Name of the Game: Waiting OR Need vs. Want

People who know me know I am not the most patient person in the world.

And that's putting it nicely.

I hate waiting for anything: the mail, a new film to come out, a new book get released, receiving any kind of feedback, professional or otherwise. You name it, I suck at waiting for it.

I was one of those students in elementary school that had to sit with my back to the clock. I don't wear watches a) because I hate the feeling of the thing on my wrist, and b) I don't like something telling me it's not time yet--which is what happens sometimes with a watch.

Unfortunately, that's what we have to do in life. A lot of the time. I have been officially graduated for two weeks as of today, and one of the things I am rapidly learning is that the things I want to do, aren't necessarily the things I need to do. At this point. If at all.

I've known what I've wanted since I was six years old. I knew what I wanted to be and how I was going to get there. What I didn't realize at the time, is that what you want, isn't always what you need.

I want to be able to eat chocolate all the time.

I need to eat other stuff--fruit, vegetables, pasta, meat, whatever--in order to function as a normal human being.

I want to be able to stay up all night writing and analyzing films to death.

I need to sleep so that I don't konk out in the middle of the day.

I want to spend my life writing and pretty much nothing else.

I need to keep a roof over my head, food inside my body, and be able to get around when I need to. That takes money.

This doesn't mean I can't do what I want eventually(I can spend 79 cents on a Hershey bar every once in a while, or pull the odd all nighter--if it's a holiday or something); all it means is that I there are other things to do first.

One of my favorite authors is Lauren Willig. I don't normally go for romance novels, but these are awesome--especially since they are a) kinda sorta Scarlet Pimpernel fanfiction and b) have characters that behave like normal people rather than the moony-goony-lovelorn-ick that's in most "romance novels"(just my opinion, sorry, sorry). But I digress.

Lauren Willig is a bestselling author. Now. But when she started writing her novels? She worked at New York Law Firm. That's right, she graduated in History and Law and worked as a 2L for three years before she could write full time.

James Cagney is another example(and someone I bring up far too often, sorry!). He worked in a hotel--a hotel!!!! as a bellboy!!!!!---until he got onto the stage. Guess when that was? He was 27. 27!!!! And he didn't get into films until he was in his 30s!!!!

Both Cagney and Willig had dreams--to be onstage and to be a writer; both also realized that "want" wasn't possible at that moment, for one reason or another. And that reason--or reasons--had to do with need. Both did what needed to be done, and eventually(there's another word I hate) they both got what they wanted.

So all I'm saying this week is that it's fine to "want"; to dream; to know where you should end up. But also keep in mind that "need"--that stupid part of the waiting game that always has to be played. And I'm not saying I'm good at it. What I'm saying is that yes, waiting sucks; and "needing" sucks; but if you get through that and do it with a smile on your face, then the "wanting" bit feels then times better!

Tidbit Tuesday: Endings

"Endings are hard. Any chapped ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. The fans are always gonna bitch. There's always gonna be holes. And since it's the ending, it's all supposed to add up to something. I'm telling you, they're a raging pain in the ass." ~SUPERNATURAL

Erik Kripke wrote it; his character Chuck said it; and it's true.

Guys, endings SUCK. So. Much!!!!!

Not just because it's literally "the end", but because they are so difficult to write in the first place. No joke, what I usually do when I read the end of something is keep my fingers crossed that I haven't left anyone hanging. Endings are never, ever easy.

I hate reading them;

I hate writing them;

I hate seeing them;

I hate reaching them.

But I guess every writer feels that way. It's not just because it's the end of a story; a lot of times it has to do with ending it right.

There have been an infinite amount of times when I have reached the last page of a book, or the last five minutes of a film, and I'm not satisfied.

Because the ending sucked.

Yeah, it was "the end", but nothing was tied up; nothing was resolved; nothing enticed me to come see a sequel(if there was one). It just--stopped.

Cliffhangers are great; if they're used for a reason. Sometimes though, the ending of something feels like a cop out. Like the author ran out of things to say and so just called it quits.

Now, I know there are numerous other factors that can contribute to a situation like this. In television, for example, the network(*cough* Fox *cough*) can abruptly cancel a show(*cough* Firefly *cough*) before it gets a chance to actually "end"; it just leaves us hanging through no fault of it's own, and nobody's really satisfied(of course, it could also have something to do with the fact that the-episodes-weren't-aired-in-order-in-the-first-place-and-so-everybody-was-confused-anyway. But Joss Whedon fixed that--sort of--so I'm ok now.)

However, it's the job of a writer so satisfy his audience, to a degree. The author is the one who invites others into his world, and allows them to live inside it. And to make sure others enjoy being in that world.

No pressure, or anything.

I wrote something once that didn't really have an "ending". It just stopped. Not because I ran out of things to say, but because I didn't really know how to tie it up. Which is why I love the SPN quote so much.  Writing courses make it so easy--you follow the diagram and you're ok. HA!!! Guess what? There is no perfect way write a perfect ending.

But that doesn't mean you just leave people hanging. That also sucks. There has to be some kind of resolution, even if it's "and they all died and nothing worked out for anybody we were rooting for"(thank you, Hamlet).

If the guy gets the girl, that's good enough; even the monster dies, that's good enough. Those endings are easy, tied up nice and neat. If you don't chose to go that route, at least do something to get some kind of resolution. Even if one question you had gets answered, that's good enough.

Endings really are a "pain in the ass". But if they're done right, they can be awesome!

Quirky Monday: Visualize This

The other day I had my roommate sit with her feet flat on the floor and then try to stand up without leaning forward.

For research.

I said in my post lat week that Theatre Artists rehearse all the time. We also research. A lot. When I'm talking to myself, I am doing it either because I have lines to memorize, or I'm writing dialogue.

Out loud.

I am a very visual person--for the most part. There are somethings that still don't make sense to me even if they're drawn up in helpful little pictures and explained to me like I'm two years old (*cough* algebra *cough*); but there are other things, like my writing, that look good in my head. And sometimes I will reach a point where I need to see something--really see it in front of me, to make sure that it makes sense.

So I act it out.

You've heard of the "awkward walk-in" right? Happens when roommates are in relationships and you want walk in a a time you probably shouldn't.

Yeah, I've had those.

Only with me, it's been when I'm in Writing Mode.

Sometimes they walk in while I'm in the middle of "walking out" one of my scenes. And I mean that literally. There have been times when my roommates, friends, family members have walked into a room in time to find yours truly jumping around like a crazy person, so I can get the fight--or whatever else is going on in the scene I'm writing--just right.

Either that, or they walk in on me when I'm having one of my "schizophrenic dialogue" episodes--that is, when I'm having a conversation with myself as three or four different people just to get the dialogue right.

And then once I get it right, I have to make sure that it makes sense to everyone else. So what do I do? I either ask people to read it, or I--if they are very kind and enterprising and ok with the fact that I'm a little weird--I'll ask them to act it out. Like my roommate and the chair(Laurel, I love you. I really want you to know that!!!!).

So yes. I'm a very visual person and and very visual writer. Now, if I ever ask you to act out something, or you walk in on my acting like a weirdo, y'all know why.

Name of the Game: The Difference Between an Artist and the Rest of the World

Thespian.

That's me. My whole life I have thought theatre, and talked theatre, and dreamed theatre. But it wasn't until college that I really understood the difference between real theatre artists and the rest of the world.

People do theatre in elementary, middle and high schools for two reasons: one, it's social and an easy A--and if it's high school they're required to have "fine art credit"; or two, this is truly what they want to do with the rest of their lives.

It's the second reason that becomes more apparent after high school.  That's when they go from "theatre people" to "theatre Artists." And theatre artists are not like the rest of the world. We do things, say things, feel things, differently from other people.

You want a list? I'll give you a list:

We Rehearse. All the Time. 
All human beings on the planet talk to themselves at one time or another. Sometimes we are the only people who will listen, so we have full on conversations with ourselves, both mentally and vocally. And we aren't the only ones.

Only with Theatre Artists, we don't just talk to ourselves willy nilly. We rehearse. Actors and Directors have lines, blocking, cues to memorize; playwrights have dialogue to write; and the only way we will retain it is by practice. Both on and offstage.

So we talk it out. Literally. We talk to ourselves in character, no matter where we are. We're not crazy; we're just rehearsing.

One Of Our Worst Vices is Our Ego
Everybody's got one, but Theatre Artists sometimes have a bigger issue controlling them. Because we spend so much time in the spotlight, are egos are constantly fed.

Constantly. If we don't learn to control it, we can turn into awful egomaniacs.

On the other hand, our egos can also be our inner drive. We love to feel good, and the more we get involved in a production, the better we tend to feel.


We are Really Good at Multitasking
A To Do list is everybody's best friend. I have a roommate who plans her day out by the hour the night before so she can get everything done when it needs to get done. The first Sunday of the month my family gets together and plans out the month so we can coordinate everyone's schedules. There are some people who operate via checklist and won't move to the next task until that particular task is done.

Artists multitask.

When have this uncanny ability to focus on more than one thing at a time--and we manage to get them all done. Ok, maybe we don't always meet deadlines, but we can get a lot of things done simultaneously.

We Get to Create Worlds.
You've all played with Legos, building blocks, Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs--anybody? anybody? am I really that old?--Minecraft? Is that better? Whatever, the point is everybody's built something, even if it was created by pixels.

Theatre Artists don't just build things. We build worlds.

Designers spend hours researching what will go on the stage, on people's bodies, on people's faces, in people's hands, to bring this world to life. It is their job to transport audience members from the humdrum of their daily lives and into--I don't know, 1980s New York? A South Pacific Island? France? Space?

For a few precious hours we can be transported to these magical places. Places that we create.

We Get To Be Different People. A Lot. 
Every human being on the planet had some kind of imaginary friend, or some kind of story he or she would act out in some way or another. Don't lie, every one of you has some fantasy storyline you've played out where you're a superhero, or a princess, or a rogue dragonlord or whatever. And then you grow up and you grow out of it.

Unless you're a Theatre Artist.

We don't necessarily grow up. I mean, physically yes, we do; but we spend the rest of our lives playing someone we're not. And we get to enjoy that for however long we want--the hero; the villain; the victim(thank you Michael Vincente Gazzo); a member of some quirky family for better or worse(thank you Tracy Letts and George S Kaufman&Moss Hart); the outlaw who kisses her victims after death (thank you Louis Sachar); the talking frog (thank you T James Belich); the talking sheep(thank you David Mamet); the DM(thank you Qui Nguyen); or some classic character-that-was-made-up-and-never-seen-and-wants-justice-for-being-left-out(thank you Tom Stoppard).

We Rarely Say What We Don't Mean. 
Anyone who has any kind of common courtesy can tell a friend "you look nice". Any other friend can read something you wrote, or see a show you're in, and tell you you are amazing, don't change a thing. They do this because they're your friends and family and want to make you feel good.

Theatre Artists mean it.

For better or worse, we are the most brutally honest people on the planet. We will tell you if something sucks, or is amazing, or not so much. We spend a good part of our lives on the stage pretending to be someone else; so whatever we say offstage, we mean it. If another actor tells you you're brilliant, there is a good chance you actually are. If he tells you that something you wrote kinda sucks--or is totally terrible and doesn't make sense--then take it seriously, because he's probably right. The occasions when we say things we don't mean are few and far between.

There's More. 
There's so much more; but if I tried to make a full list I'd run out of room. Or blog space. Or both. Artists are unlike anyone else. We're quirky and open and fun-loving and sometimes so weird no one knows what to do with us. But that's part of who we are.We want nothing more than to create and inspire the people around us.  Theatre Artists are always playing new parts; creating new worlds; developing our craft. And loving it. I, for one, won't stop til I'm dead.

Probably not even then.

Tidbit Tuesday: From the "Writing Closet"- WIRED

Yeah. Ok, so while still in the middle of POLTERGUYS revisions(stupid difficult characters!!! Kidding, I love 'em!) this Tidbit Tuesday is a little different. I ran across this while doing a "college graduate cleanout" off all the writing I've compiled over the years. This is a delightful little fluffy I wrote my freshman year ". Clearly, freshman writing. Not academy award winning, and the formatting's  completely out of whack and the font color changed--again(stupid Blogger)--but still. Enjoyable.

(Two voices sound in the darkness.)

MICHAEL

Ha! Found it!

MARK

Are you sure this time? I mean, we’ve tried every other orchard, so how do you know that this is the right one?

MICHAEL

Call it elimination. Come on, it’s a short cut. You want to win this game or not?

MARK

It’s just a game.

MICHAEL

Win or lose?

MARK

Win. I guess.

(Lights rise. A starry sky is projected. There is also a barbed wire fence down left. Two boys—MICHAEL and MARK—enter. MARK keeps staring at the sky, not paying attention to a word MICHAEL is saying.)

MICHAEL

Ok. Nobody out here.

MARK

That’s good.

MICHAEL

The can’s over there, I think.  

MARK

Yeah.

MICHAEL

So now, all we have to do is cut across the ditch, you kick the can, and we win.

MARK

Ok.

MICHAEL

What are you staring at?

MARK

Huh? Nothing.

MICHAEL

You’re looking at something, now what are you staring at?

MARK

Just the sky.

MICHAEL

The sky. You see that every night, what the hell’s so great about the sky?

MARK

No moon tonight. Just stars.

MICHAEL

Great. No moon means no light, and no light means we don’t get caught.

MARK

Hey, Michael? You ever thought about what it’s like up there?

All those places up in the sky? Wouldn’t it be great if we could live up there, instead of down here?

MICHAEL

…You want to live on a star?

MARK

It would be something, wouldn’t it? We could pick our own, with no one to tell us where to go, or what to do. Bathed in all that light, floating far, far up above everything else. Nothing to worry about. And when we felt like it, we fall. Stars do that, don’t they? What do you think?

MICHAEL

I think you sound like a jackass. Look, forget the stars, ok? They’re not going anywhere. But we don’t win this game and get beaten again--

MARK

I thought you were joking!

MICHAEL

Nope. Real ants, real honey, and ants. Anthill’s already picked.

MARK

Wow.

MICHAEL

Forget about it. Come on, I think it’s just over the ditch.

MARK

Can you see it?

MICHAEL

No, but it’s got to be over there. You first.

MARK

Me? In the dark?

MICHAEL

You’re fine jumping over it during the day.

MARK

It’s light then.

MICHAEL

Fine. I’ll go first.

(MICHAEL runs forward, slamming into the wire fence. MICHAEL yells.)

MARK

Michael? Hey, Michael, you ok?

MICHAEL

Fine. Perfect.

(He examines his hands.)

MARK

What’s the matter? Did you miss the ditch?

MICHAEL

No. There is no ditch.

MARK

Really?

MICHAEL

See for yourself—no wait, don’t.

MARK

Why, what’s wrong?

MICHAEL

Come see for yourself. Slowly.

(MARK moves forward to join MICHAEL.)

MARK

You’re right. There is no ditch. What are you going to do now?

MICHAEL

No idea. When did they add this fence?

MARK

I don’t know. We haven’t come this way in a while. You’re bleeding.

MICHAEL

I ran into the stupid fence.

MARK

They put wire on it? Barbed wire?

MICHAEL

No, that’s tree bark.

MARK

Let me see.

(MARK examines MICHAEL.)

MARK(CONT’D)

You cut your face too.

MICHAEL

Wire does that. Ow! You said you were only going to look!

MARK

Sorry. Sorry, sorry.

(MARK stares at MICHAEL’s hands.)

MARK

Wow.

MICHAEL

What?

MARK

That’s—wow.

MICHAEL

What? What are you staring at?

MARK

You know what those cuts on your hands look like? Stars. See? There’s a million of ‘em, you know that?

MICHAEL

You’re high.

MARK

I’m serious. Look at all of them. Millions and millions. All scattered across the sky.

MICHAEL

Great. Fantastic.

MARK

Hey, Michael?

MICHAEL

What?

MARK

We could sneak under the fence. I’ll hold the bottom row and you sneak under? See?

MICHAEL

What about the barbed wire?

MARK

…I was hoping you’d miss that bit.

MICHAEL

Yeah. Yeah, you didn’t even think about it.

MARK

Ok, so we can’t get out climbing over or sliding under, but we could—

MICHAEL

Could what? Look at the stars?

MARK

…Yeah. I mean, it’s something to do, right? And it’s not like we won’t play another game soon. We’ve probably already been beaten anyway.

MICHAEL

Thanks.

MARK

You’re welcome.

MICHAEL

Are you going to start spouting your poetry bull?

MARK

No. The stars do it for me.