GOTTA GET UP, GET OUT, GET HOME BEFORE THE WORLD ENDS

Some mornings are more tired than others. Some days are more cranky. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home. Right now, I feel a bit meh. A bit like where is the inspiration, the weird dream from the night before, the outrage at the latest bit of tomfoolery or outright psychosis coming from the White House? I don't know. The usual suspects who guide me each morning are all sleeping in, it seems. Still, I write. I don't feel like there is a choice, really, no this. I've been doing this each day for what seems like forever. It has become a ritual, an obligation, a way of coping. And I don't intend to stop anytime soon. But there are days that feel more inspired. Still, move forward. That's the only choice. Ever. I write all the time, and often I hit a point where I think nothing is happening, that the work is garbage and useless, that I will never make anything good out of what I'm working on. But I keep writing, and am never sorry I do. Sometimes, it just needs a little kickstart. Sometimes, it just needs to be done. Sometimes what I write sucks so bad it's amazing. But it still has to be written. To be exorcised. I teach writing these days, and I often tell my students that the one piece of advice that is always correct is to keep writing. It's always worked for me. So here I am, baggy eyed, coffee brewing, dog laying next to me, sleeping away.

Yesterday I called a bunch of folks. My governor, my mayor, my representative, and my senators. I asked them all to please do more for the average working person. To keep up the good fight, or to get into the good fight if they've been slack in that arena. (Looking at you Senator Gardner). I asked them to figure out a way to make it mandatory to wear a mask in a store. To do what they can to help people financially. To get more testing done. Seemed like time to do that. So often it feels like the structure of our society is set in stone and what will be will be and we have no part in it. But that's a bunch of malarky. We are part of the system, and we can be active or not. I choose active. Supposedly, even in this age of texting and snapchat and Instagram and whatever is next, the most effective tool when trying to make your voice heard by your elected representatives is a phone call. And yesterday was a full day. Teaching speech and debate online in the morning. Zoom meeting with other teachers in the afternoon. Then an acting for film class, and rehearsal with over twenty kids, both on zoom. And somewhere in there had to get some work in on the new screenplay. It is strange how I can feel both overloaded and aimless at once.

Here's the thing, the reason to keep writing, keep calling people, keep doing whatever it is that brings you joy. The world will continue to spin regardless. Civilizations will rise and fall. A show like Tiger King will leap into our national consciousness for a moment and then vanish. Music will be written, laughs will be had, fortunes made and lost. And you can be a part of it. Isn't that amazing? So I write my blog, I work on my screenplay, I call those in charge, I call old friends. Maybe some days feel monotonous and dull. Maybe this all means nothing, and we are just fleas on the backs of giants. Even so. If this is all there is, I want to make the most of it, as best I can. And writing this blog every day helps me do that.

In honor of that, and of Russian Doll, one of the best shows to come out in the past few years in my opinion, here's a song. It's Gotta Get Up by Nilsson.

THE SPARROWS ARE FALLING All OVER THE PLACE

"I’ve been the Queen of Broken Hearts long enough!" - April

So Saturday, APRIL'S FOOL had it's first public reading ever, at the Fine Arts Center of Colorado Springs as part of the Rough Writers new play festival. It was fantastic. The cast- Nick Henderson, Jessica Parnello, Crystal Carter, Matthew Wessler, and Michelle Sharpe- were brilliant, the director - Crystal Carter- outstanding, and the overall experience very positive. They all kicked it in the ass. Seriously. These are some of the best Colorado has to offer. If you are anywhere near- and I mean like two hundred miles- the FAC in Colorado Springs and don't come to the reading this Friday, you might be what is technically known as a moron.


"We’re killing the pinball machine. Do you think it’ll fit out the window?" - Ahab


 I always feel like throwing up when I hear a new work of mine done for the first time. I don't get nerves when I act, or when I watch a show I directed. But when it's something I've written- all bets are off. But if it goes well, that feeling is quickly replaced with euphoria, triumph, and egotism.

"I am so stupid! Things are just starting to go my way, I finally get a break- and I go and kill my boyfriend!" - Moira

Now I take what I learned from hearing it out loud in front of people, make whatever re-writes I deem necessary, and we do it again this Friday at 7:30. What did I learn? First off, it seems like most people can relate to feeling unhinged in time, confused about their lives, and not quite sure what has happened to them. Go figure. On top of that, there are some tweaks to dialogue that should make it flow smoother- although, for whatever reason, dialogue seems to be one of my strongest suits as a writer. And the last scene needs something- a little more redemption or madness or I am not sure what, but there is a line or scene or event that hasn't happened yet that has to happen. I can feel it. A lot of times, when I write a play, there is some scene that comes late that ties everything together, sends it to the next level, connects the dots. In Muse of Fire, it's the scene where Dion and Mick drive to the ocean. In Last Call, it's a game of hide and seek that David and Jack play in a grave yard. Somewhere in the ether is that scene for April's Fool, waiting to say hello, to drop to the ground like a provident sparrow. I might find it today, or a month from now, but it's on it's way. Trust me.

"I gotta tell you- the coveralls, the whole hot bad girl at work thing? Daddy like." - Jaypes

I like this play. A lot. It's weird and funny and fantastical. It's got gods and dreams and murder by pinball. And a little bit of love, just for good measure.

Also on it's way, the next production of ROSE RED, at SOFA in Boulder. If you are a young performer and want to have one of the best June's of your life, be in this show.  It will kick you in the ass, and make you a super genius. Auditions are May 13 and May 20. Go here for more info:
http://www.offbroadwayfinearts.org/summer-stage-2013/

And this July, BURNING THE OLD MAN gets it's West Coast premiere at 2X4 BASH at the Western Stage in Salinas, CA. I did a lot of theatre there when I was starting out, including a three part, nine hour long version East of Eden that changed my life. It's a great theatre company, and to have one of my plays done there is very exciting to me. Come out and see it- if you do, I'll take you to the beach and buy you a soda.

"A foodie versed in Norse mythology, dressed as a clown, killed by a pinball machine, asking me out for drinks. Strange." - Norn

By the way- all the plays mentioned in this are available now, or soon will be, on INDIE THEATER NOW. So do us both a favor and buy a play for less than two bucks.

HAPPY ACCIDENTS

I think the Occupy Wall Street movement is amazing, and exciting, and historical.  And on top of that, it has a shining example of how Necessity is the Mother of Invention- something which I hope every theatre artists recognizes as fact.

I'm talking about the whole method of the group acting as a chorus, repeating what each speaker says, as a way to work around not being allowed to use bullhorns or amplification by the NYPD.  As I understand it, they have what is being called a General Assembly everyday, where people are given two minutes to speak.  Whomever is speaking will say a sentence or two, then the crowd nearest the speaker repeats what  was said in unison- sort of like a Greek chorus or something.  I've seen several snippets of them doing this on different news shows, and it's fascinating.  And by the look on the people's faces, it seems to be unifying them in their cause- which is probably not what the NYPD had in mind when they said no to any sort of electrical amplification.  It also makes what is being said more important than any individual speaker.

I have seen, in my experience in the theatre, so many examples of brilliance coming out of necessity- times when "happy accidents" occur which necessitate some quick thinking resulting in  better work.



I once worked on a screenplay for Zeuss' Thigh Films written by a group of writers called "Places".  It was a sort of Rashomon like story about the final week of rehearsal of an indie theatre production in New York City, told from various viewpoints (Mick the actor,  Kate the actress, Jason the writer, Whitey the director, and Damiana the director).  Each writer was in charge of one of the viewpoints, and as such had final say in what their character did in all sections.   I had the section dealing with Mick, and in my first draft, I had Mick get yelled at by Damiana during rehearsals.  And Damiana, in that first draft, swore.  A lot.  Now, this bad case of potty mouth did not fit with Katharine Clark Gray's vision of Damiana, and as that was her main character,  I was told I'd have to change it as per the rules of this writing experiment.  What to do?  At first, as sort of a joke, I went through my draft and replaced all Damiana's bad words with the word "golly".  And it seemed kind of funny.  What if a person in this day and age, and in the vulgar land of indie theatre, used words like golly as opposed to words like fuck?  I kept the golly, and it was funny, and cool, and one hundred percent the product of dealing with an obstacle.

Here's some of the script:


Damiana goes through her notes, while the cast listens, jotting notes down in their script, nodding in agreement, looking at each other.  She looks at her notes, which are a jumble of hieroglyphic sketches.  Her eyes comes to a large skull, with the words “ WE’RE DOOMED!” written underneath.

DAMIANA
Ah, yes. Listen up, people.

Damiana looks out at the cast.  Mick, late twenties, looks up from his notebook.  

DAMIANA (CONT’D)
I think we have something pretty special here. Know that this is going to be a great show.  Own it.

Mick writes in his notebook “worst show ever”.  He looks over to Kate, mid-twenties, and when he catches her eyes, makes a face, which makes her laugh.

DAMIANA (CONT’D)
Feel free to listen up, people.  Mick, what happened in the skeleton monologue?

There is a sudden hush in the room.  Everyone looks at Mick.  He feels the pressure.

MICK
Uh, I’m not sure.  I just wasn’t feeling it.

Damiana stares at Mick for a moment as if he were an idiot.

DAMIANA
Golly!  That makes me angry!  Golly, Golly, Golly!  Feel it!  Feel it, for Pete’s sake!  How can you say you didn’t feel it?

The cast and crew laugh.  Kate draws a picture of a witch in her notebook screaming “FEEL IT, MUTHA FUCKAH!”.


DAMIANA (CONT’D)
This isn’t a joke, people.  It’s serious business.  Mick- no more excuses.  Find you’re feelings.

By the way, the other writer's on Places were Mike Folie, Steven Gridley, and Francis Kuzler.  These are all outstanding writers, and I encourage you to look up their stuff, see it on stage or screen whenever possible, and write them long, full of compliments, fan letters.  Yeah, and hand write them, so that the Post Office can get some work.

Also, looks like the date for the reading of Riddle Lost in NYC by Boomerang Theatre Company is going to be Saturday November 19.   I'll post more info when I have it.  I have to keep this short, as I am heading down to the Denver capital to witness Occupy Denver firsthand.

WHY IS A RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK?

So my latest opus is going to have a staged reading this November as part of Boomerang Theatre Company's First Flight series, and I thought I'd tell you a little about it.  It's called Riddle Lost.  The reading is going to be directed by Philip Emeott- who originated the role of Earth in Burning the Old Man.

About ten years ago, I read the book Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown.  It's basically a history of what happened to all the native people here in North America after the Europeans arrived and said "Hey, this is our land, provided by God, and you all have to go away".  It's brilliant, depressing, and should be required reading for every citizen.  Let's face it, we stole this country from other people- and were pretty nasty about it.  I have always been fascinated, saddened and inspired by native American culture- not that I am by any stretch of the imagination a specialist on it.   I just think they were and are a group of people who got the short end of a very large, dangerous stick.  And that's putting it nicely.

Anyway, one of the chapters in Bury My Heart is about the Modoc War of 1872, which took place in Northern California.  The central figure in that war was a man called Captain Jack by the settlers, Kintpuash by his own people.  And the story is amazing- Shakespearean in scope, full of characters and situations that don't seem quite real but which, according to the history books, were.  Aside from being history, it's a story of one person sticking to what they believe to be right, when everyone around them, on all sides, do bad things.  Like really bad, killing babies, betraying your people, murder under a flag a truce bad.

I started researching online.  Found a book, The Indian History of the Modoc War, written by a guy who was half Modoc, half Honkey.  The author had lived through the war.  He was a Riddle, and not just in the figurative way.  I mean his name was Jefferson C. Davis Riddle, which seems perfect.   Actually, when he was a boy his name was Charka.  But his parents, a Modoc woman named Winema and a white settler named Frank Riddle,  changed it after the war.

I thought I'd write a sort of historical play, an American Henry V or something.  But that's not what came out.  Often, when I write, I set out to do one thing, and something entirely different comes out.  I've learned to just go with it, not try to force my original vision on what comes out when I'm at the keyboard.  I think my subconscious is a better writer.  Either that, or I'm hearing voices, spirit guides who tell me what to write and I don't really have a say in my work.  In any event, when I finally found that first scene which let me into the world of the play, it was nothing like the historical tale I originally envisioned.  No, it was a metaphysical hodge-podge set somewhere in Limbo, and populated with characters like the Hel, Norse Goddess of Death;  the trickster Raven; an animated cigar store Indian named Ziggy;  and the decapitated head of Mimir, another figure from Norse mythology.  Basically, the play is populated with historical and mythological figures from both Europe and North American, all hanging out in a side show tent run by Hel.  Into the tent walks Riddle, who has just died, and the story begins.  It's big and weird and totally different from anything I've done, and exactly like everything I've done.  I used the Goddess Hel once before- but that was when she went by the name Hela- in a one act called Hela and Troy, available from Playscripts, inc.  I liked her in that show, and I think she wanted to stick around for awhile.

If you are in the New York City area in November, I really hope you come to the reading- I promise it won't suck.   And not only will you hear a new play, you might just learn the answer to the age old riddle, why is a Raven like a writing desk.

BACKWARDS AND WRONG

Love is evil, spelled backwards and wrong.

So says Earth, neo-hippie and seeker of truth in my third play, BURNING THE OLD MAN.  It's a great line.  People quote it often, and I've seen it used by others on blogs, aritcles, etc.

I stole it.

There's a saying that I first heard from Richard Parks, one of my teachers at San Jose State University.  Richard was a mad man, a genius, and one of the most memorable people I ever met- one of those teachers who would say something in such a way as to make it funny, revelatory, and pertinent all at the same time.  He also had a wicked temper, which would show up now and then, usually during rehearsal for something he was directing and which wasn't going well.  One memorable night during dress rehearsal for Lysistrata he shouted out "Change your majors!" and marched out of the building.  At the time, it was both hilarious and embarrassing.  But he also was brilliant, and knew how to get the best out of us.    Once, I think it was during rehearsal for A Midsummer Night's Dream,  somebody mentioned how Shakespeare had taken a lot of his plot lines from other sources, and somebody else opined that that meant Shakespeare was just a copy cat.  Doctor Parks raised he eyebrows dramatically, and pronounced to us all that "great artists don't copy, they steal", meaning that if you aren't that good at what you do, then you will often imitate other peoples work- but if you're a true artist, you can take that idea and make it your own- improved, or at least different, and unique.

And that's why I feel okay about stealing Earth's line, and indeed, the character of Earth himself.

Let me explain.  Long ago, and far away, my brother Jerry and I worked for a children's theatre company in Pleasanton, California.  The money was good, and that job was fun- but we had a lot of extra time on our hands, and needed an extra outlet for ourselves.  Somehow, we convinced the local cable company to give us a cable access show- and not only that, but to provide us with cameras and editing room time- all for free.   We named the show Pleasantonland, and basically just shot hours and hours of ourselves goofing around, drinking beer, and talking with other theatre people about life, art, and whatever else came to mind.   It was self-indulgent in the extreme- and we had a blast.  During one of our shoots, we decided that the show should have a guest poet- a sort of fake, over the top, new age gone bad kind of poet- and my buddy Brian Faraone volunteered for the job.  But he didn't want to be called Brian- he wanted to be called Earth.  We thought that sounded perfect- so, while filming, I looked at the camera "And now it's time for a poem from our guest today, Earth!"  Brian walked up, wearing a beret and lots of attitude, looked at the camera and said in perfect deadpan, "Love is evil, spelled backwards, and wrong", and walked off.  It was friggin' brilliant.  We laughed our asses off.

Cut to ten years later.  I'm writing a play for Boomerang Theatre Company about two brothers on their way to the Burning Man festival who get stuck in the desert and run into, among other things, a couple of neo-hippies.  Somewhere in my brain, I remember Brian as Earth, and write him into the show- and it's a perfect fit.  

And that's how I stole Earth from Brian for my show.  Not that I feel too bad- Brian had stolen the idea of Earth from an actual neo-hippie he met in Santa Cruz who would say ridiculous things like "I don't wear shoes- they're a rule of society I find silly".  So fair's fair.

To Be Continued...

Burning the Old Man is available in print in the anthology Plays and Playwrights 2006 and will soon be featured on Indie Theater Now.
http://www.nytesmallpress.com/pp06.php
www.indietheaternow.com

AT SOME UNFORTUNATE HOUR...

Continuing my series about where my plays come from- here's the story of SOME UNFORTUNATE HOUR, a happy little piece about a guy losing his mind.

I had just gotten through the premiere performance of Burning the Old Man, which was produced by Boomerang Theatre Co., directed by Tim Errickson.  It was a big hit, won the first ever NYIT Award for Outstanding Full Length Script, and got published- first in full by NYTE as part of their Plays and Playwrights Series.  Then it went on to be featured in scene books and anthologies from Applause Books and Smith and Kraus.  And then, to make me feel like Superman, the show gets a 3 year run in Prague at the fabled Divaldlo na Zabradli.  In the Fall of 2004, I didn't know all that was going to happen- just that I had a really good play on my hands, and it was going places.  What to do now?

I thought it would be cool to write as long a scene as possible that would hold people's interest and be viable as a piece of theatre.  It was one of those "this would be a fun experiment" type of notions.  Now all I needed was something to write about- and fate, as usual, provided material.  First, I got a call from an old friend telling me he was getting divorced.  We had many conversations in the following months about divorce, love, life- you know, all the things friends talk about when going through some serious issues.  Second, shortly after hearing about my buddy's divorce, I was at a party, eavesdropping- a habit lots of writers do without even realizing they're doing it.  I was listening to these two young ladies sizing up the party, and in particular the young men at the party.  One girl said "that guy thinks he's gonna end up with you tonight".  The other girl rolled her eyes, and in a very direct tone said "well, at some unfortunate hour, he's gonna realize that he's an asshole".  The girls laughed and changed the subject, but I was struck by the idea that a person would have this hour in their life where they suddenly realize some ugly truths about themselves.  

And the wheels in the playwright section of my brain started to turn.

How about a play set in a bar where a guy who has just gotten divorced has his unfortunate hour, the one where he realizes that maybe he's kind of responsible for what's been happening to him?  Yeah, and the dude is kind of crazy and charming and drunk.   Drunk and/or stoned characters are great to write in that they allow for lots of danger, emotion, and language that is all over the map.  So I start to write.  I test out some of it at The Pool, a writers group in NYC.  People respond positively.  I read some of it over to the phone to my recently divorced friend.  He digs it, a lot.  Things start to fall in place.  I name the guy in the bar Tom, after Poor Mad Tom O'Bedlam- a figure from old English literature who is referenced in King Lear.  At first, I have Tom just ranting to no one in particular- but as I go along, I decide to have him talking to a bar tender.  And then, I think to myself- what if the bar tender is a woman who has always carried a torch for old Tom?   Kind of adds dramatic tension.  I like this idea, and Janus, the smart ass and long suffering bar tender, is born.  I name her Janus after the Old Roman God of doorways and beginnings- because I'm nerdy like that.  

So things are cooking along with the show.  I got an opening monologue that I am pretty happy with- and everyone I read or recite it to by memory really seems to respond.   In that opening monologue, Tom goes on about how all he wants from a wife is some faith, hope, and charity- a reference to First Corinthians 13:13, which you've probably heard at numerous weddings, (and which I recall from my youth, when I wanted to become a minister- but that's a story for another day).  I figure, why not have a lady walk in who Tom instantly falls for- and tries to hook up with?  And, just for shits and giggles, why not have her name be Charity?  

Here's the opening monologue:

TOM

It comes down to two choices, when you get down to it.  You can either be Asshole Happy Clown, or Idiot Sad Clown.  Asshole Happy Clown is happy because he thinks people suck-that we're just a bunch of assholes.  And he is constantly proved right.  So he smiles, not so much because he's glad the world sucks, but because, asshole that he is, nothing makes him happier than being right.  Even if it's about something terrible.   Idiot Sad Clown is the optimist of the pair.  He thinks-no, believes-in the inherent goodness of people.  He holds out great hope for us all.   And he is continually heartbroken.   People do the stupidest shit imaginable, on a constant basis-both to themselves and to each other.  They lie to each other.  They take advantage of each other.  They don't tell you what's really going on inside, even if you ask them again and again.  “What's going on?” “Nothing, everything's fine.”  They leave you.  With little to no explanation.  They say things like, “This package was broke when you bought it,” whatever the fuck that is supposed to mean.   Who says shit like that?  Broke when you bought it?  Not only is that fucked up in its own right, it implies a belief that most of us packages aren't broken.  That most of us are just fine.  Which is crazy.   I promise you, there are no unbroken packages.  None of us are without a dent or two or twelve.   Broke when you bought it?  Jesus fucking Christ!  When I got married, what I had hoped for-what I prayed for, in my lapsed Irish Catholic way (takes a shot of whiskey from the bar, steps downstage and looks up.  He crosses himself with the shot)-the three things I was looking for in my wife were, in no particular order: Faith, Hope, and/ or Charity. (downs the shot)  What did I get?  The complaint department at Sears!  I got the fucking Maytag Repairman!  Looking for a wife, I got some old turd telling me that he has the loneliest job on the face of the Earth.  Which is bullshit.  The loneliest job on the face of the Earth was, until this afternoon, according to a certain paper I signed down at the courthouse, held by me.  Oh  my dear God.  I'm the Maytag Repairman!  Ah, Jesus, I don't want to fix washing machines.  I want-No,  I hope-to one day be called upon to repair some lost soul.  Of course, I don't know how to do that, so part of me is happy that the phone never rings down in the soul department at Sears-(Tom's cell phone rings.  He takes it out, looks at the number, pushes cancel, puts phone back in his pocket)-but still, I'd like to give it a try.  Just once.  And for real, not for make-up.  Did you know that most of life is a game of make-up?  It is.  We make up these characters, these people who we'd like to be-and we spend our lives playing our ideas of ourselves.  And that seems crazy to me.  Faith, Hope, and Charity.  The three Weird Sisters.  The Three Amigos.  That's all.

Not terrible, right?  I have a new, three character play in the form of one scene that's almost half an hour long, and full of what I think is brilliance.  And then I get stuck.   Like nothing is coming, the play will never be done, and I hate it all kind of stuck.  

Sometimes, writing is sublime.  Sometimes, not so much.  I've got to figure out a way to get back on course.  The magic, along with Elvis, has left the building, and suddenly I am wandering in the desert.  I take a trip home to California to visit Mom, and hope something will come- some new door will open that will let me finish this play.

To Be Continued...

Links:

To see how to get a digital version of SOME UNFORTUNATE HOUR, go here:

http://www.indietheaternow.com/Play/PlayDetail/30

To see how to order a copy of Plays and Playwrights 2006, featuring Burning the Old Man, 

go here:  http://www.nytesmallpress.com/pp06.php

For info on INDIE THEATER NOW, the new digital theatre library, go here:

http://www.indietheaternow.com/

For info on Boomerang Theatre Company, go here:

http://boomerangtheatre.org/boom/index2.php