Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

What’s in a name?*

A character by any other name. . .

Naming characters is one of those things that makes me crazy.

If you’ve had children–and if you haven’t, you can just imagine–you know the hours of consideration, the lists and lists of names that go into finding just the right name for this new little person.

Now, multiply that by–I don’t know–some horribly large number, and you have a little bit of an idea of a writer’s naming burden.

The average number of children per household in the U.S., according to the 2010 census, is 0.94.  That’s not even a whole person!

You really can’t write a book or a play without a whole person.  Okay, you could write The Wind in the Willows or Freddy the Detective or one of those other children’s books filled with talking animals–but once an animal begins to talk, it has to have a name, so you’re back where you started.

If you’re going to write, you’re going to be naming people all the time.  All the time.

Seriously, every time you turn around, you are going to be adding people to your play or your story, and most of them will need names.  Minor characters can be “the waitress” or “the bus driver,” I suppose, and if you want your writing to appear really symbolic, I guess you could name them with capital letters.  “The Waitress.”  “The Bus Driver.”  Usually, however, these people you just made up will need to have names, and unlike Dr. Seuss or George Foreman, you probably don’t want them all running around your pages with the same name.

There are all kinds of theories about naming babies, and I’m sure there are as many about naming characters.

The only real tip I have to offer this Tuesday is a couple of websites where you can find the online equivalent of a baby book.

http://www.babynames.com/

and my personal favorite, the random name generator:

http://www.kleimo.com/random/name.cfm

You can find other online resources here.

Happy naming!


* Shakespeare again. Romeo & Juliet, remember? From yesterday? Act 2, sc 2

The play’s the thing*

And good actors don’t hurt

Today’s Monday Miracle actually happened yesterday when I went to see the last performance of The 5 & Dime’s production of Next Fall by Geoffrey Nauffts.

Now, I’d seen Next Fall previously, in New York, in its Off-Broadway incarnation, produced by Naked Angels.  That production moved to Broadway–with the help of some perceptive commercial producers who recognized a good thing when they saw it.  Clearly, they were not the only ones, because it was nominated for two Tonys:  Best Play and Best Direction of a Play.

I’m on a mission to see what kind of theatre is being produced in and around my new home in the Jacksonville, FL area.  Google led me to The 5 & Dime, among other theatres, and they were the first one with a show currently running.

I’ll be honest and say that my expectations were not high.  (They weren’t especially low, either.  I suppose they were non-committal.)

The 5 & Dime is a nomadic company.  They don’t have a space of their own, and they mount their productions in various spaces in and around Jacksonville.  At best, that says to me that they are a young company.  At worst, it conjures up memories of the seediest of black box theatre off-off-off-off-broadway.  (I’ve worked in some of those off-off-off. . .offs.  The quality of the work can be very high.  Or not.  The spaces, though, are almost uniformly in a state of what we might describe as “run-down.”)

Their name. . .well, I loved Woolworth’s and the other five-and-dime stores. . .but you have to admit calling a theatre company The 5 & Dime doesn’t give it the same aura as calling it, say, the Nederlander or the Schubert or the National.  A rose by any other name. . .,** however.

In addition, it didn’t appear from their marketing material that the cast is made up of Equity actors.  Again, this does not mean it can’t be good.  There are some very fine non-union actors.

So, I went–hoping for good theatre but prepared for the possibility of something somewhat less.  I knew it wasn’t going to be bad.  After all, the script is terrific.  But was it going to measure up to the version I saw in New York?

How wonderful to find a little gem of a show in a great space with high production values and a very strong cast!  Deserving of special mention:  Antoinette D’Amico was really terrific as the mother, and Kevin Roberts and Joe Walz  turned in excellent performances as Adam and Luke.

And I can’t remember her name, but the president of their Board gave what is possibly the best curtain speech before a show that I’ve ever heard.

It was a lovely afternoon at the theatre — funny and moving and thought-provoking — and I am definitely going back to see their next show, Hedwig and the Angry Inch. 

In fact, I’m looking forward to it!

 

 

 

 


* Shakespeare again! It’s always a good day when I get to quote Shakespeare. This one’s from Hamlet, Act 2, Sc. 2.

** And again. Another Act 2, sc. 2. This time it’s Romeo & Juliet.

 

 

Back to the Present

Kingsley Lake – Pt. 2

We had a great time at Kingsley Lake yesterday, even though the sandy beach I think I remember is either no longer there or off-limits to those entering through Camp Blanding.

Camp Blanding is an interesting experience all by itself.  The main gate is surrounded by various military vehicles on display as part of the Camp Blanding World War II Museum.  The Museum, by the way, is open to the public, and we’ll go back someday to take a look at that.  It’s just the base itself that you cannot enter without special permission.

And they mean it!

There was a slight mx-up over the guest list, and we were not allowed to enter until it was resolved.  They got it figured out, however, and we proceeded to drive through the base to the RV park where active and retired members of the military are permitted to camp.

Standard base housing and office buildings.  Straight lines of military precision.

And, then, oddball speed limit signs randomly changing within feet from 15 mph to 30 mph and back again  for no apparent reason.  I don’t know what that’s about.

The RV hookups are right on the edge of the lake, beautifully maintained, each with a grill and a picnic table.  There is a carpet of pine needles down to the reeds and a lot of recreational watercraft moored just off shore.

It seems that there is more boating and jet ski-ing than swimming , although we did see a few people in the water.  We didn’t take a dip ourselves because of an impending thunderstorm.

It’s a beautiful spot, but without the beach, it rang no bells in my memory at all.

We’ll have to plan a trip to Goldhead and see if any vestiges of past glories remain there.  Meanwhile, my lost youth remains lost.

 

Time Travel

Kingsley Lake – Part 1

If you read yesterday’s post, you might think that today’s headline has to do with the ongoing investigation into why the emails don’t always get delivered to subscribers.

You’re wrong!

Today, I’m talking about a different sort of time travel.  Because, today, I am traveling backwards through time to visit a lake I used to go to as a child.

This is a dangerous thing to do.  Often, such a journey is destined to disappoint.  Things are rarely as good–or as bad–as you remember them.  They are, certainly, never as big!  I remember how astonished I was at the smallness of the  New Orleans school I had attended for kindergarten when I saw it again in my twenties.

Kingsley Lake, however, is unlikely to disappoint.  For one thing, it can’t be much smaller.  Wikipedia lists it as 2,000 acres.  That’s pretty big by any standards.  The lake’s own website says it is 2 miles in diameter and a very stable lake, so it will not have shrunk as I have grown.

Then, too, I don’t know that I remember it all too clearly.  We used to go to Goldhead Lake, as well, so it is entirely possible that I have the two lakes mixed in my mind.  I’m fully prepared not to recognize anything.

I am interested to see it, though.

It’s almost perfectly round which seems unusual to me in a naturally occurring body of water.  Apparently, pilots call it Silver Dollar Lake because of the roundness.  Nobody knows, but it may have been formed by an ancient sinkhole.

What does surprise me is the discovery that there is no longer any public access to the lake.  I’m absolutely sure I remember being able to drive right to it.  Apparently, however, when the surrounding land was sold for housing, nobody realized or thought it important enough to do anything about the fact that the public access disappeared.

The only way you can get to Kingsley Lake now is a) know one of the homeowners or b) be a member of the military (Camp Blanding, the primary base for the Florida National Guard sits on the east and south sides of the lake).

Fortunately, I got connections!

My cousin-in-law is a retired Master Chief.  He and his wife go RV camping there, and he is going to put us on the list so that the guards will let us onto the base.

I’ll let you know how it goes and what the lake is like now.

In the meantime, I suppose the take-away from this post in terms of career is connections are important–and you never know who can get you where you want to go.

 

Something wacky is happening

. . .in the Space-Time Continuum

I have fallen into a chasm that yawns between WordPress, FatCow and MailChimp.

Woe is me.

It’s Friday, and instead of bringing you a fantastic Friday Find–something useful or fun or inspiring–I am on a mission to discover, once and for all, why these blog posts don’t always email to my long-suffering subscribers.

Unfortunately, it seems to involve higher math.  Time zones.  UTC offsets.  Daylight Savings Time.  And, really, for a person who actually passed calculus classes, it is sad how bamboozled I am by time calculations.

Of course, it’s quite likely I’d be bamboozled by differential equations now.  To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I wasn’t then.  I’ve never really understood how I passed calculus. Although, I’m fairly certain it had a lot to do with one fabulous teacher, Miss Impagliazzo at Concord High School.

In the meantime, when I have to figure out times, I turn to one of the best inventions ever:  The Sun Clock which is a graphical representation of day and night and local times around  the world.  (If you want tables of local times, try the World Clock. )

But neither of those clocks seem to be helping me now.

All I know now is that my subscribers might have missed the squirrel post and/or the world in motion post, and MailChimp thinks it’s because the posts were published after the email was scheduled to go out.  But I think that the published time at which they are looking is UTC time and not Eastern Daylight Time, so they didn’t publish after the scheduled email time.

Except, you know, it’s like higher math–so I am not sure at all.  More research is indicated.

For those of you who don’t know, UTC stands for Coordinated Universal Time.  (Don’t ask me why its acronym is not CUT.  I guess they didn’t want to use a real word.)  It replaced Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) as the standard for time in 1986.  So far, my search has revealed that UTC is based on atomic measurements rather than the earth’s rotation.  Thus, it is supposed to be more accurate.

I’m just trying to get this blog to people’s inboxes every morning.  So I don’t really need the precision of atomic seconds.  I need a schedule that could be described as “around 9-ish.”  How hard is that?

So far, everyone is confused.  WordPress asks me what time zone I’m in.  So, you’d think it would understand that when I schedule a post for a certain time, I mean in my time zone.  Research, however, has indicated that they might mean UTC time.  And the email service says they need about 5 hours between posting and the scheduled distribution time.  But what time zone are they using?  And my web host is just confused.  (Join the club.)

I’m thinking that some of this problem must be that WordPress is using UTC time in the scheduling and disregarding the local time zone.

So….today, we are experimenting.  This post is scheduled to publish at 4:10 am on July 27th.  The email is scheduled to go out at 9 am.

If the WordPress time and the MailChimp time are both local, there are 4 hours and 50 minutes between publishing and emailing–and it should work.

If one is UTC and the other local, there are only 50 minutes between publishing and emailing–and it might work.

If….oh, forget it!  Let’s just see what happens.  And today, while you’re reading this–if you’re reading this–I’ll be trying to get somebody to tell me what is happening in which time zone.

If you’re not reading this, I’ll be doing the same thing but you may never know it.

And if, by any chance, you have ever wondered why I don’t write sci-fi time travel stories, I trust the reason is now clear to you and that you are properly grateful.

Leveraging the technology…

…to multiply your chances

Sometimes we don’t put our work out there because we don’t want to cope with the rejection.

There are two things I’ve learned about that.

One is that if you don’t submit, the answer is definitely “no.”

The second is that it’s easier to take a rejection letter if you know you have other submissions in play.  This theatre, publisher, art gallery, gate-keeper-of-choice turned you down.  One or more of the others might say, “Yes!”  That thought makes it easier to keep submitting when the rejection comes and is the best reason I know to have multiple submissions going at any one time.

Anything that makes it easier to submit is a very good thing.

So, today, I’m thankful for the growing number of theatres that accept electronic submissions.

I know a lot of playwrights who have been wary of sending out digital copies of their work.  Maybe some of them still are.

The concern is that a Word document or a PDF is so easily copied.  And so easily edited.  Some are worried about losing control of their work, and some are worried about outright plagiarism.

All of that could happen, of course.

But let’s be realistic.

With the availability of scanners, what’s to stop determined plagiarists from loosening the little brads of your report cover, taking your script out of it, and digitizing it themselves?  Yes, it’s harder.  But not that much harder.

You’re not really protecting your work by sticking to hard copy.  You’re killing a few more trees, making the submission much more expensive to you (report cover, paper, ink, envelope, postage), and making it more difficult and time-consuming to get it out the door.

Contrast that with what happens when the theatre allows an electronic submission.

You collect your digital files:  the script, the bio, the production history, and whatever else this particular theatre wants.  (You should have all of this sitting in a folder on your hard drive, ready to go.  If not, why not?  Don’t have any way to create a PDF? Try CutePDF, a good free solution.)

You make any adjustments necessary to fit the submission guidelines.  (Maybe they want a blind copy or a longer or shorter synopsis than the one you usually use.)

You address and compose your email, attach your document, and click “Send.”  (If your email program allows it, request a Return Receipt so you know the transmission is received.)

You’re done!  It’s a half-hour, at the most, instead of the other way’s half- to two-day process.

And the poor literary manager at the other end can read scripts on her eReader instead of lugging them home in back-breaking bundles.

There’s no contest.

More of my stuff gets out to more places because a lot of the friction has been removed from the process.

When I first began submitting electronically, I was a bit hesitant.  Now, I love it when they offer that option.

 

The limits of learned behavior

Don’t be a squirrel

Why is it that squirrels can outwit every mechanism to protect a birdfeeder devised by man… (Don’t believe that?  Watch this.)…but persist in waiting until just the last minute to run across the road in front of a car?

I refuse to believe the Geico ad that suggests it is purposeful mischief.  (Word is the gecko’s union is contemplating a job action over the use of unorganized squirrel labor in this commercial.  When the inflatable rat goes up at the next camera location, the menagerie  will be complete.)

Apparently, there are limits to a squirrel’s ingenuity.  Those crafty little brains haven’t learned to judge speed and direction of a moving vehicle–or that there are consequences for misjudging it.  Dire consequences.  I guess they hear the engine or feel the vibration, and the alarm bell goes off in their heads.  So, they dash right out into danger.

They don’t learn from their mistakes, I suppose, because the mistake is fatal.  Maybe their companions learn.  There are always companions.  Like sorrows, squirrels ‘come not single spies but in battalions.*  Maybe the companions learn, but I doubt it.  The next time Buddy Squirrel hears a car coming he probably doesn’t think,  “Uh-oh, better not run across the road!  Remember what happened to Chester!”

I guess he could.  One squirrel looks much like another to me, so maybe Buddy runs the other way.  However, there are always squirrels dashing across the street in front of my car, and I am always hitting the brakes, so I don’t think they are grasping the concept.

The running is a survival mechanism.  It stands them in good stead most of the time.  It’s just not working for them in traffic.

Today, I am wondering what survival mechanism aren’t working for me, anymore.  What learned behaviors–learned so early that I think they are just part of my personality–are getting in the way of my success?

I’ll tell you one that most women of my age–and maybe any age–have to fight against.  The ‘Be a Good Girl and You Will Be Rewarded’ myth.  Tricky, that.  Because certain aspects of “being a good girl” are helpful.  It’s not always bad to be polite, to be accommodating, to use gentleness instead of force.

Sometimes, it’s not enough, though.

Sometimes, you have to have another club in your bag.  And sometimes you have to club somebody with it.

Metaphorically speaking.  Do not run out and hit anybody with a 5 iron!

I’m not advocating violence–or non-violence.  I’m just saying, if you’re not making the progress you want to make, it might be helpful to look for the patterns.  Wonder about the things that you are doing ‘instinctively’ and see if you can change them.

In other words, quit dashiing out in front of cars!

 

 


* Shakespeare!  Hamlet, Act IV, Sc. 5

That’s me!

Branding, Intellectual Property and Google Alerts

This Tuesday’s Tip is about Google Alerts.  Get one, use it, pay attention to it.

What is a Google Alert?

It’s a way to let Google do some of the work of keeping you updated and informed.

You can set up a query for anything, and Google will email you a summary of links of instances where your search terms appear on the web.  On an ongoing basis.

Say you are fascinated by–I don’t know–koala bears.   You can set up a Google Alert for the term “koala bear” and get a daily, weekly, or real-time email of websites where that term appears.  You can choose to be informed about every website or only news stories, blog mentions, videos, or books.  You can choose to let Google determine the best matches and email you only those, or you can opt for all results.

As an artist, this can work for you in three ways.

The first, perhaps, is obvious.  Research!

Writing about koala bears?  Let Google do some of the grunt work, and have new info delivered to your inbox daily.  Of course, you will still need the library and reference books, but a Google Alert can save you time by letting you know there’s a new book being published next week.  You can be the first to request it on Inter-Library Loan.  It’s like your own personal research assistant for content.

It can help with market research also.  If you’re trying to put together a book proposal for a non-fiction work–the definitive treatise on koala bears–you’re going to need to include research on the competition.  How many books about koala bears are there anyway?  Maybe you should write about apple cider instead.

The second reason has to do with branding.  Whether you are doing business under a company name or your own, it’s probably a good idea to know how else that name is being used.  In my case, it turns out there are quite a few other Elaine Smiths out there.  (I’d have bet on the Smiths, but the Elaines were more surprising.  I don’t meet too many Elaines–Seinfeld and The Graduate notwithstanding.)

Quite a few of the links in the Google Alert I have on my name are one-offs.

Obituaries head that list, of course.  Surprisingly, they are often encouraging.  In fact, I hope I do as well as the Elaine Robb Smith who passed away in 2009 and was described thusly:  “”Even into her 90s, Elaine Smith could do a smooth time step, tapping her way down the hall of her adult-care facility using her walker.”

There are, however, a small circle of us who make recurring web appearances.  There is the Elaine Smith who is a member of the Scottish Parliament.  There is the Elaine Smith who designs outdoor pillows.  There is the Elaine Smith, who, sadly, recently also passed away, who founded Therapy Dogs International.  There is Elaine Smith, House Member of the Idaho State Legislature.

I don’t know if I have anything in common with these ladies other than our name, but it’s kind of fun to see them surface time after time in news stories and to follow their careers at this anonymous distance.  (I did once write to Representative Smith of Idaho, because she was courageously standing up for women’s rights, and I thought I would just say thanks.)   Fortunately, they all seem to be eminently respectable, hard-working, contributing members of society.  I’m not sure what I would have done if a porn queen popped up.  Fortunately, I’ve never had to decide–but it would have been a branding issue, for sure.

Almost certainly, these women know nothing about me (unless they have their own Google Alerts), but most days, I see them mentioned in my inbox.

And that brings me to the third, and possibly most important, reason to have a Google Alert on your name.

The concept of  intellectual property is going through massive mutations in the hearts and minds of internet users.  The laws, however, remain the same.  You write it, you own it.  It should not be copied, distributed, posted, etc. without your permission.  No independent artist, however, can safeguard their work completely.  We don’t have the time or the resources.  But a Google Alert can help.

Cautionary tale:

I said earlier that I see the other Elaine Smiths appearing in my inbox with fair regularity.  Usually, when I get my daily Google Alert, I scan it, checking them off in my mind.

There’s the pillow lady.  There’s the dog lady.  There’s the member of  Scottish Parliament.

I check it out, check them off, and move on with my day.  One day, however, a couple of years ago, I got my Alert email, and the internal dialogue went like this:

There’s the pillow lady.  There’s the dog lady.  There’s the member of  Scottish Parliament.  Huh.  That sounds like my play.  That is my play!  That’s me!

A small theatre was advertising a reading of my play.

Now, I had submitted the play to them.  They, however, had never approached me for my permission to do a public reading or even informed me it was happening.  In the theatre world, this is a BIG no-no.

I would never have known without the Google Alert.

I give the theatre the benefit of the doubt.  It may have been something that slipped through the cracks.  Possibly, several people each thought somebody else had been in touch with me.  I got in touch with them, and they were apologetic.  They offered to cancel the reading.  Since there are not usually any really good reasons not to have a reading, however, I told them they could proceed.  No real harm done, except that I might have been able to be there if I’d known about it.

On the other hand, it could have been a production, and that would have been a big problem.

So, set up a Google Alert on your name and on your titles.  Pay attention to it.  Make sure that when your own work pops up in the middle of the snippets about therapy dogs and pillows and the Scottish Parliament that there’s a chance you’ll know it.

 

The world in motion

Constantly.

Something I’ve noticed since we moved to Florida from New York City:  the natural world moves.

There’s a lot of activity in NYC.  People are constantly scurrying here and there, running for the subway, flagging down a cab, squeezing into an elevator.  Pedestrians and taxis and buses and cable cars and subways and ferries.  And, of course, they all move.

But the environment is fairly static.  Rectilinear.  The prevailing impression is of hulking, stationary objects hemming you in.  Great, solid constructions of stone and glass loom over you.  Other than the occasional pigeon, there’s not a lot of motion that isn’t man-made.  (Okay.  There are occasional rats on the subway tracks and roaches — but ugh!  And shiver.  We don’t dwell on those.)

But here, everything moves all the time.

I wake up in the morning, and the sunlight reflects off the creek onto the ceiling, and the whole house shimmers as the water moves.   Looking out the windows, the leaves flutter in the breeze, the Spanish Moss swings from branches that bend and sway.  A cardinal skips from the ligustrum to the sweetgum tree, and a squirrel strolls past the glass door on the patio.  Chances are there will be a butterfly on the gardenia and lizards scurrying from one place to another.

It’s an extraordinary thing to be surrounded by such constant motion.  A little vertiginous, even.

But I’m getting use to it.

It’s all constantly changing.

Full of motion and miracles.

Like life.

Awesome customer service

Unbelievably awesome!

Unprecedentedly awesome.

Is “unprecedentedly” a word?  It seems unlikely.  Perhaps its use here is unprecedented! Real word or not, however, it conveys my meaning–which is that I have never before experienced the kind of customer service provided this week by the gentleman who is painting the exterior of my house.

First of all, he did all the normal things right:  gave us a verbal estimate that was a good price, followed up with an email providing proof of insurance and a formal written estimate, and offered to begin sooner than he originally said was possible.  The latter, of course, was due to a cancellation by another client, so I don’t really count it heavily on the awesome side of the scale, but he was low pressure about it (which I like), provided references immediately upon request, and was patient while I checked them and worked out a scheduling difficulty.

Then, he showed up on time and got right to work pressure washing.

So far, this is good business but not extraordinary, right?

And then something happened.

He was about halfway through the pressure washing when we discovered his machine wasn’t pulling enough water.  And then we discovered it was because there was no water.  The aerator was empty.  The pipes in the house had nothing but air in them.  Oh, no!

We had been having a problem with one of the pumps that pull water from our well, so we shut it off.  Months ago.

And we’d forgotten about it.  There are only two of us in the house, and we don’t use that much water.  The drought has ended around here, for now, and we haven’t had to water the lawn.  Consequently, the other pump–the one inside the house–has been enough.  We had totally lost sight of the fact that we’d shut off the outside pump.

Once we all figured out what the problem was and verified that the pump wasn’t working correctly, I would have expected the painter to say, “Call me when you get it fixed,” and disappear for weeks.

What he actually said was, “You need a new pressure switch.  I can fix that for you.”

And he did.

He took off for Home Depot, bought the parts, came back and spent time in the hot sun doing something that was not at all part of his job.

Of course, we told him to add the cost to his final bill, and even then the job came in under budget!

I call that unprecedentedly awesome customer service.

The pump is working now.  It comes on when it is supposed to start and shuts off when it is supposed to stop.  It’s much quieter than it was previously.   We’ll be able to use the sprinklers if we need them.

Oh…and the paint job?  It looks great!

If you are in the Middleburg, Fleming Island, Orange Park, Green Cove Springs, Jacksonville area and you need a painter:

Russell Rowell of Perfect Painting.

Shoot me an email, and I’ll give you his number.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking it makes sense to always ask ourselves how we can go the extra mile.  How would things change if we all assumed we were responsible for everything around us going well?

One hundred percent responsible.

For everything.

Think about it. Because Russell has set the bar pretty high.