THE SAGA OF MY SELF-ESTEEM
When I was in 5th grade, I was really arrogant. Or maybe it was well-adjusted. My parents might have an opinion on which it was. But anyway, I though I could do just about anything. I played tackle football with the boys on the playground after school, I wrote a partial novel about a girl and this horse she found in an old abandoned house, I did charcoal drawings (mostly of horses), I played George the dragon in the school play (though I was a bit offended at playing a male character, it really was the best part), I sang in church with my mom and sister, I rode horses. I was a miracle preteen! I had no fear! And no doubts that I was as talented as anyone on the planet! It was great.
In high school, I ran track, I had boyfriends and a wide range of friends. I still sang a bit now and then, worked on a dude ranch with my friend Joie, drove wrecklessly and made good grades. Still pretty hot stuff, though I definitely experienced more down days, and of course the uncertainty as to whether my pink cargo pants looked hot with that yellow checked shirt with the collar up.
In college, I got a bit of a rude awakening. I still thought my drawing was pretty good, even though I didn’t care much about it anymore, and I got cast in a play within my first month at school. But calculus and chemistry were really hard and I made my first Cs, including one in the relatively easy Spanish class because I spent all my time trying to understand calculus. I started to wonder if maybe I wasn’t such a genius after all.
The doubting trend and increased trepidation about new experiences followed me into adulthood. I had moved—alone—to Texas for an internship and then again—alone again—to Seattle to do theatre. So, some courage there. Then I did theatre and had office day jobs and took few risks. When buildergrrl introduced me to climbing, I felt like I was conquering the world again—but mostly because I had the courage to try something new after so long without doing so. That and getting really strong and feeling capable.
More recently—within the last six years—I took up Appalachian old-time fiddle. Flying Fish, a serious violinist at one time, came with me to judge tone and quality, and helped me choose an instrument. He also gave me some starting exercises to do to. I took lessons, did okay, but always felt like an incredibly slow learner and never got to the point of being able to jam with other folks. I broke my left hand and quit for several months, then never got back to the lessons. I still practice very occasionally, and consider starting again more seriously. The problem is, I think I’ve got no talent for music. I’ve always been able to carry a tune, I can harmonize if I can see the notes to give me some clues, and I can hear and find a note on the fiddle. But I don’t pick up new tunes quickly, I don’t recognize song structure when hearing a tune, I just don’t seem to get it.
When I was in Cardiff, I saw a BBC show about how music works. This particular episode was about rhythm. I’d never had anyone explain it to me. That pushing the tempo in this way makes it swing, that lagging a little makes it latin, and that piling up tempos is something you’ll notice in Cuban or African music. (I’m not remembering it correctly, perhaps, but the a-ha moment still happened for me.)
Unfortunately, I never saw another episode of this music show, but it did make me wonder if maybe music would make more sense to me, even come more intuitively, if I had the framework of music theory to put it in. So, when I’ve got some time on my hands, maybe I’ll give that a shot and take a class. Hey, it worked for lobbying – someone told me how you do it, they gave me the necessary background information, and suddenly it made sense and was no longer intimidating.
End of Ramble. Thanks for listening.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
CALL ME MASTER
I got my diploma in the mail a couple of days ago. I'm now a Master of Science, in addition to my previous distinction as a Master Composter/Soil Builder. Here's what my diploma says:
Ardystir drwy hyn fod
Appalachia
wedi derbyn radd o
Arhtro mewn Gwyddoniaeth
mewn Cynaladwyedd, Cynllunio a Pholisi Amgylcheddol
Rhagoriaeth
It also says it in English, but that's no fun. I think I might rename my blog Cynaladwyedd, which means sustainability.
BTW, Rhagoriaeth means Distinction. I just wanted to brag a little there.
I got my diploma in the mail a couple of days ago. I'm now a Master of Science, in addition to my previous distinction as a Master Composter/Soil Builder. Here's what my diploma says:
Ardystir drwy hyn fod
Appalachia
wedi derbyn radd o
Arhtro mewn Gwyddoniaeth
mewn Cynaladwyedd, Cynllunio a Pholisi Amgylcheddol
Rhagoriaeth
It also says it in English, but that's no fun. I think I might rename my blog Cynaladwyedd, which means sustainability.
BTW, Rhagoriaeth means Distinction. I just wanted to brag a little there.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
HOLLER AT 'EM DOWN THESE HALLOWED HALLS
I think I have some mental block that makes it difficult for me to fully conceptualize certain things unless I can experience them directly. If it’s abstract, I have no way in. For my entire life I’ve been hearing phrases like ‘appropriations committee,’ ‘discretionary spending,’ ‘marker bill’ and ‘lobbying,’ without really taking the time to think about how it all works in reality and on the ground. I know it affects me, but I guess I’ve mostly felt like it’s a huge machine that grinds along in it’s predetermined partisan way and that voting is really the only thing that makes a difference, and even then I’m just one voice and if my district is full of people who disagree with me about fundamental things, then too bad. I may be unusual in this ignorance and disengagement of the political process, but I suspect not. And it’s too bad, because direct involvement is easy, and it’s the biggest thing we can do to exercise our rights and have some say in what happens in our country. I recently went to Washington DC and exercised my right to have my say, and now I have a much clearer picture of how it all works (or at least parts of it). Not even because I saw it first hand, but because if I was going to go there, I needed to learn the process and for the first time I had a framework for the information, so it stuck.
I’ve been considering policy advocacy, or lobbying, as a possible career path, so I’ve been thinking about what it means, how it’s done and where it fits into the scheme of saving the world. And I’m determining that it’s a seriously important piece of the pie and that most do-gooder organizations and individuals don’t spend enough (or any) time and energy on it. I did some lobbying last week, as part of a small team (3 or 4 people, depending on the meeting). We were asking for some specific items to be included or changed in the 2007 Farm Bill—things that will support small to medium-sized farms and food producers, provide better access to and education about healthy, fresh food, and support more local food economies. I had spent the couple of days before (and the last couple of years, I guess) learning about the issues and the systems involved, and the Community Food Security Coalition had prepared the information on what asks would be productive and sufficient to make a meaningful change. So I went in knowing what I wanted my Senators and representative to do, and why. We waltzed right into the halls of power (there was a metal detector, but no ID check or sign in or anything) and to the offices of our members of Congress (one of us had called ahead to get appointments with each office) and had discussions with staffers with our requests and the evidence backing them up. Anyone can do this. And it’s incredibly empowering. The buildings really are grand, and being in the spaces where the policy work of the entire country is decided was inspiring.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know there’s tons of pork (in the form of peanuts, tropical fish and dairy subsidies in the war funding bill, for instance). I know favors are done and money is earmarked and the big businesses will always have more money and more people in there working to influence policy. But I also know that if you have your ducks in a row, your facts researched and clearly articulated, and some well-written arguments to leave behind for your representatives to learn from, your voice can be heard. In the case of one Washington representative (from a rural area, not mine), his legislative director even treated us as partners of a sort, asking us to provide him with evidence to back up some things he (and we) supports, and to keep him updated on developments on the ground. The Farm Bill is hugely contested, it includes most of the food and farm policy in the US, and the money has to be divided among long-standing bad ideas like excessive subsidies for commodity crops grown by big agri-business, necessary safety net entitlement programs like Food Stamps (no longer stamps, and no longer called that), and support for innovation and improvement of our food system and access to it for those often excluded. The fight is a year-long struggle, with small-scale marker bills (preliminary bills with fewer issues to attempt to get support for an issue that will then be put into the larger bill) and coalition-building, ending in an authorization that may only be partially funded. But if without advocacy by and for those outside the big business lobby groups, there’s no chance for improvement. You better believe that industry is making sure its voice is heard. I’m now a true believer in making sure mine is too.
I think I have some mental block that makes it difficult for me to fully conceptualize certain things unless I can experience them directly. If it’s abstract, I have no way in. For my entire life I’ve been hearing phrases like ‘appropriations committee,’ ‘discretionary spending,’ ‘marker bill’ and ‘lobbying,’ without really taking the time to think about how it all works in reality and on the ground. I know it affects me, but I guess I’ve mostly felt like it’s a huge machine that grinds along in it’s predetermined partisan way and that voting is really the only thing that makes a difference, and even then I’m just one voice and if my district is full of people who disagree with me about fundamental things, then too bad. I may be unusual in this ignorance and disengagement of the political process, but I suspect not. And it’s too bad, because direct involvement is easy, and it’s the biggest thing we can do to exercise our rights and have some say in what happens in our country. I recently went to Washington DC and exercised my right to have my say, and now I have a much clearer picture of how it all works (or at least parts of it). Not even because I saw it first hand, but because if I was going to go there, I needed to learn the process and for the first time I had a framework for the information, so it stuck.
I’ve been considering policy advocacy, or lobbying, as a possible career path, so I’ve been thinking about what it means, how it’s done and where it fits into the scheme of saving the world. And I’m determining that it’s a seriously important piece of the pie and that most do-gooder organizations and individuals don’t spend enough (or any) time and energy on it. I did some lobbying last week, as part of a small team (3 or 4 people, depending on the meeting). We were asking for some specific items to be included or changed in the 2007 Farm Bill—things that will support small to medium-sized farms and food producers, provide better access to and education about healthy, fresh food, and support more local food economies. I had spent the couple of days before (and the last couple of years, I guess) learning about the issues and the systems involved, and the Community Food Security Coalition had prepared the information on what asks would be productive and sufficient to make a meaningful change. So I went in knowing what I wanted my Senators and representative to do, and why. We waltzed right into the halls of power (there was a metal detector, but no ID check or sign in or anything) and to the offices of our members of Congress (one of us had called ahead to get appointments with each office) and had discussions with staffers with our requests and the evidence backing them up. Anyone can do this. And it’s incredibly empowering. The buildings really are grand, and being in the spaces where the policy work of the entire country is decided was inspiring.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know there’s tons of pork (in the form of peanuts, tropical fish and dairy subsidies in the war funding bill, for instance). I know favors are done and money is earmarked and the big businesses will always have more money and more people in there working to influence policy. But I also know that if you have your ducks in a row, your facts researched and clearly articulated, and some well-written arguments to leave behind for your representatives to learn from, your voice can be heard. In the case of one Washington representative (from a rural area, not mine), his legislative director even treated us as partners of a sort, asking us to provide him with evidence to back up some things he (and we) supports, and to keep him updated on developments on the ground. The Farm Bill is hugely contested, it includes most of the food and farm policy in the US, and the money has to be divided among long-standing bad ideas like excessive subsidies for commodity crops grown by big agri-business, necessary safety net entitlement programs like Food Stamps (no longer stamps, and no longer called that), and support for innovation and improvement of our food system and access to it for those often excluded. The fight is a year-long struggle, with small-scale marker bills (preliminary bills with fewer issues to attempt to get support for an issue that will then be put into the larger bill) and coalition-building, ending in an authorization that may only be partially funded. But if without advocacy by and for those outside the big business lobby groups, there’s no chance for improvement. You better believe that industry is making sure its voice is heard. I’m now a true believer in making sure mine is too.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
I Crossed the Line
Oh no. I've had a terrible realisation. It might never go back. I may have crossed over into another plane of being wherein there is never legitimate downtime or relaxation. Gone are the days of having a day job and watching tv after work while cooking a real homecooked meal. Gone is guilt-free hanging out doing nothing. Or at least that's what it feels like.
I'd say one of the defining elements of the Cardiff time was a constant awareness that I should be doing work--reading more articles, going to more lectures, writing essays earlier so i can edit them more. And another defining element was not knowing what would happen next--where, when or if I'd get a job in my areas of interest, how my time or life would be structured. Oh yeah and a third was when I'd be able to settle in for a long-ish time of living in one flat and not be looking forward at the next move. And missing my friends. That's four defining elements, and I'm sure there are more, but that's plenty for now.
so now I'm back in Seattle, have been for nearly two months. And NONE OF THESE THINGS HAVE CHANGED. At least not enough for my taste. The painting and bathroom fix-up drags on, so I'm still not certain when we will move in, though it shouldn't be long now. I have too many tasks piled up that need to happen simultaneously--job searching, job applying, networking and involvement with local organisations in my field, house fixing-up, finishing up my report for Cardiff U., temping, cooking and eating a decent meal now and then ... Still don't know what the future holds in terms of jobs and the structure of daily life. And even though I'm in the same town with many of the friends I missed so much, I find that I still have only managed to see most of them once or twice, mostly for the reasons listed above. And like in Cardiff, I'm not sure I'd be much good for company anyway.
So, yeah, I wonder if it will ever end. I know that most of these things will stabilize and hopefully I'll have some less-guilty free time to spend with friends. But I have no way of knowing when for much of it. And I do think there may just be more and more things to plan and prepare for and live up to as I get older and try to become a professional. so I trundle along.
I'm not even particularly upset about these things. I'm just tired. As long as I can keep from doubting my own abilities and worth in the face of no response to job applications, I think I'll be fine. And so far I still think they're all insane for not interviewing me and learning how perfect I am for whatever job it is. Maybe the job that is perfect for me is still out there and in this dimension I've found myself in, patience is the biggest virtue and necessity.
Oh no. I've had a terrible realisation. It might never go back. I may have crossed over into another plane of being wherein there is never legitimate downtime or relaxation. Gone are the days of having a day job and watching tv after work while cooking a real homecooked meal. Gone is guilt-free hanging out doing nothing. Or at least that's what it feels like.
I'd say one of the defining elements of the Cardiff time was a constant awareness that I should be doing work--reading more articles, going to more lectures, writing essays earlier so i can edit them more. And another defining element was not knowing what would happen next--where, when or if I'd get a job in my areas of interest, how my time or life would be structured. Oh yeah and a third was when I'd be able to settle in for a long-ish time of living in one flat and not be looking forward at the next move. And missing my friends. That's four defining elements, and I'm sure there are more, but that's plenty for now.
so now I'm back in Seattle, have been for nearly two months. And NONE OF THESE THINGS HAVE CHANGED. At least not enough for my taste. The painting and bathroom fix-up drags on, so I'm still not certain when we will move in, though it shouldn't be long now. I have too many tasks piled up that need to happen simultaneously--job searching, job applying, networking and involvement with local organisations in my field, house fixing-up, finishing up my report for Cardiff U., temping, cooking and eating a decent meal now and then ... Still don't know what the future holds in terms of jobs and the structure of daily life. And even though I'm in the same town with many of the friends I missed so much, I find that I still have only managed to see most of them once or twice, mostly for the reasons listed above. And like in Cardiff, I'm not sure I'd be much good for company anyway.
So, yeah, I wonder if it will ever end. I know that most of these things will stabilize and hopefully I'll have some less-guilty free time to spend with friends. But I have no way of knowing when for much of it. And I do think there may just be more and more things to plan and prepare for and live up to as I get older and try to become a professional. so I trundle along.
I'm not even particularly upset about these things. I'm just tired. As long as I can keep from doubting my own abilities and worth in the face of no response to job applications, I think I'll be fine. And so far I still think they're all insane for not interviewing me and learning how perfect I am for whatever job it is. Maybe the job that is perfect for me is still out there and in this dimension I've found myself in, patience is the biggest virtue and necessity.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Guest Blogger: My Former Dramaturg Self
In toodling around the blogosphere, I followed some links about dramaturgy and playwriting and workshop etiquette. The workshop etiquette bit has mostly to do with being respectful of playwrights and their hard-earned plays, and approaching criticism/feedback in a way that seeks to learn what the play is on its own terms and offer questions and feedback to help it reach that, rather than offering criticism and suggestions based on what you (dramaturg, workshop responder, whatever) want it to be. I learned this the hard way, when I more than once got so caught up in the potential of a play in terms of where I intuitively (read: in my artistic world, not the playwrights's) thought it should go. I've had to nurture friendships and working relationships extra-carefully after some of my high horse moments of letting fly my harshest criticism, or doing at an inappropriate time. Anyway, that's not what this post is about.
This post is really just a venue for me to post something I discovered on Blogomatopoeia, which he in turn got somewhere else. It's Jose Rivera's thoughts about playwrighting, and I thought some of my readers might find it interesting. Lots of it is specific to playwriting, but even though I have no intention of writing plays, I think much of the advice is good stuff to think about. I was going to list or highlight the ones I find useful in other areas of life, but it's way too many and you should read it and let it resonate for your own life and work anyway. But do try to remember to replace playwriting and plays with whatever your own goals or struggles for greatness include.
36 Assumptions About Writing Plays
by Jose Rivera
Over the years, I've had the good fortune to teach writing in a number of schools from second-grade to graduate school. I usually just wing it. But lately, I've decided to think about the assumptions I've been working under and to write them down. The following is an unscientific, gut-level survey of the assumptions I have about writing plays, in no particular order of importance.
1. Good playwriting is a collaboration between your many selves. The more multiple your personalities, the further, wider, deeper you will be able to go.
2. Theatre is closer to poetry and music than it is to the novel.
3. There's no time limit to writing plays. Think of playwriting as a life-long apprenticeship. Imagine you may have your best ideas on your deathbed.
4. Write plays in order to organize despair and chaos. To live vicariously. To play God. To project an idealized version of the world. To destroy things you hate in the world and in yourself. To remember and to forget. To lie to yourself. To play. To dance with language. To beautify the landscape. To fight loneliness. To inspire others. To imitate your heroes. To bring back the past and raise the dead. To achieve transcendence of yourself. To fight the powers that be. To sound alarms. To provoke conversation. To engage in the conversation started by great writers in the past. To further evolve the artform. To lose yourself in your fictive world. To make money.
5. Write because you want to show something. To show that the world is shit. To show how fleeting love and happiness are. To show the inner workings of your ego. To show that democracy is in danger. To show how interconnected we are. (Each "to show" is active and must be personal, deeply held, true to you.)
6. Each line of dialogue is like a piece of DNA; potentially containing the entire play and its thesis; potentially telling us the beginning, middle, and end of the play.
7. Be prepared to risk your entire reputation every time you write, otherwise it's not worth your audience's time.
8. Embrace your writer's block. It's nature's way of saving trees and your reputation. Listen to it and try to understand its source. Often, writer's block happens to you because somewhere in your work you've lied to yourself and your subconscious won't let you go any further until you've gone back, erased the lie, stated the truth and started over.
9. Language is a form of entertainment. Beautiful language can be like beautiful music: it can amuse, inspire, mystify, enlighten.
10. Rhythm is key. Use as many sounds and cadences as possible. Think of dialogue as a form of percussive music. You can vary the speed of the language, the number of beats per line, volume, density. You can use silences, fragments, elongated sentences, interruptions, overlapping conversation, physical activity, monologues, nonsense, non-sequiturs, foreign languages.
11. Vary your tone as much as possible. Juxtapose high seriousness with raunchy language with lyrical beauty with violence with dark comedy with awe with eroticism.
12. Action doesn't have to be overt. It can be the steady deepening of the dramatic situation or your character's steady emotional movements from one emotional/psychological condition to another: ignorance to enlightenment, weakness to strength, illness to wholeness.
13. Invest something truly personal in each of your characters, even if it's something of your worst self.
14. If realism is as artificial as any genre, strive to create your own realism. If theatre is a handicraft in which you make one of a kind pieces, then you're in complete control of your fictive universe. What are its physical laws? What's gravity like? What does time do? What are the rules of cause and effect? How do your characters behave in this altered universe?
15. Write from your organs. Write from your eyes, your heart, your liver, your ass -- write from your brain last of all.
16. Write from all of your senses. Be prepared to design on the page: tell yourself exactly what you see, feel, hear, touch and taste in this world. Never leave design to chance, that includes the design of the cast.
17. Find your tribe. Educate your collaborators. Stick to your people and be faithful to them. Seek aesthetic and emotional compatability with those your work with. Understand your director's world view because it will color his/her approach to your work.
18. Strive to be your own genre. Great plays represent the genres created around the author's voice. A Checkhov genre. A Caryl Churchill genre.
19. Strive to create roles that actors you respect will kill to perform.
20. Form follows function. Strive to reflect the content of the play in the form of the play.
21. Use the literalization of metaphor to discuss the inner emotional state of your characters.
22. Don't be afraid to attempt great themes: death, war, sexuality, identity, fate, God, existence, politics, love.
23. Theatre is the explanation of life to the living. Try to tease apart the conflicting noises of living, and make some kind of pattern and order. It's not so much and explanation of life as much as it is a recipe for understanding, a blueprint for navigation, a confidante with some answers, enough to guide you and encourage you, but not to dictate to you.
24. Push emotional extremes. Don't be a puritan. Be sexy. Be violent. Be irrational. Be sloppy. Be frightening. Be loud. Be stupid. Be colorful.
25. Ideas may be deeply embedded in the interactions and reactions of your character; they may be in the music and poetry of your form. You have thoughts and you generate ideas constantly. A play ought to embody those thoughts and those thoughts can serve as a unifying energy in your play.
26. A play must be organized. This is another word for structure. You organize a meal, your closet, your time -- why not your play?
27. Strive to be mysterious, not confusing.
28. Think of information in a play like an IV drip -- dispense just enough to keep the body alive, but not too much too soon.
29. Think of writing as a constant battle against the natural inertia of language.
30. Write in layers. Have as many things happening in a play in any one moment as possible.
31. Faulkner said the greatest drama is the heart in conflict with itself.
32. Keep your chops up with constant questioning of your own work. React against your work. Be hypercritical. Do in the next work what you aimed for but failed to do in the last one.
33. Listen only to those people who have a vested interest in your future.
34. Character is the embodiment of obsession. A character must be stupendously hungry. There is no rest for those characters until they've satisfied their needs.
35. In all your plays be sure to write at least one impossible thing. And don't let your director talk you out of it.
36. A writer cannot live without an authentic voice -- the place where you are the most honest, most lyrical, most complete, most creative and new. That's what you're striving to find. But the authentic voice doesn't know how to write, any more than gasoline knows how to drive. But driving is impossible without fuel and writing is impossible without the heat and strength of your authentic voice. Learning to write well is the stuff of workshops. Learning good habits and practicing hard. But finding your authentic voice as a writer is your business, your journey -- a private, lonely, inexact, painful, slow and frustrating voyage. Teachers and mentors can only bring you closer to that voice. With luck and time, you'll get there on your own.
(c) 2003 Theatre Communications Group -- Jose Rivera
In toodling around the blogosphere, I followed some links about dramaturgy and playwriting and workshop etiquette. The workshop etiquette bit has mostly to do with being respectful of playwrights and their hard-earned plays, and approaching criticism/feedback in a way that seeks to learn what the play is on its own terms and offer questions and feedback to help it reach that, rather than offering criticism and suggestions based on what you (dramaturg, workshop responder, whatever) want it to be. I learned this the hard way, when I more than once got so caught up in the potential of a play in terms of where I intuitively (read: in my artistic world, not the playwrights's) thought it should go. I've had to nurture friendships and working relationships extra-carefully after some of my high horse moments of letting fly my harshest criticism, or doing at an inappropriate time. Anyway, that's not what this post is about.
This post is really just a venue for me to post something I discovered on Blogomatopoeia, which he in turn got somewhere else. It's Jose Rivera's thoughts about playwrighting, and I thought some of my readers might find it interesting. Lots of it is specific to playwriting, but even though I have no intention of writing plays, I think much of the advice is good stuff to think about. I was going to list or highlight the ones I find useful in other areas of life, but it's way too many and you should read it and let it resonate for your own life and work anyway. But do try to remember to replace playwriting and plays with whatever your own goals or struggles for greatness include.
36 Assumptions About Writing Plays
by Jose Rivera
Over the years, I've had the good fortune to teach writing in a number of schools from second-grade to graduate school. I usually just wing it. But lately, I've decided to think about the assumptions I've been working under and to write them down. The following is an unscientific, gut-level survey of the assumptions I have about writing plays, in no particular order of importance.
1. Good playwriting is a collaboration between your many selves. The more multiple your personalities, the further, wider, deeper you will be able to go.
2. Theatre is closer to poetry and music than it is to the novel.
3. There's no time limit to writing plays. Think of playwriting as a life-long apprenticeship. Imagine you may have your best ideas on your deathbed.
4. Write plays in order to organize despair and chaos. To live vicariously. To play God. To project an idealized version of the world. To destroy things you hate in the world and in yourself. To remember and to forget. To lie to yourself. To play. To dance with language. To beautify the landscape. To fight loneliness. To inspire others. To imitate your heroes. To bring back the past and raise the dead. To achieve transcendence of yourself. To fight the powers that be. To sound alarms. To provoke conversation. To engage in the conversation started by great writers in the past. To further evolve the artform. To lose yourself in your fictive world. To make money.
5. Write because you want to show something. To show that the world is shit. To show how fleeting love and happiness are. To show the inner workings of your ego. To show that democracy is in danger. To show how interconnected we are. (Each "to show" is active and must be personal, deeply held, true to you.)
6. Each line of dialogue is like a piece of DNA; potentially containing the entire play and its thesis; potentially telling us the beginning, middle, and end of the play.
7. Be prepared to risk your entire reputation every time you write, otherwise it's not worth your audience's time.
8. Embrace your writer's block. It's nature's way of saving trees and your reputation. Listen to it and try to understand its source. Often, writer's block happens to you because somewhere in your work you've lied to yourself and your subconscious won't let you go any further until you've gone back, erased the lie, stated the truth and started over.
9. Language is a form of entertainment. Beautiful language can be like beautiful music: it can amuse, inspire, mystify, enlighten.
10. Rhythm is key. Use as many sounds and cadences as possible. Think of dialogue as a form of percussive music. You can vary the speed of the language, the number of beats per line, volume, density. You can use silences, fragments, elongated sentences, interruptions, overlapping conversation, physical activity, monologues, nonsense, non-sequiturs, foreign languages.
11. Vary your tone as much as possible. Juxtapose high seriousness with raunchy language with lyrical beauty with violence with dark comedy with awe with eroticism.
12. Action doesn't have to be overt. It can be the steady deepening of the dramatic situation or your character's steady emotional movements from one emotional/psychological condition to another: ignorance to enlightenment, weakness to strength, illness to wholeness.
13. Invest something truly personal in each of your characters, even if it's something of your worst self.
14. If realism is as artificial as any genre, strive to create your own realism. If theatre is a handicraft in which you make one of a kind pieces, then you're in complete control of your fictive universe. What are its physical laws? What's gravity like? What does time do? What are the rules of cause and effect? How do your characters behave in this altered universe?
15. Write from your organs. Write from your eyes, your heart, your liver, your ass -- write from your brain last of all.
16. Write from all of your senses. Be prepared to design on the page: tell yourself exactly what you see, feel, hear, touch and taste in this world. Never leave design to chance, that includes the design of the cast.
17. Find your tribe. Educate your collaborators. Stick to your people and be faithful to them. Seek aesthetic and emotional compatability with those your work with. Understand your director's world view because it will color his/her approach to your work.
18. Strive to be your own genre. Great plays represent the genres created around the author's voice. A Checkhov genre. A Caryl Churchill genre.
19. Strive to create roles that actors you respect will kill to perform.
20. Form follows function. Strive to reflect the content of the play in the form of the play.
21. Use the literalization of metaphor to discuss the inner emotional state of your characters.
22. Don't be afraid to attempt great themes: death, war, sexuality, identity, fate, God, existence, politics, love.
23. Theatre is the explanation of life to the living. Try to tease apart the conflicting noises of living, and make some kind of pattern and order. It's not so much and explanation of life as much as it is a recipe for understanding, a blueprint for navigation, a confidante with some answers, enough to guide you and encourage you, but not to dictate to you.
24. Push emotional extremes. Don't be a puritan. Be sexy. Be violent. Be irrational. Be sloppy. Be frightening. Be loud. Be stupid. Be colorful.
25. Ideas may be deeply embedded in the interactions and reactions of your character; they may be in the music and poetry of your form. You have thoughts and you generate ideas constantly. A play ought to embody those thoughts and those thoughts can serve as a unifying energy in your play.
26. A play must be organized. This is another word for structure. You organize a meal, your closet, your time -- why not your play?
27. Strive to be mysterious, not confusing.
28. Think of information in a play like an IV drip -- dispense just enough to keep the body alive, but not too much too soon.
29. Think of writing as a constant battle against the natural inertia of language.
30. Write in layers. Have as many things happening in a play in any one moment as possible.
31. Faulkner said the greatest drama is the heart in conflict with itself.
32. Keep your chops up with constant questioning of your own work. React against your work. Be hypercritical. Do in the next work what you aimed for but failed to do in the last one.
33. Listen only to those people who have a vested interest in your future.
34. Character is the embodiment of obsession. A character must be stupendously hungry. There is no rest for those characters until they've satisfied their needs.
35. In all your plays be sure to write at least one impossible thing. And don't let your director talk you out of it.
36. A writer cannot live without an authentic voice -- the place where you are the most honest, most lyrical, most complete, most creative and new. That's what you're striving to find. But the authentic voice doesn't know how to write, any more than gasoline knows how to drive. But driving is impossible without fuel and writing is impossible without the heat and strength of your authentic voice. Learning to write well is the stuff of workshops. Learning good habits and practicing hard. But finding your authentic voice as a writer is your business, your journey -- a private, lonely, inexact, painful, slow and frustrating voyage. Teachers and mentors can only bring you closer to that voice. With luck and time, you'll get there on your own.
(c) 2003 Theatre Communications Group -- Jose Rivera
Thursday, January 04, 2007
AND NOW WE'RE BACK...FOR REAL
Well, I'm pretty much healthy again now and diving into Seattle life. Recovered from the cold and then from the root canal. (Side note: I just want to say that either root canal technology has come a long way since the old days or all you who used to whine about root canals were fakin' it to get sympathy, becuase it wasn't bad at all and i can't even take pain killers and I'm saying that. It was just yesterday and I am already fully recovered unless I open my mouth too wide, which is about having had to sit there for an hour and a half wtih my mouth open and not about the drilling and poking of it all.)
Anyway, I've started to go full force on the seeing people I haven't seen for a year and a half and it's great. Every day or two I have another reunion in the form of tea or lunch, and it is being fully reinforced that I wasn't idealizing people while I was gone--they really are that cool and i was right to pine for them when I was away.
I think I also had a secret fear that I wouldn't relate to my friends anymore or that they would have no reason to see me now that I've become more focussed on food and farming and sustainability issues and will need to put my energies into that sector rather than theatre and film and the affiliated parties. So silly of me. My friends are not one-dimensional people and I love their art projects and their personal goals and also realized that we still have ways to interact over all sorts of projects. Just some examples of schemes or opportunities evolved from conversations in the last few days:
Plotting to have a cafe/arts cooperative/junk store with my film animator recycling obsessed friend (said coop to have hang-out space and also sewing machines and tables chairs and shelves and things from the dump that can be sold out from under us) We have friends who are bakers and knitters and clothing designers and painters and woodworkers and have all sorts of talents and skills--they need an outlet, dude. Maybe I could even combine it with my long ago plan to open light cafes to treat people with Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Among a thousand other business plans, I also want to start a yogurt business someday, based on Basque deliciously clean-tasting sheep yogurt in clay pots that can be returned for a deposit or kept as tiny flower vases. (If you steal this idea I will hunt you down) I mention this to a friend whose mother's best friend raises goats and sheep and makes yogurt in California and is from France and might be willing to let me do a short learning stint!
Other friends are working on an internet cooking tv show, and I've convinced them to let me ply them with sustainability factoids about the foods they choose to cook on it.
Let's see. Oh yeah, because I have no problem begging businesses to loan or donate things for good causes, I'm gonna maybe be an assistant to the Art Designer for my friend's cool sci-fi movie and get set pieces loaned in exchange for credits or ads or something. And I'm gonna put on my old dramaturgy hat and read through script drafts to give my 2 cents worth of feedback.
Now, you might say, but Appalachia, aren't you sabotaging your aforementioned new focus on food and sustainability by jumping into all these projects? Well, that remains to be seen. My inclination is that i do better when involved in lots of inspiring things at once. This because i am a classic case of extrovert. Not that I'm loud and obnoxious, though that is also sometimes true, but because I get energy by being with people--and specifically by working in collaboration with people when I feel I have something useful to contribute.
I'm also signing up for a once a week Small Farm Business class to give me a bit more knowledge and cred in seeking jobs to help farmers keep their sustainable agriculture businesses afloat and in compliance with legal and regulatory standards.
Ideally, I would actually take some more traditional business or marketing classes too. But those will have wait a bit, I think.
So, this was newsy and list-y, but that's what I'm about right now. Making lists of who to contact to jumpstart career and involvement possibilities, what projects need to be completed so I can move on to others, and friends I haven't yet seen and need to schedule some time with. If only it wasn't cold, dreary january. It makes me want to curl up in bed with books and increases the umph required to get out. But all i have to remember is that the more I see people, the more I'm motivated to see people and that's how I get things done. So, reason to get out of bed.
Well, I'm pretty much healthy again now and diving into Seattle life. Recovered from the cold and then from the root canal. (Side note: I just want to say that either root canal technology has come a long way since the old days or all you who used to whine about root canals were fakin' it to get sympathy, becuase it wasn't bad at all and i can't even take pain killers and I'm saying that. It was just yesterday and I am already fully recovered unless I open my mouth too wide, which is about having had to sit there for an hour and a half wtih my mouth open and not about the drilling and poking of it all.)
Anyway, I've started to go full force on the seeing people I haven't seen for a year and a half and it's great. Every day or two I have another reunion in the form of tea or lunch, and it is being fully reinforced that I wasn't idealizing people while I was gone--they really are that cool and i was right to pine for them when I was away.
I think I also had a secret fear that I wouldn't relate to my friends anymore or that they would have no reason to see me now that I've become more focussed on food and farming and sustainability issues and will need to put my energies into that sector rather than theatre and film and the affiliated parties. So silly of me. My friends are not one-dimensional people and I love their art projects and their personal goals and also realized that we still have ways to interact over all sorts of projects. Just some examples of schemes or opportunities evolved from conversations in the last few days:
Plotting to have a cafe/arts cooperative/junk store with my film animator recycling obsessed friend (said coop to have hang-out space and also sewing machines and tables chairs and shelves and things from the dump that can be sold out from under us) We have friends who are bakers and knitters and clothing designers and painters and woodworkers and have all sorts of talents and skills--they need an outlet, dude. Maybe I could even combine it with my long ago plan to open light cafes to treat people with Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Among a thousand other business plans, I also want to start a yogurt business someday, based on Basque deliciously clean-tasting sheep yogurt in clay pots that can be returned for a deposit or kept as tiny flower vases. (If you steal this idea I will hunt you down) I mention this to a friend whose mother's best friend raises goats and sheep and makes yogurt in California and is from France and might be willing to let me do a short learning stint!
Other friends are working on an internet cooking tv show, and I've convinced them to let me ply them with sustainability factoids about the foods they choose to cook on it.
Let's see. Oh yeah, because I have no problem begging businesses to loan or donate things for good causes, I'm gonna maybe be an assistant to the Art Designer for my friend's cool sci-fi movie and get set pieces loaned in exchange for credits or ads or something. And I'm gonna put on my old dramaturgy hat and read through script drafts to give my 2 cents worth of feedback.
Now, you might say, but Appalachia, aren't you sabotaging your aforementioned new focus on food and sustainability by jumping into all these projects? Well, that remains to be seen. My inclination is that i do better when involved in lots of inspiring things at once. This because i am a classic case of extrovert. Not that I'm loud and obnoxious, though that is also sometimes true, but because I get energy by being with people--and specifically by working in collaboration with people when I feel I have something useful to contribute.
I'm also signing up for a once a week Small Farm Business class to give me a bit more knowledge and cred in seeking jobs to help farmers keep their sustainable agriculture businesses afloat and in compliance with legal and regulatory standards.
Ideally, I would actually take some more traditional business or marketing classes too. But those will have wait a bit, I think.
So, this was newsy and list-y, but that's what I'm about right now. Making lists of who to contact to jumpstart career and involvement possibilities, what projects need to be completed so I can move on to others, and friends I haven't yet seen and need to schedule some time with. If only it wasn't cold, dreary january. It makes me want to curl up in bed with books and increases the umph required to get out. But all i have to remember is that the more I see people, the more I'm motivated to see people and that's how I get things done. So, reason to get out of bed.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
BACK IN SEATTLE ... SORT OF
Well, we made it back. Got in late Saturday night. And went to an amazingly perfect music show by flamingbanjo and the half brothers on Sunday. I was still jetlagged and emotional and tired, but really happy to see people and hear music with humor I get.
But then on Monday I got a horrible cold/flu something and haven't been able to bring myself to call anyone or even leave the house. It's no fun at all.
Now that I'm back in town and my readers are mostly all around me, I find myself reluctant to talk about anything here on my blog. I'll get over it. For now, it's enough to say that I'm really bummed out that I'm here finally but feel so bad I can't even have a conversation with people, let alone go see them. Sleeping most of the last two days doesn't seem to have fixed anything either. I'm hoping tomorrow things will get better and that it's just a cold and not dead fear of hanging out with people I haven't seen for a year and a half.
Well, we made it back. Got in late Saturday night. And went to an amazingly perfect music show by flamingbanjo and the half brothers on Sunday. I was still jetlagged and emotional and tired, but really happy to see people and hear music with humor I get.
But then on Monday I got a horrible cold/flu something and haven't been able to bring myself to call anyone or even leave the house. It's no fun at all.
Now that I'm back in town and my readers are mostly all around me, I find myself reluctant to talk about anything here on my blog. I'll get over it. For now, it's enough to say that I'm really bummed out that I'm here finally but feel so bad I can't even have a conversation with people, let alone go see them. Sleeping most of the last two days doesn't seem to have fixed anything either. I'm hoping tomorrow things will get better and that it's just a cold and not dead fear of hanging out with people I haven't seen for a year and a half.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
AUDI, AUDI, I'M A COWBOY
So, we're out of our apartment today. As soon as our landlord's lackey can make time for us. In true Cardiff style, we have no exit appointment, just a promise that "Peter" who we've never heard of before, will call us to come by and do a walk-through. It was implied that it would be morning, so we went to bed at 3am and set an alarm for 8am so we could finish cleaning, packing up odds and ends and dropping things by the charity shop. But I have a feeling, as we're finishing up here, that we'll end up sitting here most of the day waiting for him. Argh.
Moving is hard on us. We're sentimental like you wouldn't believe. We've lived here nearly as long as we lived in our apartment before moving, and longer than anywhere we've lived together before that (we lived in four places in 3 years before we bought our condo). And each time we work really hard to make a place feel like home. We get attached to the tiny things that gave us comfort in a strange place. Remember my first or second post on this blog, about living in separate dorm rooms while waiitng for our flat to be ready? I hung up magazine pictures, bought a desk lamp and two small ceramic cups, just to make it not so cold and alienating. Even before that, when we had to spend a night on the bare beds in the clothes we were wearing because our stuff was in storage, we bought two towels and a cotton blanket. Yesterday, we sold the lamp to a co-worker, along with random kitchen things, and we gave the blanket to the local Cancer Research charity shop. But we shipped home the two small cups and we're keeping the towels, and I tucked the magazine cutouts into a book we're taking with us. See, sentimental. And that's just one tiny example.
The thing is, as much as it sometimes seemed like we'd never leave here, and as much as we settled in to daily life and developed new habits, I'm pretty sure that when we set foot in Seattle again, this life will rush away into the distance and be hard to fathom. Like hard to believe we were ever here at all. That makes me sad, because I want to remember all the details and all the relationships, and I want it with clarity, surround sound and smell-o-vision. So we try to give things to people we like, so we can imagine them being used, and we're taking home probably more little things than was quite necessary, and I've walked the city with memorization in mind. But still, scared it will all disappear.
But I guess I don't really have time to ponder and fret--I need to go make the back yard presentable to non-hippies. Who are going to live in MY house and neglect MY garden and never even notice that there are herbs (with a silent "h") planted there.
So, we're out of our apartment today. As soon as our landlord's lackey can make time for us. In true Cardiff style, we have no exit appointment, just a promise that "Peter" who we've never heard of before, will call us to come by and do a walk-through. It was implied that it would be morning, so we went to bed at 3am and set an alarm for 8am so we could finish cleaning, packing up odds and ends and dropping things by the charity shop. But I have a feeling, as we're finishing up here, that we'll end up sitting here most of the day waiting for him. Argh.
Moving is hard on us. We're sentimental like you wouldn't believe. We've lived here nearly as long as we lived in our apartment before moving, and longer than anywhere we've lived together before that (we lived in four places in 3 years before we bought our condo). And each time we work really hard to make a place feel like home. We get attached to the tiny things that gave us comfort in a strange place. Remember my first or second post on this blog, about living in separate dorm rooms while waiitng for our flat to be ready? I hung up magazine pictures, bought a desk lamp and two small ceramic cups, just to make it not so cold and alienating. Even before that, when we had to spend a night on the bare beds in the clothes we were wearing because our stuff was in storage, we bought two towels and a cotton blanket. Yesterday, we sold the lamp to a co-worker, along with random kitchen things, and we gave the blanket to the local Cancer Research charity shop. But we shipped home the two small cups and we're keeping the towels, and I tucked the magazine cutouts into a book we're taking with us. See, sentimental. And that's just one tiny example.
The thing is, as much as it sometimes seemed like we'd never leave here, and as much as we settled in to daily life and developed new habits, I'm pretty sure that when we set foot in Seattle again, this life will rush away into the distance and be hard to fathom. Like hard to believe we were ever here at all. That makes me sad, because I want to remember all the details and all the relationships, and I want it with clarity, surround sound and smell-o-vision. So we try to give things to people we like, so we can imagine them being used, and we're taking home probably more little things than was quite necessary, and I've walked the city with memorization in mind. But still, scared it will all disappear.
But I guess I don't really have time to ponder and fret--I need to go make the back yard presentable to non-hippies. Who are going to live in MY house and neglect MY garden and never even notice that there are herbs (with a silent "h") planted there.
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