This is the one where I talk about wanting to throw in the towel.
Maybe that's because I haven't eaten in six hours.
Maybe that's because I need a nap.
Maybe it's because my boyfriend's out of town and I had to sleep alone last night.
And I got up at 5:30 AM.
And was up for four hours until I was able to nap until 11 AM.
Maybe it's because I'm broke.
Maybe it's because my mother's drama is overtaking my life.
Maybe it's because I have a play I need to edit and I can't bring myself to do it.
Maybe it's because I yelled at an unlicensed contractor on Monday and had an irrational fear that he was going to come after me and gay bash me.
Maybe it's because my Dad's dead.
Maybe it's because I've been at this for ten years.
Maybe it's because I'm seeing the success other people are having around me and I'm jealous.
Maybe it's because I'm tired.
Of trying.
Maybe it's because so many things are out of my control.
Maybe it's because this blog is the only thing I seem to be able to write these days.
And that's after five other attempts to do a blog entry this month.
Maybe I need to cry more.
Maybe I've cried too much and I need to toughen up.
Maybe I need to eat.
Maybe I need to get fucked again like I was the other night before my boyfriend left down.
Maybe other huge gay victory needs to happen so my boyfriend and I can fuck again to celebrate.
(NOTE: We had sex after the Supreme Court struck down DOMA and Prop 8)
Maybe I just need to relax.
And call friends.
And just remember that this will pass like all of the other times.
Maybe I should just trust myself and remember that when I am able to write again, it will be great.
I'm not Fran Liebowitz.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Monday, June 3, 2013
This is the Voice
What kind of plays do you write?
Plays of desire.
(from the imaginary interview that constantly continues inside my head)
I was waking up this morning and standing at the toilet peeing. That's when I figured out that the plays I write are plays of desire. Twenty years of writing plays and I finally figure that out. I used to think that the plays I write are plays of identity. And that is fine. I believe that identity fits into some of my plays, but not all of them. But I just looked at all of my plays and I realized that desire is in all of them. Sexual desire. The desire to belong or succeed. Objectification. The desire to be more. The desire to have what everyone else has. It's in every single one of my plays. And I'm about to embark on a seven play series that's all about desire. It's about coveting. It's about wanting what someone else has. So desire is consistent in my work. It's also consistent in my life. The feeling of desire, of wanting, of longing. There's something seductive about that. There's also a lot that's destructive about it as well. But the feeling of desire is very much an aphrodisiac to me.
The origin of this epiphany came from an article I read announcing a TV project from a writer I know. And I thought, "Wow, that's something I could write. That's something I am writing about, but what I'm writing about takes it one step further." There's a lot in the zeitgeist about sex and sexuality from an intellectual point of view. I need to finish this play that I'm rewriting! But something is definitely in the air. So I was thinking about this writer and this project and I thought about how what I'm writing could be a great TV show (which coincidentally was an idea I had over a year ago and a brilliant friend of mine convinced me to write it as a play). Then I thought about what that play is about and the word DESIRE popped out. It also felt sexy. My plays are about desire. You can just see the smoke from the cigarette I'm smoking as I'm telling you that. You can feel the charge that's created when someone hears that.
And I don't know anyone who's writing those plays. I don't know anyone who's writing the way I'm writing. With an air of every day conversation and intimacy. For me, besides theatricality, plays are there to talk about the things that people aren't talking about in ways they aren't talking about them. Theatre is the forerunner. It's the risk taker. It's the pioneer. You can do that in terms of form. But you can also do that in terms of content.
So that's what I'm doing. I always tell my students that writing is an exercise in finding their own voice. It turns out that the task of finding your voice doesn't just end because you start using that voice. It's the action of using your voice that helps you discover and experience your voice on a deeper level the more that you use it.
Plays of desire.
(from the imaginary interview that constantly continues inside my head)
I was waking up this morning and standing at the toilet peeing. That's when I figured out that the plays I write are plays of desire. Twenty years of writing plays and I finally figure that out. I used to think that the plays I write are plays of identity. And that is fine. I believe that identity fits into some of my plays, but not all of them. But I just looked at all of my plays and I realized that desire is in all of them. Sexual desire. The desire to belong or succeed. Objectification. The desire to be more. The desire to have what everyone else has. It's in every single one of my plays. And I'm about to embark on a seven play series that's all about desire. It's about coveting. It's about wanting what someone else has. So desire is consistent in my work. It's also consistent in my life. The feeling of desire, of wanting, of longing. There's something seductive about that. There's also a lot that's destructive about it as well. But the feeling of desire is very much an aphrodisiac to me.
The origin of this epiphany came from an article I read announcing a TV project from a writer I know. And I thought, "Wow, that's something I could write. That's something I am writing about, but what I'm writing about takes it one step further." There's a lot in the zeitgeist about sex and sexuality from an intellectual point of view. I need to finish this play that I'm rewriting! But something is definitely in the air. So I was thinking about this writer and this project and I thought about how what I'm writing could be a great TV show (which coincidentally was an idea I had over a year ago and a brilliant friend of mine convinced me to write it as a play). Then I thought about what that play is about and the word DESIRE popped out. It also felt sexy. My plays are about desire. You can just see the smoke from the cigarette I'm smoking as I'm telling you that. You can feel the charge that's created when someone hears that.
And I don't know anyone who's writing those plays. I don't know anyone who's writing the way I'm writing. With an air of every day conversation and intimacy. For me, besides theatricality, plays are there to talk about the things that people aren't talking about in ways they aren't talking about them. Theatre is the forerunner. It's the risk taker. It's the pioneer. You can do that in terms of form. But you can also do that in terms of content.
So that's what I'm doing. I always tell my students that writing is an exercise in finding their own voice. It turns out that the task of finding your voice doesn't just end because you start using that voice. It's the action of using your voice that helps you discover and experience your voice on a deeper level the more that you use it.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Do Not Disturb
I had a phone interview for a teaching job this morning and had to get up early. Went well. I think I said everything I wanted to say. Was going to crawl back into bed with the boyfriend, but when I looked in I saw he was snoring. He can be sensitive to sound and noise, so I didn't want to disturb him. Instead I took a shower. I have been on the internet, reading things. He looked so peaceful with the pillow over his face and a slight snore coming out of his nostrils.
He's cute.
That's all.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Go Deeper
I realized why I have been having such a hard time working on this rewrite.
I need to go deeper.
I plotted out the story of this new draft. And while all of those things need to happen and all of those scenes move the action forward, I can't write to the story.
I have to know where they need to go, but I need to let them go there. I have to LET THEM GO. That phrase keeps repeating in my life. Just let it go.
I have to not use any of the previous stuff I had before, even though a part of me loves some of that dialogue and it would be easier. But I'm not the person I was when I sat down to write the play over a year ago. My relationship is deeper. The questions I'm asking are deeper. I need to be more honest.
All of these life events happen that seem ordinary, but what happens to these particular people...
I had a conversation with someone today at the spa. He was saying that he loves songs from the American Songbook. He said that those songs can be sung over and over again the same way, but they don't mean anything unless you bring something to them. You have to interpret them.
Things happen to these characters that have happened to people over the past several centuries over and over again. People meet. They marry. They want to have kids. They argue about their sex lives. They break up. They stay together. None of that is new. But the interpretation makes it fresh. What these individuals bring to these universal rites of passage is what makes it seem fresh.
So while I didn't get a ton of writing done...I attempted. And that's when I realized it didn't work. But I accomplished something significant. In this conversation, I had this epiphany. The American Songbook still moves us because it's so universal. But those songs continue to touch us because they are interpreted through our experiences, our contemporary time and our emotions. That's what makes a great version of a song we've heard before like At Last, The Very Thought of You, Night and Day and the list goes on and on.
Sometimes the Universe speaks to us in ways that are unexpected. It's the "God works in mysterious ways" concept. I was having a feeling I needed a day away to just write and hole up. I ran into this guy, Marc, who I had met the last time I was here. Randomly. We chatted up and had this conversation about the American Songbook. We were talking about songs and he mentioned The Very Thought of You, which is the song I was thinking about. Weird. And I got the gift of having this epiphany and realization through this conversation. So that was meant to be.
I like being available to what the Universe is trying to tell me. You have to quiet things down in order to hear what you're meant to know.
Go Deeper.
I need to go deeper.
I plotted out the story of this new draft. And while all of those things need to happen and all of those scenes move the action forward, I can't write to the story.
I have to know where they need to go, but I need to let them go there. I have to LET THEM GO. That phrase keeps repeating in my life. Just let it go.
I have to not use any of the previous stuff I had before, even though a part of me loves some of that dialogue and it would be easier. But I'm not the person I was when I sat down to write the play over a year ago. My relationship is deeper. The questions I'm asking are deeper. I need to be more honest.
All of these life events happen that seem ordinary, but what happens to these particular people...
I had a conversation with someone today at the spa. He was saying that he loves songs from the American Songbook. He said that those songs can be sung over and over again the same way, but they don't mean anything unless you bring something to them. You have to interpret them.
Things happen to these characters that have happened to people over the past several centuries over and over again. People meet. They marry. They want to have kids. They argue about their sex lives. They break up. They stay together. None of that is new. But the interpretation makes it fresh. What these individuals bring to these universal rites of passage is what makes it seem fresh.
So while I didn't get a ton of writing done...I attempted. And that's when I realized it didn't work. But I accomplished something significant. In this conversation, I had this epiphany. The American Songbook still moves us because it's so universal. But those songs continue to touch us because they are interpreted through our experiences, our contemporary time and our emotions. That's what makes a great version of a song we've heard before like At Last, The Very Thought of You, Night and Day and the list goes on and on.
Sometimes the Universe speaks to us in ways that are unexpected. It's the "God works in mysterious ways" concept. I was having a feeling I needed a day away to just write and hole up. I ran into this guy, Marc, who I had met the last time I was here. Randomly. We chatted up and had this conversation about the American Songbook. We were talking about songs and he mentioned The Very Thought of You, which is the song I was thinking about. Weird. And I got the gift of having this epiphany and realization through this conversation. So that was meant to be.
I like being available to what the Universe is trying to tell me. You have to quiet things down in order to hear what you're meant to know.
Go Deeper.
Don't Feel Like Writing
I'm here at the Wii spa and taking a day to be quiet and to write. I even brought my computer and I've attempted to do some writing here and there. But I'm stalling out.
I have this play to rewrite, so I thought that taking a day by myself would help stimulate the creative juices. I've been here for three hours. I've eaten. I've steamed. I've saunaed. I've showered. I've slept. I've interneted. But no real writing so far.
The good thing is that I can be here as long as I want to. At least until 4 AM. So we'll see how things progress. I doubt I'll be here that whole time, but who knows? I'll provide updates.
I have this play to rewrite, so I thought that taking a day by myself would help stimulate the creative juices. I've been here for three hours. I've eaten. I've steamed. I've saunaed. I've showered. I've slept. I've interneted. But no real writing so far.
The good thing is that I can be here as long as I want to. At least until 4 AM. So we'll see how things progress. I doubt I'll be here that whole time, but who knows? I'll provide updates.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
The Mountain
The Drummer took me on a hike last week. My quads are still in pain.
He has been going on this hike in Burbank that's mostly incline. Apparently, you climb 2700 feet during the course of the hike. It sounded all right. I am in decent shape. Well, I haven't been to the gym much lately. But I'm not fat. I ran a marathon! Okay, that was five years ago. But still!
So we drive up to the park where we need to start the hike. He keeps pointing out how high up we have to climb. I feel like I might kill him.
We start the hike. It's tough, but fine. We go higher and higher. I'm happy whenever there's a place where the road levels off. There aren't that many. Then we reach a place where there are a lot of switchbacks. I have to take several breaks. On each one, The Drummer has to point out how far we've come. I don't want to look behind me. I want to look in front of me. I take my break and continue forward. The breaks become more frequent. I don't know if I can do it. If it's this steep coming up, I can only imagine how it's going to feel going down with gravity pulling me forward. I try not to think about it too much. But then, as it gets more painful. And I blurt out:
"I am not very happy right now!"
The boyfriend thinks this is endearing. I just want to push him off the mountain. But I keep going. And on our last break, we both look at the city.
"Look how far we've come," he says.
I'm trying to catch my breath.
"This is like a metaphor for life. Just when you're about to achieve your goal, you're about to quit."
I think about that as I'm looking down at LA. There are those moments in my life where I got so close to something that I quit before realizing how hard it was. And I didn't want to do that. The Drummer kept trying to remind me how accomplished I would feel when I was done. I didn't want to hear it. But I kept moving and suddenly, we were at the top. We had made it.
And as I looked out, he was right. The sense of accomplishment took all of that insecurity away. Now I know there's yet another thing I can do if I set my mind to it. I've climbed the mountain. And the next time I climb it, it will be easier. I will know what to expect. And now I know that I can make it to the top of the mountain and reflect back on my journey. I won't quit.
He has been going on this hike in Burbank that's mostly incline. Apparently, you climb 2700 feet during the course of the hike. It sounded all right. I am in decent shape. Well, I haven't been to the gym much lately. But I'm not fat. I ran a marathon! Okay, that was five years ago. But still!
So we drive up to the park where we need to start the hike. He keeps pointing out how high up we have to climb. I feel like I might kill him.
We start the hike. It's tough, but fine. We go higher and higher. I'm happy whenever there's a place where the road levels off. There aren't that many. Then we reach a place where there are a lot of switchbacks. I have to take several breaks. On each one, The Drummer has to point out how far we've come. I don't want to look behind me. I want to look in front of me. I take my break and continue forward. The breaks become more frequent. I don't know if I can do it. If it's this steep coming up, I can only imagine how it's going to feel going down with gravity pulling me forward. I try not to think about it too much. But then, as it gets more painful. And I blurt out:
"I am not very happy right now!"
The boyfriend thinks this is endearing. I just want to push him off the mountain. But I keep going. And on our last break, we both look at the city.
"Look how far we've come," he says.
I'm trying to catch my breath.
"This is like a metaphor for life. Just when you're about to achieve your goal, you're about to quit."
I think about that as I'm looking down at LA. There are those moments in my life where I got so close to something that I quit before realizing how hard it was. And I didn't want to do that. The Drummer kept trying to remind me how accomplished I would feel when I was done. I didn't want to hear it. But I kept moving and suddenly, we were at the top. We had made it.
And as I looked out, he was right. The sense of accomplishment took all of that insecurity away. Now I know there's yet another thing I can do if I set my mind to it. I've climbed the mountain. And the next time I climb it, it will be easier. I will know what to expect. And now I know that I can make it to the top of the mountain and reflect back on my journey. I won't quit.
The Rewrite Year
Remember when I said that I felt like I manifested this teaching opportunity. Well, I went back and refined the syllabi that I had created. I now have six syllabi that detail exactly what I would teach next year from soup to nuts. And now I'm done.
I have to surrender it. I have done everything I can.
I have this play rewrite I'm working on. I have it all worked out. Outlined. I have been struggling with it for the past month. Which is why it has been easier to write these syllabi and think about lesson plans. But I have to let that go.
I have to write. I have taken enough time away from it. I finished my rewrite of the pilot three weeks ago.
I wrote the first 30 or so pages of the play rewrite. I should be proud of that. But, of course, I think I'm moving too slow. I always think that I'm moving too slow. I wrote a really good polished pilot this year so far. I have a great play that I'm tearing apart and reworking. I have another great play that I want to rewrite for a reading this summer.
But I've been writing syllabi. However, even that is writing. Coming up with a concept for a class that I want to teach.
So it's not like I'm not doing anything. I'm doing a ton. But it would be nice to have this play done by the end of the month, so I can work on the next one.
I'm rewriting everything this year. This is the rewrite year.
Last year, I wrote a new play and three new pilots. You could say four because the idea for one of them was a totally different pilot and concept last year. So I kind of have two different versions of the same idea. Two of those pilots never made it past the first draft. Both I want to take another shot at this year.
I might not even start anything new this year. I have a lot of rewriting to do. That's fine because I want polished work.
I have no new plays I really want to write. I have a musical I'm supposed to write with a friend. And I have a few half ideas. But I do have two screenplays I want to write. Two ideas that I think are really good. But other than that, I have nothing in the play department.
It's the rewrite year. I'm rewriting myself this year. If this teaching job happens, it will be a major rewrite of my life. Big time.
Last year I was writing new stuff because I was trying to outrun my pain. My Dad was dying and I needed distractions. I wrote wildly and prolifically. Now I'm taking those things I wrote and refining them. They are taking better shape.
My life is taking better shape. I'm going back to something that I was working on before and reworking it. It's all a metaphor for my life.
I have to surrender it. I have done everything I can.
I have this play rewrite I'm working on. I have it all worked out. Outlined. I have been struggling with it for the past month. Which is why it has been easier to write these syllabi and think about lesson plans. But I have to let that go.
I have to write. I have taken enough time away from it. I finished my rewrite of the pilot three weeks ago.
I wrote the first 30 or so pages of the play rewrite. I should be proud of that. But, of course, I think I'm moving too slow. I always think that I'm moving too slow. I wrote a really good polished pilot this year so far. I have a great play that I'm tearing apart and reworking. I have another great play that I want to rewrite for a reading this summer.
But I've been writing syllabi. However, even that is writing. Coming up with a concept for a class that I want to teach.
So it's not like I'm not doing anything. I'm doing a ton. But it would be nice to have this play done by the end of the month, so I can work on the next one.
I'm rewriting everything this year. This is the rewrite year.
Last year, I wrote a new play and three new pilots. You could say four because the idea for one of them was a totally different pilot and concept last year. So I kind of have two different versions of the same idea. Two of those pilots never made it past the first draft. Both I want to take another shot at this year.
I might not even start anything new this year. I have a lot of rewriting to do. That's fine because I want polished work.
I have no new plays I really want to write. I have a musical I'm supposed to write with a friend. And I have a few half ideas. But I do have two screenplays I want to write. Two ideas that I think are really good. But other than that, I have nothing in the play department.
It's the rewrite year. I'm rewriting myself this year. If this teaching job happens, it will be a major rewrite of my life. Big time.
Last year I was writing new stuff because I was trying to outrun my pain. My Dad was dying and I needed distractions. I wrote wildly and prolifically. Now I'm taking those things I wrote and refining them. They are taking better shape.
My life is taking better shape. I'm going back to something that I was working on before and reworking it. It's all a metaphor for my life.
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