Intermission
a creative coffee break from writing the play

Today I wrote one complete sentence. Too easily the birds outside my writer’s room distracted me. I was glad to see them, because they haven’t been around much this week, causing a lot of worries in my home.

The first visitor, that drew my attention away from the keyboard, was a Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker. It appeared long enough, clinging to the drainpipe outside my window, for me to identify it. No joke. Yellow-Bellied Sapsuckers are real birds (that’s for you non-birders). I’d never seen one before, and I needed my Sibley’s for help. Inspired by the one bird, I picked up my binoculars, sat back in my chair, and watched for what else might be perching nearby. Pleasantly rewarded with many familiar feathers, I watched for a very long time. The birds, usually daily visitors to our backyard feeders, haven’t been visiting much this week, despite the tempting new treats we’ve been leaving for them. We’ve been very perplexed and sad about their absence.

With a great flourish, the birds left, and I understood why when, in a neighboring tree, I saw the hawk watching the feeders below. We will have to remove our feeders for a few days, in hopes of helping
the hawk to move on. As magnificent as the hawk is we don’t intend to provide an easy, one-stop swoop for prey. If I hadn’t indulged bird watching this morning, it might have been quite some time before we understood the hawk was keeping the birds away. (Yeah, come on, you know creative inspiration works like that, too.)

I spent more time watching the hawk, followed by even more time trying to get a decent photo of it. I did not succeed, as I may have mentioned before what a bad photographer I am. By the time the Beloved stepped in, ever hopeful she can make a
photographer out of me, the hawk moved on to another part of the
neighborhood.

It may have been a Sharp-Shinned Hawk. I’m not positive. From the front it looks like a Cooper’s. From the back a Sharp-Shinned.

All this bird business nourishes my spirit, and in turn, somewhat unintentionally, provides pieces of inspiration.

These last few days of 2007 are a time for me to slow down, to stop watching over my plays, yeah, like a hawk. The last couple of months, I have pushed too hard, gotten caught up in worry over readings and possible productions, and squeezed the joy and satisfaction out of my writing. I love writing too much to divest it of life.

I am at peace with my one complete sentence. It’s time to reflect on where I am, to enjoy the family time, all the holiday madness, to waste time with the birds, let go of deadlines, and enjoy what’s in front of me.

It’s an ethical obligation to look for hope.
It’s an ethical obligation not to despair.

Tony Kushner, Wrestling with Angels
Catch it this weekend on a PBS replay.

The Speechless Campaign in support of the WGA strike.

The Dramatists Guild statement about the WGA strike.

The software mentioned on my website is stuff I like and use. Not stuff I think you should use.

The list is biased towards Macs. Why? I could write a lot of rude things about the whys, however, let’s leave it as “because that’s what I use to write on.”

Formatting software:  Movie Magic Screenwriter
The idea, for me, behind using a specialized word processor for playwriting, is I don’t want to have to think too much when I’m using software. I want it to work, to format my stuff how I like it, and all that rot. If you can get away with using a Word template, or macro set, then good for you! There are several options for software, some costly, some cheap, some free. You can do an internet search on screenwriting software to find them. Or look at the wiki List of Screenwriting Software for a short list. That’s right, you gotta get screenwriting software and hope you can adapt it to playwriting. If you’re a student, you can buy one of the two major software programs, Final Draft, or Movie Magic Screenwriter, at a much lower cost than retail. Both the majors will require you to adjust their play templates to get them into Samuel French format. Both the majors have trial versions you can evaluate. 

For years, I used Final Draft. Like back to 1992 when the company was called B.C. Software. In Sept 2007, I permanently switched over to Movie Magic Screenwriter 6. My friend and writing partner, MBH, switched over to MM6 earlier in the year. I ignored his consistent raves about version 6 because I had hated version 4, and told myself, “it’s only formatting software, after all.” When he began to use MM6 to format our TV spec show, damn, I had to begin trying it out. I’m now busy converting all my scripts over to MM6.

MM6 has two features I love. First, it allows you to keep a sidebar containing an outline, list of scenes, notes, or bookmarks, making instant navigation through a script easy and possible. Second, notes can be embeded in the script. You can view or print them as part of your script, or suppress them from the printed copy or the screen. Final Draft 7 allows notes yet always keeps them hidden unless you click on them. F.D.’s method was an annoyance I didn’t really think about until I began using notes in MM6. MM6 makes notes confusion free for working with a writing partner, and a joy to use in general.

Note-taking software
I use a combination of software programs. (1) Aquaminds’ Notetaker, (2) SoHo Notes, and (3) Bibdesk. I use Notetaker like a virtual spiral bound notebook. SoHo Notes I use to keep random tidbits, or long thoughts, I don’t want to lose. BibDesk I use to organize my research, which often exists in the form of PDFs of articles, or of books on my bookshelf or the library’s shelves. Initially, when I looked at BibDesk, I thought, “oh that’s cool. Don’t need it.” And then surprised myself by using it regularly and  with great enthusiasm. I now have a fingertip method of viewing my research at a glance, as well as in detail, in an organized fashion on my trusty Powerbook.

Links to what I’ve previously written about software
Notetaking here, and here
Favorite Writing Tools

It has been a joy to pick up the play again this week, and hanging out with the strange, volatile, yet funny, characters who’ve discovered my pen. The new play’s structure is the most linear play I’ve written in a long time. MBH says the characters have very clear goals and desires, which is his way of saying that most of my characters are not usually so simply defined or constructed. The structure, the characters, the plot-lines nag at my Editor’s Mind. Far too often the Editor yells at me, What the hell is this? I suppress the Editor’s noise, and keep writing. That’s all I know to do. More to be revealed, as someone says. When the first draft finds completion, only then will reconstruction commence.

Normally, whatever the hell that means, I manage to break structural rules, which confuses literary managers used to reading sitcoms or tele-movies passing as plays. Someone once suggested to me that one of my plays was missing a, uh, thunderous moment between the main characters. Having witnessed the power of the play on stage, well, I believe that comment said more about the commenter than the play itself. The comment was true, yet not the point. The conflict in the play, as in most of my plays, is between the characters and the world around them. I wish I had had this quote from Marsha Norman at the ready:

I really do think that men who run theatre classically want there to be a chase and then some kind of event, and then the thing’s over, right? Whereas women who write plays tend to be not so involved with what the big event is, but what it is that the people know in the story; how the people are let to each other; what they do for each other. There may be a distinctly different gender view of what’s a story and what’s worth telling.

from an Interview with Marsha Norman by Gary Garrison, The Dramatist, Nov/Dec 2007, p. 40

Instead, my retort was more pithy like, Well, yeah, dat’s da point.

I expect my pen to be down tomorrow, while we feast at the Parental Unit’s home. I’m thankful for so many things in my life, from the roof over my head, the Beloved, free wi-fi, good friends, to those who’ve paved the way before me, and even to those younger who pass me along the way. Gifts of plenitude.

Don’t forget to feed those who are hungry. Some of them are theatre people.

Marsha Norman, by the way, is from Louisville.

It’s all about Opera. Actually, it’s all about Dame Kiri this week, with a little ALW thrown in.

I have not put pen or keyboard to the play in fourteen days, the external rituals of life needing my attention. My birthday came last week. Interviews with people I hope will hire me to write their documentation have come and gone. Plays requested have been mailed. The Beloved’s birthday came yesterday. Today, my muscles ache from, oh for God’s sake, bowling for the first time in however long its been.

For the first time in ten years, I returned to Western Massachusetts in order to attend a friend’s memorial. I was glad for the opportunity to say good-bye to her, even if she were already gone. I haven’t seen her since my last visit to Western Mass, yet I can still hear her say my name, still see the mischief in her eyes, still remember the way she walked across a room, and still wonder at her common sense approach to life. The Beloved reminds me of her sometimes. My friend was a good twenty-five years older than me. There were no real hurts between us. No lies or
evasiveness. Just support, love, and kindness. I call her my one uncomplicated friendship. Maybe that’s why it was easy to keep pushing calling her to the bottom of my list. A small regret remains. Me, a person who shuns regret as a rule.

I returned, knowing there was someone I hadn’t spoken to even more time that’s past would be present. A more complicated friendship, banished by betrayal, imagined or real. Which? It no longer mattered. I was determined to amend the separateness between us should the opportunity present itself. It did. I said too much, I’m sure, cried too much, I know, intense as I always have been. Glad for the moment all the same. The time to say good-bye, and hello again to other women, from a very important time in my life. My first loving tribe. Older than me, I am their age now.

I have always thought it strange that I turned out to be a playwright. I have always thought I was a loner, quiet, alone, and shy. Theatre is a communal effort, beyond the play. In Massachusetts I realized theatre is my way of creating community. I still need a tribe.

Because there’s more to life than Mel.

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.