The View from Valdez

Recently returned from an amazing trip to Valdez, Alaska, where I attended the Last Frontier Theatre Conference. The annual event, which just wrapped its 18th year, brings together hundreds of theatre artists -- playwrights, actors, directors, producers -- for 10 days of readings, workshops, performances, and fun. I was honored to attend this year's conference with my fellow Theatre Daedalus playwrights Michael Parsons and Jaclyn Villano. Peter Roth, one of our regular collaborators also made the Conference this year. Here are a few photographs from the trip.

Michael, Jaclyn, and me enjoy some of the last frontier.

The cast of my show, Twisted Tales. A huge thanks to Jerry, Darcy, Nathan, Karina, Scott, and Muriel for tackling these roles. And special thanks to Michael for directing.

Wayne Mitchell (left) is a talented actor and I was thrilled to read with him in the Play Slam at the Conference

I had the pleasure of directing the reading of Jaclyn's beautiful script, Unanswered, We Ride, and here we are getting set up. Thanks to Joy, Luke, Sarah, and Anya for being a wonderful cast.

Here I am with two talented writers, playwrights Reginald Edmunds and Jaclyn Villano, at the champagne reception. Reggie is an alum of the Ohio University MFA Playwriting Program where Jaclyn and I begin our studies this Fall.

The sun felt closer in Alaska, so we made sure to be prepared. Michael brought his collection of plays Dis/Connect to the festival and it was a triple pleasure to see my friend's work read, to see him on stage, and have him direct my plays during the conference.

Alaska is an incredible place. I could post more photos, but I urge you to visit yourself and experience it.

If you're into theatre and can find a week in June 2011, I recommend the Conference for your summer plans. It was an absolutely fun time and grand adventure. Thanks, Alaska, for the memories.

Recharging the Batteries

Six words. 60 seconds each. Then a line of dialogue and 3 minutes to scribble out a conversation. Another. Then another. If I'm up for it, a monologue to follow. A basic writing workout, courtesy of my best friend. 15 minutes or more of daily writings to get my juices flowing.

And I'm gonna need those juices.

This Fall, I embark on a new journey --- another life shifting chapter, or whatever you wish to call it --- enrolling in the Professional Program in Playwriting at Ohio University. Had the pleasure of spending some time in Athens last weekend, checking out the work of my predecessors and future contemporaries at OU. It felt great being there, hearing the new work at the festival, and getting to know the MFA playwrights.

Following on the coat-tails of my trip to the Last Frontier Theatre Conference, I feel recharged heading into the summer. There's much to be said for placing oneself in an environment of success, of purpose. The past few weeks have been so centered on writing that it seems almost wrong that I've waited even five days to seriously get moving on some serious writing.

So let's get going, shall we?

Thief in the Night

One of the greatest mysteries to me is how does a playwright survive starting a theater? Don't fret, for I will soldier on and find equal success as a writer and theater-owner, but in the infancy of achievement, I am reminded of old adages like "Rome wasn't built in a day."

It should be clear from my lack of posting in 2010 that it's been busy. Summary statements of weeks gone by is not why I'm back, however. Best to let the past unfold through stories than bulletins, I say. Back on the horse because I see this as a chance to write. To get the words out. To sort them. To exercise a muscle that has atrophied from being placed down the list on my priorities.

So the writing exercises begin. I may post them here. I may not. Not sure I'm completely ready for exercising in front of the window. Heck, I'm not sure I'm ready to go to the gym. But I need to (and that statement applies in metaphor and the literal). It'll come to be. Sings a muse on my iTunes. Gretchen Pleuss and her song "Yellow Brick Road". Absolutely inspiring and haunting. Beautiful emotion from someone so young. Perhaps she has an old soul.

Old soul. You've heard that phrase. I never know if I have an old soul or a young one. Sometimes, when I was a kid, I felt so grown up --- so ready to be a grown up. Felt like I'd seen it all, knew it all, been there, done that. I was a Calvin. If you get that, bonus points for ya. Now... young, old, middle-aged... how do you balance the soul with the body. The mind with the world.

Welcome to existence. Yeah -- doing one of those soundtracks to life now. On the rotation? "Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot. Yes, I admit, iTunes is acting as my personal life coach and motivational speaker this morning. What? Like you never rely on your favorite music to inspire? "The tension is here, the tension is here, between who you are and who you could be. Between how it is, and how it should be." Tell me that's not fitting and I'll give you a cookie.

The sun shines outside my window. Morning has arrived. And sleep -- well, I know I slept because there were dreams. Odd dreams. Too much "Burn Notice" methinks. It's not often that I slumber and visit a dreamscape where I'm some international thief. Not usually. Though this time, it felt more like Burn Notice meets Northern Exposure. Maybe the talks of Alaska have finally seeped down to the subconscious. Happens on occasion.

The time needed to talk about Alaska, or Daedalus, or Caught in the Act, or everything on the front would be more than I could spare this morning. We're coming up on T-Minus 6 hours to the really busy part of my day. So let's just focus on the busy part now and get to the really busy in a timely fashion.

Hopefully, I'll be back on here later this week. It would be good to blog. Even if it's gonna be rusty at first. Just gotta get back in the gym.

Choosing the Path

Or how about just walking A path. Any path. Any frakin' path that leads to something resembling a written page and scene that's advanced some plot. Too much to ask this happy holiday season? I don't think so. But then, hey, what do I know? I'm just the writer who's trying to get something down on paper before February.

That's all.

Piece of cake. Oh, sure.

Relaxing here at an hour that makes me weep a bit at how tired I will be "tomorrow" when I have much to do. And before I drift off to dreamland again, the urge to post returned as wondered about how people (and by people, I'm referring here to writers) choose to write what they do.

Currently, there are a few stories and plays on permanent stand-by in my brain. They're sitting on this ginormous tarmac in my head, waiting to take off but there's this one behemoth play that's broken down at the edge of the runway and it's holding up the whole gorram line. So how to fix it.

Earlier today, I took a few minutes out of an otherwise hectic day of not writing to read the pilot script for Studio 60, that NBC show by Aaron Sorkin that NBC killed. And wow... it was interesting to see entire characters and plot lines in the original drafts that didn't make it to final cut --- plot lines that show up later. It actually made me feel good about my writing and reminded me of a valuable lesson. Writing is rewriting.

This Sorkin script was good, but it wasn't (as Stephen King would say)... boss. It was just there, with random moments that were redundant, characters that I'm glad were removed and saved for better usage later on (Martha O'Dell), and some of the characters had the wrong names (Jamie instead of Jordan, Moore instead of Tripp). It was surreal to see an earlier draft of something like that.

Makes me curious to know what earlier drafts of his play A Few Good Men looked like. Or what an early draft of Steven Dietz's Inventing Van Gogh might resemble. Need to remember, this isn't about perfection. Not out of the gate. It's about getting up and moving. Getting on a path, any path. Eventually, through the rewrites and workshops, I'll find the write path for each play.

Hopefully that day comes sooner rather than later. But not tonight. Need to sleep, but I feel like the dawn is coming when I can start writing again. And I welcome those rays of first light and will smile when they shine upon my face. Until then, I bid thee adieu.