Category: Playwriting

Apr 12

iCapitalist

Someday I’ll have ONE job (that I enjoy) and which allows me to have free and productive time… right?

This is why artists stop making art…

I am so tired of working, working, working for free or next to nothin’…

and I am

SO

TIRED

of being broke.

I know I’ve written a lot lately about finding a semblance of balance… and I have.  But the job market is not getting any better, which leaves me scrambling to fill the coffers with a part-time job and whatever scraps I can find on the side.

And it’s exhausting.

It’s so exhausting that the last thing I feel like doing is sitting down at the computer, except to vent.

And this scares me.

It scares me that I could be so in love with a thing (writing) and yet feel so tired that even the thing I love doing seems draining.

It scares me that I could have so many friends making innovative and compelling theatre for free whilst larger theatre companies continue to churn out the Oldies/Safeties at equity rates.

It scares me that I’m imagining a life of “easy” with no “easy” in sight… and that I’m weighing the cost of pursuing my art so heavily against the cost of just living my life for once.

Why does it seem that the two are so disparately placed?

(sigh)

Which is why I’m thinking, seriously thinking, about becoming a call girl.

Or a drug dealer…

Or selling babies on the black market.

I mean, in a world where getting by is becoming harder and harder to do, the “fast and easy/kinda sleazy” starts to look a bit alluring to a girl.

And then I could write a killer play about my life on the lamb whilst rolling in my ill-gotten green…

 

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Mar 28

Emerging my A$$!

There is an overwhelming redundancy in grant/fellowship/residency/development applications for “Emerging” Playwrights.

And I mean overwhelming redundancy.

Every single “Emerging” Playwright program is geared towards helping “Emerging” Playwrights (because presumably those that are already “Emerged” need less such assistance) and I am thankful (seriously thankful) that these opportunites exist;  Not only do they plump up the resume in hopes that it will add credence to your claims that you are, indeed, a capeable and exciting playwright when contacting theatre companies and artistic directors, but they usually offer you an opportunity to improve your work – (be it through a reading/discussion/workshop/or/ time with a dramaturge) – they are, in essence, designed to help you grow…

BUT, (and here’s where the redundancy comes in) they all seem to ask the same damn question: What I think of/how I define my “status” as an “Emerging” Playwright and where I see myself in the future…  And what I am growing ever closer to blurting is “Emerging” my ass, I’m friggin’ scrapping my way along here like a damned wild dog!  And I see very little difference between the “Wild dog Tiffany” of today, from the one of tomorrow, except that if I don’t start making my way out of this ring of fighters soon, I’m going to become even hungrier and  more prone to random fits of profanity!

Because what this question “How do you define yourself as an Emerging Artist?” does is dress up the sheer poverty of the title.  It ignores the burning passion of the “Believers.”  It glosses over the disparaging odds of success in the field.  It makes this gigantic pool of “I want to be”s sound like an accomplished bunch of “So closer”ers… When in reality, we’re all a bunch of yipping, reaching, dream-junkies looking for our next “fix.”

Which, as it sounds, is a pretty damn difficult thing to be.

So I stare at these applications and try to convey my opinions in a way that maintains some humanity, some humility… and some pure anadulterated hopefulness, because as cynical as that previous statement sounds, I’m still a dreamer and hoper and down-right-artistic-snuggler…

I just have a much more realistic perspective than I once did.

Because here I sit, amongst a sea of script-wavers, and I have to ask myself HOW do I get heard above the melee?  HOW do I convince a market, pre-designed NOT to take a chance on “Emerging” Playwrights, to take a chance on this one?  How do I make the most of a system reticent to give scant more than a reading and congratulatory pat on the back, when what I NEED is a theatre that will grow a pair and start producing the plays they like to pat?

Instead of complimenting me whilst producing a tried-and-true season of “Sureties”

Instead of complaining about the lack of “Under-40s” audience members when they produce a season full of works by over-40, primarily white (because that’s the current state of the cannon) mostly male (again, that damn cannon) playwrights.

Instead of bemoaning the lack of “relevant work” whilst passing over said “relevant work” by new writers because it’s “too new”

I mean, really?

So I think I’m going to take myself out of the “Emerging” category and start calling myself something else…

Something more, accurate.

Something that feels less assigned and more organic.

Something like… Indomitable Playwright.

Yeah, I think that’s a better fit.

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Mar 21

Mold and Things Left Forgotten

Horror of Horrors yesterday, as I ventured to the garage to finally open and put to use some of my most favored theatre books: I found instead a damp, moldy, spongy mess in their place, as apparently some snow melt had made its way beneath the garage door and into my precious box of books.

But what the hell were they doing there in the first place?

You see, when I moved into my parents house, oh, nearly a year ago, I never expected to be here this long.  Or I don’t know, maybe I didn’t have any expectations, period.  Which amounted to me guessing which boxes would most benefit from unpacking, and which could linger longer in uncertainty…  Although I (rightly) thought that this box should be brought inside and my beloved books put on shelves immediately, I had already used up most of the shelf space in my room and so adding these to the fray would require a fair share of rearranging that I (in my I’m-so-tired-of-packing/unpacking-that-I-could-pitch-a-fit-that-would-render-a-five-year-old-jealous) simply didn’t have the interest or wherewithal to tend to…

So I left the box, midway between safety and safer-still -all too near the garage door.

Where it lingered, hopeful and neglected, for 11 months.

And so, dear reader, is it not a gross metaphor for the negligence I’ve visited upon my own theatrical fires, that this box of Hagen, Meisner and Mamet, of Viewpoints, Shakespeare, and Limericks, of Collected Works and Collected Histories, be completely overrun by the very herald of disuse; Mold?

Which isn’t to say that I’ve completely abandoned the theatrical ship – oh no, far from it – what with a new play, a screenplay, and that time-consuming play festival I was coordinating, I can hardly beat myself up for being a deserter.  However, I’ve not been as deeply in tune with The Muse as I’d like to have been these past few months either… and I’m left wondering, as I hope and pray that the books dry “Useable”, could I not have spared myself the heartbreak of seeing those pages wrinkled and flecked with grey if I’d only made more of an effort to feed The Muse and brought those damn books inside where they could remind me to buckle down and create?

(sigh)

I suppose the answer lies somewhere between the guilt of “what if” and the incredible urging said moldy books now offer to redouble my efforts and get back in the game.

Because I will be teaching some acting and writing classes this spring, and I have two new plays crock-potting between The Muse and The Laptop…

And I don’t want any of that to grow mold!

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Mar 20

What would Kenny do?

Vegas: Land of Sin and Drink, of  Mini Skirts and Blown Dice, of High Stakes and Low-Cut Blouses…

I went. I played. I came back with a couple bucks still in my pocket.

Because I am not a high-stakes gambler…

Because I like to eat at the buffets, not serve myself up as one…

Because it’s better to play for fun than for a car payment (although winning your car payment would be a whole lot of fun…)

And so I wandered around the City that Never Sleeps, drink (and Beau) in-hand, reveling in the star-dusted obscenity of it all…  and I thought very little about the parallels between the High-Risky-Ness of Vegas and my own Dream Junkie Life, until I checked my email and discovered that my latest play is one step closer to a very exciting playwriting opportunity (sorry, I’m not trying to play coy, but I’ve been asked to not share the info until things are settled and in place for all) and I realized that my life is one big gamble already…

Woof!

… but then again, isn’t everybody’s?

Because we can none of us know what will happen.

We can none of us predict which risks will pay off and which will just gobble our money/energy/or/time with naught returned to us in exchange.

Instead, we amble up to the table that looks most appealing, plop down our coins, and hope we can beat the house…

Which makes me think of my dear Kenny Rogers (arguably one of my most favored slot machines) You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run…

I’ve definitely had to run away from my fair share of “tables”.

But now here I sit, at a more mellow pace, thinking that had I not had the tumultuous 18 months of unemployment/heartbreak/uncertainty that drove me (frantic as hell) to the safety of my parents house, I would not have met the man that I now adore, nor would I have written the play that I wrote this summer.

A play that is garnering all sorts of potential lightening bolts of career progression right now…

A play that is being considered for some pretty exciting opportunities, resulting in me feeling a whole heck of a lot better about my current state of flux…

A play that I’m proud of, and which motivates me to keep writing…

Because, yeah, I’m a gambler, but with pages instead of cards, and with dreams instead of gold.

So it was lovely to indulge in a little Vegas debauchery with my fella, and it was great fun to try and find the slot machine ready to burp forth the jackpot that would save me from my present economic crisis…

But really, it’s the creative jackpot I’m after.

And I just got one teensy, tiny, itsy bit closer to winning this hand.

The next month is going to be very exciting as I wait for the next card to turn over…

Can I get an “Amen”, Kenny Rogers?

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Mar 01

Writing with Patience

I’ve been doing a lot of ruminating lately… not so much immediate scripting, but more like – well…. simmering verbal stew.  I did it with my last play, I didn’t even try to write any of it down until I had the whole thing mapped out in my head.  It was the first time I’d done such a thing (and it was probably because I wasn’t sure I had a play until I hit that final scene) but I liked the ease with which it flowed… and I wrote the whole damn thing in two friggin’ weeks!

So, I took to trying it again… I started play a while back, got about 35 pages in, and then I went “WHAT NOW?” as I am sometimes wont to do… So I took a wee break and set my brain to task with resolving the issue in a more relaxed atmosphere…  and the answers, while not coming as rapid-fire as they did with Cricket Woman Mother Earth have been coming in at a higher quality than a month ago when I was banging my head against the keyboard in frustration.

It’s funny, but the mind seems to work on things in the background, inserting it’s suggestions into my consciousness at the most unexpected of moments… I find myself feeling safe, entrusting it to conspire with the muse and then notify me of their solutions.

In any case, I’m feeling ready to dig in again, but with clearer intent than a meager “I want to finish this thing, already!”  Yay!

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Feb 19

Read THIS

I’m blogging for LAFPI again – but ya’ll will probably get a little chuckle out of today’s post- because I’m crazy.  And it snowed.  READ IT HERE.

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Dec 09

READ THIS!

Okay – Like I said, I’m blogging all over the place this week – but I am particularly proud of today’s LAFPI post,  so I would LOVE it if you would click on over there and give it a read… and maybe even a COMMENT!

CLICK HERE

And maybe tomorrow I’ll have something “Awds and Ends” related to talk about.  There is this fantastic Eulogy for a Squirrel I’ve been working on…

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Dec 06

I’m not sure…

But I think my recent happiness has affected my desire to blog…

That, and the new LosAngelesFAIL.com blog.

And work.

And all the playwriting submissions/professorial applications I’ve been trying to get turned in.

(sigh)

But the happy, romantic, mush-bally-ness has been wonderful! I’ve been floating along on a happy little cloud, and I don’t have any intention of hopping off!

There is the small matter of me guest blogging for the LAFPI again this week though too… Click on over for some good ol’ Playwriting Chit-Chat!  Today’s post:  Dramaturges vs. Playwrights- or – What I learned from the recent Listserve explosion between the two!

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Oct 23

It’s like singing that one song? You know, that you heard that one time?

So, now that you’ve all read my oh-so-exciting interview in The Dramatist, I thought I’d take a hot second to reflect on what I thought were an exceptional grouping of essays written on the topic of ethnicity, specifically, in regards to a playwright’s rights/responsibility in writing ethnic characters (be they member’s of the playwright’s own “posse” or not.)   And while each of the many talented (and mostly working, <applause!>) playwrights wrote that the charge lay in retaining an authenticity (of voice, of intent, of research), they also seem to agree that a playwright shouldn’t be discouraged from writing outside their own race, religion, identity, etc.

A playwright wears many hats, after all.

An I enjoyed reading all of their essays, reminded again and again of the same image; that of a young girl singing her heart out at a Karaoke contest I recently attended (I am a big supporter of my friend’s ventures, and my dear Ann Marie was fabulous!)  Now, this entrant was only 13, and A-D-O-R-A-B-L-E.  She had a nice smoky voice (hopefully NOT from smoking) and she had style, you know?  But she was singing “Hey, Soul Sister” by Train, which if you’ve ever listened to the song, is about a man singing praise for his lover.   And those words, coming out of the mouth of a 13 year old, are, well, super creepy.

Because they aren’t authentic to her as a performer:  she’s NOT a hairy-chested man, she’s (hopefully) not sleeping with a sexy dancing-queen…  She hasn’t lived any of that (yet?) so it’s ridiculous for her to step into those shoes and try to “sell” this character to the “grown-ups” who know better.  Now, of course she (most likely) just liked the beat, the music, the upbeat nature of the song… and she probably had her own 13-year old definition for it.  But her skill and passion for the song not-withstanding, all of these lyrics about sex and sensuality coming out of her mouth made me squirm.

I think something similar happens when you read characters written by playwrights who haven’t the experience of the characters they are writing, or who have failed to take the time to research those that were unfamiliar.  I think this feeling of “ick” happens when you meet a caricature presented as genuine by someone genuinely-clueless.

Because a playwright (or any artist) has a responsibility to the art that they are creating as well as the audience that will be a party to it – to find the sincerity of plot, character, dialogue, etc.; sincerity to the tone and style as much as to the subject matter and thought behind the play.

So, if you are a writer, and you find yourself wondering how to write from an “other (than you)” perspective, you might want to pick up this month’s copy of The Dramatist.

It comes with a really nifty interview and photo of yours truly ;)

(“Hey, Soul Sister” lyrics)

Your lipstick stains
On the front lobe of my left side brains.
I knew I wouldn’t forget you,
And so I went and let you blow my mind.
Your sweet moonbeam,
The smell of you in every single dream I dream,
I knew when we collided,
You’re the one I have decided
Who’s one of my kind.

Hey soul sister,
Ain’t that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo,
The way you move ain’t fair you know.
Hey soul sister,
I don’t want to miss a single thing you do…
Tonight.
Heeey, Heeeeey heeeey!

Just in time,
I’m so glad you have a one track mind like me.
You gave my life direction,
A game show love connection, we can’t deny-i-i-i.
I’m so obsessed,
My heart is bound to beat right out my untrimmed chest.
I believe in you, “Like a Virgin,” you’re Madonna,
And I’m always gonna want to blow your mind.

Hey soul sister,
Ain’t that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo,
The way you move ain’t fair you know.
Hey soul sister,
I don’t want to miss a single thing you do…
Tonight.
Heeey, Heeeeey heeeey!

The way you can cut a rug,
Watching you’s the only drug I need.
You’re so gangsta, I’m so thug,
You’re the only one I’m dreaming of.
You see, I can be myself now finally,
In fact there’s nothing I can’t be.
I want the world to see you’ll be with me.

Hey soul sister,
Ain’t that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo,
The way you move ain’t fair you know.
Hey soul sister
I don’t want to miss a single thing you do tonight,
Hey soul sister,
I don’t want to miss a single thing you do…
Tonight.

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

Oct 16

Dream Junkies

$75…  It wasn’t much of a deposit, but for a girl like me who’s spent the better part of the last two years (and by “better” I mean EIGHTEEN FRIGGIN’ MONTHS) unemployed, dropping $75 in Las Vegas’s back pocket was a pretty big deal.  You see, I like the nickel slots and penny machines, but they like me more.

Because I don’t usually break any banks when I play, if you know what I mean.

In any case, I took a couple fistfulls of fun money with me to enjoy, and I must admit, I enjoyed spending it on dancing fish, digital Monopoly reels, and singing Kenny Rogers machines… but I definitely spent it, you know?  Spent it hard.

And at the end of the weekend, rather than grumbling about my “losses”, I shrugged my shoulders and thought to myself “Well, that’s okay, because I’d rather win The Big Gamble…”

As in, with my writing.

Because I am a dream junkie.  I keep putting myself on a line, coming up with new “moves” and crossing my fingers that it’s all going to pay off with all the orgasmic success I hope it will.

And I don’t have to “rinse off the scum” like one does when one returns from Vegas.

(shiver)

Cuz that’s one dirrrrrty ass place.

Unlike my office.

Where I get my serious “game” on.  Where I listen to the muse.  Where I feed the inner “junkie” a steady diet of imagination and chocolate, as we go racing towards the Jackpot.

Wanna’ blow on my dice?

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Posted in Playwriting, The Daily Drool

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