A strange and wondrous place

The universe, that is.

My play has had the most amazing life for a first play.

Readings at prestigious theatres, nominations, awards.

Participation by fabulous actors, not least of which is Linda Hamilton, whose extraordinary generosity was only exceeded by her stunning performance.

All kinds of miraculous serendipity and synchronicity on the long journey from page to stage.

It has been a long journey, indeed. Geographically, for sure—NYC, New Jersey, Virginia, California, Maine. Professionally as well—so many smart people sharing their expertise and their advice. Personally—maybe personally, most of all, as I’ve had to challenge myself to master new skills, to be more assertive, to stand up for myself and others.

I’ve learned so much along the way. Did a few things right and several things wrong. Had a fabulous adventure, and the play hasn’t even been produced.

Yet.

And that’s the miracle today.

I have signed a contract.

At long last, Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us, will be getting a production!

The specific time slot hasn’t been set, yet, but at some point before the end of 2014, you can see my work at New Jersey Rep.

I’m so looking forward to the opportunity to see the play on its feet. Costumes, props, a set! Maybe I’ll get to tinker with the script, make it better.

And what’s even more of a miracle is that maybe I will finally be able to turn my attention to writing another one. (Although, you know, I’ve never been sure how I came to write this one—so we’ll see. No promises.)

I’m just going to take a short break from worrying about all of it and enjoy the newest part of the ongoing miracle.

I’m getting a production!

But, first, I’m getting some cake.

Priorities, you know.

What’s a celebration without cake?

“We don’t always KNOW how it ENDS!”

Ain’t no crystal ball

Ok. So the headline of this post is a quote from one of my favorite TV shows ever. The West Wing. Specifically, it is from the episode ‘NSF Thurmont’ from Season 6 which I happened to watch again just the other day.

In it, there is a whole lot of political stuff going on (no kidding, right?), and the amazing John Spencer (as Leo) is talking to the equally amazing Martin Sheen (as the President). Actually, he is yelling at the President.

I didn’t know people could do that, did you?

But that’s beside the point.

The point is Leo wants the President to bomb some people, and the President doesn’t want to do it–because nobody can tell him what happens next. “He doesn’t like chaos,” Leo says.

And I realize that some of my procrastinating about submitting my script is because I don’t know what happens next. I mean, often not much happens. Except a rejection letter. And I know how to deal with that. But there’s always the possibility it could be accepted. And that leads to an awful lot of questions and decisions and problems.

Chaos.

What if it’s the wrong place? What if the production turns about badly, when there was something around the corner that would have been the right place if only I had waited? What if… well, actually, all the other ‘what ifs’ stem from that one, so there’s no real need to go into the fears about casting, about contracts, about directors, etc.

But here’s the thing.

If I don’t submit, it ends right there.

It’s important to be able to live with the uncertainty that comes with the possibility of something better, instead of clinging to the security of knowing all about the nothing that’s going to happen if you don’t put your work out there.

We don’t always know how it ends.

A lot could go wrong.

A lot could go right, too.

And, by the way…the President in The West Wing? He didn’t bomb anybody, and he managed to pull off a major peace accord.

The lesson, I guess, is you step into the unknown and do the best you can.

There could be bombs. There could be peace in our time.

Mowing your script

Landscaping and writing a play—something in common?

So, I was mowing the lawn yesterday. And it occurred to me that writing a play is a little bit like creating and maintaining a beautiful yard. (Full disclosure: I don’t have a beautiful yard. Yet. But I’m working on it.)

Your first draft is the planting stage. The grass seed goes in, the sod gets laid.

Second and third, maybe even fourth and fifth, are the cultivation stage. This is where you do the watering and fertilizing—and the cross-pollination of submitting the script to theatres and producers.

Once it grows to the point where you are having readings, however, you’ve got to get out the weed-whacker and start trimming. Clear out the underbrush, cut down the weeds. Put things in order.

If the audience can’t navigate around that lovely flower bed of a plot complication you planted in scene two, you’ve either got to lay some paving stones and make a path, or you’ve got to dig it up and throw it out.

If the sub-plot has turned into an invasive plant, sprouting seedlings all over the place and distracting people from the point you were trying to make, you might want to get a machete and chop it down.

Even if the landscape is looking pretty good, there are going to be a few weeds sprouting up here and there. Some judicious trimming never hurts.

I don’t know. Possibly it’s a pretty obvious metaphor. Maybe I’m in danger of pushing it too far.

But there’s something in it. It seems to me that I might have an easier time cutting some of my favorite lines, if I think of it this way.

I want the grass to grow well. And lavishly.

But I still have to mow.

Play Readings

Two ways to go

When you get a reading of your play, and it’s close enough for you to attend, there is an inherent dilemma for a playwright. Do you go to the rehearsals? Or stay away?

The first thing to know, of course, is that the writer has the absolute right to attend rehearsals. If you want to go, you go. But should you?

The benefits to going are pretty clear.

You can answer any questions and head off any misinterpretations.
You can see for yourself where actors’ tongues trip over your finely crafted phrases.
You’ll be prepared. If things aren’t going so well, it won’t be such a shock during the reading itself.
You get to hear the play multiple times–during rehearsal as well as during the reading—and that can help you enormously with an understanding of pace and plot and Thespis knows what..

On the other hand, you can make the cast and the director nervous. When I was wearing my acting hat, there was always a little extra anxiety when the playwright showed up. Often, for readings, the writer hasn’t been involved in the casting process and may have been assigned a director, as well. So, they can, and probably will, be wondering if the playwright is happy with the choices. They’ve probably got enough to handle without that.

Even if the actors are comfortable with you and eager for the writer’s input, you might be taking time that the director could more profitably spend on something else.

And, if you aren’t used to readings and the process, you can panic. OMG, will the leading man ever get that laugh line right? Why does the leading lady insist on whispering during the fight scene? Chances are the director sees and hears all these problems and is biding her time to deal with them. Good directors have an internal priority list. Often they know the actors and know what will right itself and what needs their intervention. It doesn’t help for you to be sitting there chewing your fingernails and tapping your foot until you get a chance to speak up.

Staying away allows you to avoid those pitfalls and offers you one invaluable upside.

You’ll hear the play fresh—or as fresh as is ever possible when you’ve written and rewritten and read and reread. You’ll be less inclined to think the reading is going well when all that’s really happening is that it is going better than it did in rehearsal. Your objectivity will not be compromised by familiarity with the participants.

In the end, you’ve got to make up your own mind in every situation. I’ve done it both ways. Early in my adventures with my play, it seemed so important to be there for every minute. And I’m glad I chose to attend rehearsals for the early readings.

I’m also glad I chose not to go to the rehearsals for the latest readings at the Penobscot Theatre.

I think I was less distracted by my internal actor and my internal director, and I was better able to focus on the writing.

I think.

The thing about choices is that you have to choose. Once you’ve chosen, you can’t have the other choices. And you’ll never really know what would have happened if you had.

The stuff that’s going well!

Thankful Thursdays

On Thursdays, I think it might be good to talk about what’s going well. Since it’s all too easy to focus on problems and challenges.

Today, I am thankful for all the people who have done so much to support and encourage my play. Right now, I am grateful to the latest cast who are working so hard: Julie Lisnet, Katie Toole, Randy Hunt and Arthur Morrison, directed by Marcia Douglas. And Mary (whose last name I cannot remember — oh, no! — but I will find out). Mary is doing a fine job with the stage directions. [Update: Mary’s last name is Clark. Mary Clark!]

Don’t let anybody ever tell you that reading the stage directions is no big deal.

It’s a huge deal!

And, of course, I am grateful to the Penobscot Theatre Company. Artistic Director Bari Newport, Managing Director Marcie Bramucci, and the indefatigable and unfailingly cheerful Jasmine Ireland who is the Director of Education and Outreach and the curator of this Northern Writes New Works Festival.

We’re having a blast here in Bangor!

Parking Puzzles

Wednesday’s Woes

So, I’m having a great time in Bangor, ME! The weather is beautiful. The people are friendly. I’m getting some work done on my play.

Very excited to hear the little addition I made to scene 3 go in tomorrow. Maybe I’ll never hear that question about why it takes so long for the leading lady to come back with the shotgun ever again in any future feedback session!

And it was a surprisingly easy fix.

Assuming, of course, that it is now actually fixed.

What has been challenging is parking.

It’s parallel parking.

So, okay. I can do that.

But it’s parallel parking for only 90 minutes at a time! (Sometimes only an hour.)

And there is a parking garage, but it closes at 9 pm–which kind of spans some of the events I’d like to attend. So, you know, you have to go move the car during a break.

And a rental car–kind of makes it harder. Not so sure of the exact size and shape while maneuvering unfamiliar streets and trying to squeeze into available spaces. And, what happens if I pick the wrong spot? And it gets towed!? Heaven forfend!

It’s fine. It’s all good. I just never realized that perfect parallel parking was going to need to be in my playwright’s bag of tricks.

We interrupt this broadcast…

Monday Miracles

I like that. “Monday Miracles.” That may become a regular feature of the blog.

But, I digress.

Which is kind of the point.

We were following a train of thought about writing, originality and finding your voice. And, I do have more to say on that subject.

But we interrupt this broadcast to take a detour into the Monday Miracle.

Today, even as this posts, I am on my way to Bangor, Maine where my play, currently titled Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us (and not to be forever so titled at the insistent urging of various producer friends who surely know what they are talking about) is going to be read three times (THREE!!!) during the Penobscot Theatre’s Northern Writes New Works Festival.

How’s that for a Monday Miracle!?

I’ll try to post updates on the Festival and the play and how things are going.

Never been to Maine.
But I kinda like the music

No, wait! That’s a different song.

The point is that I’ve never been to Maine. I’ve never been to this hotel. Internet access may be spotty. If I don’t manage to post for a week, please rejoin me here on Monday, June 25th, when we return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

The One Plot

Da-da-da-dah! (Beethoven’s Fifth, remember?

Yesterday, I talked a little bit about my search for the 8 Plots, those mysterious archetypes, paradigms that I had been hearing teachers and fellow writers reference over the years without ever actually listing them. I went searching and re-discovered something I have long known. Humanity has a passion for lists! Maybe we’re overwhelmed by the vast array of knowledge and feel like if we can just reduce portions of it to a definitive list, we would be able to master it. (Ain’t gonna happen, but that’s another story.)

In the course of this, I found list after list of plots — The Thirty-Six Dramatic Situations, and 20 Master Plots (and How to Build Them), for example.* Lots of lists and lots of numbers. But, for some reason, I couldn’t come up with the more ubiquitously cited eight.

Having a pencil and paper at hand, I sat down to noodle and doodle, and I scribbled away furiously, until it suddenly came to me. All these variations I was devising could be boiled down into one.

Every plot, at its essence, is the Quest for Salvation. (Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, this turns out to be very similar to Joseph Campbell’s research. Check out “The Hero With a Thousand Faces” or “The Power of Myth.”)

Test it. Think of a book, a movie, a play. Once you strip away the details (the mere bagatelles of setting, location, psychology, time period and so forth) and you figure out exactly how “salvation” is defined in this particular world, I think you’ll find that it works.

In all romantic comedies, Salvation = Happily Ever After.

In murder mysteries, Salvation = Solve the Crime, Catch the Murderer

In many sci-fi stories (“Independence Day,” The Terminator series), Salvation = (literally) Saving the World

The difference between a comedy and a tragedy is whether or not salvation is attained in the end.

I think that our entire body of literature can be distilled down to this one plot.

So, the good news is, you can’t come up with an original plot. All you can do is come up with an original voice in which to write about some variation of recognizable circumstances.

And we can all do that.

* Lists of plots

‘Show me this world. Open me. Change me.’

“There are those rare people who can look at the world and see things the rest of us don’t see until they show us. These are the writers. There are the special few who can take that vision and turn it back into a world. These are the directors, the designers. There are fearless beings who can live in that world and show us who we are. These are our actors. There are dedicated people who know why that world matters so very much. Crew, theater staff, producers, investors, managers, marketers. And then there are the people who step forward and say ‘Show me this world. Open me. Change me.’ These are our audiences. And when all of these people come together and say ‘Yes’, there is theater.”

–Jordan Roth in his acceptance speech for Clybourne Park winning Best Play at the Tony Awards in 2012.

Yes.

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Tag Archives: Playwriting