Fall quarter at OU has wrapped and break is already whipping by at speeds akin to something inside the Large Hadron Collider. In a month (roughly), Winter quarter commences and my next workshop will be tapping me on the shoulder as I sit at my desk and ask for my next draft. So I ventured to the Northeast for a short break from the break, to get some perspective, and find some inspiration on the streets of Boston.
While here in the town o' beans (they love it when you call it that), I have submitted several 10-minute plays to a few festivals coming up in 2012. And I've found myself up until the wee hours talking narrative structure with two talented playwrights who happen to be equally amazing friends. But one of the highlights thus far happened the past two Mondays when I had the pleasure of guest speaking at playwriting classes at Boston University. These students are fortunate to have playwrights like Lydia R. Diamond (who is opening Stick Fly on Broadway right now) and Jaclyn Villano as their teachers, so I wasn't sure what I could offer them going in. On the ladder from novice to successful playwright, I'm only a so many rungs above these students. And then, while there alongside fellow writer Michael Parsons volleying questions about productions, play submissions, and seeing your work read for the first time... I saw it. It was hope. Excitement. Sparks of passion. We discussed the writing process, self-producing, networking, and a myriad of things that I've been working hard at for several years now on my journey and at that moment, I wondered if the guest speakers that have come to my MFA program see that same hunger and thrill in my eyes while they share their own experiences.
_Then, last weekend, I was surprised with tickets (and a trip) to New York to see previews of a new Broadway play about to open: Stick Fly (which officially opened this past week). Ms. Diamond's new play, produced by Alicia Keys and rocking a cast of actors I've admired for some time (Dulé Hill, Tracie Thoms, Mekhi Phifer, Ruben Santiago-Hudson) and some new faces (Rosie Benton and Condola Rashad -- who was brilliant, by the by), was one of those "this is where I should be tonight" moments.
So, I'm standing on this ladder. I know I'm not at the bottom, just as I know I'm not at the top. And I'm standing there in the Cort Theater, looking at this beautiful set, on a Broadway stage, people filling the house for tonight's preview, and I wonder to myself "how far up the ladder am I seeing tonight?".
And right then, at that point, I remind myself that it's more important that I know that I'll get there, and not pressure myself with a "when" attached to it. Another thought that raced through my head as the lights came down was "this will be awesome when it's my turn." Smack in the middle of my MFA program, it was a wonderful gift from my friends to get a reminder of why I'm spending so many hours at my laptop destroying my already poor posture.
The whirlwind NYC trip topped off with a morning brunch in Brooklyn (well, actually, later there was pizza at Pelham Pizzeria -- which was amazing, but I digress). And at this brunch were some folks who, in the summer of 2011, had journeyed across the pond to Scotland for a little festival you might have heard of. It was there, in the town of Edinburgh, that they premiered a play called Unanswered, We Ride --- written by my dear friend Jaclyn Villano.
This is a play that I've seen grow from the start and had the honor of directing in a concert-reading workshop at the Last Frontier Theatre Festival in Valdez, Alaska in 2010. That's where Theatre Daedalus met Joy Barrett. I won't go into the details, but between Jaclyn and Joy's combined passion, the play continued and was workshopped privately in NYC, previewed at 59E59's East to Edinburgh Festival, and premiered in Edinburgh to stellar reviews. And now they, like many plays (as Stick Fly once did) are planning the next step. Unanswered, We Ride will see publication and more productions, I'm sure. It's one of those plays that hits you at the core and connects on some inherently human levels (which is truly what all good plays do --- they let us see ourselves on stage). As we discuss marketing and next steps with Jaclyn, Joy, and their team as we sit on park benches and take in the New York harbor and Statue of Liberty (which is wildly inspiring for any conversation), I'm taken back to the class discussions we had with those students at Boston University.
_When they asked how they can get produced, how they can get themselves to Broadway, the discussion included the usual things all playwrights and creative teams work with. The play begins somewhere. Maybe a festival or workshop. It gets attention. It moves to something bigger. Maybe a reading in NYC or Chicago or Seattle. Perhaps it hits the fringe circuit. Perhaps it's picked up by a regional theater. From there it moves again, maybe this time to something Off-Off Broadway, or even Off-Broadway. Some get to Broadway, some to the West End. Some peak Off-Off or at Regional, and find publication and life back in the Regional's, and then community theatre. It's a unpredictable journey. You're staring up this ladder... all those rungs... but before you can climb up, you have to go sideways and back again. Then up. The off to another chance of exposure over here (sideways again) before another climb -- the path to the top is never direct. And you oft feel like a crab walking up a ladder. Tricky, yes, but not impossible (and if some scientist who specializes in crustaceans tells me it is impossible for a crab to ascend a ladder, I'll politely tell that squint to shut up and go with my theatrical representation).
I remember being those students. Just as I long to be Jaclyn taking a show to Edinburgh, and Lydia opening at the Cort with an all-star cast & creative team. So I sit here today, about to hop over to Final Draft and put some more words on digital paper, and I smile because I'm not at the bottom. Sure, I'm not on Broadway (yet) and I know that maybe two people read this blog at this point in time; but I've seen my work in workshop, in small productions, and even on the big screen. And I also know that every playwright starts where I am right now. With an idea. A character. And a blank piece of paper. So I sit down to write, as I've always done, knowing that I'm on the ladder, and it's discussions like the ones I've been having with those around me that give me a better idea of how to climb it.
That was the quote from my Managing Director when introducing my 48-hour play at the dress for CAUGHT IN THE ACT...AGAIN! at Theatre Daedalus last weekend. It might be true, but it still tickled me a bit because it wasn't what I had expected. But then, neither was the weekend.
First, as promised, we'll talk about zombies. When I mentioned this in my last posting, it was more in an effort to broach the topic of the wonderful AMC show, The Walking Dead. And we'll get to that... eventually... but I want to touch briefly on a weekend of new theatre that happened at Daedalus where I just happened to write (in a sinfully short amount of time) a 10-minute play about survival in a zombie apocalypse. This play, called SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL, was one of six productions that were done as staged readings for last weekend's Daedalus benefit show.
Thanks to these beautiful shots by Skye Public Relations (courtesy of Theatre Daedalus), you can catch a glimpse of this new short play of mine. I've been tossing around the idea of writing a zombie apocalypse play since last May when I was in Alaska. Maybe it was the remoteness of Valdez, or the weeks of playing Left4Dead that preceded that particular trip, but whatever the muse, the spark ignited that weekend and has been smoldering in my brain ever since. I did not, at all, plan to write this for the festival. "Like anything worth writing," as Kay Eiffel (played by the delightful Emma Thompson) says in Stranger Than Fiction, "it came inexplicably and without method." And now, it's inside me.
It's pulling at parts of my synapses, pushing against the insides of my fingertips trying to force its way into a deeper and lengthier version of itself. And, honestly, that's fine with me. I loved it. Do love it. The characters were rich and delicious in my head and while they only got out to play for ten minuscule moments, they left a mark. For me at least. It helps that I had some terrific actors who embraced the tough emotions I sent their way. Can't be easy to go from zero to gut-wrenching-kick-you-in-the-crotch-heartbroken in six minutes flat. But they did. They went there. And I knew that this play was just the beginning. Something bigger, something... bloodier. More intimate though. About people, humanity, and all that stuff that comes with facing down death in the aftermath of life.
That's what I love about these quick play festivals and writing prompts (from 48-hour fests like this to my weekly Madness plays at school): they give me fodder. They give me flashes of inspiration that either teach me something about my writing or pave the path to a larger creative world. Sometimes, I have a play just sitting around in my brain, waiting. And sometimes, one of those plays pulls out a baseball bat and smashes through.
That, is pretty frakking exciting. That's about all I'm gonna say on this play. Working on this new thing where I don't talk out my plays. I write them out. Neat trick, right? I thought so.
Speaking of writing out a play.... I think THE FACE OF CONTRITION needs my attention. We're 13 days from my next workshop reading. Lots to do in 13 days. Lots.
Thoughts. From my brain. Anything to do with how we tell stories and the stories we tell each other. Literally and figuratively.
Writer. Husband. Father. Effulgent dreamer. A Fightin' Irishman (@NDdotEDU '01). A playwriting Bobcat (MFA in Playwriting, @OhioU '13). I write plays. I'm a geek. I wanted to be an astronaut. I go places in my head.