It's the Intermission
A Creative Coffee Break

I started a post about my home state of California, the wildfires there being very much on my mind. I cannot finish it. Too emotional, too much of a diatribe, too much too much too much. Suffice to say, I am glad the San Diego friends I have heard from are safe, and as okay as they can be.

I am a far better playwright than I ever will be a blogger. Or a journaler. I love playwriting, and despite the declared "odds"  of production bemoaned, I cannot not write plays. There are all kinds of us out there, and I am glad for that. I don’t see other playwrights as my competition. I don’t ask them to write the way I write, or see plays the way I do. When I see or read a play, I set myself to go along with the journey. I assume the playwright has worked hard, and had something important to impart. Why else bother with the theatre? Or writing at all? ‘Tis a mystery to me.

Sure there are oft times I cannot go along with the journey. It’s in those plays, I start counting blackouts, scenes, wonder what the inciting incident could-be-if-it’s-there-at-all, ponder why act two came before act one, and ask myself if can I really leave at intermission with no one noticing with an audience of ten. Even so, I rarely re-write the play into my own mold. It’s a bit of waste of time, as I see it at the moment. And I always reserve the right to change my opinion. I hope opinions, unlike values, are not static.

In good plays and bad, I am aware I would have made different choices than the playwright whose play I am reading or watching. I’ve learned a lot from bad plays on how not to write one. I’ve learned equally or more from great plays. What I learn may not have anything to do with what you learn. While I stake my right to judge your play my cup of tea or no, I relinquish my right to declare you a bad playwright because I don’t like what you do. There’s no point to it except to make me feel better about my own plays languishing in the lit manager’s pile.

I know my work may not be your cup of tea. You may not like my plays. Some people clearly don’t. Yet there are people who do like my plays. Hell, some people even love ‘em, and have championed ‘em. As playwrights, what we share, I hope, is that we understand the artistic process, and while we are different in our approach in our plays, I always hope playwrights will support each other. Support does not mean we don’t challenge each other. MBH can attest to that. It means we do not dismiss each other.

For those of you googling, "writing a play," I continue to believe it’s important that (1) playwrights learn play structure. How can you break rules unless you know what they are? (2) See as much theatre as possible. If you don’t go to the theatre, why are you writing for it? (3) Be nice to actors. Do I have to explain that one? (4) Respect for the audience. Respect does not mean kowtow. Look it up. Look ‘em both up.

My own playwriting process has become quite simple, and very personally powerful: The story is ready to be written when I can see major pieces of it on the stage (in my mind of course you sillies). Then write what I call a "beat sheet" which is my guide to the story when I feel lost. Discard beats when more is revealed by the characters or story in the writing. I let go of worrying about structure, and let the play form as theatrically as possible, breaking whatever "rules" the story demands of me. The one rule I have not  yet broken is the one that lets you know within the first ten minutes where I’m asking you to go. And a personal rule is that I cannot start writing a play until I know what the basic ending of the play will be. What I mean by that is not every single thing that constitutes the end. It may be a very strong image, interaction, feeling, or even three lines of dialogue. Those things work for me, and have eliminated my own "second act" failures.

And a personal pledge to myself:  to not give away my authority on my own work to you.

I am about to step my toes into the Louisville waters, and create a
playwrights group. So, you can imagine why playwrights are on my
mind. I need a new Safe Group to hear my work in progress.

Since Thursday, our home has been host to an expanding and contracting posse of un-laws, who came together to mark their patriarch’s 80th birthday. Such gatherings make actual putting pen to paper (dare I say it?) impossible. On the other hand, there is much material to garner for future use. Enforced time outs bring new thoughts, and perspectives which get weaved into the work.I learned about the Vietnam Memorial in Frankfort, which was designed to have the shadow fall on soldiers’ names at the anniversary of their death. I heard a disconcerting story about a fellow who could not drive by road kill. He was compelled to run over it. And while some people over indulge in food, I overindulge in observing and analyzing family dynamics. I am still recovering. Yet I also know the play will be richer because of these last few days. I will rest today, and look forward to picking the pen back up tomorrow

Act 1 of the new play has been accomplished. During the intermission before Act 2 takes off, I’ve been meditating on my main character. Usually I create a box of some kind, that displays qualities about the character or meaningful aspects of the play. The new play concerns masks, so creating a kind of mask seemed the obvious, logical representation to create. I’ll sit this mask on my desk as I write Act 2.

The mask is not yet finished. Sometime during Act 2, I’ll take a break and finish it up. Or start a whole new one.

Working on these kinds of collages helps me to think about characters and the play, outside my mind, outside the computer, outside the paper, and the pen. If I could pull actors out of a drawer, I probably wouldn’t need to do this.

At the center of the play are two visual artists. Louisville is a great town to explore the visual arts. I’ve been spending a lot of time in person, at the library, at the museums getting to know something about these very different kind of artists from myself. I asked one artist what it was like living here. She talked about how supportive the environment was for artists; how affordable it was to live here.

Act 2 has already begun. Time to get back to writing it out.

Where is my pen? Damn!  Society’s loss.

–Frank Versati, from Steve Martin’s adaptation of The Underpants

Once upon a time, I learned inspired thoughts were not to be trusted with the vagaries of my personal neurobiology. Years of hit and miss remembering, forced me to write these tidbits down as they occurred. Later, even social form, and politeness, had to be crushed in favor of writing down critical “flash” ideas.

You know what I’m talking about. You’re sitting there over dinner, trying hard to be a normal person in order to impress your new in-laws, or in my case, “out-laws,” and someone passes the bread, or shoves some peas under her potatoes, or chews his food fifty-two times, or drinks her wine with a straw, and your mom-in-law asks, “You are coming to Mass in the morning, aren’t you?” and you stare blankly, as you didn’t hear or comprehend the unexpected question, because you just had an “Ah-Ha!” moment about your play. When you quickly pull yourself together and blather a response, earning you a reputation that you are, at best, an idiot, you tragically lose the inspired thought that could have saved your Act Two.

Thus, the need for a small notebook, sometimes a small pen, and always the commitment to abandon social niceties.

I am have an embarrassment of small notebooks. Over the years I have preferred the Moleskine, yet also have a lot of small composition-style notebooks as well. For a long time, I’ve preferred notebooks with binding at the top. These days, my predominant concern has been a notebook that won’t rapidly disintegrate. Moleskines of course are quite sturdy. They are, alas, too big for my satisfaction, and my back denim pocket. Although, the Moleskine Pocket Cahier is in the running as a favorite small note capturing device.

In a sampling of notebooks from my collection, the smallest is approximately 1.5″: x 1.5″, and the largest notebook is 7.5″ x 4.5″.

Currently, my favorite small notebook is the flexible notebook made by Miguelrius. It’s just the right size, and durable enough to shove in a back-pocket. If you’re in Louisville, Carmichael’s Bookstore carries ‘em.

When the mini-flex is not small enough, I use a teeny-tiny notebook I wear around my neck. I confess, I’ve written in it once. I have no idea what I wrote, because my writing on that teeny-tiny page is incomprehensible.

Bad handwriting is another reason inspired thoughts can be lost. Having mastered an inurement of sorts with out-laws, the Beloved, and perfect strangers, giving in to capturing thoughts whenever they hit me, it seems I must also practice my penmanship for writing in the dark using a teeny-tiny notebook.

This was my morning uplift.
Mr. Paul Potts…

American Theatre Wing:

• Downstage Center
• Working in the Theatre (Video)

Theatrically Speaking

Science Talk

Bird Note

A Way with Words