"a Western Melodrama Told in Spaghetti & Song"

...wait, you're writing what now?

This:

 

Still confused? Come out tomorrow night to the Trestle Inn Thursday at 7 PM and... well, you'll probably still be confused, but you'll have a great time and maybe I'll share my latest libation creation with you: a white Jamaican.

Details at the Facebook event page.

BRATSHIT CRAZY.....it's a thing.

Double post day... you're welcome!

So, I need to stop being such a big, dumb negative jerk and start liking myself more.

I realized that as I was writing my last stupid post. (I can do this all day, people, ALL DAY!)

What really made me stop and think was here I am bashing myself while I've got four amazing singers/musicians right now working on something I helped to create, and it's a disservice to them when I sit here and whine about "am I legit?". So.... Peter, Jess, Kevin and Keith- I am sorry I suck at being positive. (like I said... all. day.) You guys deserve better than that. You deserve someone who is promoting the crap out of what you're doing because they're so stoked to see you guys do it and be a part of it with you.

And after an excessively long preamble, I will be that dood.

COME SEE BRATSHIT CRAZY!

What is that, you ask? Why are you swearing in your read-it-to-my-toddler-at-bedtime-blog, you query? Shut up already and just tell me the details, fucker, you shout at your screen even though I can't hear you because of our linear relationship to the time-space continuum?  Really, more swearing, you repeat (sorta)? Isn't this joke getting a little old, you implore?

Yes... awhile ago. But dead horses are made for beating.

Bratshit Crazy is a series of developmental performance of emerging artists. "A little to the right of an open mic and a little to the left of a traditional theatre showcase." Amazing artists will be sharing their freshest stuff. Songs, scenes, who knows what. The only way to find out is to come to the Tressle Inn THIS THURSDAY at 7 PM.

Why am I telling you to do this? Because I'm one of those amazing artists, and I've con.....vinced 4 other wonderful artists to prepare the first song from my upcoming show. That's right, your fist peak at The Last Plot in Revenge!

Death! Love! Accordions!

It's all there for you when you come out for a Brat-style potluck performance!

-BGD

"I got plenty to confess, but better to wait till it’s over, get it all out at once."

Confession: I often feel like someone is about to expose me as a playwrighting fraud. This rears its head at ugly and awkward times: when getting dressed to go to one of my events, ("Is this what a playwright wears, or just someone trying to look like a playwright?") after I meet creative staff for the first time, ("I totally didn't sound like a playwright, what playwright says that?") and anytime the words 'method' or 'style' come up in terms of the words I put down on paper and ask people to perform in front of other people who have paid money to see it.

...because I haven't been 'trained'. And as a write that, I can't help but think of the poor dumb mutt who isn't house broken and just looks forlornly at his own poop when you come home, suddenly realizing that 'Oh, that probably doesn't belong here... But where should I put it?' That's how my work is when I stop to try and catalog it. I've taken some really awesome classes, and I don't want to take away anything from the amazing teachers who have invested their time in me. They rock.

And would the embossed piece of paper, the extra line on my resume... would that make me feel legitimate? Or is it a slow wearing away? Is it something that I have to accept? And, if so, how do I really accept that when asked about my style or my method, the most precise answer is, "I dunno." I'm not very well read; in every class I've taken, there's been a 'basic tool' that is brand new to me and that I fall in love with. And when I sit down to write, I just start writing. I don't have a real plan, I just make stuff up that feels right. That's my method.

I'm trying to get better, but it still feels false. An example: I don't use outlines. But I've heard PLAYWRIGHTS do. So recently, I tried using an outline. It looked like this...





















Which was entertaining over coffee and raisins, but only showed me all the scenes I hadn't written, not what I needed to write. Also... I lost half the cards and most of them came untaped, so my methodology at very least was lacking.

The thing that did help me figure out the rest of the play was this...
 

Which, you know, isn't really a, um, thing. But that's what I do... oh, and try to figure out what the heck to wear.

-BGD

"Ain’t no one deserves rest."

It feels like awhile since I've written. Maybe it hasn't been in real-time, but in internet time, it's probably been years. In my defense, a lot has happened that I will now skim over to try to bring you up to speed. Why do I do this instead of either backdating posts and really going into depth or just speaking about what's going on right now.... I have no clue.

A review of my last several days: (set to music....um, I don't know, hit shuffle on your iTunes- that's the song that is intended to underscore here. Oooooh, how conceptual!)

- Met with a bunch of folks, including the brilliant Adrienne McKay (who also has an amazing laugh. If I could, I would hire her just to be in my audience. On the other hand, she might get bored and the absence of her laugh would probably feel like a massive gaping void in the play.... bad idea, moving on) about a variety of projects, including a dream devised work, (I can hear Davie White groaning from here...) contract-y stuff for Revenge, director-y stuff for Revenge, fundraising-y stuff for Revenge, and a random ten-minute play. Oh! And an old play that I'm totally reinvested to re-write now. (give a holler all you Callie-lovers! She's coming back!!)

- Speaking of hollers, or hollas if you will, got into a bit of a tiff over my use of the phrase "dear non-existent reader". Which I meant as a funny, slightly self-deprecating, but mostly a commentary on the world of blogs, but apparently has been interpreted by some of my loved ones as both self-destructive and insulting. This comes from at least one person who I didn't know even read my blog. In fact, I don't know if anyone reads my blog because I have zero comments. So, dear non-existent reader, prove me wrong.

-  Had another incredible meeting with my writer's group, The Foundry, where I got to present some of play. Presenting pages in a writer's group, for those of you who don't know, is a sweaty experience. At least for me. And it's filled with all sorts of neurotic quirks... So I'm never really thrilled to do it, even if it is one of my favorite things to do. Here's the point in our story where I'd really like to gush about what an awesome and supportive group I have, because they really made it easy. There were some very jangly bits in my play, but I felt so energized walking away. I felt really good and was able to just have a night where I was happy with things. So.... thank you.

- Got to hear a full version of the song for Bratshit Crazy... and it rocks.

- Got all of my rockstars for Bratshit Crazy.... and they rock.

- Found out I might not be able to go to Bratshit Crazy... and that doesn't rock.

And that's sort of it. Besides life (it's okay), work (hahaha.... don't ask me if you don't want to hear mean things.) Thanksgiving (gobble-gobble-gobble) and the family. (Awww man!)

-BGD

FIRST DRAFT IS FINISHED

I have no insight today. Just thought you should know that... That being I finished my first draft, not that I don't have any-

Damnit.

Well, that moment's been ruined.

......*sound of one of those sad little noisemakers* (but secretly I am very happy.)

-BGD

Dear Universe,

Please don't do anything interesting or important until next Friday, I have a draft to finish.

Thanks!
-BGD

I intended my next post to be about the difficult balance of having a child and writing a play, which basically comes down to the nagging or very immediate feeling that you are always ignoring one for the other. Like my recent experience in hurricane Sandy where many writerfriends of mine touted the forced time to write. I spent it keeping peace between myself, my two year old, my wife and my deadline.

I feel like no one won.

But at 11:15 at night, standing in the colder than chilly but not bitter November weather, after completing a 12 hour workday and missing my bus by about ten paces... I don't want to talk about that.

Because I am angry.

Maybe it was the political back and forth I had avoided with my Dad until today. Maybe its pre-election jitters. Maybe its the 14 hr. day I have tomorrow. Maybe its missing my kid and wife...
But I should be happy. I made headway today on a tough section of the script, and used tools I rarely do. (The impossible for one: throwing a flaming cow head through a window) My daughter has been happy to see me lately, and that hasn't always been the case, even at two and a half. But my J-O-B wears me down. Missing the 11 pm trolley added 30 minutes to my commute, missing the 11:07 bus by ten paces.... that just sucked.

So how does a playwright survive? (both as an artist and a person) Tonight, I have no idea.

-BGD

"a good lover stays sprunned"

Time for some good old fashioned doublespeak.

When I'm writing, I'm not worried about whether something is "good". The moment I share it with someone, that's all I care about. But when writing, I know that it only has to be "right", because if it's right then it will be good, but if I try to write something good, at best it will only be precious, which may not be bad but is rarely right.... and therefore not good. Writing is never a straight line. I worry a lot when I love something I write, when I'm convinced it's good before I'm told it's good. When my ego strikes WHILE I'm writing.

I've heard argument that writing is an act of ego, but it's sharing what you've written that is the act of ego. While you think I'm splitting hairs, I'm not. Writing is a passive act to me. It's active, sure. But passive in that I'm trying to exert as little will as I can on it, discover "truth" or what I call "right", so it can be good later. It's much harder to take something I love and make it good because I already believe that the world is off its rocker and it secretly IS good and no one else knows, and by changing it I will alter what is good and... There's a lot of messy stuff there. It's much easier to look at something I thought was right and have someone else say, "that's good, but it's not quite right." Then I can dig in and make it better.

Not that it's not a blow to my ego. (see? there is ego) I handed it to you to show you what a "good" writer I am, how "good" my writing is because it's not trying to be good, only right. And you come back and say it is good, but it's not right?

Whatever.

What am I really talking about?
I wrote my first song. (well, lyrics.) And I love them.

 Oh........no.

-BGD

"I wanted to hear it out loud, feel my words in space."

Let's take a moment to talk about outlining...

Actually, let's pause and take a moment to for me to say that this is my method, there's nothing wrong with how anyone approaches their own writing. I know plenty of writers who have marvelous structure and dedication and I would be very surprised if they didn't outline. I understand that there are many virtues to it and I'm not trying to be a detractor. These are my own limited perceptions and  I know that many of the claims I make will simply be untrue... unless you are me. But I'm using this writing to help me define my process and so, let's take a moment to talk about outlining....

Or rather the way I work.

I begin (oddly enough) at what I think the beginning is as I begin. This might move, change, be eliminated, but when I conceive of a play it is almost always from the rise of the curtain. It might be a single line of dialogue, an image or a set of givens. At this point, I know very little. And so I dive in and discover. I have characters reveal themselves to me just as the audience receives them. I rarely go into the kind of writer's trance that makes me passive, but this kind of writing is less influenced by the conscious version of me and allows me to be free to question what I'm writing as I'm writing it. (I can hear my writing professors scolding me for self-editing in the generative phase...) It also allows me to be surprised. I have ideas of where I think the play will go, but I'm not sure. Often, characters will jump out and do something shocking to me.

I live for these moments.

As we go on, inklings become more solidified and I make notes and scenelets and unrelated monologues that I know will appear somewhere in the script. I take walks and think about what I've written or what is holding me back from writing more. What I want to see more of. I take showers and do the same thing. I wash dishes and do the same thing. My head gets filled with these questions constantly. I mumble to myself "Okay, so...?" like a mantra. And through spurts and stops, by re-reading messages I left on my phone's text box or the back a receipt, I piece the rest of it together.

Sometimes it's joyous, sometimes it's painful. But it is always mine.

What it gives me is a sense of spontaneity. I don't feel bound to any idea for longer than I am interested in it, I don't feel like I have to know every detail or even be able to predict at all how things will end up. Sure, in truth I ruminate much longer than an opening line or image, but I find that what I think will happen and what I end up writing about never lines up. So why invest time in an outline that will only limit me and distract me from listening to the characters?

For me, it doesn't make sense.

-BGD

"Burns everyday. Not the way your thinking though. Burns for vengeance."

Scripting to me is filled with "oh, duh" moments. These are the moments when you realize you've been ignoring something obvious the entire time. It's like being lost for hours and then remembering that you COULD just look at your map, or that actually your goal was to get lost... or, that you've secretly driven right to where you wanted to go. It's weird how much this happens.

So the working title of the play is Saloon! Which has that fun wink-wink feel to it. But really, I want something pulpier and a little more genre-feeling. The Last Plot in Revenge is the working on it title, and could well be the actual title. The main character in the play is, of course, seeking revenge, and the subplot is based around two families in a feud, (Not that kind.) and the town this all takes place is named Revenge. So...

I was interviewing folks to work as dramaturgs and music directors or composers this weekend. And beyond getting inspired by so many talked and engaged people, that were really excited to hear me ramble on about Brecht, Waits and a lot of the other inspiration I have for the script... Beyond getting stellar feedback and being torn by so many good options... (and still having a few more interviews to complete) I realized something about the play. It's a story about revenge.

Oh..... Duh.

-BGD

"No way to sleep while there’s work to be done."

Painful realization: I actually write better and with more dedication in the morning.
...........oh no.

-BGD

"Fought tougher men for sure, but i can't tell you who just now."

On a bad day, I will tell people "Music is dumb." Which is not what I actually mean. I'm just angry at the rest of humanity for collectively understanding in an essential way that which I struggle with. So what I really mean is "I don't get it." And I don't.

I'm sort of alien. Or a robot. Or.... the point is I'm not quite a person because I don't get music. Insturmental music drives me up a wall because I don't know what I'm supposed to be listening to... I don't have any way to relate to it. I don't feel anything and I know all you human beings do.

And that brings us to me writing a musical.

Why on earth would I want to write one? First of all, its a tremendous challenge and that seems like a good idea. Second, it forces me to find an awesome collaborator and entrust them to a major portion of the work. And that is healthy and freeing. And finally, god forbid I learn something from my own work. Who knows maybe this will be the moment that transforms me. (Unlikely) But at any rate, growth is a kickass thing. And I expect my audience to be willing to do it, to go along on a ride that they might not always be comfortable with and to entrust me with their time. So maybe I should be willing to do that too.

Even an alien can understand that.

-BGD

"I tell you what."

a few helpful terms for when I describe how my writing is going:

grinding (v.) - the act of forced writing, either self-imposed or by others. Usually, it results in some pretty awful stuff, but it keeps writer's block to a minimum. Still, this is the kind of writing that makes it feel like work.

     ex. "I was grinding out pages today and it's all trash."

flow (n.) - the state of thoughtful writing. When I get an idea and can fluid write and quasi-edit without being overly-critical. A semi-fictional ideal.

    ex. "Where did the last two hours of my life go? I must have been in a good flow."

gushing (v.) - the opposite of grinding. Compulsive writing, writing so fast the ideas are faster than my hand. (Think arterial spray.) The only way I wrote as a teenager. Usually the kind of writing that needs heavy editing and often requires complete dismissal.

     ex. "Can't really talk now, this idea's totally gushing out."

I think I've hit a minor flow lately. And it feels really good. Having said that, I know I'll be back to grinding soon.

-BGD

"Faul hure, ich muss alles selbst machen?"

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"I like bein’ part of the knowing."

I like new ways of working, of researching, of stretching my brain to make connections. As a visual/design-interested person, I've often been drawn more to visual research than text. I produce enough text on my own, reading and reading can actually get tedious... There, I said it. 

All of this is a preamble to my latest research tool. All of this is to justify it. Pinterest. I really think it has merit. And I'd really encourage you to check it out. I'd love feedback. (I live for feedback in general.) And I'd love for other writers to see the possibilities it holds. So take a few minutes and check it out.

"...I told you not to spill my drink."

I am writing a new play.

This play has beaten me before. Well… not this play, but its older, dumber brothers. Not that this one is friendly to a writer, but I have to remind myself that it’s a new animal. I’ve tried to write this play while blending a modernized prequel of Shakespeare’s Tempest with it.

That didn’t work.

I’ve tried to write this play as a straight homage to Tom Waits.

That didn’t work.

But let’s start there: Mr. Tom Waits. I came to Tom Waits relatively recently. He hasn’t had the double-edged sword of nostalgia, like Billy Joel. (That’s right, I love Billy Joel. So what?) He doesn’t have the deep catalog appreciation of Violent Femmes for me. He’s someone I’m still discovering in many ways. I first heard a Waits song in Abingdon, VA at Barter Theatre. It was my first professional job and there was a company cabaret night. The props master duoed with one of the sweetest voices in the acting ensemble to croon “Tango Til They’re Sore” for us. I ate it up. “Make sure she’s all in calico and the color of a doll” “Get me to New Orleans and paint shadows on the pews” “Take apart your nightmares and leave them by the door” [I believe the actual line is ‘their’, but I always hear ‘your’] These are lines that flood my mind with possibility, character, the glimpse of narrative… all the inspiration I crave as a writer.

So my great love affair with Tom Waits began. I learned of Frank, Uncle Vernon, a hooker from Minneapolis with a penchant for sending holiday greetings. The more I discovered, the more I was convinced that Tom Waits was speaking directly to me about a story I had to craft for the stage. But I found out too late, that I wasn’t ready for it yet.

Years later, after I gave up the dream of Waits appearing in my stageplays (literally…. Probably not, but I can still dream) and had become a better writer in the process, I had a dream proposal to write. A proposal for a company that I felt like would probably say ‘no’ anyway, which meant that the dream should be the biggest, stupidest dream I could imagine.

Enter BRAT Productions.

They loved the merger of Waits and Brecht (more on Brecht another day.) and added “musical” “dinner theatre” and “spaghetti western”. Something in me said, “ummm…..what?” But the bigger voice said, “Holy shit, THAT’S IT!”

And that brings us up to speed, to the launchpad for whatever this will be. And this time, for the first time, I’m writing under a deadline…. and the promise of some kind of production. I’m writing with a wonderful support network, and for a specific performer. I’m writing out a dream that has often been a nightmare (I love bad puns….another thing you’ll just have to accept along with the Billy Joel.)

-BGD