River Writers of Manhattan

What a Bizarre Theater Season in New York!

2010-11-15T15:08:00.000-08:00

From week to week—from the heights of shows like A BRIEF ENCOUNTER to the depths of shows like THE PITMEN PAINTERS—it’s never been clear to me whether we’re entering new glory days or witnessing the decline of creativity on stage—which, I suppose, is frequently the case with this “fabulous invalid” of a thing called theater (though I guess that phrase was originally intended to refer to Broadway and I’m applying it here to all theater on the island of Manhattan). And as one with no interest in sports and sports rankings, I’ll nevertheless lay out my recent experiences in a sports-like way, using my own “Thumbs Up/Down” ranking scheme.

For me, the season began on an ambiguous note with the Roundabout Theatre’s production of MRS. WARREN’S PROFESSION and the Patrick Stewart-starrer, David Mamet’s A LIFE IN THE THEATER. In both cases, despite excellent performances, the plays fell flat. I think the problem is that these are just not great plays. So, despite some wonderful monologues in MRS. WARREN’S PROFESSION and evidence of a clear affection for the stage in A LIFE IN THE THEATER, I give both productions “Thumbs Sideways.”

BRIEF ENCOUNTER. “Thrilling and wildly theatrical!” That would be my recommended pull-quote if I were a theater critic. I don’t want to say too much in order not to spoil the many surprises on stage at Studio 54, but I will say it provided my best evening at the theater so far this season. (And the perfect show to see with a loved one.) “Thumbs Up.”

BLOODY BLOODY ANDREW JACKSON. This one started off very powerfully, and I kept thinking that the combination of this show and BRIEF ENCOUNTER would surely make this the greatest season in years. But then things ground to a near halt in the final third and the show went flat. On balance, still an enjoyable show—very funny, clever, rock-filled, eye-opening—but a few steps short of being great. “Thumbs Up (With Reservations)”

THE LANGUAGE ARCHIVE by Julia Cho. A wonderful play. Fascinating for anyone interested in linguistics in general, and dying languages (not to mention relationships) in particular. All I can say is, “Mir Neglishia.” (You’ll have to see the play to know what I mean.) Highly recommended for anyone interested in intelligent, thought-provoking theater. And, of course, Jayne Houdyshell—reason enough to see any play. “Thumbs Up.”

WINGS. A man in the audience actually shouted back at this play at one point. The couple next to us left (in the middle of a one-act play barely 80 minutes long). I guess people really don’t like this play. Jan Maxwell is certainly trying very hard (though she did seem very pissed off at our audience after the man shouted out—and gritted her teeth through the curtain calls.) I would never shout back at a play (unless asked to do so) and I would certainly never walk out of a play in the middle of its one and only act, but I have to say I didn’t like it either. It was a brilliant depiction of what it must feel like to be in the middle of a stroke (and afterwards). And that’s no mean accomplishment. But it wasn’t much of a play. Very hard to sit through. Boring, really. And I think Jan Maxwell was probably miscast, since Constance Cummings played the character as a much older woman in the original version. “Thumbs Down.”

LA BETE. Great performances by all 3 stars in the cast. Fun, compelling, intriguing, surprising—it’s all these things, and it rhymes. But enough already. It quickly grew tiresome. “Thumbs Sideways.”

THE PITMEN PAINTERS. I learned something about a small chapter in art history, and it was certainly earnest, but this play plodded along, unrolling its plot points and other points in an uninteresting linear fashion. In the end, there wasn’t much of a story here—very little conflict. “Thumbs Down.”

SHINE! The Horatio Alger Musical. A delightfully-old-fashioned musical presented during the New York Musical Theatre Festival. (Full disclosure—the author of the book, Richard Seff, played Earl Mumford in my “best-short-play-award-winning” play, THE DAKOTA.) It has a wonderful score and an enjoyable and uplifting story. The young man who played the main role was terrific—and could well grow up to be a Broadway star. Some have (all right, I have) compared it to Oliver and Annie. Any producers out there looking for a big, family musical? “Thumbs Up.”

MATTHEW BOURNE’S SWAN LAKE. This made a brief return to New York at the City Center. (I missed it the first time around.) A brilliant and mesmerizing piece! It even survived the endless chattering of the two ladies sitting behind us. (Word of advice: if you speak pointedly—almost to the point of having what some might describe as a meltdown—to people like this during intermission, they may hurl insults at you, but they DO shut up during the second act.) “Thumbs Up.”

THE SCOTTSBORO BOYS. I love Kander and Ebb (and Susan Stroman). I heard great things about this show. I was SO looking forward to it (which may have been the problem). And it turned out to be the biggest disappointment of the season so far. It wasn’t bad, exactly. Some strong numbers, good (and great) performances, interesting story, and very powerful ending that almost justified what came before—but it was all a little repetitive, a little boring, a little off. Maybe I should give it a second chance. “Thumbs Sideways.”

EDWARD ALBEE’S ME, MYSELF, AND I. (Playwrights Horizons). I saw the original production of this play at the McCarter Theater in Princeton a couple of years ago. Albee is one of my two favorite playwrights. (Tennessee Williams is the other.) I think some of my writing may even be a little Albee-esque—at least I aspire to that. So, I’m happy to report that this play shows him still going strong, but I don’t think it’s everyone’s cup of tea. (Though that may not be a criticism—some people don’t even drink tea.) It’s an absurdist play. Perhaps a more accessible version of a Beckett play (which shouldn’t be surprising, since Albee loves Beckett and has had his plays on the same bills as Beckett’s). It’s very funny. Its self-referentiality and play on and with words are delightful—if you like that sort of thing (which I do). Elizabeth Ashley is wonderful in her very strange role. (Tyne Daly played the role successfully at the McCarter. Elizabeth Ashley is even better.) Brian Murray—one of the theater’s treasures—is also very good, although he doesn’t have a whole lot to do here. But in the end, I think it’s very hard to pull off absurdist works. Maybe I’ve just come to want a little more reality—or maybe three-dimensionality—in plays. Still, it’s a must-see play for theater lovers. “Thumbs Up (With Reservations).”

A FREE MAN OF COLOR. I think critics are the sons and daughters of Satan, just waiting for an opportunity to pull someone down rather than celebrate the good things that one can always find in any play or production. But then I see a play like this and understand the desire to destroy. It’s just SO easy to mock bad plays. It provides the writer an opportunity to be creative—who can resist such a thing? But, I’ll resist that urge and just say that this was definitely the worst play of the season so far. A third of the thin audience left during the intermission. Let’s leave it at that. (No, let’s mention that it has beautiful costumes and that Geoffrey Wright is always worth observing—and that John Guare has created some wonderful other plays.) “Thumbs Down.”

COLLECTION and A KIND OF ALASKA. Two plays by Harold Pinter at the Classic Stage Company. Excellent. Eliminated the bad taste left in my mouth by A FREE MAN OF COLOR. I don’t always love Pinter’s work, but these are excellent plays. The first one is a typical piece of Pinterism—an odd situation, where something is a little off, but it’s not quite clear what it is, and it’s never clarified in the end, so you have to fill in the blanks yourself. Maybe this works better here than in some other cases, because it’s a one-act. It’s also extremely well performed and produced. The second play has an amazing performance by Lisa Emery playing a woman who has been asleep for almost 30 years (a la Awakenings). I hope to track Ms. Emery down and see everything she ever does after this. “Thumbs Up.”

AFTER THE REVOLUTION. (Playwrights Horizons). An excellent play about an intergenerational conflict among lefties on the upper west side of Manhattan. It’s good to remember a time when “liberal” wasn’t a dirty word and most of my college classmates (and I) aspired to be far left of the “liberals.” I don’t think Sarah Palin would like—or get—this play, but it’s intelligent and moving. Excellent performances—especially by Lois Smith and Peter Friedman. I was thrilled to discover on the way out of the theater that the play was based on a real family’s dilemma and that I was sharing the elevator with the real-life sister of the character played by Lois Smith. “Thumbs Up.”

THAT HOPEY CHANGEY THING. (By Richard Nelson—at the Public Theater) An interesting experiment, but little more. A play just about as current as physically possible. It took place on election night this year, even though the run of the play was from a week before until two weeks after the election. It presents a family discussing the election whose returns are in progress—even though they can’t know the outcome and, depending on which night the audience sees it, we either do or do not know the outcome. Sounds intriguing, right? But the real surprise was that it presented very convincing, three-dimensional characters. With a little more work, this play might not need this gimmick. In fact, the political discussion was the least interesting aspect of it. Sadly, though, the play didn’t really go anywhere, and felt simply contrived—and unfinished. “Thumbs Sideways.”

SCORECARD:

"THUMBS UP":
Brief Encounter
The Language Archive
Shine! (New York Musical Theatre Festival)
Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake
Collection + A Kind of Alaska
After the Revolution

"THUMBS UP (WITH RESERVATIONS)":
Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson
Edward Albee’s Me, Myself, and I

"THUMBS DOWN":
Wings
The Pitmen Painters
A Free Man of Color

"THUMBS SIDEWAYS":
Mrs. Warren’s Profession
A Life in the Theater
La Bete
The Scottsboro Boys
That Hopey Changey Thing

Thanks,
William

For information about my work, go to: http://williamfowkes.com/Site/HOME.html

Wisdom for Writers from Comic Con

2010-10-12T17:50:00.000-07:00

Ross Ritchie and Jimmy Palmiotti, at Comic Con, drawn live by Claudia Carlson

Fellow River Writer Claudia Carlson (also an accomplished artist, see sketches!) braved the fierce crowds Saturday at Comic Con to see the panel Comics, Hollywood - What Creators Need to Know.

One of the biggest challenges to any creator is sticking to their projects and getting them out the door. This panel, which featured Jimmy Palmiotti (creator of Daredevil) and Ross Ritchie of Boom Studios, and was moderated by Buddy Scalera, explored that issue in depth on a number of levels. The ostensible topic of the panel was taking your work to Hollywood, but a deeper theme was about how to connect outward as a creator. To start out with, Jimmy asked for a show of hands; the room was filled with writers from all genres, so that’s where they focused their discussion.

First they offered a helpful set of definitions and guidelines for writers with Hollywood dreams, beginning with a definition of a producer. In Hollywood, unlike in NYC theater, the producer is the person who walks the project into the studio. The producer may or may not be involved in the actual production of the picture; the same goes for the executive producer. In TV the executive producer is top dog; in movies it is the producer.

Producers option properties. Options give someone the exclusive right to try and sell your property within a limited time frame. The money offered by the potential producer is deducted from the final amount of the sale; so if you get a property optioned for $2,000, and it sells for $100,000, you are owed $98,000.

They then described the difference between agents and managers (and even if nobody in Hollywood ever buys my work, at least I now understand the difference between what E and Ari do on Entourage.) In California, an agent’s fees are set by the state at 10%. Lawyers (and they strongly advised everyone to have their own lawyer) run about 5%. Some people have managers and some do not; managers offer more personal representation than agents, who have a slate of clients. Managers may actively scout out properties or try to make deals. Manager’s fees are unregulated by the state of California but generally run 10 to 15%. Jimmy has an agent and not a manager; Ross has both.

Jimmy was particularly interesting on the subject of how to make connections. “No one likes an Eeyore at the table,” he said. People will have to work with you over a period of time; they want to work with someone they like and are comfortable with. He suggested it is important to be nice to people, to be genuine, and not to fall for exaggerated Hollywood flattery. Not everyone with a headset and a Lexus is capable of making a deal. “It’s your job to take every opportunity, like Comic Con, to get out and meet people and give them the chance to get to know you and your work.”

Toward the end of the panel, a question was raised by a 43-year-old cop. “I have a 200 page story, illustrated by an amazing artist. How do I get people interested?”

Jimmy said that this is a grassroots effort; your first job is getting the graphic novel published. Ross said that Boom Studio is too big to take something like that on, but at the small press section near Artist’s Alley, there were many small publishers dying for content. Other options would be using something like Graphic.-ly to self publish, or go to the Web. Once you have something in hand, your job is to always have it with you, and talk to everyone you know about it. Your first sales are going to be the people who know you, and from there it travels outward. He said to the cop, “Next time you arrest someone, say, ‘You’re going to have plenty of time in jail, here’s something to read.”

Both Jimmy and Ross emphasized that the key to your success will be your connections with other people. You can use Facebook, Twitter, blogging, etc., but in the end it goes back to people you know telling other people about your work, and a network sprouting from those initial contacts.

Jimmy underlined the idea that it’s important to realize not everything is going to be a success, and not to get stuck on one project. “We’re creative people; we have a parking lot full of ideas. If we can get one or two of those ideas out, we’ll make room for more.”

The most important thing, he said, is to know your goal. He asked, “Is your goal a swimming pool, fancy house and car, or to create your own work?” The comic books and graphic novels are the real work to him, so he can relax about what Hollywood does or does not do to his ideas. He will always have the initial work, the comic book, the graphic novel—whatever anyone else does to it, he has completed his own complete project.

“The real secret to my success is that so many people who started out with me have given up,” he said. If you know your real goals, and stick to them, you will be ahead of almost everyone else.

And that panel alone (although all the free stuff was also cool!) made New York Comic Con a really great way to spend the weekend with 100,000 of my new best friends.

A Little Game for Writer's Block

2010-10-07T09:23:00.000-07:00

In an admirable effort to foster a more literate America, the folks at ReadWriteThink have created a little game that guides you through the writing acrostic poems. Now, for those of us who occasionally suffer from writer's block - or if not block, at least stalling - I often recommend writing a haiku or ten to get the brain crackling again. This little game might work just as well, and has the advantage of being completely supervised - you are told what to write where, all you have to do is fill in the actual words. On days when putting a whole sentence together is too much, it might be just the thing. Okay, it is supposed to be for kids, but aren't all writers very young (albeit a tad cynical)at heart? Check it out - Acrostic Poems

Slow Starts

2010-09-14T14:12:00.000-07:00

I start very slowly, and don't actually begin to write the book until I can't stand not to write it. This method derives from my sense that one can start a book too soon, but almost never too late. (Stevan Polansky in GlimmerTrain)

We writers and artists almost always have a bad word to say for ourselves, and often it is on our inability to get started on a project. Sometimes, even if we have a deadline, even if our food and rent depends on it, we just cannot begin. We have an idea, yes. We may even think it is a pretty good idea. But it isn't ready. We aren't ready, and we aren't sure we will ever be ready.

How do we know when to begin a project? Steven Polansky says it all when he says, "one can start a book too soon, but almost never too late." (Of course, we haven't heard from his editors on the subject.) But perhaps the reason most of us have drawers full of unfinished manuscripts, basements full of half-done canvases, hard drives full of video and photographs we're not sure about and scripts without an ending, is not because we don't have the will to finish, but because, driven by our own anxiety to begin, we started too soon.

Great ideas may seem sometimes to spring out of nowhere and demand our full attention, but the truth is, they've probably been stewing for some time, in some form, before they assume a final shape. Our minds take a little bit from here and a little bit from there, throw in a dash of this and that, do a rain dance to the muses for inspiration, and only then hold the concoction under our noses and insist - okay, okay, this is how it will be! Pay attention and get going! And it is in that moment when we really do have to build up some steam and prepare to chug away.

This isn't like waiting to be hit on the head by an apple (although one can argue that Mr. Newton's inspiration, as well, owed a lot to creative stewing.) We have to feed the process, with reading, or going to galleries, or watching films, and thinking, and sleeping, and possibly striking up a chat with the morose person sitting next to us at Starbucks who is also waiting for his or her moment. If you and nature are on close personal terms, you can go take long walks, and even try sitting under a welcoming tree.

While you are doing all this, you must make the attempt not to torture and threaten your idea into existence, but to gently lure it out, with the promise that it will have your full attention and its moment in the sun. Be kind to your idea, and be kind to yourself. And when, finally, it manifests itself in full - or at least close enough to be getting on with - don't be afraid to jump in and move forward. Institute your creative ritual; protect your creative time; let it be as central to your life as it can be without completely disrupting the rest of your life. It's almost never too late to start, but when it's time, it's time, and it's a moment to savor before you begin some of the hardest work of your life.

Fondly Do We Hope...Fervently Do We Pray

2010-07-16T08:45:00.000-07:00

I saw an incredible work last night—Bill T. Jones’s dance piece about Lincoln, FONDLY DO WE HOPE…FERVENTLY DO WE PRAY. It was presented as part of the Lincoln Center Festival at Rose Hall, one of the 3 new Lincoln center venues at the Time Warner Center three blocks away from the rest of Lincoln Center. It’s hard to categorize this work, because it includes heavy doses of song and spoken narrative in addition to dance (though I’ve been told he frequently does that). Is it a one-act musical? A piece of performance art? Moving sculpture? Obviously this doesn’t matter, but the old aesthetics professor in me loves to categorize things.

It begins (after a sung prelude) with a woman performing a solo dance on a separate oval stage projected out diagonally a few yards from the main stage. As she dances, a voice recites a list of body parts—down to the minutest details (eyebrows, eye lashes, irises…). This recitation occurs at least three times during the piece, including at the very end. I’m not sure what we’re supposed to make of it (or if that even matters), but it suggested three different things to me by the end of the evening. The first, coming as it did at the very beginning of the piece, was a variation on a yoga class, where we’re asked to release each body part in succession until the body is fully relaxed. This seemed appropriate for both the audience and the dancer, since we were transitioning into a different reality. The second, because this was a piece about Lincoln—and because there was a passing reference to his unique beard—was a coroner’s inventory of the body laid out before him. The third—especially given a slave market scene that occurs about halfway through the piece—was of a slave auctioneer enticing buyers with a list of all that they will acquire when they purchase one of his slaves.

The mystery of this one element of the piece is indicative of the entire work, which is filled with movements, devices, moments that lend themselves to multiple interpretations or defy interpretation altogether. Structurally, it begins with short biographies of random individuals, both living and long dead—all presumably directly or indirectly influenced by Lincoln, including Lincoln himself and his wife, Mary Todd. It then moves into some biography of Lincoln and Mary Todd, reenactments of historical events, including debates, the previously mentioned slave market scene, and the Civil War and a long choreographed section depicting “Another War.” (I wasn’t sure if this was meant to be one of the wars occurring long after the Civil War—WWI? WW2? Vietnam?—or one of our current wars in Iraq or Afghanistan, or a future war not yet identified. Perhaps it was all of the above.) And then it ends with one last short biography of a 100-year-old woman looking back at history from the vantage point of 2109. Finally, as this same woman dances, we hear the now-familiar recital of body parts.

I’ve probably made the piece sound much more linear than it actually is. There are long stretches of movement where it’s not at all clear what’s happening and where we—joyfully—just study the movement. And that IS the most joyous part of the work—the incredible movement. Jones’s repertoire of movements is astounding. Very few are standard ballet movements. Many are surprising, sensual, athletic—and always fascinating. I was also struck by the individuality of each dancer. At the opposite extreme of choreography, the dancer’s individual body sometimes disappears into the universality of its movements (think of Swan Lake’s swans or La Bayadere’s shades). Here, however, each dancer appears as a profoundly unique presence. No one else could possibly stand in for any of these dancers—they could replace them with their own individual bodies, but they couldn’t stand in for them.

Having said all this, however, I still feel unprepared to say much about this glorious work. I almost need to go back and see it again, since I’m only beginning to get a sense of it—or only beginning to get to know it. I guess you could say we’ve only just had our first date. But as with all great works, I hope I’ll get to spend a lot more time with it.

www.williamfowkes.com

On Creativity Manuals

2010-06-23T08:44:00.000-07:00

Lately I am designing and laying out a book about creativity. It is a paying job. And I make the rent as a graphic designer... It is a well meant book, full of examples and research. And I can understand why people want, and need, books that give them permission to express themselves through the arts. If I have any religion, it a feeling that the muse sometimes shows up, takes possession of me, and skews space and time while doing so.

But... so many books on creativity use too much paper validating their approaches in science. Or offer such detailed step-by-step recipes that I sometimes feel the message gets lost. Cheerleaders don't have footnotes. Muses don't fly on wings of statistics. My favorite books inspire me to create by example. Give me Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, Richard Hugo's The Triggering Town, and Annie Dillard's The Writing Life. There are more. Brenda Ueland, Ray Bradbury... But what makes each of them effective is the author's ability to take me on the journey with them, and to be there when the muse strikes their prose into unexpected and exhilarating swoops.

And when the less inspiring manuals tell me to contact my inner child or accept that I'm so Special because I'm so Very Sensitive, I shrug. The truth is I write and draw because it feels good. I like wrestling with words. I like making lines and smudges. Something happens when I allow myself to play. It could happen to you.

Reading, chocolates, reading

2010-06-22T19:46:00.000-07:00

I have my addictions, you have yours.

I start out in withdrawal. Irate, jumpy, focusing on negative probable futures fueled by negative actual bank balance... Then I take the object of compulsion--a book--and semi-recline on a pile of pillows. Water and some fruit or chocolates are in easy grazing distance, and after looking at the title page I begin to read. If I am lucky the first paragraph or poem is so good I stop thinking something like this:

"Hmmm, Garamond the usual choice, but here it is handled nicely with the subtle caps and small caps of titles, great white space, and that interesting dingbat next to the folio--is that one of the ornaments from Jenson?"

If I'm no longer thinking like a designer, I'm reading, and actively shaping the author's world in my mind.
An hour later, the plate of strawberries is gone, the water cup empty, and I resurface. I'm calm, relaxed, excited by the story or craft, and most importantly, not snarling.

I didn't have time to read today. Hear my roar. Snort.

How Much Time Do You Spend Writing?

2010-06-22T18:41:00.001-07:00

It’s a scary subject, time, and the lack thereof haunts our lives. As an exercise, I recently did a Time Log of all of my activities for a month. (This was recommended in Randy Pausch’s extraordinarily moving lecture on time management, given at the University of Virginia shortly before his death.) I tracked everything I did, in quarter or half hour increments, for the month of April. (And trust me, this took some commitment—you pretty much have to report in every hour or so if you don’t want to forget what it was you were just doing.)

I actually undertook this exercise, I think, with the idea of beating myself up about how much time I was wasting on TV and email and, okay, Tetris (will I ever crack 250,000 points?) And yes, there were definitely a number of hours wasted on Bravo TV that I will never get back again. But what really surprised me was how much of my time I spent reading. I’d been pretty convinced that I was no longer the reader I had been all through my teens and 20’s, when I was cutting a swathe through the Great Books, as well as science fiction and fantasy, mysteries, and every biography of Virginia Woolf ever written.

Maybe April was just a month of good books coming my way. But I read and I read – much more than I wrote, and even, very surprisingly, more than I watched TV. I read on the bus, and I read before bed, and I read all weekend long. And what was I reading? Literary fiction, science fiction and fantasy, mysteries, lots of newspapers and online news sites, and every book on the psychology of happiness and creativity ever written (well, maybe not every, there sure are a lot of them these days.) From this, you may guess that I am a lot more cheerful now than I was in my teens and twenties, and you would be right.

I could have still beaten myself up because I was reading more than I was writing, but I chose instead to believe that I was fueling my writing and my creativity with my reading. I think what you discover when you track your time is what is important to you. And, apparently, reading is important to me. As an exercise, I recommend it highly. Just pick a short month. February would be good. Because it takes a lot of time, and time is something we need to spend very, very carefully.

Just Do It?

2010-05-12T19:51:00.000-07:00

Even before Nike adopted this phrase, it was extremely prevalent in our culture. It has a nice ring – just do it – forget all your hesitations and second thoughts, stop procrastinating, pull yourself together, and take the leap! Perhaps someone has even told you this about a creative project (or career) you’ve been thinking of undertaking, or a ritual you’ve been trying to establish.

Fine for Olympic skateboarders, but maybe it doesn’t work quite that way for you. It sure doesn’t work that way for me. And according to psychologist James Prochaska, it doesn’t work that way for most people. Studies done by Dr. Prochaska at UCLA have demonstrated that the process of actually doing something new—making a behavior change—begins in “pre-contemplation” – you aren’t even sure what it is you are thinking of doing yet—maybe you are asking yourself some questions, doing some self-exploration. The next phase is contemplation – you’ve identified the action you are thinking of taking, but you are sitting on the fence about it, weighing the pros and cons.

If you can convince yourself to act, you proceed to preparation—take a few small steps. You go out and buy the watercolor set or camera; you get that new laptop you’ve been thinking about for two years; you borrow a guitar from a friend and strum a tentative chord or two; you tweak your resume. Or you meet with a new potential collaborator, file away or store all remnants of your last project to carve out some working space, and clear a little time on your calendar.
Then, finally, having thoroughly convinced yourself it is possible, you may actually be ready to do it. Which isn’t to say you will keep doing it—if you’re trying to do something like set up a daily writing or practicing ritual, for instance, the UCLA studies say you need 4-6 months to trust that as a real change. Otherwise, back to contemplation!

This isn’t to say that you won’t wake up tomorrow at 3 AM with the greatest inspiration of your life, cast the covers aside, and start working on it immediately. In that case, please, Just Do It! But I’m willing to bet that in the months before, you have already set the stage for that creative breakthrough, and the materials and resources you need in that moment will be mysteriously close to hand.

Why It's Not So Much Fun to Finish

2010-04-12T08:09:00.000-07:00

Posted by Deborah Atherton

When we are completely absorbed in a creative project, we experience some of the deepest engagement, and through it, happiness, that human beings ever manage to find. And then, suddenly, it’s over. The show opens. We finish editing the film. We place the last delicate stroke on the mural. We end the song on the final, perfect note. Or, as in my case last week, we add the last chapter to a novel we’ve been working on for a few years. Most likely, we experience one glorious moment of accomplishment and completion. And then?

And then, very likely, we plunge into a very, very dark moment. We become convinced that we will never have another idea, that our old ideas are all rotten, anyway, and, quite possibly, that critics everywhere, as well as everyone we know, will despise our completed work, if, in fact anyone ever sees or hears it. I like to call this post-gig depression (and no, you will not find it in the DSM.) Virginia Woolf suffered terribly in these moments – completing her books sometimes drove her to the verge of suicide. Most of us experience it in a milder form. But oh, we do experience it.

Perhaps somewhere out there is the artist who completes his or her work with total confidence, and with the assurance that all who ultimately experience it will love it. I myself do not know such an artist, but surely, among the many on this planet, a few live their lives out this way. But most of us run into a period of questioning and anxiety after the initial excitement of completion. (And this is even before all the other people with an opinion weigh in.)

I can’t give you a magical elixir that will help you through this (although some swear by Jack Daniels) but I can assure you that this, too, shall pass. Some artists we interviewed have told us that they get through it by jumping right into the next project, and not giving themselves time or space to question (and some artists, of course, labor under constant deadlines, so don’t always have the luxury of time under a dark cloud.) Some require a mourning period. I myself turned to some very good friends and coaches, who spoke to me about the inner critic and the shadow self, and the necessity of acknowledging the doubting dark side of the creative impulse. (And I’ll try to talk more about this later on, as I learn more myself!)

I think what we face, at the moment we finish, is the resistance that has been dogging us all along, surging for one final push to retain the status quo. And as artists, we have a responsibility to work through it and keep on. And to remember that, not too far in the future, we’ll be having that lovely, “Is it 3 AM already? I didn’t notice” feeling again, which is, let me remind you and myself, one of the best feelings in the world.

(back to) Shaped Poems

2010-03-27T09:54:00.001-07:00

OK, I know it is sort of silly to write poems in shapes, like angel wings or diamond rings. I get that it has the tang of the effete, as in a goose quill humanist script penned by a hand encased in an ink-flecked flocked-velvet cuff. The words locked in the vise of a vase or crammed in a crate... but... I digress...
I can't stop.

Calligrams. Word warps. Shape shifters. Visual poems. What would you call them?

And like anything I take time with, the obvious is fading and I'm considering my rules of play with this enterprise. I won't call it "form" since the form is the shape. So what are my rules?

HOW TO WRITE A SHAPED POEM

1. Like a joke, move beyond the obvious punchlines and tame set-ups. Go ahead, write the first ideas that come to you and agree they are lame and write more. And more after that. Riff on a shape. Aim for exploring the unexpected.
2. Use meter, rhyme (both internal and slant), and pauses to make the poem read aloud as if it existed full and complete outside it's assigned shape.
3. Accept that line breaks are more arbitrary once the poem is packaged, so build suspense in other ways.
4. The "thingness" of the shape must be used to flavor the poem but not direct it.
5. After many a rewrite, give up when the foot won't naturally fit the shoe, it just won't be worth the blister.
6. Accept that only 1 in 25 shaped efforts will be worthy to move on for consideration for publication or inclusion in my as yet unnamed chapbook (soliciting title ideas from friends).
7. Consider the folly of assigning cookie cutter shapes to ideas; shrug, write more.

Get a grip and Flash on the Whoopi

2010-03-25T17:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Flash needed an assistant to operate a mic at a live event. I am, of course, not world renowned for my skills in audio capture, but game, I am. So imagine me, dressed in black, in the elegant glass-domed Bartos auditorium, pre-show, trying to look like the grip of the century. I occasionally gave a thumbs up to the professional dude filming the event on my left. I suspect he could tell my skills weren't up to his when the mic demonically spun upside down several times and I tripped over the feet of our tripod.

This from the official press release after the event : "Live from the NYPL presented an evening to honor the publication of George Carlin's posthumous “sortabiography” Last Words (written with Tony Hendra)... an evening of warm and lively remembrances of late comedian George Carlin on Wednesday, March 24 in the Celeste Bartos Forum. Hosted by Whoopi Goldberg, the tribute featured special appearances by Carlin's family, Jerry Stiller, Anne Meara, Ben Stiller, Amy Stiller, Kevin Smith, Lewis C.K., Dylan Brody, Floyd Abrams, and Lewis Lapham." Not to mention an impressive list of performers playing the role of audience in the front rows, including Steve Martin.

Flash is Artist-in-Residence for LIVE from the New York Public Library and she draws responses to the spoken events they host, which are projected onto a screen as she does them. Later, she creates videos, a.k.a. Conversation Portraits. Last night she tried adding a new approach, by inviting audience members to step up to the mic, tell a joke, and she'd illustrate it for them and the entire audience would see the joke drawn and written in real time and projected over their heads.

Sadly only a few stepped forward to tell their jokes. But given that George Carlin was one of the funniest guys ever, and the main event, who would feel equal to adding their brand of humor as a warm up? Precious few. For those that came forward, I managed to walk them to the mic, press the record button and laugh at their jokes, usually in that order. Luckily Flash had brought a slew of Carlin jokes and illustrated them.

Dressed in her usual black and white patterns, she sat and drew madly, using pens, watercolors, and expressive moves of hand, zoom and paper to make the art of her response the main show for me. Until they ran the Carlin films. Then I was laughing so loudly the video guys will have to edit out my hoots and wheezing snorts. Flash and I laughed until we cried during a live recitation of Carlin one-liners looking at each other the way you do when it is that funny. After, we agreed Carlin was a master of language, a poet of humor, with inner rhyme and rhythm.

Great to see all the Stiller family on stage, not one of them demure. Whoopi is totally natural. Lots of cussing all around. But hey, this is for George Carlin after all. They played his 7 words bit. The lawyer who protected his right to use those words spoke, and everyone said how much he had helped them and other comedians.

Flash and assistant (me) were invited to the after party! Of course we had to pack up the pens, pencils, duct tape, brushes, cables, earphones, and papers first. When we got there, we didn't see Whoopi. I was so hoping to hear someone introduce Whoopi to Flash. "Flash meets Whoopi!" or "Whoopi meets Flash," Sounds like a vaudeville act. I may need to change my name to a verb soon. Although "Enjamb" (or would that be "N-Jam") doesn't have the same ring, does it?

As I walked in I reminded myself to respond to celebrities like real people and avoid the empty fannish things that can blurt out of my mouth and kill conversation. So over the chopped veggies I recognized performer Caroline Rhea and instead of blathering about Sabrina or The Biggest Loser, I said what I would to someone I didn't know, "Hi, I'm Claudia, what's your name?" because actually, I really didn't remember her name, just her face. We talked about the food, she loaded my plate with carrots and cucumber saying after all the years of catering it was hard for her not to serve. She introduced me to someone I didn't know, Scott Blakeman, saying his classes in improv helped launch her and Jon Stewart's careers. He was both modest and self-assured and has the ability to listen in a way that makes you feel interesting. The three of us had a lovely conversation punctuated with flashes from cameras, which I am guessing, weren't focused on me. I told them about Natalie, just finishing up at Actors Theatre of Louisville and most likely coming to NYC to pursue improv instead of Shakespeare. It is always great the way people who know, give a little start, when you tell them your daughter is in the best acting apprentice program in the country. Like saying junior got into Harvard. We talked about political humor and Scott's role as the liberal minority on Fox. I likened it to my year working at Lehman Brothers with very conservative folks that were smart, often sweethearts, even though their politics were so different than my own. I told them I was a poet and reading my poems was as close to performing as I wanted to get!

I met several editors of the Latham journal (love talking literary press talk), Ben Stiller's good-looking sister Amy, library important persons, and then I met a very very tall woman who told me she is in a tall person's club. I mentioned I was the shrimp of my family, with my 6'4" brothers and daughters of Amazon heights. You aren't short she exclaimed, you must be 5'8" or so. No, really I'm average, just under 5'6". Nooooo, no way, you must have heels on. No, no heels I assured her, I just stand tall. She peered at my sneakers with disbelief. Apparently they serve very tall cakes and record their adventures on very tall newsletters. I felt a bit like Alice in Longerland.

The whole evening was dreamlike actually. I walked Flash back to her studio and we couldn't stop laughing. She has an ability to respin the world and words, I have never heard her use a cliche, ever. We passed the windows of Lord & Taylors featuring spring frocks. "That one, only the skirt is worth wearing," she said, then to the next window "that one, only the color is good," and finally, "in that one only the window is good!"

And then I took the subway home, happy my career as a grip passed without a gripe.

Going to the Theater in Other Languages

2010-03-21T15:18:00.000-07:00

My favorite activity is going to the theater. (I guess that's why I'm a playwright--it just took me many years to realize that one could lead to the other.) So, naturally, when I travel, I look for opportunities to do the same. But this can be problematic when you're travelling in countries where you don't know the language. (Does this include England? Well, it did when I saw Lionel Bart's musical MAGGIE MAY - his next musical after OLIVER! - in London many years ago. All the characters spoke with a thick Liverpoolian--or, more correctly, Liverpudlian--accent. To this day, I have no idea what was going on in that show. Nor did my brother, who accompanied me.)

I recently travelled to Madrid on vacation and was excited to discover that it's is a thriving theater town, with as many theaters as New York (despite a much smaller population). I could choose from about 35 different shows at what were more or less the equivalent of Broadway theaters. Plays and musicals like Tom Stoppard's Rock 'n Roll, Chicago, God of Carnage, Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap, Calderon's The House of Bernardo Alba, a musical called 40, and so on. The only problem being that they were all in Spanish and my Spanish is less than elementary. In the end, I settled on three English-proof shows:

(1) Spamalot. I'd seen it in NY, so I figured I'd know what was going on. And I more or less did. Except that I tended to laugh out loud at the physical comedy while my fellow theatergoers responded more enthusiastically to the verbal jokes that went right over my head.

(2) Zarzuela. This is an art form unique to Spain--a cross between opera, musical comedy, and flamenco dancing. I saw Dona Francisquita. Luckily, there was an English synopsis in the playbill. Otherwise, I didn't know exactly what was going on but enjoyed the spectacle--except for the occasional scene where 60 people stood around singing and swaying. Kind of like a performance of the Ladies Light Opera Society (or whatever it was called) on I Love Lucy.

(3) Flamenco. I went to what I guess would be considered a modern neo-Flamenco show called Cambio de Tercio. Not much of a language barrier here--though there were some lyrics. Otherwise just the universal language of dance and percussion.

All of which reminds me of two other excursions into theater in other languages. In the Summer of Woodstock, I travelled around Europe with my roommate, and we saw two shows in Paris. One was a comedy called Quarante Carats--which was in fact simultaneously playing on Broadway back home as Forty Carats starring Julie Harris (later made into a movie with Liv Ullmann, Gene Kelly, and Edward Albert). Fortunately my French was pretty good at the time, so I was able to follow most of it and thoroughly enjoyed it. The other was the musicalHAIR--yes, while the original was playing on Broadway, I had to settle for the French-version in Paris (Laissez, laissez entrez le soleil - Let the Sunshine in!) Full nudity, too - but in French. And no one seemed to note that HAIR is the French verb "to hate." A show about love called hate. It was great, at any rate.

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Take care,

William

Jane Austen and Vibrators

2009-10-31T17:40:00.000-07:00

I've spent much of this week immersed in nineteenth century women, so to speak. A business trip to Denver provided me with a rare opportunity to read a novel in one fell swoop. (Ordinarily I read novels during my commute to work--unfortunately, my commute is less than ten minutes long [two subway stops], and so it takes me quite some time to finish each book.) Based on a recommendation from Debbie Atherton (River Writers of Manhattan and friend from Yale), I decided to read Jane Austen’s PERSUASION, her last novel (published posthumously in 1818). Although it’s not the kind of book normally thought of as a page-turner, I couldn’t put it down. I knew that the protagonists Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth would eventually wind up together, but I was eager to find out how that would happen. The psychology of the characters was the most interesting aspect of the book. Each one’s self-doubts, hopes, fears, calculations and miscalculations were fascinating and provided much of the drama. Many scholars apparently consider this Austen’s most mature book--and its maturity is an indication of what the world lost when she died.

I suppose you could say the novel is in some respects gushingly romantic--and maybe I was no better than an addicted Harlequin Romance reader--but it contains enough cynicism, skepticism, and humor to make it something greater than or different from a romance. Whatever the case, I’ve rarely been as thrilled as I was at the moment when the lovers’ shared interest is finally made explicit and all the obstacles thrown in their path melt away. How do I explain my reaction? Was I reacting as a gay man? Are straight men also drawn to the work of Jane Austen?

Good questions, but back to the nineteenth century. The world has certainly evolved in some ways since then. I hope it’s no longer the case that a woman of 28 is seen as barely marriageable and that the thought of a life outside of marriage is beyond tragic. Our heroine is not pathetic in this sense--you know that she would do just fine on her own--but she is clearly the exception in her world and seen by some as quite odd, or sad. We’ve also moved beyond the issue of social rank (in Austen’s case meaning primarily the hierarchy of good versus lesser families--and to some extent wealth), though even in New York in the 21st century I know that some women (and men) factor rank (now meaning primarily occupation, education, wealth, and earning potential) into their consideration of possible mates. (Then again, the contemporary equivalent of social rank--the Social Register--has little to no significance anymore. For example, did you know I was in the Social Register? [Long story.] Do you think more or less of me now? Do you care? Probably not. And I hope not. But am I trying to impress you by mentioning it? Probably. Yes, I’m that pathetic. Another indication of our ambivalence toward social rank today.)

Flash forward 50 or 60 years to the age of Sarah Ruhl’s new play, IN THE NEXT ROOM OR THE VIBRATOR PLAY (at the Lyceum Theatre, presented by Lincoln Center) -- the dawn of the age of electricity. In this fascinating (but less than fully satisfying) play, women apparently are baffled by the treatments they receive from doctors who stimulate them with a new medical invention, the vibrator. These women have never experienced orgasms before. With their tightly corseted and multi-buttoned dresses, they seem to have little familiarity with their own bodies. The men are even less familiar with anatomy. We hear one anecdote (apparently really attributable to John Ruskin) about a man who is horrified and disgusted to discover that his bride has pubic hair, because all of his experience up until then has been based on sculptures, which had no such thing.

Women react differently to this newly discovered phenomenon (the organism). In the process of observing this world, we discover how cut off from each other--and themselves--men and women once were. There is an interesting discussion with a male artist who can’t abide making love to women whose souls aren’t visible in their eyes and prefers (in theory) the companionship of prostitutes if there can’t be anything more than pure physicality between the sexes (though it doesn’t sound as if there’s even much of that in this milieu). In the final scene (SPOILER ALERT), the doctor-husband is stripped naked by his now-orgastic (is that a word?) wife, and we see them attempt to launch a more intimate relationship, in every sense of the term.

Taken together, this novel and this play paint an unflattering picture of the life of women in that century. In Jane Austen’s world we have women whose only real option for either social intercourse or self-definition is marriage (something which requires a great deal of calculation--and luck); meanwhile, on this side of the pond a few decades later, we see women who are almost completely cut off from their own physicality. Would any woman opt for either situation rather than what they confront today? Then again, if we looked at Italy during these same periods, we might see a very different picture of female sexuality.

Recent Theatergoing

2009-10-20T21:12:00.000-07:00

I’ve been to a lot of plays recently. Here are some of my reactions and impressions:

SUPERIOR DONUTS. (Broadway) Tracey Lett’s first outing on Broadway since August: Osage County. A smaller play than August, but nevertheless similarly filled with extremely well-drawn characters in quirky situations. Great performances by virtually everyone in the cast. A poorly choreographed long fight sequence near the climax of the play was the only weak element of the evening. (This was the first preview, so perhaps the fight has been perfected since then.) In the end, the whole thing didn’t amount to all that much, but I thoroughly enjoyed the play.

LET ME DOWN EASY. (Second Stage) Anna Devere Smith’s one-woman show about death and health care. I was late in discovering the incredible Anna Devere Smith--not until she appeared in Nurse Jackie on Showtime (as the very odd hospital administrator). In this play, as in her other solo pieces, she plays all the characters, which are based on real people she has interviewed at length. Some are famous; most are obscure. Her mimetic talent is extraordinary. The individual monologues run the gamut from hilarious to heart-wrenching. A perfect way to weigh-in vicariously on the health care reform debate.

THE ROYAL FAMILY. by George S. Kaufman and Edna Ferber. (Manhattan Theatre Club) Looking around the theater during both of the evening’s intermissions, I kept telling myself that this is my idea of heaven--attending a brilliantly acted, well-constructed play presented in a beautiful theater. My demands are simple. The cast is great. The play is a comic classic about--what else, my favorite topic--the theater. If you’re built like me, you have to see this. It’s not a choice; it’s an addiction.

TWO UNRELATED PLAYS BY DAVID MAMET. Although this is the year of Mamet (with two productions now on Broadway--after having 2 different productions on Broadway last year), this off-Broadway effort (at the wonderful Atlantic Theater Company) is fairly underwhelming. Probably the shortest evening in New York at the moment - 70 minutes. The first play (a 10-minute effort) is completely forgettable. A bit of wordplay between two characters that goes nowhere and isn’t that interesting along the way. The second one, Keep Your Pantheon, is much better, though still not great. In the spirit of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (without the music), it’s bawdy, slap-sticky Roman fare that works well much of the time. Brian Murray is great, as always. His performance alone probably makes the evening worth seeing. On the other hand, the whole thing is probably too broad for most people’s taste, and it’s uneven.

AFTER MISS JULIE. (Broadway) A re-telling of Strindberg’s Miss Julie starring Sienna Miller. I saw this twice. (I went a second time because my older daughter is a fan of Sienna Miller.) I was impressed the first time and even more impressed the second time. Fantastic performances by all three members of the cast. Sienna is gorgeous to look at, and for the first half, you think she’s getting by on her looks, easily acting the haughty, self-involved Miss Julie. But then she breaks out and does a breathtaking job as this seriously deranged woman. (My daughter says she always plays beautiful deranged women--but what do I know?) This play is meticulous in its presentation of the details. There are some stretches where nothing is spoken, but simple actions (cleaning up, cooking on a stove) are mesmerizing. (Marin Ireland gets much credit for that.)

WISHFUL DRINKING. (Studio 54 - Roundabout) by and starring Carrie Fisher. Funny, funny, funny. What a wonderful woman! Who wouldn’t want to spend an evening with this whip-smart woman and the tales of her bizarre life in and out of Hollywood? I know two guys who walked out at intermission and I just don’t get it--do we belong to the same species? My only complaint is that she doesn’t go quite deep enough in exposing the pain of her addictions and mental problems--it’s all kept on the very droll surface. But give the woman a break--she’s been through hell. (And regarding the complaint that she trashes her family--everyone trashed gave their permission and supported her efforts.)

BRIGHTON BEACH MEMOIRS by Neil Simon. (Broadway). I’m not a big Neil Simon fan. I loved some of his early works--but I was very young then. The later ones I mostly stayed away from--including this one. But now that I’ve finally seen a production, I have to admit that it’s a very, very good play. Wonderfully acted here by Laurie Metcalf et al. Especially young Noah Robbins--remember that name. A star is born.

THE LADY WITH ALL THE ANSWERS starring Judith Ivey. (Cherry Lane Theatre) A one-woman show about Ann Landers. A bit thin as a theatrical conceit, but Judith Ivey pulls it off extremely well. She’s a great actress. I could watch her read the phone book. If you have any interest in this quasi-historical figure, this show is for you. Lots of fun (and some audience interaction). If neither Ann Landers nor Judith Ivey interest you, you can skip this.

WEST SIDE STORY. (The Palace) Finally got to see this very hot revival. New York theatergoers have nitpicked this one to death. Some hate it; some love it. I lean more toward the latter camp. You can’t go too far wrong with this material, and I don’t think this production goes very far wrong at all. My nits are minor. A few excellent performances (including Karen Olivo). The leads have beautiful voices. And that amazing Jerome Robbins choreography is still stunning. One scenic moment gave me chills--the lowering of the scenery with the highway running over the site of the rumble.

THE UNDERSTUDY by Theresa Rebeck (Roundabout - off-Broadway). Very, very inside theater story. Must-see for actors--and anyone working in theater. Others may find it a bit boring. It does wander and become repetitive. Justin Kirk (from Weeds) is great. Julie White--who is mostly great--gets a bit tiresome after a while, especially since she wanders out and around the audience (playing a stage manager) too much. Enough with the whining from the back of the theater already!

FINIAN’S RAINBOW (Broadway). The first production I’ve ever seen of this classic musical. Great, great score. That’s reason enough to see it. It’s an odd, quirky, very old-fashioned musical. Pretty strong cast. Cheyenne Jackson is hunky. Kate Baldwin sounds good but is a bit bland. I don’t know if I would recommend it to a wide audience or not. But I might go back to see it again. And again--that score! Can’t get it out of my head.

OLEANNA by David Mamet. Starring Julia Stiles and Bill Pullman. Just saw this tonight. Wow!Very intense. You will definitely have a reaction. I was fascinated and very angered by much of this tale. It’s infuriating! It makes me want to hit people. I think that means it works. (I wish I could write like this.)

False Advertising?

2009-09-23T18:26:00.000-07:00

How much thought goes into coming up with the title for a book? Obviously that varies wildly from case to case. To give one self-serving example, the title of my doctoral dissertation was: Hegel's Aesthetics and the Explosion of the Arts: A Hegelian Account of the Arts in the Twentieth Century. It took some time—and the consideration of several variations—to come up with this title. In the end, I felt it worked fairly well, because it gave a sense of the content of the thesis and, with the use of “Explosion,” had a more interesting ring to it than many other dissertation titles. A few years later, when approached by a publisher who wanted to publish it as a book, I took the opportunity to make some revisions to the content as well as the title, settling on: A Hegelian Account of Contemporary Art. Gone was the notion of an explosion, with its confusing but intended double meaning. Gone also were thirteen words, relative brevity being a desired commodity in the world of book titles. Yet still the title seemed a fairly accurate indication of what the reader would find inside.

Which brings me to the point of today’s sermon. Many titles are the result of much consideration and calculation. However, when thoughts of marketing seep into the process—an unfortunate but almost unavoidable thing these days—the result can sometimes be deceiving, or at least misleading. Case in point: Mayflower, by Nathaniel Philbrick (2006). I had the qualified pleasure of reading this book recently (or more accurately—having it read to me via an audiobook played during a long drive from Manhattan to Ann Arbor, Michigan and back). Having just been in Provincetown, MA, where I took a walking tour that was filled with references and tributes to the Mayflower and its travelers (whose first stop in the New World was in fact Provincetown), I thought I would enjoy hearing about the famous transatlantic trip and the pilgrims’ adventures setting up a new colony in America.

The book certainly delivered on my expectation. However, these topics were quickly exhausted during the first 40% of the book and then we were on to something related, but quite different—the so-called King Philip’s War of 1675-1676, a war between the natives and the colonists that resulted in a major shift in population and power in the New World. This is clearly an important and compelling historical event. However, not only is it not really about the Mayflower (which, by the way, had long since returned to Europe and eventually been scrapped), the whole tone of the book shifts dramatically as we enter a long, detail-filled account of every battle and strategic decision. A fine example of military history writing, perhaps, but not what I was expecting or particularly interested in at the moment.

A more accurate title would have been something like, “The Adventures of the Pilgrims en Route to and in the New World from 1609 to 1676.” Or maybe “The Mayflower and Then What Happened.” Terrible titles, I admit, but not misleading. So, was this a marketing decision to take advantage of people’s interest in the Mayflower coupled with the realization that most people are not interested in reading about King Philip’s War?

How about fiction? Does the writer have an obligation not to be misleading in the choice of title? I wouldn’t have thought so until I read (yes, this book was read, not listened to) the novel World’s Fair by E.L. Doctorow (1985). Having just read The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (not a novel) about the Chicago World’s Fair (Columbian Exposition) of 1893, I was curious to learn more about my own city’s world’s fair (not the one I visited in 1964-65, but the one my parents visited in 1939-40). To my astonishment, the fair wasn’t even mentioned until page 193 (out of 288) and then didn’t become a narrative topic until the final 10% or so of the book. I should also mention that I didn’t think it was a particularly good novel. It seemed more like a “book for young adults” than a novel—another question of expectations.

My point? I don’t know. Buyer beware? Don’t judge a book by its title? We’re entitled to something less misleading?

Books to Drive By

2009-09-16T16:01:00.000-07:00

With a couple of long distance solo drives ahead of me this summer, someone suggested that I try listening to audiobooks. A good idea, I thought, so I checked out the selection at Barnes and Noble, but discovered that it was somewhat limited (i.e., mostly bestsellers). Nevertheless, I found a book that I had heard about and was interested in but probably wasn’t going to get around to reading - The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (subtitled “Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair That Changed America”). Having lived in Chicago and being a fan of World’s Fairs (having attended two so far), I found the topic interesting.

The experiment proved to be a huge success. The 10-hour drive to and from Ann Arbor, Michigan flew by as I practically raced back to the car after each break to hear the next installment. The story itself was fascinating. I was particularly interested in the story of the fair--its development, architecture, crises, etc.--but the intertwined story of a serial killer who lived near the fairgrounds was also compelling.

For my next trip, I put together a collection of several titles. I successfully completed Mayflower by Nathaniel Philbrick (“A Story of Courage, Community, and War”) and once again the time flew by, although the book was somewhat disappointing (as I’ll explain in a separate entry). To mix things up, I also brought along a 14-CD Berlitz Spanish course and made it through the first 4 or 5 CDs. (Though don’t ask me to spell much of what I learned, since it was an all-audio course.) I also began a biography of Marlon Brando--Somebody by Stefan Kanfer (“The Reckless Life and Remarkable Career of Marlon Brando”)--but it will take another couple of long drives to get through the next 11 CDs.

I also bought some other titles, which I probably won’t get around to for a while, since I don’t have many long drives planned at the moment: A Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut. The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs (“One Man’s Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World”). The Giants of Philosophy: Aristotle read by Charlton Heston. Hegel in 90 Minutes (that’s a laugh!) by Paul Strathern.

Some final thoughts: I’ve chosen to concentrate on non-fiction rather than fiction, because you have less control over the experience with an audiobook--you can’t stop it and go over a phrase or short passage whenever you want, something I like to do when I read. Also, the somewhat distracted attention (meaning that I have to focus SOMEWHAT on the driving) I find to be less suitable for fiction. I really like to luxuriate in the world of a novel. I also only select unabridged versions (watch out for the abridged versions also on sale) since I don’t want someone else deciding what I will or won’t find interesting.

So start driving and listening to a book!

Theater is Alive and Well in Provincetown

2009-08-15T23:09:00.000-07:00

I recently returned from 10 days in Ptown where I was reminded of one of the things I like the best about that magical place. Amidst all the street activity in Ptown--the crowds of tourists, the drag queens on bikes, the speeding pedicabs driven by kids from Eastern Europe, the barkers barking their shows--there’s one of the most thriving theater communities in America. First, of course, there are examples of what we think of as traditional theater--The Provincetown Playhouse was running three plays in repertory: Take Me Out, Studs Turkel’s Working, and Gross Indecency: The Trials of Oscar Wilde. Then there were a couple of plays at other venues. There was the one-man play, Blanche Survives Katrina in a FEMA Trailer Named Desire written and performed by Mark Sam Rosenthal (a poetic, moving, witty and profound theater piece), which ran for 9 weeks in New York earlier this season, a return of the two-hander (with nudity), 2 Boys in a Bed on a Cold Winter’s Night by James Edwin Parker (which, despite the lure of the promise of nudity is quite moving and romantic), and the perennial Naked Boys Singing. But that’s just the beginning. There are innumerable drag shows--Varla Jean, Miss Ritchfield (who deserves the award for best in-the-street barking), Dina Martina, Showgirls, etc. This year I saw Hedda Lettuce’s show, Eat Me. (Hedda is a hilarious, smart, quick-witted, and raunchy performer--as well as a great singer.) There were also the comics. I saw Kate Clinton (surely one of the smartest comics alive--and incredibly political--Rachel Maddow is a big fan, need I say more?) and Jennifer Kirson (who contorts her face and body in outrageous ways--her baby is not to be missed). And the amazing comedy troupe, The Nellie Olesons. (They're like Saturday Night Live without censors--plus dancing.) Hedda Lettuce (in full Joan Crawford drag) also hosted an interactive screening of Mommie Dearest--with running commentary and audience participation. The lead member of the group Betty was also in town with a one-woman theater piece. And those are just the shows that I remember.

But one of the things that always strikes me about the wealth of theater in Ptown is how casually it’s all handled. Most performers have to promote their show in the street or in front of their venue right before curtain time, because most decisions to attend shows happen at the last minute and almost by accident. For example, when I couldn’t get into Miss Richfield’s show, I just went down the street to see Hedda Lettuce. And at these prices (I paid between $15 and $35 per show), these shows are accessible to almost anyone. Sitting in the audience waiting for Eat Me to begin--having plunked down my $20 just moments before--I suddenly realized that this must be what theater was like in many places before movies came along: a wide selection, affordable prices, the decision to attend made at the last minute while out looking for something to do. All of which makes the experience a far cry from what one goes through on Broadway. In the course of my stay, I saw 7 shows and probably paid a total equal to one or one-and-a-half Broadway tickets.

All of this is just one more reason why I think Provincetown is the center of the universe. (But please don’t tell too many people about this--especially families. This Camelot might not survive the influx of even more hordes of tourists.)

For more go to www.williamfowkes.com

THE URGE TO GIVE NOTES

2009-07-28T17:17:00.000-07:00

Why do we feel compelled to give notes when we see a play? (Or read a book, for that matter?) There’s nothing wrong with being perceptive and analytical and sharing our discoveries and thoughts with others, but I find that many people are so quick to offer their notes, they fail to enjoy the work--or at least fail to help others enjoy the work, too.

Last night, I saw a hysterical play at the Midtown International Theater Festival here in New York--ASSHOLES AND AUREOLES by Eric Pfeffinger. The title says it all--this will probably be an outrageous play. Keep your distance if you’re easily offended. I found it to be hilarious and brilliant. It consisted of 8 scenes, or vignettes. Each of them was filled with surprises, outrageous situations, and clever dialogue. The two actresses were beyond brilliant--as talented as anyone on Saturday Night Live, a show that shares some similarities with this play.

As I followed two men out of the theater--both of whom seemed buoyed by the play--I couldn’t help listening in on their conversation. I didn’t hear, “That was great!” “How funny!” “Very clever.” Or anything of the sort. Instead I heard, “Boy the last two scenes weren’t as strong as the rest. That middle scene certainly needs to be cut.” And so on.

I’m not saying these observations were off the mark. I’m just wondering why these are the first thoughts out of their mouthes. Why can’t they take a moment to savor the experience--to tell each other what they liked about it. Then rip it apart, for all I care!

Just a thought from a playwright who goes to the theater to enjoy the wonder of live theater and not to hand out grades. At least not in the first 30 seconds after the curtain falls.

The Northern Writes New Play Festival Experience

2009-07-03T22:27:00.000-07:00

My full-length play, THE BEST PLACE WE’VE EVER LIVED, was admitted into the Northern Writes New Play Festival at the Penobscot Theatre Company in Bangor, Maine--a festival of readings of new plays--and scheduled to be performed Friday evening, June 26, 2009. I decided to drive up to Bangor from New York to attend the reading because this was the first time any of my plays was being presented outside New York and because this was the first time someone was putting on a play of mine without my direct involvement. (While some playwrights may insist on directing, producing, or otherwise being deeply involved in any presentation of their work, I welcome the opportunity to hand my script over to someone else and let them deal with all the logistics of actually putting it on.)

I decided to break the drive up by spending the first night in Ogunquit, Maine, just barely over the border. I’d heard that this was an emerging gay vacation destination, so I was curious to take a look. Fortunately, after a month of clouds, gloom and rain in most of the Northeast, in Ogunquit the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the waves were crashing over the rocks on cue, providing the picture-perfect experience of the Maine coast. For dinner, I ate upstairs at The Front Porch, lured by the sound of show tunes. Seated around a grand piano were several older men and one or two women singing their hearts out. I figured this must be the heart of gay society in Ogunquit. (Some of the voices were excellent, by the way.) After dinner I went to the main gay bar in town, where I was one of only two customers--and where the bartender reported that the place was probably not going to get much more crowded that night. So much for the new gay mecca.

The next day, I stopped in Brunswick to take a look at Bowdoin College. I had seen umpteen colleges and universities over the past few years on various college tours with my daughters, so I knew how to check out a place quickly. Bowdoin--in addition to being the alma mater of Nathaniel Hawthorne and President Franklin Pierce and the site of a summer science program attended by one of my brothers in the summer we first sent men to the moon--is an extremely beautiful campus. I also stopped at Boothbay Harbor, where I had worked as the manager of a bookstore for two summers in the 1970s (and where several scenes in my play THE SEEKER take place.) The bookstore was long gone, but in its place stood a gift shop, Mung Bean, whose proprietor was a very nice man named Steven Madden (the shoe magnate? hmm?), who was aware of the long-gone bookstore and knew the store’s then-landlady, Pauline Stevens (now deceased). At any rate, for some reason Boothbay Harbor played a big role in my psychological development, and it was both thrilling and disturbing to see it again after over thirty years. (I also found the very cabin on Ocean Point where I had lived my second summer up there.)

My head reeling and my camera stuffed with nostalgically resonant images, I drove the long way the rest of the way to Bangor--along the coast--passing through picturesque towns (Rockland, Rockport, Camden...) and driving deeper into the clouds. As I entered Bangor on its Main Street, I was stopped at a red light when I realized I was right in front of the Penobscot Theatre Company. The marquee and facade were quite beautiful. After checking in at the Charles Inn, I went out for a walk and decided to peek in at the theater. As it turned out, they were in the middle of rehearsing my play, so I went in and sat in the back. As always, I found it a narcissistic thrill beyond compare to hear my words coming out of other people’s mouths. During a break, I introduced myself to the director and Producing Artistic Director of the festival, Scott RC Levy. The cast he had assembled was excellent (more on this in a moment). When they finished, he dismissed the cast and told them to be back in thirty minutes--odd, I thought, since the curtain time was over an hour and a half away.

When I left, I walked around downtown Bangor, which is a surprisingly handsome place with well-maintained historic buildings, canals, and flowers everywhere. Apparently some of this is thanks to the largesse of Bangor’s most famous resident, novelist Stephen King. For dinner, I found a Pakistani restaurant, where the spicy odors were intense and I realized I would have to shower before going back to the theater. When I arrived back at the hotel, the woman at the front desk told me that the theater had called, concerned that I hadn’t shown up yet--and worried that I might have thought the curtain time was 8 rather than 7. Yes, that’s what I thought--don’t ask me why. And now it was ten after 7. To come all this distance and then miss some of my play was an instant nightmare. Forget the shower. Forget the nice clothes I had brought specifically for the event. Forget the fact that I reeked of Pakistani food. I rushed over there and slipped in half way through the first scene. (By my calculation, I missed the first 7 minutes--not so bad, really, but since every line is like a playwright’s child, you hate to miss any of them.)

The Penobscot Theatre Company owns their building, the former Bangor Opera House. Although they’ve restored the facade and marquee, they haven’t yet begun the interior restoration. The Opera House used to seat 1500 people. The balcony is no longer used, and the theatre is currently configured to seat 366 people. At my reading there were about 30 people. I didn’t know if this was a good turnout for something like this or not, but they were a very responsive audience. It’s always wonderful to hear your lines come to life, but it’s even more gratifying to see your characters come to life before you--to be fleshed out by actors and directors. Although they were all good, I was particularly struck by the son, Ike. A somewhat goofy character, the actor enlivened this role with mannerisms and expressions that fleshed him out in ways that I can’t help thinking were perfect. Ike is now a very real person to me. Ivor the Warrior was played to comic perfection. Where I had envisioned a Jackie Gleason sort of characterization, this was a more modern, twitchy way of playing the role (think Tony Randall) that I think worked even better. The mother--who in the end really is the center of the play (and in fact has the most lines)--held everything together, had great comic timing, and was quite moving in her “Scarsdale soliloquy.”

After the reading, I was invited up on stage to participate in the talk-back. Fortunately, by my being on stage, no one in the audience could smell my spicy dinner. The feedback was valuable--and has helped me make some changes. I’ve made a crucial change at the end of the play and added a very brief prologue. I was happy to hear that people thought there was a good mix of comedy and drama and that all the characters were fully developed. I was also happy to hear that the audience was never bored and that they didn’t think the mother’s Scarsdale soliloquy was too long. One man in the audience thanked the playwright for an excellent play and the actors for great performances. I decided that HE is the audience I should be writing for (since some people suggest that a writer should envision his or her audience--something I

Finishing

2009-06-26T15:28:00.000-07:00

Is it harder to finish a writing project or begin a writing project?

This may be one of those chicken-and-egg questions, or sheerly a matter of temperament; but today fellow River Writer Andrew Kaplan and I were discussing this issue, and we both came down heavily on the hell-of-finishing side of the debate.

How many of us have half-written stories, novels, poems, screenplays, scripts, and songs hanging around? (Why, I believe I have at least one of each - well, I'm not sure I ever got past a treatment on the screenplay front.) Some members of River Writers still fondly recall my unfinished somewhat reptilian fantasy swashbuckler that has yet to get past page 50. There are at least seven short stories in various states of completion - or incompletion - and then there is my current musical theater project, which is having a little trouble getting through the second act.

It's not that I can't ever finish things. I've finished short stories that got published, opera and music theater pieces that got produced, articles, reviews, etc. etc. But. But. Sometimes it doesn't happen; sometimes work gets lost or dropped or put aside. And sometimes - as yesterday - it suddenly occurs to me that I am more than two-thirds of the way through my new project - my novel - and a wave of - terror is too big a word for it - I suppose anxiety will have to do - a wave, or at least a current, of anxiety hits me. Finishing the novel seems too final, too scary, and not nearly as far off as it was 200 pages ago. And so my writing hours get postponed from morning to evening, and suddenly it is now or a whole day will be lost, and I force myself to sit down at the computer and promise I will let myself get up after a paragraph if I really, really can't do it.

But - because the Muses were full of mercy yesterday - I didn't get up after a paragraph, time disappeared as soon I got got back into the story, and several hours passed quickly. A few more pages made their appearance, bringing me closer to The End. And I once more learned the lesson we all know, really, that nothing happens unless you sit down and allow it to happen. But only a writer or another artist knows how great the distance is between standing and staring down at your desk, and actually sitting down to create. You could drive from New York to Miami, and it would seem short compared to the time it takes to get from the edge of your desk to sitting yourself firmly in that chair.

We all have to make that long-distance journey, every time we sit down to write. It's the distance between dreaming and doing, and no one can make it easy for us. But if we're sure to pack plenty of coffee and water, and check in with friends along the way, we can usually manage the trip, no matter how protracted it becomes. And when we get there, our characters will be waiting to greet us. They may complain a little about how long we've been away, but in the end they're as happy to see us as we are to see them.

Artist and Writers Collaboration - IAF Auction

2009-05-01T13:02:00.001-07:00

Interfictions Auction – Call to Artists

We thought you might like to know that The Interstitial Arts Foundation has just announced the 2009 Interfictions Auction to benefit the IAF and the Interfictions anthology series of new interstitial fiction.

They are inviting artists, crafters, jewelers, musicians, designers, in fact anyone who loves to create art to come and be inspired by the stories of Interfictions, and bringing your creativity, your boundary-breaking creations, and your really cool stuff!

They are inviting artists to create unique portable and wearable art, based on short stories from the exciting new anthology, Interfictions 2 , or from the first volume. It’s a unique opportunity for artists to get a sneak peek at the forthcoming anthology and to put their talent to good use for this year’s fundraiser, which will go live concurrent with the publication of Interfictions 2 in November, 2009.

The only limitation is that donated pieces must be easily worn or carried: it could be jewelry, bags, scarves, small paintings, clothing, calligraphy . . . even songs! The key is to think small and/or portable. Each piece of art must be directly inspired by an Interfictions story. Check out the Interfictions 2 Auctions FAQ for more ideas and information.

This is a chance for a unique collaboration between writers and artists, a platform for a dialogue between creators in different mediums, meeting at the conjunction of words and art - and bringing together a community of people who refuse to be categorized. Please help us to fund another year of art and words in the interstices of vision, ranging outside the narrow limits of genre limitation to create something new for all.

To learn more about the auction, how you can help to contribute your art, and to find a story from Interfictions 2 to inspire you, please go to the Interfictions Auction Call to Artists web page.

When's your next play being produced?

2009-04-19T16:32:00.000-07:00

Playwrights dread being asked when our next play is being produced--because, although most of the factors leading to an actual production of one of our plays are beyond our control, we feel like a failure if we admit the truth. On the other hand, lying isn't really an option--unless you're from the trying-to-pass-off-fiction-as memoir school of writing. So we usually mumble something along the lines of the following--"Oh, I'm working on several things at the moment and I've been sending them around, so you never know, heh, heh." Unfortunately, that kind of vagueness makes it sound like we're not really much of a writer--like maybe we've given it up--or maybe it's never been much more than a hobby anyway. Yet the truth is usually so much richer than people may realize--but they probably don't want to hear the details anyway.

So with that as an introductory apologia of sorts, here's what in fact I've been up to with my writing lately. At the moment I'm actively working on four plays and one story. I should first of all mention (which I haven't yet mentioned in this journal), that I was recently accepted into the Turtle Shell Productions Playwrights' Platform. This is a playwrights' group affiliated with a theater troupe. The main activity of the group is to have the playwrights' work read aloud by the actors and then critiqued by the other playwrights and the actors. We meet twice a month. So far, I've attended three meetings and have presented excerpts from my unproduced full-length play, All in the Faculty. The fourth of these excerpts will be presented at the next meeting, leaving just one more excerpt before the entire play will have been presented. (This play is a tale of academia, based very, very loosely on my experiences as a professor at a liberal arts college in upstate New York many years ago. The play is based on an unpublished novel I wrote in 2001 called, The Academy.) It turns out that participation in this group requires a tremendous amount of work, because in addition to having to round up actors for each session, you find yourself working furiously on revisions reflecting input you received from the previous session in time for the next meeting. And the very good news is that, so far, I've found this process to be a great boon to my writing. This play, which has been sitting ignored in my computer for some time (not counting the occasional rejection letter it generates--if it generates any response at all--when I send it someplace) is being transformed into a much better play right before my eyes. And I think this is the secret to playwriting. You can't just do it in isolation, like fiction writing. It HAS to be SEEN in some guise or other and reacted to. That's the only way you can know what works and what doesn't. Anyway, so that should be enough good news for anyone who wonders what I've been up to.

But wait, there's more. The other 3 plays I mentioned include Miss Peddy and Her Charge--a play in two scenes for one actor. I'm writing this for a friend who is looking for a one-woman play to perform. I've read most of it to my writers group--The River Writers of Manhattan--and their input has been very helpful. I don't know if my friend will end up using it or not, but at least I'll have a one-woman script ready to offer up if anyone ever asks me for one. I'm also working on Museum Piece--a 3-character play (in a somewhat experimental format)--about different people's experience visiting an art museum one afternoon. Finally, I'm also working on Table Manners, a full-length play I described in my last journal entry which was inspired by my recent trip to Buenos Aires. (The title is the same as that of one of my short plays--but I intend to incorporate that play into this new, longer one.)

But wait, there's still more. On the fiction front, I finished and have begun submitting a short story called, The Church. This was my third crack (with the help of the River Writers) at this tale of healthy agnosticism. I hope I got it right this time. And I've recently begun a story that is a short story, not a play, but experiments with a dialogue format similar to the one used by Manuel Puig in his novel, Kiss of the Spider Woman.

So the next time someone asks me what's being produced, I can either admit that there are no productions on the horizon at the moment, confess that nothing whatsoever has in fact been produced or even read publicly since last June (when Couple of the Century was presented at DUTF at the Cherry Lane), and then break down and cry. Or launch into the long answer I've presented above. Most likely, however, I'll simply mumble something like, "Well I'm working on several things and sending plays around, so you never know..."

Spring at Last

2009-03-31T07:52:00.000-07:00

Spring really did come to River Writers last Friday. Everyone had new work - it's been a while since we were all so productive in one week - and it was all good work. Bill had the second act of his new play, a one woman show which will delight actresses of a certain age, who very seldom get such fabulous roles. Andrew had a new installment of a story which has been in progress for some time, in which he explored the emerging identity mystery at its center. Claudia had a first draft of a meaty new poem which took a very unique point of view. Hilary responded to the workshop's demand for more with another installment of her memoir. And I actually managed to produce five new pages of my own short story.

Sometimes it does seem like the stars fall into alignment, and maybe we shouldn't ask why. But of course, being writers, it's our job to ask why, all of a sudden, following a month in which we hadn't had any particularly extensive contact, we all suddenly produced new work. Maybe we all just needed a little more sunshine. But it might be an interesting trail to follow - do we always write more in the spring? Are January and February just universally depressing? Is there such a thing as Seasonal Writing Disorder? If we all moved to Cancun for the winter would our word totals rise? And, most importantly, are there any generous billionaires out there who would care to subsidize the experiment?

Table Manners in Buenos Aires

2009-03-15T19:59:00.000-07:00

Trips can be a wonderful source of inspiration for a playwright. Out of my trip to Mexico City last year came my play, The Best Place I’ve Ever Lived. My trip to Argentina last month inspired me a little differently. Sitting at a cafe (or perhaps more of a lunch restaurant) in Buenos Aires during a rainstorm one afternoon, I couldn’t help watching an older woman having a cup of coffee with a much younger, but bored, woman--her daughter, perhaps? I don't know why the woman fascinated me--her glasses? her old-fashioned hairdo? her judgmental expressions? -- but she did. As I continued to stare at them, I couldn’t help wondering about--and composing--their back story. Who were these people? Why were they here, and what were they doing? What made them the way they appeared to be? I felt compelled to write something about them--especially the older woman.

Then I remembered that I came up with the idea for my short play, Table Manners, in the same way--staring at some oddly-behaving people in a restaurant in Manhattan. Throughout my stay in Buenos Aires, I kept seeing people in restaurants whose back stories I wondered about. Before you knew it, I had come up with ideas for several such short plays or vignettes and eventually tied them all together into the idea of a play consisting of a series of such stories--in cities around the world. I still like the name Table Manners and think that’s what this longer, episodic play should be called, too. I’ll just have to consider how to avoid confusion with the shorter play with the same title.

Six Days Until Spring

2009-03-14T14:56:00.001-07:00

It's been a long, cold, snowy winter, and I can't say it's been quite as productive creatively as I wish it had been. For some reason, I haven't been finishing the stories I've started, which is a bit of a relapse back to an earlier mindset of almost a decade ago, when most of my stories sat around half-finished. I was on a short story tear for about five years, getting most of them done and published. Then I began a novel, now I'm 2/3 of the way through the novel and suddenly I've produced the first five pages of three short stories.

This may be all back to fear of finishing the novel, or it may be that spring is coming and ideas are bubbling up, and I'll get back to the stories and/or the novel during the (rapidly approaching) warmer months. Or, hey, it could be the collapse of the Dow (but wait, isn't that rising again?) or the impending mayoral elections (although, who am I kidding? I'm voting for Bloomberg).

Or more likely it's all the energy I've been putting into my nonfiction lately. Although I would vigorously scold any of my coaching clients who said so of their own work, I probably don't think of my nonfiction as requiring the same creativity as my fiction. There must be some unacknowledged scale in the back of my mind, with fiction, drama, and the odd libretto or song lyric on one end and nonfiction of all kinds on the other. This probably requires some rigorous examination and revisiting - but I'm much too tired after this weary winter to take it up right now. As soon as I see a daffodil somewhere, maybe I can start thinking about it.

44 Days Until Spring

2009-02-04T10:38:00.000-08:00

On my Google Home Page, I have a countdown to Spring. I started this a few years ago, and, to my amusement, found when I checked this year that I always start it around the same day: January 23rd. I suppose that is the moment when the true desolation of January has really set in. After weeks of horribly cold weather, after surviving the holidays and New Year Celebrations, after the nice brief break of Martin Luther King Day, the truth must finally be faced: it's cold. It's dark. The nights are still way too long. And, inevitably, sitting down to write is a struggle amidst all this darkness and gloom.

I'm always of two minds about this. Is it better to just give in, and spent the worst parts of winter reading more than writing? Or perhaps sleeping, gathering strength for the longer days that must be coming? Or should writers Buckle Down, force themselves to honor their schedule, write against their mood and their inclination?

This month, I've taken a novel approach. I can't make myself write much, when I sit down, but I am for some reason suddenly able to submit. And for some even more obscure reason, I seem to be submitting across the board: short stories, plays, nonfiction - things that hadn't ever left my computer or desk are suddenly seeking the light of day - or at least the flourescent light in the office of an agent or editor or dramaturge. I just submitted a play I read at River Writers three years ago (at least!) for the very first time. I just sent a story off to an editor who hasn't heard from me in two years.

I think it must be the equivalent of spring cleaning (something which I am REALLY not ready for yet. ) But I think I'm hoping it is a kind of mental preparation for new growing green things that will come, perhaps, when those 44 days are up. I can but hope.

Brave New World

2009-01-13T10:07:00.001-08:00

I think the next generation has such different attitudes - toward almost everything - that many hard fought social issues will evaporate or morph over the next 20 years. I remember seeing several gay activists interviewed after Proposition 8 passed saying - 'if we have to, we will wait for the generation that stopped us to die.' When I was born, segregation still existed and intermarriage was illegal in a number of states - now there is a casual acceptance of interracial relationships (well at least on TV and the streets of NYC, I don't know how things are in Smalltown, USA).

And here's the shock of shocks - the NEA announced a few days ago that Americans are reading more fiction! Commentators have attributed a lot of rise in reading to the popularity of Harry Potter and Twilight, the kind of fantasy that also got us ostracized in our youth. (I remember frequenting small shops in Pittsburgh which carried used fantasy and science fiction magazines in dark corners - it occurs to me now to wonder, in my enlightened adulthood, if there wasn't pornography somewhere in brown paper covers in those shops, keeping them alive.)

So all hail to the next generation, out there reading gay-themed YA and large quantities of fantasy and science fiction, scooping up graphic novels, improving their reflexes and speeding up their synapses with video games, apparently even dipping into the occasional book of poetry, and then Twittering away about all this to their friends. Keep reading. Keep Twittering. Keep dating (oh wait, I forgot, you don't "date") - well then, keep seeing whoever you like. It's kind of a cool world you're inventing, and I'm happy to be around to see it come into being.

Poetry: the most dismissed "genre"

2009-01-06T16:18:00.000-08:00

I agree gay themes are a harder sell. Luckily in YA books there are a number of coming of age lesbian and gay narratives that do really well. Maybe librarians are just more open to ordering literature that will appeal to the diversity of teens that I see combing the shelves in our local library. From Jeanette Winterson's Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit to Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan, this niche within the healthy YA market is doing well and could use more authors... Ever consider this Bill? Boy Meets Boy presents a high-school that currently doesn't exist, where straight, bi, gay or lesbian is just an accepted part of things and the real drama is the choices the protagonists make as they struggle to grow up. Intersting. Sort of like The Cosby Show in the mid-80s presenting an upper-middle class black family where issues of race were covered but the Huxtable family wasn't victimized or trapped in a ghetto because of it. The show made a leap forward.

But don't get me started on how much poetry is dismissed as too small an audience or unprofitable. I called a bunch of old friends in the publishing world today. Editors I've met over the years and it being January I figured it was time to have lunch with as many of them as can spare me the time. Networking, gossip, the state of the publishing world, dogs and kids and what have you loved doing lately... Over and over in our brief chats they mentioned that this is a hard time to publish because nobody cares any more about awards and great reviews. All that counts is sales. Period. And if this applies to novels, there's no hope for the lowest on the heap, poetry. Sigh.

But wait, the really small presses are somehow keeping quality alive. They know it is about love of the content and the book as object. Maybe as publishers contract, fire people, close down, court more celebrity "written" novels and publish more sin-offs of movies, TV, and comics... maybe the small publishers will start to find more markets for the good things they print. Here's hoping. I just started doing design work for Benu Press, their inauguaral season, and they are publishing a book of poems about the civil rights movement in Milwaukee and a funny coming of age memoir by a gay author. So there ya go.

Year of Writing Faster

2009-01-04T15:26:00.000-08:00

After reading Claudia's blog, I'm trying to decide if I want to write faster. I certainly don't want to write slower. But after so many years of writing, I think I've come to a kind of organic rhythm with my writing.

When I was younger, I was sure that given enough time, I could just sit down in the morning and write until dinner, with lunch and coffee breaks. This has never, ever, proven to be true, no matter how much time I had. Even when unemployed or underemployed, it just doesn't happen. I can, in fact, make myself sit down regularly and write - but rare indeed is the day when I can spend more than a couple of hours doing it.

I'm talking about really writing here - not sitting at my computer, checking my email, reading Salon, dropping in on the New York Times, seeing what's happening at Inked In and Linked In, trying to remember how to open my Facebook page - but really sitting down and focusing. I am sorry to say, I don't have that much focus in me. On a good day, I can write five pages. On a VERY good day, I might write seven or eight. A few times in my life, I've sat down and written a fifteen page short story, or ten pages of libretto, a whole scene, all in one day. But often, it will be one or two pages that comes out after a couple of hours of work, and I'll know, by the end of the day, that that's all that's emerging.

But I think I've learned to live with it. Although I still have my fantasy, that if I had a REALLY long time off, I'd get more writing done. I'm just not sure I believe it anymore.

Blocks and Blockades

2009-01-04T15:06:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure your observation is correct, Bill - I bet it is a lot harder to get gay-themed work published. For one thing, this country surely hasn't fully embraced gay themes in life, let alone literature; for another, gay-themed work is probably perceived as a "niche" or even, heaven forfend, a "genre."

I know there are a lot of theories about why the world has become more compartmentalized over the last few decades (many of them centered on marketing), and it always seems sad to me that art and literature, which ought to be the shining beacon against such limitations, happily go along. These days, Jane Austen would be published with a pink cover in the chick lit section and Herman Melville's leviathan would be dripping blood from unwhale-like fangs over in action adventure. I think most editors of literary magazines would claim they were free from such considerations, but still, they have a reasonably firm concept of what "suits" their aesthetic - and I'm guessing that gay-themed work often doesn't. And don't get me wrong, I think the editors of literary magazines are heroes, and ought to be praised to the skies for all they do to keep short fiction and poetry alive - but like all of us, they live in a world with many unseen blockades, and we're all very used to those blockades, no matter how hard we try and see over and around them. Too often, the answer to those blockades is ghettos, and there are many, many ghettos for literature.

But I actually think the answer is to keep doing what you're doing. Your work is by its very nature not suited to compartmentalization, and I think if you keep writing about every aspect of life you know, you're at least helping to bring the blockades down brick by brick. Because the truth is no one, no matter how sheltered, actually lives behind those walls, even if just imaginatively, no matter how hard they try. And what we're trying to get at in our writing is some kind of truth, after all - the one that doesn't recognize those carefully constructed walls.

Gay? No Way?

2009-01-02T12:12:00.000-08:00

Is it just my imagination--or bad luck--or is it much harder to get gay-themed material published than non-gay-themed material? In this day and age, I wouldn’t have thought so, but looking back over 2008, I can’t help thinking that this might still be the case.

By any standards, I had a very successful year on the literary front--certainly the best year I’ve ever had. Five of my short stories were published. One of my short plays was published--and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. One of my full-length plays was accepted by and presented at a play festival at the Cherry Lane Theatre, and another full-length play was runner-up for a national playwriting award. All good news, right? But when I look more closely at these works, I realize that NONE of them was gay-themed. (All right, the full-length play that was runner-up for a prize had a gay theme lurking in the background.) Meanwhile, my stories and plays in circulation this past year that DID have gay themes didn’t get anywhere.

Coincidence--or nefarious forces at work?

TITLES

2009-01-02T12:10:00.000-08:00

What makes a good title? I have no idea, but I’ve finally settled on a title for my new play that feels right. This play was inspired by my trip to Mexico City and Teotihuacan last February, where I was struck by the violent history of both sites—like most major world sites, for that matter—and by the way that different “clans” successively destroy their predecessors and appropriate their property and culture. I wondered what daily life might be like for people in these situations—and in particular what it might be like for gentler, artistic souls. This led to the idea of following one family as it evolved through history, somehow present at many conquests and migrations, right up to our current time and beyond.

My first working title for this play was MIGRATIONS. My writers’ group felt this wasn’t descriptive enough--and a bit boring, too. It was also pointed out that what the family experiences even more than a series of migrations is a series of conquests, so the title became CONQUESTS AND MIGRATIONS. This didn’t seem colorful enough to me, so then I tried THE CONQUERING RACE--but people felt this was too suggestive of the Nazis. Then I tried THE CONQUESTS OF IVOR AND IRENE, followed by IVOR THE WARRIOR. Other possibilities included:

Survival of the Fittest

Ivor and Irene

The Conquests of Ivor and Irene

Dwellings and Conquests

The Conquering Race

Conquering People

The Warrior Clan

The Evolution of a Warrior

The Warrior’s Family

The Warrior

The Warrior and His Family

The Evolution of Ivor and Irene

The Tale of Ivor and Irene

Ivor and Irene: An Evolution

The Need to Conquer

Groping Toward Survival

Groping Toward Evolution

Unnatural Selection

The Ascent of Man and Woman

Home is Where the Conquest Is

A Home is for the Taking

Conquering Scarsdale

Migrations of the Clan

I Take This Dwelling in the Name of Ivor and Irene

The Dwellings of Ivor and Irene

Where Ivor and Irene Dwell

Where We Dwell

A Dwelling is Not Necessarily a Home

I Take This Dwelling

Next Stop Scarsdale

Dwellings

Portrait of a Family

The Four Realms

Evolution of a Family

Evolution

Appropriation

Anthropology

Migrations of the Heart

Dwellings and Migrations

Occupations

This Dwelling is Occupied

But now the search is over. The new (and I hope final) title is...

THE BEST PLACE WE’VE EVER LIVED

A Fantasy in Two Acts and Four Realms

There’s more to family life than conquests and migrations.

The year of writing faster

2009-01-01T22:10:00.000-08:00

I did have one huge good thing I did with my writing this year, I finished half a novel. In participating in NaNoWriMo (the month of November 50,000 words novel writing event) I finally realized I can pound out vast quantities of sentences and chapters. Remember, I'm a poet. We're talking a page of writing short lines with lots of spaces. After NaNoWriMo was over, I knew two things. I should have written it in first person and I'll need to throw a lot more misery and conflict in my hero's path. You just cannot be nice to your main character. There is no get-out-of-jail card in fiction if you want to keep things interesting. All those touching scenes and sweetness that I wrote, ugh, I was channeling some sort of Waltons rerun. Gack! I can't smooth things for my characters and behave like their stage mom. I am the supreme being, that is to say, the plot master. So I started researching just how someone coming of age in Brooklyn in 1912 would talk. I need my character to appear subservient but have a lively funny inner dialogue that will eventually be part of her overt character as she grows up. Oh yeah, one other thing I learned, when you write a lot, and really let it happen, some unexpected riffs happen. It is rather wonderful to give up the illusion of control and be rewarded for it.

I wish all of you, this coming year, a chance to write a galloping first draft of something, with no slowing down for quality or consistency. Write it fast. Rewrite it slow. Later, we'll workshop.

A Creative New Year

2009-01-01T19:29:00.000-08:00

For reasons too sad and too numerous to go into, members of River Writers are no longer allowed to name years. When we were younger and more foolish, we used to name years things like, "The Year of Having Our Books Published," or, most catastrophically, "The Year of Getting Famous," and what would invariably follow were series of disasters which cost several further years to recover from. (The only exception was one year which Claudia and I entitled "The Year of Adventure," which included a really amazing reading by W.S. Merwin and a concert by Blossom Dearie - apparently if you leave years unspecific enough, and are nonhubristic, the Fates do not hound you in the same way.)

So I will not venture to title 2009, but I am nonetheless having a strong intuition that it is going to be a very good year for creative ventures. Sometimes you just know. 2008 seemed like a year for working things out - at least here at River Writers, we all seemed to be trying things out and stumbling up against some road blocks - not the most prolific year for even the most prolific among us. But I think things did get worked on and are at least beginning to be worked out, and I am now officially expecting Great Things in the New Year. Although we did end the Old Year with a really splendid draft of Bill's new play, which I do not yet believe has a final title, but is a brilliant meditation on changing roles within families over time. (Or if it does now have a final title, Bill, tell us!)

Although I don't believe any of us think of ourselves as particularly political artists or writers, I can't help wondering if the mood of the country over the last year has affected our writing and our mood more than we really have acknowledged, or at least discussed. Up until the very day of the election, gloom and anxiety were hard to avoid; and since the election, we all seem to be on hold, still hearing persistently dark news, but hoping at least, for the best. On the one hand, all the news fed to us seems to be bad; on the other hand, we have lived through several decades of unbelievably rapid change - social change, economic change, political change, and it seems like almost anything could happen, even a drastic change for the better.

But in any case, even more than most new years, I think this is definitely going to be a time for finishing old projects and beginning new ones. We won't label the new year, but I think we will begin it with ideas and energy, and hope that it's a time for going on to the next new thing.

No Gifts?

2008-12-24T11:11:00.000-08:00

Your Christmas actually sounds kind of peaceful to me, Claudia, very adult and civilized. It is my theory that we should enjoy these moments while we can, as the pause between generations is brief. Just as we get adjusted to nice quiet evenings with a little seasonal music in the background, the unsettled cries of babies and toddlers who haven't yet grasped the joys of Christmas begin to ring out from the next room. Gather ye eggnog while you may.

And speaking of eggnog - does anyone make it from scratch any more, or is it too scary? I have been contemplating eggnog, but somehow, in the interval between when my dad used to make it with many eggs and clouds of whipped egg white on top, and the current moment when it all seems to come pasteurized and homogenized out of cardboard containers in the dairy section, I've lost or forgotten the recipe. Are we still allowed to eat raw eggs?

The holidays just get more complicated all the time.

No gifts, no kids, no fuss, no huzzah

2008-12-23T12:31:00.000-08:00

My husband and I will be going to my Aunt's house tomorrow for the holiday. It will be good to see my parents and cousins, but I will miss having any kids around. Mine will be with their father this year in New Jersey. But my girls are young adults--I meant kids as in under the age of ten...somehow the holidays without any wide eyed participants just seems a little flat. I look back on all the years of my girls being girls and it seems like it went by too fast. At the time it was not rushing by. Every day had its tides of small dramas. Ah well, this is middle age, and it is my turn to look forwards and back, to see both shores and know this too is temporary. I also know I am lucky at my age to have parents and even a grandmother around. Lucky to be able to love them all through another year.

Wrong Suitcase

2008-12-22T11:39:00.000-08:00

I know that wrong suitcase feeling so well, Hilary - every time I gear up to go on a trip - and especially around the holidays - I am in a complete panic that I will somehow get it wrong. I won't bring the right suitcase, I will forget all the presents, I'll lose my ID or tickets, I'll bring all the wrong clothes - the list goes on.

The funniest part about it, really, is that on those rare occasions when things have gone all wrong - flights missed, baggage lost, medication misplaced, no coat brought and a blizzard in the offing - it always gets fixed. Clothes can be bought or borrowed, doctors and pharmacists can be called, and there's almost always another flight in an hour or six. But we almost all approach trips as if we were in the final scenes of a Hollywood movie, where if the flight is missed, the person not found immediately, we have lost our one and only chance to ever fly to that place or see that person. If you don't catch your boyfriend/girlfriend/fiancee/spouse/master spy at EXACTLY that moment before their plane takes off and they leave forever, you will never see them again. Apparently, in the movies no one has cell phones, email, or even a Post Office Box at which to receive messages about missed flights and opportunities.

And that's exactly how I feel before trips, even if they are to a conference half an hour away on the commuter railroad. Anything I don't remember is lost to me forever. And maybe that is just what Claudia was saying about holidays: if we don't remember, who will?

Is God gonna bring me a suitcase?

2008-12-21T15:33:00.001-08:00

I hate vanishing dolls and headlines that print themselves but what I was going to add to Debbie's blog was that

once upon a time a long time ago, my daughter had a doll named neither Barbie nor Strawberry Shortcake but otherwise was like any other little girl's doll in Istanbul. I think her name was Vivian? Megan? At any rate, my 4-yr-old daughter, Alexandra, was completely satisfied with the wealth of wardrobe enjoyed by her doll, but she had nothing to put all those doll crinolines in when Megan went to bed and so needed -- for Christmas -- a suitcase. (Megan had written it in her letter to Santa.) At the same time, Alexandra's Sunday School was preoccupied with the religious story of Christmas, to which end the visiting English padre (bearded as any proper Santa Claus -- or Heavenly Father, for that matter -- would be) had come to explain to all the children the lovely story of the Nativity --

& not unnaturally. Alexandra had all of Christmastime's Principal Players mixed up and that would be all of my comments on Debbie's comments on Christmas, although I might have added comments in re: last week's NYT editorial, commenting upon all the lovely layers of belief upon which Lewis bases Narnia....and all of these comments would have agreed with Deb's excellent comments as Christmas is indeed, a bittersweet event -- except I wanted to add

that we are programmed, genetically, I think (Claudia, you are the expert) to take all our holidays with a Grain of Salt, to add to any expectationa sense of forboding brittle hope, which was mostly in Alex's facial expression not in her words, of course, and --

I don't know what in the world I am talking about....

Except I am panicked, packing for Christmas in Boston, where the youngest among us will be 13 (Alex's daughter, Elizabeth)worried that we will somehow all be disappointed (like there won't be enough suitcases to go around, or I've chosen the wrong suitcase for one of us --)

MERRY CHRISTMAS , Andrew, Bill, Debbie, Claudia!

I love you all, and I will never never knowingly (aye, there's the rub) bring you the wrong suitcase,

Hilary

Writing through the Holidays

2008-12-21T09:20:00.000-08:00

Up until Thanksgiving, I was moving along merrily, working each Saturday on my novel, and on my other works in progress on Sundays and during the week. And then - I was scrambling to get something done for the last workshop - and, truth be told, without the workshop to give me a deadline, almost nothing would have been written before the New Year. And I don't think it was just me - we probably set a record for the shortest River Writers ever this week.

What is it about turkey and trees and holiday lights that slows us down so much? (I notice, for instance, no one has been blogging here either.) Well, unless turkey has long term effects not yet identified by science, I guess it has to be mood and memories. I don't think it's just that Christmas was a time of such great anticipation as a child; I think it is an ongoing sense of loss that settles in as we get older, loss of all the people who are no longer with us as we gather to celebrate. Grandparents, parents, the generations behind. When I was ten years old, I visited a nursing home with my class at Christmas time and met a 102 year old man who was born during the Civil War. I was thinking of him this week, and thinking he was born almost 150 years ago. That's a lot of Christmases. It's not exactly that I miss the Christmases of my childhood - it's that my childhood is receding through time, becoming historical, subject to sentimentalization and ossification. If I had a time machine and could go back and ask that nice man a few questions, one would be if the Victorian Christmases we see on our cards and Christmas windows today have anything at all to do with his memories.

Oh well, this too shall pass, the New Year will arrive, the roar of the crowd from Times Square will wash over us, and writing will become easier again. But it probably won't make next December any easier - maybe we should just declare a writing holiday and dedicate ourselves to consuming cookies instead!

Infidelity

2008-11-06T19:27:00.000-08:00

In both of the plays I mentioned in my last entry -- Fifty Words by Michael Weller and Fault Lines by Stephen Belber -- a major crisis erupts in response to an actual or possible act of infidelity. In both cases, the marriages in question are either destroyed or irreparably damaged by the disclosure. For that matter, infidelity is the major marital crisis explored in many plays, movies, and TV shows. Beyond that, we probably all know people whose marriage or relationship ended when one of the partners was discovered to have had sex with somebody else. Now, indulge me in an exercise in fantasy and imagine a world in which the fact that most people (or, at least, many, many people) are incapable of complete fidelity were acknowledged--as well as the fact that sex becomes a decreasingly important aspect of many if not most marriages as time goes by despite the fact that by most other measures these marriages may be very solid and nurturing. Imagine further that people understood and accepted the “biological” aspect of sexuality--that is, the drive to be fulfilled sexually or to experience the release of orgasm--and had tacit permission to go outside the marriage on occasion to seek that fulfillment. Imagine finally that these outside excursions in no way damaged the marriage.

All of what I describe is at play in many marriages--except the part where spouses have tacit permission to go outside. I read a book called Open Marriages back in the early seventies that made the case for relationships that were more open-minded when it came to sex. I don’t remember the details of the book--it may well have been proposing arrangements I might find objectionable--but the central notion of the book has stayed with me all these years. I also see around me the example of many successful gay relationships (and “marriages” by whatever name) in which there is less of an expectation that the partners will be exclusive all of the time.

In my play, “Conquests and Migrations” (the latest working title for a work in progress), I envision a future in which spouses have a much more fluid notion about the role that sex plays in their marriage. This occurs after the characters in this fantasy play have “evolved” through other periods in which--in succession--wives are simply used sexually whenever their grunting husbands need to get off; the very notion that a wife has had thoughts about another man is enough to cause the husband to lash out violently; and the discovery of a wife’s (or husband’s) affair leads automatically to divorce. The more enlightened future I envision can’t possibly last, can it? Well, stay tuned--I’m in the process of sorting that out right now.

To see more of my blogs, go to: http://williamfowkes.com/Site/JOURNAL/JOURNAL.html

Ciao

NaNoWriMo post-haste Election Marathon

2008-11-05T10:36:00.000-08:00

I have fallen behind in my word count, I will admit that seeing the election in Times Square (surrounded by tourists speaking French, German, Italian, Spanish, and English with other colonial accents) and celebrating took up time and masses of sleep recovery. I will wend my way to a Starbucks, plug joe into me and juice into the laptop, and write for word count sake, quantity over quality. Full speed. Latte. Tap tap tap. Sip sip sip.

I really will have a (bad) first draft by December. 175 pages of raw material. To junk or save but nonetheless to be able to say I did it. This works. Next year all of you should do it with me. Really. www.nanowrimo.org

I Have Seen the Future - Part Deux

2008-11-03T08:02:00.000-08:00

It turns out people in the 21st century really don’t want to hear from you unless you are someone they’ve given a nod to already – and if they know you through Facebook, or LinkedIn, or My Space, or Naymz, or any of the 3000 other social networks, you’re okay by them. There’s some thought that one reason Senator Obama, despite having just made the Boomer cutoff, is looking so likely as our next president right now is that all those young people on their social networks really together form one giant social network – and to them, he seems like one of them. Savvy about their world, committed to their ideas, and entering by invitation.

It seems to me our only choice – as writers and artists – is to jump in and join the network – at least as far as is comfortable and not too demanding of the attention we ought to be spending on our art. But it’s certainly an interesting dilemma, as well as opportunity, for the writer who develops his or her work alone, in solitude, to bring it out there to the rest of the world. I guess it’s the 21st century challenge, and only time will tell how well we meet it.

I Have Seen the Future!

2008-10-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

I recently went to the Technology in the Arts Conference sponsored by CMU in Pittsburgh, and I’m still reeling a little. (It’s a brilliant annual conference, full of fascinating artists, tech wizards, and arts organization managers, by the way, and I recommend it highly to anyone with an interest in the subject.) By nature, with technology I’m a middle adapter. I was pretty quick to get an email address, and even hosted a long running writers’ chat on AOL, but I was very slow to get a cell phone - but then, I’m a writer, and would rather type than talk any day. The world, however, has apparently moved far beyond email and mobiles. In Pittsburgh, I learned that the future lies with texts, blogs, and social networking.

A number of my sessions were on arts marketing, and although they weren’t directly about writing, it was pretty obvious that in the 21st century, in order for writers to build audiences and market their work, social networking will be key. And this doesn’t just mean building your email list and burying everyone you ever met in announcements of your new books, publications, and readings. Here’s the bad news – 80% of all email never gets opened. Even if people know who you are, unless they think there’s something really exciting in it for them, they just won’t make the effort to look at the contents. And almost no one clicks on internal links, so don’t assume you’re sending them to your Web site from your email. (I confess, that when I thought about it, I realized that this was all too true. Even if the email is from acquaintances, they are really better off putting those publication announcements or reading dates in the subject line – because otherwise I’m just not going to open it. I probably get fifty emails a day, divided between professional, social, and people trying to get me to buy something – and that’s not counting the spam!)

Well, more on this later, as I continue to digest, and in the meantime, as Hilary always says - Keep Writing!

Two poems published in the Marsh Hawk Review

2008-10-13T10:13:00.000-07:00

I gave them poems I'm sure you remember...
Please look.

Thanks, C

A Sunday of posting

2008-10-05T15:36:00.000-07:00

Going freelance has been good for my blogging. I wrote today to three blogs and raved about some literary graphic novels, why I'll miss designing for print, and here I am at River Writers... I did not make the cut off for the NY arts grants. I just have too much more to do to rethink my next set of poems. I want to explore imaginary cities and other acts of imagination. Also explore how fine art and design can be transposed into poetry. Image to word.

Today was a good writing day

2008-10-02T15:20:00.000-07:00

We had a great River Writers workshop last week, and as I sat down to work on the new show today, I had the benefits of everyone's comments fresh in my mind. I knew I had to settle my character's ages a little more firmly, and make sure they knew what they wanted in each scene (aside from coffee, which everyone in the show drinks constantly - not unlike a few River Writers!)

I also had the benefit of a great meeting with my composer/collaborator, Allan Jaffe, who suggested I model one of the scenes on a conversation in one of my recent short stories. This worked out very happily - and it would have probably taken me much longer to think of by myself (if I ever did manage to think of it!)

Now all we have to do is figure out how long the show is going to be. The workshop consensus was one act, to be followed by another one act music theater piece in due time. I guess only time will tell (time, inspiration, and deadlines) - but it felt really wonderful to be back to work.

New York Foundation of the Arts

2008-10-01T15:47:00.000-07:00

Deborah let me know in email that the deadline is coming up. Go here: link to NYFA to get info. Poetry deadline Oct 6, non-fiction Oct 10th.

I am thinking a collection of Hilary's Baghdad pieces would work.

I'll put together a poetry proposal.

I have nothing to say

2008-10-01T13:43:00.000-07:00

other than keep writing. Wait!

Claudia set up a blog for me called "Meditations in a Diner." Not much more expanded than these notes, but it will be.

First Day

2008-09-29T08:45:00.001-07:00

This is my first day on my first blog ever. We'll see how it goes. This is part of the River Writers Group of Manhattan blog. I don't know how a group blog works yet--but I know how the River Writers Group works. It's a great writers' group. I've been a member for about 5 or 6 years, which makes me the newest member by far in what is reputedly the oldest continuing writers group in New York.

That's all for now.
William

The River Writers of Manhattan Blog

2008-09-26T20:25:00.000-07:00

begins. I promise to redo graphics and add bios and photos or whatever needs done.