) was all up on my back bumper this morning. I didn’t move. So he got on the bumper of a Toyota. Real close. So close, it looked like the cars were going through a haunted house together. The SUV didn’t want to be more than an arm’s reach from the Toyota so when the chainsaw killer popped up out of nowhere, SUV dude would be able to grab onto the Toyota’s jacket. Like a bitch.

- I watched a trailer for the new Superman movie last night. It made me think of the 1978 version, which I saw in the movie theater with my best friend (Renee) and grandfather (Papa). It was the first movie that gave me, uh, tingles, and I was in love with Christopher Reeve for a long time after that. Maybe that’s why I joined the newspaper staff in high school. Or maybe I was/am a dorknerd.

- In the midst of my semi-annual belongings purge, I ended up with about 20 books I was willing to let go. Rather than take the books to Half Price and have some snarling hipster roll his eyes at what I’ve brought and then offer me 50 cents/book, I thought I’d check out other options. Ends up, you can donate books to the Houston Public Library (put them in a box, label it “To the Friends of the Houston Public Library” and drop the box at any area public library). You can also donate your books to Better World Books (there are collection boxes all over town).

- During this purge, I finally tackled the file folders full of stuff from my brother Mason’s belongings and organized everything in a scrapbook (though I am NOT a scrapbooker) (just a scrapper). There were a number of short film scripts he’d written and the first 8 or 10 pages of what I think was intended to be a full-length screenplay. The start to the screenplay is great, and the story really grabbed me. I keep thinking about it and how we always talked about collaborating. And I wonder how he’d feel if I were to write the rest of that story, listing him as co-author.

- Finally, I’ll do a write-up of our recent trip to southern California in the next post. For now, here’s a sneak peek.

Gram Parsons' memorial at Joshua Tree Inn

Gram Parsons’ memorial at Joshua Tree Inn

for love, not money

In the internets, writing on October 10, 2012 at 9:30 pm

I subscribe to about 50 blogs. The exact number ebbs and flows as people get added and dropped. My reasons for dropping a blog are generally:

  • they start getting preachy about shit I don’t want to be preached to about
  • they’ve received a bit of national press and have been changed by the experience (in a negative way)
  • they turn the blog into a blatant attempt to make money/get a book deal/”monetize”

I’ve watched it happen numerous times. It’s always disappointing.

There’s a guy out in West Texas who initially blogged about off-grid living in the middle of nowhere. His daily posts were an interesting peek into a more simple, if not more difficult, way of life. Then the New York Times came to visit. His posts for the few months after that became a lot more self-congratulatory. (I don’t know how he was able to type with only one hand available.) The NYT story led to a few other stories. The posts were no longer about his lifestyle–they were about his life’s style. He was selling a commodity, wearing a costume, pretending. He became a caricature. I dropped him after a time, and a recent check in on his blog shows that he’s now gone off on a religious zealot/Armageddon tangent. Yeah. I doubt the NYT will be back any time soon.

I’ve grappled with how to manage content for this blog, and I understand having conflicting emotions about how to do it over the long haul. For a while, I was beating myself up for not posting often enough, or not being political enough. But then I realized: I want to write about whatever I want to write about at that moment. Sometimes I want to write about politics. Sometimes farts. Sometimes nothing (hence the occasional week-long silences). Since I’m not selling anything, I don’t have to conform to a theme or a schedule. I can do WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT. And therein lies freedom.

This blog won’t catch the eye of the NYT, but the good news is: you won’t have to watch me turn into a media-obsessed jackass. (maybe just a regular jackass)

ad astra per alas porci

In the arts, the internets, writing on September 23, 2012 at 12:46 pm

My radio silence of late isn’t because I’ve been trapped under something heavy and unable to reach my keyboard. I’ve been right in front of my computer a lot, actually, working on a few long shot projects. Things that have only slightly better odds of coming to fruition than the mythical flying piglet in the sky. In addition to the pain of writing artistic statements (which are always entirely more difficult to create than the project you’re writing about), I’ve also been wrestling with this new play. This bastard, assface, frustrating piece of work. And it’s winning. For now.

As is usual when I’m stuck in my own head, I seek out things to stimulate my brain and, hopefully, help me work around the mental roadblock. One great source of unending interest is the ARTISAN VIDEOS section of Reddit. It’s a joyous thing to watch skilled artists do their thing, like:

There’s something wonderfully soothing about watching people work with their hands. And there are other distractions to be found, so many things to do other than the task(s) at hand. This isn’t a video, it’s an image. A very funny image that is now the background on my work computer. It was simply titled, “I was eating some bread, when suddenly…” And while we’re on the subject of dogs, here’s a lovely homage to the dog/human relationship.

Another item I ran across recently: Henry Miller on writing. (How awesome his daily routine sounds. Writing, going to museums, reading in cafes, painting, going on walks and bike rides through unknown areas, making charts and plans.) If you click the link, you’ll notice that his first commandment about writing is “Work on one thing at a time until finished.” I would do well to follow that one.

Going to go work in the yard. Perhaps I’ll find inspiration there.

PS – the title of this post = to the stars on the wings of a pig. John Steinbeck’s motto. Don’t fuck with the Pigasus.

bitches be melodramatic

In theatre, writing on September 5, 2012 at 8:26 pm

American Theatre magazine (the rag for Theatre Communications Group) asks random questions on facebook every day. Here’s one from a while ago: What advice would you give to a theatre newbie/aspirant? While some of the answers were thoughtful, there were many less useful ones such as:

  • If there’s ANYTHING else you enjoy, do that.
  • get a “real” job
  • Snap out of it!
  • If there is anything ANYTHING else you can see yourself doing for a living DO THAT INSTEAD!
  • Run away fast
  • Run as fast as you can.

Presumably, the people who wrote these responses are 1) currently involved in theatre and 2) into it enough that they’re reading and responding to a question posed by a theatre magazine that they chose to follow on a social networking site. If they aren’t willing to take their own advice, why should anyone else?

Then there were the melodramatic responses, like:

  • You better love it like you’ve never loved anything or anyone else before, because it will love you back while beating the s*** out of you. If you can somehow live without it, find something else.
  • Unless you eat it, drink it, breathe it, and dream it, don’t do it. It must be what you HAVE to do. If not, do something else.

Bullshit. Now, I realize I’m saying this as a playwright who occasionally produces a show and gets a production here and there, not an actor in New York slogging through auditions and being pilloried in the NYT (fingers crossed on that last one). Maybe my opinion doesn’t count as much because, on a day-by-day basis, I’m not “doing” theatre as much as some other folks.

But, for instance, this new play I’m working on. I think about it every day. A lot. I spent all three days of my three-day weekend trying to figure it out. It’s giving me problems, which is fine because once the problems are worked out, it’ll write itself. But I’m not going to sit here and pretend that the time I spend with my hipster fucking notebook or sitting in front of my hipster fucking computer is somehow painful. It’s hard sometimes, but not as hard as high school. Or, like when I was a bartender, cleaning up someone’s puke out of the bathroom sink. That shit was hard. This, this is FUN.

I’m involved in theatre because it’s fucking delightful. I don’t ever expect to make a living from it, and I know it will always be something that I do in addition to a “regular” job. But that’s okay. Because I love it. If I ever reach a point where I don’t, if I ever find myself wanting to tell an aspiring playwright, “run away!” (said like Charles Nelson Reilly), then that’s when I need to reevaluate what I’m doing. Until then, I’ll be happy to share what I know and stress the importance of wine and coffee, a dog to pet and a reader whose opinion you trust.

And to these random facebook drama queens: If it’s so fucking hard–GET OUT. Seriously. Use that BFA from NYU to get a J.O.B. and quitcher bitchin’.

THE SINGULARITY sees the light of day (in a dark theater)

In Houston, theatre, travel, weather, writing on June 24, 2012 at 2:15 pm

pre-reading – I was entirely too distracted to take a decent shot, but you get the idea

THE SINGULARITY. My first full-length play experienced its first public reading last Saturday. This was in Dallas at Kitchen Dog Theater during their new play fest. They read six new plays over two weekends. And it was fanfuckingtastic.

THE THEATER. I didn’t know what to expect. The communications from the artistic directors (Tina and Chris) had been friendly and laid back. My director and I had exchanged a few emails, and she was responsive and nice. Once I saw the cast list, I googled the actors (because I’m a stalker), and they all looked talented and experienced. But you never know until you see people in action. Let me say this: Dallas has some talented mofos. In addition to my reading, I also watched the reading that followed, and the actors and directors in both casts were top notch. I totally plan to steal a couple of their actors the next time we do a show here. The Kitchen Dog people were great, and I’m not just saying that because they plied me (and everyone else) with bloody marys and gourmet popcorn. Though it did kind of make me feel like we were soul mates.

THE READING. There’s nothing like getting your work in front of an audience for the first time. You hope it goes well, there’s a chance it won’t, and you have to relinquish control and just ride the wave right along with the audience. You imagine this world, populated with these people who are trying to reach some sort of destination. And you try to get the audience invested enough in the story that they’ll give a shit about what they’re watching. And if you’re on your game, the people in the audience begin to see the world that you saw in your head when you wrote the script. And if the actors are on their game, and the director has given them the roadmap they need, the audience sees these characters coming to life before them. And the whole lot of you, in that dark, cold theater, go on a journey together. If everyone–playwright, director, actors, crew and audience–has done their job, everyone feels good about the journey once it’s over. If not, they leave the theater saying, “Well that was a piece of shit. Want to grab a drink?” It’s a terrifying and magical situation to be in.

THE DIRECTOR. Rhonda Boutté, the director of my script, did things with the reading that I’ve never seen done before. I already told her that I plan on ripping off her style (as best I can) the next time I’m involved in a reading. She had the actors doing sound effects that were so good, you couldn’t believe they were coming from the people sitting right in front of you. And the effects made the performance feel like so much more than a reading. My script was lucky to have been teamed up with her.

THE TALK BACK. Discussions with the audience after a reading can be terrific or terrible or some nether region between the two. For this reading, I asked my director if I could not talk so much, letting her and the cast address questions from the audience. Glad I made that request because the answers they gave provided me with insight into my play. I already know what I think, so if I’d done all the talking I wouldn’t have learned anything. I’m in the midst of tweaking the script now (does that make me a tweaker?) based on the reading and discussion that followed. Plan on finishing that up today while the performance is still fresh in my mind. Plus, it’s 100 degrees out, James and the dogs are taking a nap and the house is quiet, and I’m waiting to see if TS Debby out in the Gulf is going to grace us with her presence (and rain). The perfect ingredients for playing with my play. Hope you’re having an equally nice Sunday.

[One final thing - if you haven't taken my past suggestion to read The Trailer Park Cyclist's blog, I really recommend you at least read yesterday's post. Where my blog is generally a step or two above a fart joke, the TPC is fucking WRITING. And it's beautiful and heartbreaking and tapping into both good and bad things that are oh so familiar.]

FREE play, today only

In luddite vs. iDevice, the internets, theatre, writing on May 28, 2012 at 9:40 am

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Sorry to interrupt your Memorial Day. I wanted you to know that my first published play (and really the first play I admit to writing – the two that came before it have been buried at sea, never to be seen again) is available for download on Amazon today. For free.

My publisher, Original Works Publishing, features one free play download each week (they are $5 and up the rest of the time). All you need to read it is the Kindle app, which you can also download for free for your PC or Mac.

Right now, the play is #64 in the top 100 free theater downloads list, right between Shakespeare and Voltaire. I’d like to leave those biddies in the dust today, so I’d appreciate your click. And do yourself a favor – don’t read the review snippets or description of the play before you tackle the short script. Go into it with nothing more than the visual of grown men with stuffed animals on their heads. I’ve included a few images from various productions of the play to help you out.

Back to beer, backyards, sweating and mosquitos.

the process

In theatre, writing on May 19, 2012 at 9:58 am

[THE SINGULARITY will receive its first public reading (followed by a talkback) next month in Kitchen Dog Theater's new play fest. The theater is in Dallas, so I'll be able to attend. You learn so much getting a script in front of an audience that I anticipate returning home with my head buzzing. Which is good because I think I'm about ready to start writing my next play, and I like having conflicting writing desires.]

Here’s how it usually goes. I have a flash of an idea for a script. It can be a few words, an image, an ending, a beginning or a title. I don’t write this part down because, if the idea is strong enough, my OCD brain will keep rubbing on it like a worry stone. Over time, which can be hours, days or months, this glimpse of a slip peeking out below a hemline will start to have a bit more legs. The characters will begin to emerge from the fog and snippets of dialogue will be tossed around like white plastic chairs in a tiny windstorm. I still don’t write anything down yet.

In fact, I don’t put words on paper until I’m ready to write the play. When that moment comes, it’s full steam ahead, all night/weekend, typing like mad…staring at the screen…talking out loud…delete delete delete…typing slowly…staring…typing fast again…blinking because my eyes feel like sandpaper…refilling my cup with coffee or wine, depending upon my needs at the moment. James tells me that I get crazy-eyed when I’m deep into a story, and that’s his cue to just leave me alone.

[My friend Lisa writes while listening to classical music. Her favorite used to be Yo-Yo Ma playing Bach. I tried doing that, but I kept imagining movie montages or that I was riding a bicycle through Central Park or shopping at Victoria's Secret, and I couldn't concentrate on what I was doing. A lot of writers use music while they create (Albee also listens to classical when he writes), and they say it inflects their dialogue with a musicality. So I hope I can figure that out one of these days. I want to write with musicality and shit. I'm trying to listen to Yo-Yo Ma (no, YO mama) while writing this paragraph, and I'm finding it distracting. Press stop.

I'm back to my regular soundtrack. The freeway (which I pretend is the ocean), the whirring of my ceiling fan, the noise Dali makes when she jumps on the futon in my office (she farts pretty much every time she jumps up there - the curse of being a big, old dog), the birds chirping in the back yard, James tinkering in another part of the house, something clanking in the dryer. Perhaps this is my music, and I should be grateful to have it.]

The physical part of the writing goes on for a couple of weeks, usually. As soon as humanly possible, I pull together the actors I work with (and often write parts for) to have a reading with just me as the audience. After we talk about the work, I return to the computer for the next round of edits. And then the play sits until I can get it in front of an audience in a reading or production. That is followed by another (usually final, if a play can ever really be considered finished) round of edits.

So the reading in Dallas next month is a crucial step in the development of this play. And the timing is perfect – I’ve been thinking about the next play for months now and just last night (“in a dream”) the title occured to me. At this moment, on the Saturday morning of a weekend that is wide open and lacking in commitments, I have opened a word document that has a title across the top.

The journey begins again.

comedy

In writing on May 2, 2012 at 10:23 am

try, try again

My office is located in a super cool, historic marker-ed warehouse with rickety old wood floors that have splinters and 13′ ceilings with exposed pipes. The industrial elements add to this building’s charm, which is further enhanced by regular photo exhibits by FotoFest on the communal wall spaces. It’s no wonder there are other agencies and architects and arts organizations in this building. It’s a creative space.

The sign above is located on the freight elevator in my building. I doubt that the…editing of the sign was done by any of the tenants. More likely, it was one of the many high school groups that come through to see the exhibits. I like this sign because a) I have the sense of humor of a 12-year-old and b) I think it’s a good visualization of comedy.

In the prankster’s first attempt, you’ll note that they removed the second “t” that is crucial to the joke being funny. I would imagine after carefully peeling away “ton” and then standing back to admire his work (let’s face it, 90% plus odds are this was done by a boy), the comedian wannabe realized his error. Or one of his slightly smarter friends pointed it out. Or, he thought it was just fine and it took another person at another time coming along to get the joke right on the second attempt.

Whatever the case, the sign makes me chuckle, and it’s a good representation of what it’s like to write comedy. Edit and tweak until you get it right. And maybe run it by your smart friend first.

Friday list

In lists, the arts, writing on April 20, 2012 at 1:43 pm

Slogan for this demo/remodeling company: "No job it's too small." Wonder how much work they get...

  • Hung out with friends last weekend. Well into the evening (and the wine), someone said to me, “Is it okay if I ask you a personal question?” I always have the same answer. “Of course.” In fact, please ask me a personal question. Because it generally means shit is about to get real. I like it when we move beyond the superficiality of the day-to-day to dig into the hidden recesses. I’d tell you what the question was, but it’s personal.
  • You may have seen links to the short film Caine’s Arcade on teh internets the past week or two. If you haven’t watched it yet, do. The film is ten minutes of fantastic. While you’re watching, imagine if the dreams of all children (big ones, too) were supported in such a loving and respectful way.
  • Here’s a new literary term that I may have made up (but there are no original ideas, so maybe someone else already did): vinfictive - writing presented as fiction that is really a thinly veiled attack on people who have wronged the author in the past. A distant cousin to vaguebooking. Not my kind of writing, but it’s out there. Perhaps I should add a definition to Urban Dictionary?
  • There are a couple of other people at work who love The Band, so in honor of Levon Helm’s passing we’re going to watch The Last Waltz and raise a glass at the end of the workday. That may be the best concert film ever made. Here’s a ridiculous blog post I wrote while watching it on cable a couple of years ago (even though I own the DVD). I claimed to not be drunk, but reading it now I have my doubts.

42

In birthday, books, family, the arts, things that make me happy, writing on March 26, 2012 at 11:51 am

There are two things I remember from the great Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: thanks for all the fish, and the meaning of life is 42. Because of this book, which I read in high school when the thought of being in my 40s was as real to me as time travel, I’ve always held my 42nd birthday (and the following year) in mind as a period when something special would occur. When I’d reach an epiphany of sorts. When I’d figure shit out. I will turn 42 on Thursday, good lord willin’, so I guess we’ll see.

Here’s a quote from Douglas Adams about his choice for the answer to the eternal question, which many people try to attribute deeper meaning to.

It was a joke. It had to be a number, an ordinary, smallish number, and I chose that one. Binary representations, base thirteen, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat at my desk, stared into the garden and thought ’42 will do.’ I typed it out. End of story.

That’s actually a pretty apt description of writing in general. You stare off into space, something pops into your head and you write it down. If you’re lucky, it works. It’s both totally magical and completely mundane. One could argue that the subconscious is at work even when it seems like the writer is grabbing bullshit out of mid-air, so it’s possible that Adams had something deeper in mind when he came up with 42. But prolly not. Sometimes a banana…

FOLLOW THE BACON (photo courtesy of the maker)

My brother, father and I have birthdays during the same week in March, and we got together this weekend to celebrate. The bookend/piece of art above is what Tohner made me for my birthday. FOLLOW THE BACON has multiple meanings in our family, from a culinary modus operandi to a way of looking at life. Those meanings take this piece beyond being something useful and fun to look at and morph it into a bigger symbol of shared history, where we are now and hopes for the future.

Tohner said he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do with the tile when he bought it, but he knew he had to make something for me with it. And he had the faith to know that inspiration would come to him. That’s what separates artists from non-artists – trusting yourself enough to act on instinct, knowing that the rest will follow. Believing that maybe 42 is the answer to everything and that some day pigs will fly, despite all evidence to the contrary.

gimme shelter

In cabin in the woods, things that make me happy, writing on September 21, 2011 at 2:19 pm

I subscribe to about 50 blogs and visit a number of others on a semi-regular basis. Some make me laugh. Some provide fodder for my dreams of the future. Some give me a glimpse into a life that’s totally different from mine and way more interesting. All offer a point of connection to my fellow human beings.

One blog that I always find inspiring is written by Lloyd Kahn. He is the creator of the hand-built home porn/book Shelter (and others since). Sometimes he writes about handmade shelters. But most of the time he writes about his world and shares things he finds of interest. He lives north of San Francisco in a cool dwelling that he built. He eats roadkill and wild mushrooms and makes pancakes with cattail pollen. He finds joy in the details of life – a stunning sunrise, a beautiful flower, a bleached animal skull, a man fishing in a kayak on the water while his dog waits patiently on shore. Lloyd’s approach to the world reminds you to pay attention to the little moments because they’re what adds up to the bulk of your life. And there is the potential for much happiness and inspiration in the world if you keep your eyes open.

This is a recent post that grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me up a bit. Lloyd’s simple trip down the mountain on a longboard (he’s 75, by the way) made me think about what I do with my time, where I live, how I interact with my environment, the level of physical activity in my daily life, if I do enough things purely for the joy of it, how I can break free from old patterns and whether or not I’m paying attention to the right things. Powerful stuff.

Lloyd and The Bloggess and my little brother and this dude and my friend Andrea all inspire me with their unique approaches to life. Not the workaday macro bullshit, but the wonderous micro. The details. The expression of joy, whether buying a large metal chicken to irritate your husband and make your friends laugh or carving something by feel and not by pattern or setting up your camera and taking a picture of yourself running away just for the fuck of it or baking something delicious as an expression of love. I enjoy going on their journeys through life, and I appreciate those of you who are going on my journey with me. Thanks for picking up the phone when I call with a new blog post. It’s nice knowing someone is on the other end of the line.

Some great Lloyd Kahn entries from the past few months:

a rolling stone gathers no moss

In work, writing on May 31, 2011 at 9:13 pm

And I, my friend, am rolling.

After a decade spent slinging grants and obsessing over numbers, I’m leaving the development field behind to embark on a new journey. In a couple/few weeks, I’ll follow in my grandfather’s footsteps as I begin my new job at a marketing communications firm.  It’s a small shop that does big work, and I’m very excited to be their new copywriter. More to come.

quite peculiar in a funny sort of way

In food and drink, people be trippin', theatre, work, writing on May 5, 2011 at 1:58 pm

My new play The Singularity came in second for the Leah Ryan prize. Very cool.

As a rule, I never mention my job in my blog, but two things today merit mention. One, as I walked in this morning, I crossed paths with (and said hello to) two astronauts who were in the building for a taping. That was cool. When I was a kid, after I realized you couldn’t be a magician for a living, I wanted to be an astronaut. Almost as likely.

The other surprise happened when I opened the work fridge to put my lunch inside. This greeted me on the top shelf: Read the rest of this entry »

Lanford Wilson

In awkward, theatre, writing on March 24, 2011 at 4:33 pm

I was saddened to hear of Lanford Wilson’s passing today. He was a playwright – a Pulitzer Prize winning playwright, in fact – who taught Edward Albee’s writing workshop at UH for a couple of semesters. I was lucky to have been in one of those classes, benefiting from Lanford’s generosity of spirit and gentle encouragement for all us jackass writers.

Here’s a moment involving Lanford that captures my perpetual awkwardness and what a sweet man he was. We were both at a party given by a local playwright. Big, beautiful house with all of the typical accoutrements of a nice home and then some.

I’m standing in the kitchen, jacking my jaw about some bullshit or another, probably well into my third drink by this time. Lanford comes up to me with an arm outstretched. I didn’t notice the cup and napkin in his hand (or didn’t really think about it) as I gave him a tight hug, assuming in my party-mood and socially lubricated state that he felt compelled to walk across the room and interrupt a conversation because he needed to give me a hug. Ah, that wasn’t the case, though.

See, I was standing in front of the trash can. It was one of those hidden ones that live inside the cabinet and roll out on casters if you know which magical drawer to pull. Rather than shrink away from my hug or look at me like I was a creepy weirdo, Lanford generously returned the hug and then reached for the trash can, his original target, to toss his cup and napkin.

I always appreciated him for that.

And other things, too.

cleaning out my drafts folder

In random, writing on February 15, 2011 at 1:08 pm

(shaking fist) You killed my shrubbery!

– I’m glad that one of my goals for 2011 wasn’t to write in my blog more often. If it were, I’d be failing horribly. But it wasn’t, so I’m not. This post will be a bit random – I’m cleaning out a couple of posts that were begun and then abandoned because 2011 has been a busy, busy year so far.

– Look at our poor philodendron (above). It is normally about six feet tall and ten feet across, but now it’s a sad, wilted little thing. It froze like this last winter too, so I know that it will come back bigger and better than ever. Until it returns to its former glory, which will probably be May or June, I’ll have to wear clothes when walking by the picture window in the living room. No more shrubbery coverage.

– I was hanging out at a friend’s house the other day and a Rachel Ray cooking show was on. I used to watch the food porn channel pretty regularly but have moved on to other TV pastures the past year or two, so the last time I saw Rachel Ray she was doing that cutesy, schmaltzy, nicknames-for-everything routine. I guess she has a new show now, and she’s so subdued that she almost comes across as depressed. In the episode I saw, she rarely made eye contact with the camera, didn’t smile and seemed disengaged from what she was doing. I didn’t exactly long for the upbeat bullshit, but I did find it sort of disturbing.

– Original Works Publishing is translating their playscript catalog into ebook format (including my play) for sale on Amazon. They’re the first play publishing and licensing company to launch its catalog to be read on Kindle and iPad.  In theory, I don’t like e-readers. I love the tactile sensation of reading a book. I love the way the spines complement and contradict each other on my shelves. I love marking my progress through a book not only intellectually and/or emotionally, but also physically as whatever I’m using for a bookmark (receipt, business card, an actual bookmark) moves from beginning to end. I love that when I’m deep into a book, a bomb could go off next to me and I’d barely notice. I love the stack of four or five books I always have next to my bed, ready to be read. None of this do you get from an e-reader.

However, it’s different reading a 10 or 100 page script in that format. I’m used to reading scripts on my computer because that’s where I write my own. So it’s not difficult making the jump. I’ve started buying scripts on Amazon (most are around $5 or $7) and have been pleased to read new plays on demand. If I were to produce one of these plays, of course, I’d buy the script in paper form – you have to be able to make notes and interact with the writing in a way that ebooks don’t allow. But this is a low-commitment way to check out new work (or old work, if that’s your thing) for not much money.

– Hope to get back to regular blogging soon, but I’m not promising anything. I will be announcing a call to action in the fight stupidization campaign pretty soon. Watch this space for details.

finding your porpoise

In theatre, things that make me happy, writing on November 30, 2010 at 1:39 pm

Last night I experienced the first read-through of my new play The Singularity. The actors all did a great job (which was to be expected). The work seemed to resonate with them in various ways (which was hoped for but not counted on). There are places where the play needs room to expand, and there’s still character definition that needs to happen, but the basic story is there in 3-D. It is by far the weirdest thing I’ve written. Keep in mind – I wrote a play about men with stuffed animals growing out of their heads.

When these actors I trust – and with whom I’ve worked over and over again – join me for the first time in whatever reality I’ve created on the page, I feel like I’m fulfilling my purpose. Something I don’t get from work or cleaning the house or taking care of the dogs or any of the other things I do in my life. I love getting a play in front of an audience, but that is about all of us – the actors, the director, the playwright, the audience. The first read-through is mine, and I’m the only audience. And I love it.

I’m not trying to drown you in masturbatory bullshit. But I do think it’s important to recognize the things that fulfill you in life – how “good” you are at those things is irrelevant. What matters is your reaction to the experience. You don’t have to be the best writer in the world to feel good about what you’re doing. You just have to be true to your vision and tell your tale.

I’m reminded of a Far Side cartoon (tried to find it online – failed, but did enjoy revisiting some old favorites). The cartoon I’m thinking of features a man, let’s call him Larry, who is pulling something out from between the couch cushions. The caption reads, “Larry finds his purpose.”

Here’s to finding your purpose, whether it’s raising kids, kicking ass at work, creating something of beauty or teaching people things they didn’t know. Or, even, writing weird plays that make people laugh, sometimes uncomfortably.

up late/early

In theatre, writing on November 9, 2010 at 3:12 am

I went to bed a few hours ago and slept for a while. Now I’m awake. Instead of lying in bed listening to the night sounds, lately I’ve been getting up and reading or hanging around online until I feel sleepy again. Supposedly that’s better than lying in bed not sleeping. I’m always reminded of the Stephen King novel Insomnia. If I remember correctly, a man (who is getting older) has no trouble going to sleep, but he wakes up earlier and earlier each morning. He tries going to bed earlier in hopes that he’ll get more sleep, but that just means he wakes up even earlier than he did the previous night. This continues until he can see an entire other reality (or until he’s gone coco-loco – you pick). I always wondered if King was dealing with insomnia when he wrote that. Because I’m contemplating my own attack on the subject. Gotta have something to do in the middle of the night…

In other news: over the past four or five days I accomplished something that, to this point, has eluded me. I wrote a full-length play.  What I’ve written should run about an hour and fifteen minutes, which many people would argue isn’t “full-length” but is instead a long one act. Those people can bite me. Also, my compact little play is TWO ACTS. I’ve seen a number of plays that are full of fluffy writing that stretch the things out way past their bedtime. Longer does not equal better in my estimation. I’m reminded of what Albee says on the subject: The length of a play should be the length of the play. In other words, there is no prescribed appropriate length. The story should go on until you’ve told it, and then you should get the fuck out of there.

I’ve been thinking about this play for the past two years. Until last week, I’d only written about 15 pages of it. Don’t know why I couldn’t make it happen – I guess it was the old curse of needing a deadline. At one point this weekend James said that I get “crazy” eyes when I’m deep into a project. I took offense at that until I looked in the mirror. Huh. Kind of a conflicting combination of Charles Manson intensity and glassy eyed nitwit. I’m glad I didn’t have to look at that all weekend. Though it would be great to be picked for the three-week workshop I applied to, what’s even more exciting is that I am, in fact, able to stick with a story past 20 pages. After a number of years spent writing short plays, I wasn’t sure that was the case.

if you want to destroy my sweater

In dogs, writing on November 5, 2010 at 7:46 pm

Okay, you may or may not know my deal with writing-related deadlines. I’m not talking about grant writing for work or writing in this blog – those things just happen with little-to-no pressure. I’m talking about writing for the theatre. I rarely finish a script without having some sort of deadline. The more absurd and ridiculous, the better. For instance, in the past we’ve booked a space and started rehearsals before I’ve finished writing the show. It’s some sort of masochistic tendency that makes me put myself in this situation over and over again. I hate it, but at the same time I fucking love it. Because I always manage to finish, no matter how brutal the deadline. And the exhilaration I feel once I’ve finished…it’s like running a marathon with my brain.

The latest installment: there’s an awesome three-week play development workshop in Philadelphia during the summer for which I applied. You send the first ten pages of your script, and if you advance to the next round they ask for the full script. So I gambled. I’ve been trying to write this particular play for two years now. My first full length. For whatever reason, though I think about the play all the time, I can’t finish the fucker. I had about 15 pages. Sent the first 10. Got an email a couple of days ago that they want to see the whole thing. And they want it by Monday.

When I initially applied to this workshop, I figured if they wanted to see more, I’d have a bit of warning. Didn’t expect it would be five or six days. So in the past 36 hours, the 15 pages of sort of finished has turned into 35 pages of done with another 30 pages or so to write over the weekend. I’ll get this bitch done by the Monday deadline, come hell AND high water. Will it be good enough to get me in? Who knows. What I do know is that I’ll have my first hour+ play written. That’s no small thing. Fire up the coffee pot, mama’s got some writing to do.

(unrelated) (or is it?) (isn’t everything sort of related?)

It is now cold enough in our house that the little dog needs a bit of help staying warm. She sleeps under a blanket in the middle of summer. She’s just that kind of rat dog. So I broke out the sweater tonight. She doesn’t like wearing anything – because she’s a DOG – but I can’t stand to watch her shiver. My grandmother made a sweater for my dog Maggy (RIP) that was always a bit too snug for her but fits Stella great. I think the big dog is a bit jealous. See stand-off below. I love the “looking off into the distance but I will bite the shit out of you if you fuck with my sweater” stance.

you know you're jealous

I love dogs and can’t/don’t want to imagine life without at least one good one.

A Modest Proposal for Our Times

In stupidization, writing on October 20, 2010 at 11:38 am

Life sure is getting complicated, isn’t it? From trying to figure out how you’ll retire in 20 years if social security is bankrupt to determining which couple to pick as the winner in your Dancing With the Stars pool at work, modern lives are a tumultuous, peanut butter and jelly swirl of opportunity and stagnation. Intellectual growth and non-masturbating former witches who are aggressively moronic. The Trevor Project and homophobic politicians who like to tap one out in the restroom at the airport after passing anti-gay legislation. It’s hard to keep up with the latest crop of sound bites spoon fed to us by the media, much less figure out if there should be an apostrophe in the first word of this sentence.

Let’s simplify one thing in our super busy lives. From now on, no more smarty pants comments in reference to a poorly spelled diatribe with horrible grammar in the feedback section of the online newspaper. What are you, an elitist? Perhaps you would like to marry your dog once you are done critiquing everyone else’s writing. Nerd. Sure, “Its so typical for a sochalist demoCANT to want take the easy road by taxing me to death meanwhile your not paying taxes of yourself” doesn’t make much sense on a literal level. But squint your eyes and tilt your head, and I think you’ll understand what Mr. Tea Party is trying to say. See what I mean? We really are all speaking the same language, though at times it feels like we aren’t.

Proposed Simplified Language, Draft One: Common Words.

ur: From now on, no more debate between your and you’re. If we all just use “ur,” we’ll all be right, ALL THE TIME!

thair: Instead of their/there/they’re, let’s go for the much more elegant “thair.” It looks European, doesn’t it?

its: Let’s just get rid of the apostrophe. Clean, simple and works for any occasion.

whoos: No more who’s/whose. Plus, this makes me think of an owl. Whoot!

moran: Let’s just all agree that we’ll spell it the way most idiots do.

We will never truly be equal until we are all equally stupid.

working on the weekend

In theatre, writing on October 10, 2010 at 8:54 pm

 

this sums up my weekend

 

Dennis came over this afternoon, and we worked on our application for grant support of the next Six Of One Productions show. I spent the entire day and well into the night Saturday trying to write the damn voice-over for our three-minute video work sample, which we were supposed to record today, and it was more painful/difficult than writing a play. I wrote pages and pages of bullshit, but none of it was right. Dennis came over today to help me, and even with the two of us working on it, it took another four or five hours. Ye gads. The good news is, we finished the script. Now we have to record the voice-overs, and I have to create the visual to accompany it. That part will be a lot easier. I use a Mac. If we don’t get this grant (it’s no given – this is a pretty competitive program), we may try our hand at Kickstarter.

It’s Sunday night, and I feel like I was working on grants all weekend. Oh, wait…

I’m freaking out, man

In work, writing on August 12, 2010 at 1:59 pm

The power went out a couple of hours ago. We were all droning away at our computers, click/click/click, when everything went dark. Everything, including the final report I was knee-deep in but hadn’t bothered to save. Damn, damn, damn! This outage lasted for a good 30 minutes. I spent the latter half of that time in my friend Abby’s office. She’s the other playwright at work.

(side note: every office should have at least one playwright so, in times of ridiculousness and/or crisis, a coworker can lean over and whisper, “You should write a play about this,” not realizing that every office has its drama, drama that is not very interesting to people outside of the office including spouses, parents and best friends) (what I’m saying is, no one would come see that play and rightfully so) (what I’m also saying is that it seems to bring the afflicted slight comfort to think that their tale of workplace woe might some day be shared in an effort to not repeat the mistakes of the past) (even though those mistakes will most certainly be repeated, over and over again, with increasing crapitude)

There was a total lack of communication about what was causing the power to stay off, so we were left to try to figure it out on our own as the air grew thin. Abby and I, like any writers worth their damaged livers, starting discussing various disaster scenarios that might have led to the outage. We tried to check our email accounts on our cellphones but couldn’t get connected to our phones’ networks. Odd. I called her cellphone to make sure that at least that mode of communication was still open. The call went through, but we were left wondering if that was what the aliens (or the Chinese or the Tea Baggers or the fill-in-the-blank) intended to happen, to lull us into a false sense of security because we were able to call other people within the building. What if we couldn’t reach anyone on the outside? What if everything was going bat shit crazy all around us, only we didn’t know it because we couldn’t check our email or get online or turn on the television? What if the electronic locks on the doors wouldn’t let us exit and we were trapped here for days? Who would we eat first?

This conversation naturally segued into our shared appreciation for a good Armageddon story. We discussed various ways we think it all might come to an end – computers/robots, the environment, people eating themselves first into irrelevance and then extinction. So many possibilities…and then the power was restored. Sigh. Back to the click/click/click. We had just enough time to recover what documents we could when BLAMMO, off again. Now that we’re so tied to computers, at least at my place of employment, there was literally no work that could be accomplished with no power and no network connection.

Obviously the power is back again. I was able to heat up my leftovers for lunch and write this post. Maybe it was just a test run to see how long it would take an office full of people with no power, no internet distractions and – worst yet – no air conditioning to freak the fuck out. They totally didn’t make us suffer long enough. I didn’t even break out in a sweat and was actually enjoying spending time talking to my coworkers. So there, potential overlords. Nice try.

the deal

In the internets, writing on July 27, 2010 at 11:49 am

This blog has picked up a few new readers over the past few days (welcome!), so I wanted to quickly talk to you about what goes on here. The good news is, sometimes I write about stupidization on a grand scale like the refudiate incident last week or potential employers getting up in your business. The bad news is, there are a lot of other sorts of posts in between. I generally write in this blog while eating lunch at my desk, so whatever occurs to me as I open up wordpress is usually what I write about. That’s the great freedom of not writing this blog for money – anything goes, there are no deadlines, I can cuss freely, I don’t have to worry about advertisers, and if it just ends up being me and one of you, that’s okay. Not optimal, but okay.

That doesn’t mean that you’ll have to wade through entries about what I ate for dinner or the fight I had with my boyfriend – information such as that only comes up peripherally if at all (me being more focused on the asshole at the next table during dinner, and I never write about relationship issues) (also, my boyfriend and I never fight) (ahem). I try to focus on the absurdities of life, playwriting, my obsession with living off the grid  in a cabin in the woods yet somehow having full internet connectivity (the power play in my life between being a pseudo-luddite and being in love with my Apple products), the desire to have a dog farm, attempts at gardening (that failed this year because of too much rain), travels, living in Houston, ghosts, the funny people in my life (including my family), stupid comments posted on other websites…you get the point.

As for comments – I don’t allow anonymous ones (unless they are REALLY funny) and I will delete aggressive/assholish ones from trolls. There are plenty of places on the internet where anonymous vitriol-spewers can post hateful bullshit – the fight stupidization blog is not one of those places. This blog encourages the people who are willing to put their name on their opinion and have a somewhat civilized conversation while doing so. Being funny in your comments is a bonus but not mandatory.

That’s pretty much it. I encourage comments, and I love to hear from you via email, too.  Helps me feel like I’m not just yelling into an empty room.

Thanks for reading.

Palin around with (language) terrorists, or words have meaning

In douchebags, luddite vs. iDevice, people be trippin', stupidization, writing on July 20, 2010 at 11:15 am

Sean and Stig fought stupidization in a parking garage in California

Lots of people are jumping on Sassy Palin for tweeting yesterday that Muslims should refudiate a mosque near the World Trade Center location. As a person who writes a lot, I don’t find it at all odd to mis-type a letter (in this case, replace the f with a p for repudiate), but that doesn’t seem to be what happened here. Once people started mocking her on twitter, she deleted that tweet and changed it to “refute.” Um, closer? She then went on to say that Shakespeare made up words all the time, so get off her back.

Huh. First of all, I’m amazed she spelled the Bard’s name right. Second, why is she unable to ever EVER accept responsibility when she fucks up? I mean, getting a letter wrong, or even getting a word wrong, isn’t a big deal. People tweet all kinds of stuff that is screwed up by their iPhone auto-completing the wrong word, creating a scandalous or unintentionally funny tweet (imagine mistyping, “washed my puppy today – my kids were trying to help but got soaked!”).

She could have used the web browser on her phone to google the definition of refudiate, then, not finding one, corrected her tweet with the right word and moved on. Or she could have made a joke about clumsy thumbs. Instead, she tweeted the same thought three times, finally addressing the “refudiate” issue by suggesting that she, like the most prolific writer in the history of the English language, is creating new words for the lexicon. Because she’s such a word girl. If she were creating a new word, she wouldn’t have deleted the original tweet in the first place and then retried it two times with other words. And if she were so interested in language that she would be the type of person who creates new words, she’d probably be able to name a few publications that she reads beyond Lipstick and Ammo.

This brings me to a greater point about stupidization (which first appeared in my blog in June of 2006 and is purposely used knowing it’s not a “real” word) (I’m just like Shakespeare!). Stupid people act like being well-read is something that only effete liberals in New Yawk City do while drinking coffee made from beans that were pooped out by a weasel onto the Sunday edition of the New York Times and ground into a beverage by illegal aliens who are stealing all the good jobs. Stupid people see the pursuit of knowledge and information as being something negative that real, honest to goodness Amurcans don’t have time to do, what with killing the terrorists and watching Midget Dance Contest and wearing flag lapel pins made in China. Stupid people are so deathly afraid of being found out, they craft ridiculous excuses for the mistakes they make instead of saying, “Hey, I typed one letter wrong on Twitter. Get a life, you jackals.”

But the problem here is, it wasn’t a mistyped letter. It was the exposure of someone who values talking points over in-depth knowledge, visceral emotion over reasoned thought and hateful close-mindedness over global awareness. Not everyone in America is a white, straight Christian conservative. Refudiate that, Sassy.

buy my book

In theatre, writing on June 22, 2010 at 1:10 pm

Last week, Please Remove This Stuffed Animal From My Head was published. Check out Original Works Publishing for info. It’s a slim volume (the play is only 15 minutes), but I’m still calling it a “book.” So, MY FIRST BOOK HAS BEEN PUBLISHED! Ahhh, that feels good. If you don’t want to buy a copy, you can read the first half online. But then you’ll never know how it ends…it will keep you up at night…

It’s a pretty well known secret that only, like, five playwrights make a living just writing plays. Even wildly successful playwrights usually teach or work other odd jobs. [Not that teaching is an "odd" job. Though teaching creative writing might be.] Anyway, it’s pretty big news that Arena Stage in Washington, DC is hiring in-house playwrights for three-year residencies. Unheard of. They’ll even get health insurance like regular working folk. It’s awesome to see playwrights getting salaries and benefits just like all those arts administrators do.

bullshittery

In stupidization, the internets, writing on June 11, 2010 at 5:34 pm

A friend of mine passed along a link to a blog that is being written by someone he knows who’s obviously bucking for a book deal. She almost comes out and says as much, continually comparing herself to the writer character on Sex in the City. The site has a very strong “brand” to it – the color palette, logo, etc. are all ready for print, tee shirts and the “movie based on the popular blog.” She is chronicling dating after divorce, and her attempts at being edgy or provocative come across as contrived and unnatural. It’s an awkward read, so of course I shared the link with my brother Tohner. After reading it, his response was much more enjoyable and way funnier than her blog. (In fact, I laughed so hard that I snarked some green tea on my computer screen.)

As this article attests, there are lots of abandoned blogs liberally sprinkled around the internet – people thought they’d immediately get a million readers and didn’t, so they quit writing. Or they thought publishers would beat a path to their door and didn’t, so they quit writing. If I had to wager a guess, my bet would be that this chick writes for a few more weeks and then gives up the ghost. It’s hard to build an audience – in the beginning, you’re not even sure if anyone is reading the thing because they want to or because they landed there via googling for something else. You have to do it purely for the experience of doing it, at least at the start.

Lucky for me, I started blogging for myself – to make sure I was writing something other than grant proposals every couple of days and to record some of the funny and/or awkward things that happen to and around me on a constant basis. That has slowly morphed into somewhat of a conversation. People are feeling more inclined to comment (here or on facebook), which I love love love. Though I do enjoy the sound of my own voice, it’s always nice to hear a response or three. [Especially when you guys knock me upside the head when I say I'm conflicted about what to do with my life - EVERYONE pretty much feels that way. It was good to be reminded that I'm not alone or particularly special in that regard.]

Even though I make my living as a grant writer and write plays on the side that generate a tiny amount of income, I’ve never wanted nor expected my blog to turn into a paying gig. It’s purely about communicating. Nothing more, nothing less. I think that you would sense if I were trying to impress some unknown $$$ entity with my wordsmithery (bullshittery, really), and I think it would turn you off. It wouldn’t be genuine communication, it would be a job interview. And who wants to read that crap?

holy shit knuckles

In stupidization, things that make me want to punch someone in the face, writing on June 3, 2010 at 12:55 am

I’m not sure what that title means. It’s the only thing I can think of that encapsulates this day of mine.

First, I reported for jury duty a little before 8AM. I usually roll into work “around” 9AM, so I had an earlier start than usual. I planned ahead and brought my laptop with me, expecting the usual jury duty experience of hanging out in the big room waiting for my number to be called and eventually being dismissed right around lunch time.

Not today, my friend. I was in the second group called. 65 of us were taken over to the courthouse to experience the singular joy of voir dire with our “peers” in Harris County. You know how I’ve bitched about the anonymous commenters on every story on the Houston Chronicle’s website? How I’ve said that they aren’t representative of the city as a whole? Okay, I still believe that, but I also believe that about 20 of them were in the group I was in today. The vileness that some of these people spewed – hatred for illegal immigrants and anyone who doesn’t speak English, self-righteous anger about situations they don’t totally grasp but have no trouble passing judgment on… I’m sure some of them just wanted to get out of jury duty, but some of these people are carrying some stone cold, impotent rage around with them.

A couple of times, I said – out loud, “Well that guy’s obviously trying to get out of jury duty.” A couple of people chuckled and a couple others hissed. I think they thought I was a witch. At one point, the most vile of the viles was explaining why he judges people purely based on how they look/dress/talk – he explained that his day job is “observing people,” so he is very astute at determining who someone is just by their outward appearance. I said sort of under my breath to the guy next to me, “Yeah, his day job is being a serial killer,” which, if you could see this guy, totally fits and was a funny thing to say. The guy next to me didn’t understand a word I said and asked me to repeat. I was already worried I’d get in trouble for talking – you know in voir dire they love to make you talk – so I just shut up after that. No point in under breath muttering if there’s no one to appreciate it.

As the questions, and the vileness, wore on, I began to really hope that I was chosen just to up the defendant’s chance at having at least one sane person who was willing to listen to the case and make a non-judgmental judgment. And so it was. Once it’s all over, I’ll talk a bit more about the experience of sitting on a jury. Since it’s my second time, I think I’ve effectively broken the generations-long run my family has had of never being chosen for a jury. Lucky me? Maybe. It’s a lot more interesting than what I usually do during the day. Speaking of – I put the fact that I work for PBS on my juror form. And I was still chosen.

Second, I got home from a long day at the courthouse to find the proof for my first publication sitting in my inbox. I’ve signed off on it, so Please Remove This Stuffed Animal From My Head is coming in book form. As soon as it’s posted online, I’ll share the link in case you’re in the market for a short play to read (the purchase of which kicks a little money back your friend Crystal’s direction).

opinions are like assholes…

In stupidization, things that make me want to punch someone in the face, writing on May 27, 2010 at 1:06 pm

…everybody has one.

I was at a party recently. At this party, I mentioned our upcoming (at that time) Houston Fringe Festival performances. One of the party guests, a person who lives in Austin and whom I’ve only met one other time, said the following:

If you want me to edit your plays for you, just send them to me. Wouldn’t charge you anything. Happy to do it for free.

I laughed and said, “Oh, playwrights don’t use editors. It’s not that kind of writing.” To which he responded (because he obviously wasn’t listening):

I’ll be happy to redline it for you. You know, especially if you ever want to get published. You’ll need an editor.

I didn’t laugh this time, but I did smile as I said, “Funny – I literally just signed my first publishing contract two days ago! So I guess I’ve got that covered.” He didn’t stop. He said something else about “helping” me out with my writing because he “has an English degree.” I don’t really know what else he said because I walked away while he was mid-sentence. He’s probably still talking in that dude’s driveway, not having noticed that I’m not standing there anymore or that the earth has rotated 12 times and everyone else has gone on with their lives.

You have an undergrad English degree? That’s rare. And you don’t work as a writer, nor are you a playwright? And you are, in fact, a blowhard who has a big stain on his shirt and some roast beef in his beard while he’s talking to me? Wow, I’d have to be crazy to pass up such a stellar opportunity.

Speaking of blowhards, I just visited the KHOU website to read a news story someone posted on Twitter. I’ve never been to their site before, and I was saddened (but not surprised) to find that the people commenting on stories there are of the same non-variety as the people who post on the Chron.com website. When I decide to leave Houston, I’ll have to make sure I don’t judge the next location based upon the comments that are left on news sites. Even the local “left-wing” rags are starting to attract these faux-patriotic ball suckers, I’m sorry, teabaggers to their stories. It’s tedious.

another fringe fest behind us

In theatre, writing on May 25, 2010 at 12:32 am

Houston Fringe Festival 2010 has come to a close. We had standing room only each of our three nights, and that was with an outdoor show in late May in Houston. Not bad at all. As a company, we’re used to “friendly” crowds (as in, crowds full of people we know/who know us), which means we’re used to having them with us from the beginning. With this year’s festival, there were a lot of new faces in the audience. And we rocked them all. Well, maybe not all of them, but I think both new plays were well-received.

I am more invigorated now about theatre/playwriting than I have been in a long while. Maybe ever. The more I work with this company of actors (and we added a couple of people to the last show who were FANTASTIC), the more I want to write things for them to perform. And the great thing is, though I may write for my particular actors, the plays still work in other places, with other actors. So it’s a double-bonus.

The learning experience for me with the new play (Flagellating the Boss) was being comfortable with the discomfort many people felt by the end of the piece. Though this play has the same absurdity/comedy level of most of my other work, I think it hit much closer to home than anything I’ve ever written. And, not to give anything away, but it doesn’t end well. I had more than one person tell me they were very bothered by the piece. Which is awesome. One of the reasons I write this stuff is to communicate with the audience via the actors. So the fact that people were emailing me a day or two after the play to tell me they were still thinking about it (and still bothered by it) is remarkable. My 22-minute play, unlike a sit-com of the same length, is still with some of the people who saw it. That’s the point, you know?

Dennis and I are in search of a cheap (free!) space to put on a show in the near future. We’d like to do Militia Slumber Party, Flagellating the Boss and maybe an excerpt from the full length I’ve been tinkering with. Indoors, in air conditioning, where people can hear everything and not be distracted by the environment would be optimal. Any suggestions on cheap (free!) spaces are greatly welcome. We have no budget, but maybe we can share proceeds from the door or work out some other deal. Our productions are low-tech, so we don’t need much in that arena. Any ideas?

the play’s the thing, and it lives on

In writing on May 4, 2010 at 5:19 pm

For anyone who didn’t see my exuberant facebook status update a few minutes ago, I’m going to be a published playwright! As soon as the contract is signed, I’ll let you know by whom. It’s a publishing house that focuses on the more…edgy and off-beat plays being written today. I thought they’d be a good fit for Please Remove This Stuffed Animal From My Head, so I submitted it to them a couple of months ago. Just got word today that they felt it was a good fit too.

Beyond the fact that it’s cool, as a writer, to be published, this means something even more important – the play will live on. I’ve written before about my unhappiness that my older plays are just gathering electronic dust in my computer. I haven’t felt inclined to do much submitting to festivals, and the plays don’t produce themselves. The great thing about being with a publisher that strictly publishes plays – and even more specifically, they only publish plays that have had a number of productions and are therefore “tested” – is that potential theatre companies and directors will run across the script now and maybe even produce it. Those same people don’t randomly drop by my house to look through my computer hard drive, so you see how this is beneficial.

It’s another step on the pathway. I’m glad to have found this out just a couple of weeks before putting up a show in the Houston Fringe Festival. Makes me feel like a playwright.

gah, another post about my damn show

In theatre, writing on April 27, 2010 at 4:14 pm

One of the great things about my horrible procrastination (for my theatre writing, not anything else) is that we had the cast in place before I actually wrote the play. I had the concept already (so I had a vague sense of whom I’d need, actor-wise), but nothing was on the page. So I had these specific actors in my head as I wrote, and they influenced the characters I created. And, man, they are kicking ass already. I gave them the final script last night, and by the second read-through they were nailing their characters and finding some really great moments. When working with actors this good, you barely have to do anything as the director. I think I might do a bit of pointing (yes, that’s the secret to my directing style – pointing) and provide them with some props. Otherwise, they’re doing it naturally. It’s so much fun to watch. Ahhhh. Makes me happy.

A funny side note about the process: I wrote a character who speaks English as a second language (Spanish being the primary). This was my first foray into that sort of writing, and I was a little nervous about it. Was my attempt at writing dialogue for a person who doesn’t speak English well going to be offensive? The actor playing that role read the script for the first time last night and seemed okay with it. We’ll see if she comes to the next rehearsal.

We’re going to work on Abby’s piece tonight, so I’ll have more to report later. I do hope you can come to the festival. Last year, AvantGarden (where our performances will be) had some tasty sangria. And, of course, they have a full bar. Not that I’m trying to ply you with promises of alkyhall, but whatever works. I’ll be there each of our three performances – hope to see you there. If you come, I’ll give you a Fight stupidization. sticker as a token of my appreciation.

writing, errata

In theatre, writing on April 25, 2010 at 11:14 pm

On 60 Minutes, Leslie Stahl just said “nucular” instead of nuclear. Yikes.

I’ve spent a decent amount of this weekend working on my script (which you should know since I haven’t been blogging). This is always the fun part of writing a play – or, I should say, the most fun part. Once the foundation of the story is in place, tweaking the details, sharpening the language, adding the humor – that’s where the joy comes in. I’m going to hand this over to the actors tomorrow night, so I’ll move into director/producer mode. Speaking of, does anyone have a “Jesus” costume for Abby’s play? We need the whole thing – wig, beard, robes. Let me know.

I mentioned Theresa Rebeck’s book Free Fire Zone last week. If you are at all interested in the inner, evil workings of writing for theatre, TV and film, you should give it a read. She pretty much lays it all out and only vaguely hides whom she’s talking about. It’s a very interesting read, though I’ve been surprised to notice a number of typos and a couple of grammatical errors. I try not to be a douche about stuff like that, but come on. A company that is publishing a book ABOUT WRITING should make a little effort. Regardless, it’s a great read and enlightening too.

Back to flagellating the boss. (not a euphemism – it’s the title of my play)

and…exhale

In theatre, writing on April 20, 2010 at 2:48 am

I gave (mental) birth to a play today. It seemed as though it didn’t want to come out, but it really didn’t have a choice since we had our first rehearsal tonight. I don’t want to waste the actors’ time almost as much as I don’t want to waste the audience’s time. I couldn’t print out some half-baked bullshit and present it as a complete script. So I squeezed that bitch out. And now, post first rehearsal, I’m having some wine to nurse my mental stretch marks. Feels good.

You know that feeling you get right before you, uh, have the shits? That’s kind of the way my brain has felt for the past few days. I knew that something was coming, but I wasn’t sure when or how fast it would arrive. James and I went to a friend’s place near Navasota this weekend. He went to play disc golf and go fishing. I went for a break from life and because I pictured myself sitting on the deck out in the middle of nowhere, getting a lot of writing done. James reached his goal; I did not. I think I wrote two, maybe three, lines of dialogue the entire weekend. And that was with no internet to distract me, which I thought might be the key to the whole thing. Nope.

So that brings us to today, the first day of rehearsal. Planning ahead, I’d already taken the day off. I got on my computer this morning after a good breakfast and copious coffee. I wrote pretty much from 10AM until 5:30PM, at which point I had to email the script to Dennis so he could print it up for tonight’s rehearsal.

Rehearsal tonight went extremely well. We read through Abby’s play, which is very funny and touches me in a personal way, and then we read through mine. It’s always a good sign when the actors are laughing while reading, and that happened numerous times tonight. We also happen to have an A-team cast for this show, which was a stroke of luck and good timing.

We’ll have the dates/times very soon – the Houston Fringe Festival runs May 19-23rd in Houston at various locations throughout the city. Mark it on your calendar. I’ll post more details as I have them.

I haven’t finished a play since 2008, so this is a nice feeling. Why don’t I do this more often? It’s not like it takes a lot of time. Just a lot of stomach acid and angst. I’ve got both in spades.

[side note: I'm reading a book by Theresa Rebeck - Free Fire Zone - wherein she talks about "technique" writing versus "inspirational" writing. She talks about preferring to write "from a deeper, more unconscious source" but acknowledges that the nights she spent "slugging it out with uncooperative plays" - in other words, writing when she wasn't necessarily inspired or touched by the muse - have taught her that "if your technique is good enough, the difference between faking it and writing brilliantly from utter inspiration is very slim."

Which leads me to this - if we all sit around waiting for divine inspiration before we write a play, sing a song, craft a story, paint a picture, cook a meal, we're not going to get much done. Sometimes it's the act of making the thing happen, even when you don't feel like it or aren't spiritually moved to do so, that makes the magic come.]

Man, I’m full of shit. Good night.

no time for games, she’s full grown

In writing on March 31, 2010 at 2:30 pm

I just deleted my myspace account. Man, typing that out makes me realize how stupid it sounds. I will always appreciate that site because using it is what made me start blogging back in 2005. I had around 750 entries on myspace (there are only 577 on this site, which means a couple hundred entries didn’t make it over here – probably for good reason). I’m sad to have lost the many comments on the old blog, but I just felt like it was time to do a little spring cleaning. Plus, I was logging in over there about once every three months. I didn’t want to leave all those entries just sitting there with no one to tend them.

Speaking of blog comments, since I’ve been posting a link to each new entry here as a status update on facebook, I’ve been getting a lot more comments. The only issue is that most of the comments are happening over on facebook. This often leads to some back and forth between me and the readers or just among the readers, which is fantastic. But those pithy lobs back and forth aren’t attached to these entries and instead are lost in the ether of facebook, never to be seen again. I guess I just need to deal with the fleeting nature of this form of communication. I’m happy to have people commenting, regardless of where it happens. So don’t stop doing what you’re doing.

Time for a new poll. See upper right.

Outcome of previous poll:
If the world as we know it were to end, would you be a survivor?
- 43% Yes, definitely.
- 30% No. And that’s fine with me.
- 21% The world will not end, at least in my lifetime.
- 4% What is wrong with you?

sweet, sweet torture, bitches, coffee

In stupidization, the internets, writing on March 10, 2010 at 6:45 pm

I just started writing what may or may not end up being the play I produce in the Houston Fringe Festival, and it may or may not involve a bit of boss torture. I’ve found it somewhat cathartic to consider the various non-bloody ways to torture bosses from my past (my current boss is awesome) (I’m not being sarcastic – she’s a personal friend) (as opposed to a “work” friend, who is generally someone you wouldn’t talk to outside of the office because the only thing you have in common is work, and who wants to talk about that shit when you’re having “free” time) (it’s the same as having an “elevator” friend – you know, someone you bond with because you’re both stuck on the elevator, only after you’re free there’s really nothing else to talk about except how shitty it was to be stuck on that elevator).

Here’s a link a friend of mine posted on facebook today. It lists the various types of “bitches,” according to an angry and somewhat precocious third-grader. Or, a third grader who has an older sibling. Let’s see…I would fall into the following categories of bitch: 18, 26-28, 62 (after lunch) and 68 (if I had a store).

Curious about the blogger who posted this list, I googled his name and ran across another entry of his detailing a bad experience at a coffee shop. Funny how what he probably considered to be a throwaway blog entry blew up into something else. I mean, the Washington Post covered the story. Then again, look at (fill in name of stupid politician/whorish, drunken young actress/person interrupting someone at awards show). We are a nation of minutiae-watchers and big picture ignorers.

(and PS – when I was a bartender and someone ordered something that was just wrong, like scotch and tonic with a lime, I’d serve it to them with a smile and then make fun of them when they walked away – I would never refuse to serve someone something just because I thought it was against nature) (that’s kind of the whole point of the service industry) (there sure were a lot of parentheses in this blog today)

raise up off these N.U.T.s

In theatre, things that surprise me, writing on August 14, 2009 at 6:37 pm

(Written last week)
For a while now I’ve been decidedly avoiding knowing something on a conscious level. It’s been taunting me, trying to pipe up on occasion, but I’ve managed to suppress the thought. Until now. It’s time I faced it, no matter how scary the reality of it is.

For whatever ungodly reason, the play that I’m trying to write (the full length) wants a couple of SONGS. NO! NO! NO! I think this is why I haven’t made any progress on the script over the past couple of months. I have five or six scenes written. I know the other three or four scenes that need to be written. But I’m stuck. And I keep coming back to this horrible, horrible thought that there’s a little song and dance number that is dying to be added to the end of scene one. And in one of the scenes that I haven’t put on paper yet.

You have no idea how upsetting this is. I don’t want to write that kind of play. I don’t know how to write that kind of play. But, evidently, I have to write that kind of play just to get this thing into somewhat of a finished format. My hope is that I’ll add whatever songs (!) I have to and in so doing will unblock myself and get on with it. Then, hopefully, I can remove the songs from the final version of the script, and it can be our little secret.

(written today)
I had jury duty yesterday. That process involved me sitting in the jury room from 9:30AM until 2:45PM waiting to be dismissed. We did get a one-hour break for lunch, so I ate in the basement of the police station next door. It was just as lovely as it sounds. A trustee looked at me funny, so I shivved him. I always care a spare shiv in my backpack, just in case. They’re quite useful.

While sitting there waiting, I spent some time working on this musical bullshit. And boy did the ideas fly. Always a sign that I’m on the right path. I even came up with a few lines. They are marvelously dark and ridiculous. No one will ever want to produce this thing, but I can tell that I’m going to have fun writing it. It’s always good to expand your horizons, so, if nothing else, this is a writing exercise. And I still hope the songs can be cut out of the play later without harming the overall structure. We’ll see.

I’m just happy to be moving forward again. Maybe this is why my headache went away.

[I obviously had such a hard time with this idea that I couldn't even post this blog when I originally wrote it. Now that some funny (and appropriate for the story) ideas are coming, I feel better about it. Somewhat.]

broke my own rule

In writing on July 20, 2009 at 6:39 pm

Useful ideas often pop into my head when I’m trying to fall asleep. Friday night (after a few too many drinks, admittedly) I found the solution to a particularly vexing problem I’m having with the play I’m writing. It was such a ridiculous – yet perfect – concept, I was sure I’d remember it the next day. I didn’t do what I usually do – get up to write it down. You can guess what happened. So now I’m faced with having to drink my fill again in hopes that the idea comes back to me. I’m not optimistic because that’s not how these things usually work, but in the name of science I’ll give it a go. This play is kicking my ass, by the way. I’m too much in my head and not enough about the writing it down part. This may be the most absurd thing I’ve ever written, and I have to make sure I get the tone just so.

Joined the UH gym last week. I have been enjoying my morning walks but needed to up the ante. The gym is ridiculously huge. And very clean and modern, including a two or three story rock climbing wall. Yeah, no chance in hell. My last gym experience was the downtown Y a few years ago. I got used to working out with a bunch of old queens who were wearing really tight shorts – the youngsters at the UH gym cut a different swagger. A gym is a gym, mostly, and I have no doubt I’ll come to enjoy my time at this one as long as I can get over the whole room full of people on treadmills not going anywhere thing that always makes me feel slightly ridiculous. We don’t have to run from lions or the Amish or whatever, and it’s too hot to run outside, so you do what you must. Oh, and they have a speed bag! I haven’t worked out on one of those since the boxing gym days a decade or so ago. Evidently it’s like riding a bike. I’ll probably leave the hand wraps at home, even though they make things so much better (keeping your knuckles in alignment and all that). Might be a little like wearing a helmet on the elliptical machine.

corno

In writing on May 28, 2009 at 9:05 pm

My inbox is overfull, so I decided to do a bit of (late) spring cleaning. I’m finding all sorts of interesting things as I go. I’m in the habit of sending myself a message (if one of my notebooks isn’t handy) whenever I have the smallest germ of an idea that might (or might not) turn into something someday. For instance, here’s a text I sent myself in April 2007:

corno – a man who eats only corn

That’s gold, Jerry. Gold!

monkeys and bedtime

In writing on May 22, 2009 at 8:09 pm

Unless I’ve had a bit (you know, like, a bottle) to drink before bed, I usually lie there for an hour or so trying to quiet down the little monkeys in my brain before I fall asleep. Or maybe not quiet them down exactly (because they will not be silenced) but try to acknowledge them, give them their due, so they’ll go to sleep for a few hours and the workers in my brain can start refilling the potholes the monkeys created during the day.

A lot of my play ideas come to me at this time. For instance, Militia Slumber Party started when I was lying there thinking about a new, offensive version of the pledge of allegiance. I saw a dad and a little boy, both wearing camo feet pajamas, having a slumber party and reciting this stupid, hateful little ditty. That eventually grew into three grown men who were having an “overnight planning meeting” to work on a plot against the gubment. The pledge was not part of the final piece, though the feet pajamas did make it across.

Not all of the ideas are good, original or useful. The one that bothered me last night was the idea to create a magazine called Chicklit featuring, you guessed it, writing by women. For whatever reason, I thought that this was an original and good idea. A quick google this morning showed me that it’s been done lots of times before. Because it’s not a clever title – basically just getting rid of the space between two words. And I don’t even like chick lit. So why in the hell would I care about the creation of a mag dedicated to the stuff?

Fucking monkeys.

You just have to rifle through the turds to find the occasional truffle, I guess.

writer’s block

In lists, writing on January 23, 2009 at 8:09 pm

One of my friends on facebook posted a message about his writer’s block, asking for suggestions on how to overcome it. Here’s what I recommended:

1. Alcohol
2. Exercise
3. Do something purely physical and not at all mental
4. Have a deadline
5. Be accountable to someone else to finish a script
6. Do something artistic in a different medium (photography, dance, etc.)
7. Walk away from it and don’t give it power over you – it’ll want your attention badly enough to make it easy for you to write
8. Ask your muse to give a brother a break

Not sure if it’ll help him, but each of those things has worked for me at different times.

And I hope they work for me again. I had tea after work (it’s the new happy hour!) with an actor/director friend of mine yesterday. I started running my mouth about a few of the plays that are in my head (always a good idea to talk about your story ideas in a coffee shop full of people with laptops), and it occurred to me that perhaps I should spend less time talking and more time writing. So there.

Maybe I’ll write a play this weekend.

insert title here

In stupidization, writing on June 27, 2008 at 3:55 pm

I started writing a new play this week. It’s not the long play that I keep putting off. This is an idea that occurred to me a couple of months ago in a very simple form, and I didn’t even know that I was thinking about it. A couple of nights ago as I lay in bed waiting for sleep, these images started popping into my head. And oh man this is some funny shit. And really, really dark. I’m not sure how long it will be, but it will be composed of multiple scenes so that’s something new. I tend to write in “real” time, where the time on stage passes at the same rate as it does for the audience. This piece will have to move around in time. If I keep popping out plays here and there, maybe I’ll be able to do a show at the end of the year that isn’t still being written at the start of rehearsal…

My website (for theatre stuff) is in desperate need of updating, but I’m not sure what to do with it content-wise. I don’t want to make my blog part of it because they’re really separate deals. So I had an idea. If you have a Fight stupidization. sticker (and are willing) I would like to post a picture of your sticker, post being stuck. A shot of your bumper, a picture of your cubicle wall or maybe your scooter (thanks, JB el JB). Then I’ll create a page that displays the stickers. Yeah, that’s the full idea. Nothing more to it than that. I just thought it might be a funny thing to look at. And if you still don’t have a sticker, let me know and I’ll mail you one.

The George Carlin episode of SNL is going to be broadcast tomorrow night. It’s kind of a hit or miss collection of sketches, but it’s certainly worth checking out. Keep an eye out for my grandparents.

for the birds

In animals, dreams, food and drink, writing on June 9, 2008 at 5:16 pm

Interesting weekend. I attended an all-day artist workshop at DiverseWorks on Saturday. This was something you had to apply to in order to participate, so I had high hopes for the experience. Had it been something anyone could do that cost $250 or something, I would have been dubious. Actually, I wouldn’t have gone. But this is something that DW gets a grant for and invites Houston artists to participate in. I was blown away by the experience. My head is swimming with ideas and possibilities for the future. The presenters were from a group called Creative Capital, based in NYC. They teach artists how to manage their careers and actually make a living off their art. I was the lone playwright in the group. Most everyone else there was a visual artist. And almost every single one of them (there were 50 of us) worked in more than one medium.

Though I never expect to live off my playwriting, I do have hopes of creating a work situation that encourages more creative writing. And I’m hoping that by the time I do the extensive “homework” from this weekend that I’ll have a better game plan. Something that I thought was nice timing: on a break at the workshop, I checked my email. Received notice that Militia Slumber Party has been chosen for a fest in NYC. It made me feel like I was on the right track Saturday, especially since this is the first hit for that play (other than the original commission) since I wrote it in February. I was worried people were viewing it as too “regional.” That’s what a producer in LA told me. That he thought it was funny but his audience wouldn’t be into it. I don’t understand what my problem is with getting a west coast production. This will be the third time for my work to be done in NYC but I can’t catch a break on the other coast. Weird.

Saturday night I had a dream. I have dreams every night (as do we all – I just happen to remember many of mine) that are odd, so this one didn’t stick out. At first. I dreamt of a dead bird in our yard. It ended up being thrown in the washer with my clothes, and I demanded that my cousin (who lives in another state and who I’m sure has never shown up in one of my dreams) remove the bird. I guess he was the one who’d put it in there. He pulled it out as if it were a shirt or a towel, but it was really a dead bird. And that’s not the worst of the dream, but it’s the part that is relevant to the next day. So I go to the grocery store early Sunday morning. When I get back, there’s a little (alive) bird in the front yard. It doesn’t fly away as I walk right by it. I guess it fell out of the tree. James checks it out and while looking at that bird, finds its brother or sister. DEAD. Don’t you think it’s random to have a dream about a dead bird and then the next day there’s a dead bird in your front yard? I find it odd. But not disturbing. I’m not sure why.

What I do find disturbing is what happened last night. After dinner, I thought I saw James pinch a little piece of leftover chicken. Then I heard him go outside. He’s not giving that little bird…CHICKEN, is he? Yes, that is exactly what he was doing. Making that poor little bird commit cannibalism. I don’t know if the bird ate it or not. Mama bird has been keeping an eye on things, so she may have recognized it for what it was. The fact that it was chipotle lime chicken only adds to the wrongness of the situation. When I left for work this morning, I saw that he had put out a little bowl of water for the baby, which is still sitting on our garden hose (not that we have a garden) and mama bird is still in the crape myrtle keeping an eye on things. I hope it works out for them and one of the asshole neighborhood cats doesn’t come by for a visit. I hate cats.

beatniks are out to make it rich

In writing on April 14, 2008 at 3:50 pm

I couldn’t get to sleep last night – a common malady on Sundays. Don’t know why. I don’t dread coming to work (as I have with jobs that shall remain nameless). The good news is, not being able to sleep means I think about things. Thinking about things often leads to ideas for new pieces. (Or trips to the Grand Canyon.) Last night, it was a new piece. I started writing it in my head and realized that the piece would work best with either video images in the background or turning the end into a song and dance number*.

Though I have trained myself (mostly) to remember ideas that come to me in bed, I still like to write them down on a notepad before falling asleep. I didn’t bother trying to find the flashlight last night, so I can only imaging how illegible my notes must be. And cryptic. I think I wrote: “broom with wig and cork – happy unless funeral.” Trust me, it’ll make sense in context. I love running across notes like this from past ideas that never made it out of my head and onto paper. They look like the scribbles of a madwoman.

Funny that I was thinking about video last night – I received a message on myspace this morning from a friend who was wondering if I’d thought of putting a piece from the last show on video. Add to that the fact that Robert is already turning a different piece from the last show into a video. So something is in the air.

I’ve always enjoyed shows that are multi-media. We talked about doing a video or slide show for In a Jar… but ended up so pressed for time it never happened. It’s a goal of mine to put on a variety show that has theatre, magic, a narrated slide show, video and a one-man-band. Now THAT’S a production. Maybe this inclusion of video is part of the evolution of what I’m doing. Or maybe I’m avoiding writing that first full length play ’cause I’m scared. Six of one.

* I really don’t like musicals. There are exceptions to that but mostly not.

trying to get back to blogging

In lists, writing on March 25, 2008 at 3:48 pm

As I mentioned in my last entry, I was working on an essay for Tohner about my 30th birthday and the ensuing year. I ended up with four single-spaced pages, which isn’t that much writing, but it took me about eight hours to do. There was just so much to say, and I was trying to keep it interesting. Dad said something about how he wished he’d done something like this every year – at the time it was happening rather than years later. I thought that was a great idea, so I’m starting now. I’ll be 38 in a few days, and I’ve already begun the wrap-up of 37. This was actually a pretty eventful year, and I don’t know that I would remember that, say, a decade from now. I like the concept of doing a where was I/where am I going exercise each year in late March. Time is moving faster and faster (the old people weren’t lying when they told us that when we were kids), and it’s hard to see the forest sometimes.

If you were to drive through the Alley’s parking garage (which is 13 stories and mostly populated with the cars of workers from the surrounding law firms, banks, and energy companies), you would notice a few cars with Fight Stupidization stickers (which is totally cool to see, by the way). Since others are representing Six Of One Productions, I thought I better do the same. But I really didn’t want to put a sticker on my pristine paint. My brother Mason recommended using a sticky magnet strip, which I happened to have at home, so I’m now sporting the sticker on the back of my car. Hopefully no one will be looking closely enough to see that it will easily peel off. As always, the offer remains for me to mail you a sticker. You just have to promise to display it on your vehicle, cubicle wall, ass or other area that people look at.

I’m wearing a suit and a new bra today. I’m not comfortable.

Tina Fey was on Sesame Street this morning.

I have a bug to get the hell outta Dodge for a while. I’m not sure where I want to go, but I want to go somewhere. A road trip in the new car would be fun. And probably cheaper than flying somewhere. Switching jobs with no break in between probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve had, but it was the right financial move. Now that I’ve stabilized over here, I need a mental break. I’m starting to get claustrophobic sitting at a desk all day. I’m freaking out, man. Seriously.

the big three oh

In writing on March 23, 2008 at 1:25 am

My little brother is turning 30 tomorrow. Wow. In honor of the occasion, a few of us are writing up what was the what at that point in our lives. Unlike some hazy years, thirty is an easy one for me to remember. It was 2000, for one thing, so there was that drama at the top of the year. Also, it held some of the greatest and shittiest moments of my life to that point. I dug out the journal from 2000 – I was a fairly religious journal keeper for about five years. After reliving the good and the bad and remembering things that I’d forgotten, I realized the great importance of keeping a journal. This blog doesn’t count. It’s a different type of chronicle. Here, I’m talking to you. In a journal, I’m only talking to myself. I need to resume that habit.

I’m interspersing journal entries throughout the thing I’m writing for Tohner to give it a bit of Crystal-at-thirty flavor. Here’s the entry from January 11, 2000:

My friend Robert called me up to invite me over to his place for a “Charlie’s Angels” marathon. While the offer of booze and kitsch was tempting, I decided to stay home. I had a bunch of things to ignore and didn’t feel comfortable leaving them alone.

rewrite, shmeeright

In writing on February 7, 2008 at 4:08 am

Since I have a little bit of time before I have to hand off “Militia Slumber Party, Or Embracing the New World Order” to the director, I thought I’d do some rewrites. Or, I should say, some additional-writes. I rarely change the words once they’re on paper – the first few drafts are evidently written in my head long before they come into consciousness and show themselves. So I’m adding a bit to the piece. Added two pages so far, but I need to watch it because the play is already over the 10-minute time limit.


These characters are a lot of fun to work with. They just want to keep on talking and talking. And though I wouldn’t like any of these guys in real life, I absolutely love them in my head. It’ll be interesting to see what a director other than me does with the piece. The chick from the Alley who is most likely going to direct the play is a friend, and she gets my work, so I’m not worried. I’m bummed that it’s just a seated reading and there will not be costumes – I can’t wait to get J.J. Jr. into his camouflage feet pajamas…

clarification

In theatre, writing on February 5, 2008 at 5:11 pm

Thanks to the folks who sent congratulatory emails regarding the news of Militia Slumber Party being chosen for the Houston Special Project, which will be presented the day before the Blackburn prize is awarded in March.

Point of clarification – though this commission does pay, I am NOT eligible for the $20,000 payout for the Blackburn prize. I’m sorry if that wasn’t clear. The Blackburn prize is given out for full-length plays. The Houston Special Project is something extra being done to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the prize.

I am getting paid an honorarium of $500, and that’s a pretty significant amount of money for a 10-minute piece.

So – thank you for your support, and no, I can’t loan you any money.

YES YES YES

In theatre, things that make me happy, things that surprise me, writing on February 4, 2008 at 3:30 am

Background first. The Susan Smith Blackburn prize is a $20,000 annual award given to a female playwright writing in English. The prize is given out in NYC and London on alternating years except for every fifth year when it is given out at the Alley. [The woman who administers the prize (which she named after her sister) lives in Houston.] 2008 is the prize’s 30th anniversary, so they thought they’d celebrate a little bigger this year with something they are calling the Houston Special Project. That’s where the commission I’ve been obsessing about comes in.

A call went out to female playwrights to submit a writing sample, artistic statement and theatre references. That initial round of applicants was whittled down to a smaller group, who were then invited to submit a 10-minute play or scene that was unproduced. I’d just written five new pieces for my show in December, but they were all technically “produced” so I had to write something new. And I did, a couple of Mondays ago. Anyway, from this group of finalists, five would be chosen. Those five would be teamed up with five theatres in Houston (the Alley, Stages, TheatreLab, Ensemble and Main Street) (don’t quote me on that – I think those are the five but I’m not totally sure). Each theatre would put together a reading of one of the pieces and a reading of a piece from a former Blackburn winner. Finally, all of the pieces would then be presented together on the Neuhaus Stage at the Alley the day before the Blackburn prize ceremony. You can see why I was hopeful I’d get in on that action. Not only would I get to see my work performed at the Alley, but it would be in front of the Blackburn prize people and my work would be tied with a very prestigious theatre award.

I’m pleased to tell you that my new 10-minute play “Militia Slumber Party” is one of the five!!! Not only that, the theatre that is producing my piece is…wait for it…Alley Theatre! Ha ha! I love it! Still waiting on the details, but I do know that the Houston Special Project will be March 9th. Then the Blackburn prize ceremony will be the following night.

Whew!

Oh, “Militia Slumber Party” is about three militia members who are having a slumber party. I guess the title kind of says it all… I haven’t even heard the piece outside of my head, so I’m thrilled it’s getting some action so quickly. And it’s nice to have my work performed in Houston by someone other than me. I hope some of you will be able to see the show. Should be very interesting and an unusual offering for Houston theatre audiences.

peace, somewhat

In writing on February 3, 2008 at 6:34 pm

Ahhhhhh. I’m sitting here at Antidote Coffee (the newish place on Studemont that used to be a laundromat) drinking an Americano and using the free wifi. I came here not only because Onion Creek is tedious during the day on the weekend and I want to support a new, independent business, but also because there are no TVs here. I want to stay as far away from the super bowl as possible. I don’t care how great the ads are.

I’m on a couple of playwright listserves, and one of those groups is in the midst of what is called a “purge.” The concept is to write something every day for a month. How much and what you write is up to you. Some people are working on short pieces; others are editing first drafts or writing monologues. I’m going to use this time to start on my first long play. “Long” for me would be an hour. I have no idea what I’m going to write about – usually I have a hint of a concept or an image or a person. When I’m done wasting time writing this, I’m just going to face the blank page and begin. Begin at the beginning, right? Not necessarily. It’s day three of the purge and I haven’t written anything yet, so I’m behind already.

[the people two tables over are talking about something but I'm not really sure what because they are literally saying "like" every third word. yes, I counted. like is a horrible disease.]

Some things I’m wondering at this moment:
* is there still much of a market for singing telegrams?
* have they found a way to fix cockeyed eyes?
* was I hearing gunfire or fireworks last night?
* are the people sitting outside the coffee shop at the table with the guy in the funny hat who’s playing guitar (and maybe singing – I can’t see his face so I don’t know) really enjoying what he’s doing or are they just being nice?
* why are beards so popular right now?

Okay, enough. Off to face the blank page.

and…exhale

In theatre, writing on December 28, 2007 at 4:55 pm

In a Jar…at the Smithsonian. Now that was an experience. I’m so glad I did it, and I’m so glad it’s over. Actually, by Saturday the production had attained that great marathon runner’s gait. The cast was sufficiently warmed up to do a full three-week run. Maybe next time we can do it longer. Dennis (the AD) and I were talking about making this an annual event – doing a weekend of shows right before Christmas that offers an alternative to most of the other events around town. I’m definitely interested in doing it, so we just need to find a space that works. DiverseWorks is a great place to do a show (especially when they have an exhibit up) and they gave us a great price, but without the grant backing things up we wouldn’t even break even. Unless we doubled ticket prices to $10. Which is still a reasonable price for an evening of theatre, but I like to keep it dirt cheap in the interest of getting people in the door.

Here are a few things I learned during this experience.

ONE – I should NOT be writing the show as late in the process as I was. Duh, right? I was still writing monologues when I should have been doing PR work. Also, it added a huge undercurrent (overcurrent?) of stress for me and the actors having so many things still up in the air when we started rehearsal.

TWO – If an actor is being an asshole, even if it’s five days before the dress rehearsal – fire him. There are too many talented actors in Houston who are ready and willing to work. No need to put up with prima donna bullshit. And I would guess that pretty much everyone who came to the show never noticed that one of the actors had only been involved for five days before we opened.

THREE – Hire more people. Though it was fun doing most everything for this show, it was totally exhausting. I’m still recovering from the cold I picked up after opening night. It would have been worth the money to have hired one or two more people to take on some of the shit I was doing.

FOUR – I’m not sure I want to direct again. My work or anyone else’s. Just as actors bring that actor magic to the process, so too do directors. When the director is also the playwright, you miss out on that extra bit of input. And I didn’t have much fun doing it. It felt like work most of the time. This gets into that sticky control area of my personality – I think I can relinquish it, but then I worry about seeing my work done “wrong.” Best case would be a director who doesn’t mind getting some input from the playwright (and producer) during the process. It’s a rare director who will put up with that, so I don’t know. I guess if you see my name down as the director on my next project, that’ll answer that question.

FIVE – You make your money on the donation bar.

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