Irene Ziegler's Blog, page 10
August 24, 2011
In Which I Invite Criticism and Get a Pantload
This attitude may be because of that earthquake yesterday. The epicenter was about 40 minutes away, so we probably got the brunt of it. As I cowered beneath my desk, I remember thinking, "I didn't get the ironing done." Pathetic,right? So I've decided not to give in to my anxieties.
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There's another anxiety I'm going to let go. I sent off a first draft of my new play to a small group of trusted and brilliant friends, and asked them to comment. I asked them not to feel obligated—only if they wanted to. The reviews are coming in. They're mixed, and that's okay. In fact, it's exciting. I love the revision process, especially those moments when the penny drops and you say, "Eureka!" I love that.
But today, I am now officially short one friend. Not because he hated the play (which he did), but because he was insensitive, rude, and cruel. And how's this for irony: the play advocates for civility.
I will pause while that sinks in. While critiquing a play about civility, this person could not have been less civil.
His critique arrived right after another friend's, and she loved the play. (She has since ascended in rank and will receive for the holidays, a beautiful hand-painted picture of my left foot). And I could tell she "got it," too. She got what I was trying to say. So I felt like a skeet. You know, one of those discs that gets launched through the air like a jet-packed frisbee, only to be shot down by a person wearing a toque.
To spare others that feeling of being blown to pieces and landing in a swampy abyss, I thought I'd remind you how to write a sensitive critique, so if a friend asks you to critique something they wrote, you'll know what NOT to do should you decide to say yes. Here we go:
1) When critiquing a friend's play, do not use the words like disgusting, insulting, long-and-boring, or recommend they start over, then admit you are in a bad mood because you saw a play the night before and you hated it.
2) Do not attempt to rewrite your friend's play, especially if you recently wrote a play you think is great, and think all plays should exist in the same realistic world in which you set your plays.
3) Do not admit that you don't read plays anymore, then attach a document about how to write one.
4) Do not berate the author for a character's "insulting" broken English, then launch into a story about a city youth speaking Ebonics.
5) Do not ask questions that indicate you skimmed the play, at best.
6) Do not malign one-person shows because in them, people talk about their lives, and you think that other people's lives aren't interesting unless they are Mark Twain or Emily Dickinson.
7) Do not spew venom, then end your diatribe with a smiley face.
8) Do not ask "Are you sorry you asked?" because that tells your friend that you know you're being an asshole.
Now for the flip side. I've been asked to read people's work before, and offer a critique. It's hard. Some people, like Josh Olson, who wrote the screenplay for the movie A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE, will not do it anymore. (If you want to read his screed click here, but be warned: you haven't seen this many f-bombs since David Mamet spilled hot coffee on his own crotch.) If you agree to read someone else's script, you want to be helpful. You want to be encouraging. You want to keep that friend. But critiquing requires a lot of time, not just to read the work, but to comment with intelligence and sensitivity. You know it's important to them, so you want to do a good job.
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And if you do think the plot is weak, the characters bland, or the theme of the story murky, you use "I" statements. I was confused. I didn't like this character. I figured out the ending perhaps before you wanted me to. "I" statements are respectful, and acknowledge that this is your opinion.
Am I afraid of the truth? No. I'm afraid of arrogant, mean people. So if you agree to tell me what you think, please don't shoot me out of the sky. It hurts, and it makes me not like you anymore.
It also makes me not want to do laundry.
Thanks for listening.
July 28, 2011
In Which I Post a 10-minute Play, THE RELIC
It goes like this: Emily gives us a prompt: "It's all your fault." That becomes the first line of the play you will write, without stopping, for at least 20 minutes. The idea is not to come to the play with any preconceived ideas about plot, characters, or setting. You just start writing and "discover" where you are as you compose.
I've never been a fan of this approach. I have trouble fooling myself into believing my characters will subsume my will and take on lives of their own. At some point (preferably early), the author has to make choices. Otherwise, you do the writing equivalent of a vamp. Backandforthbackandforthbackandforth with no discernable purpose.
But if you give over to it, someone eventually jumps up and does something. Pulls someone's hair. Opens a file drawer and pulls out a pair of snakeskin boots. Eats a bad éclair. That's when the fun starts.
And I had fun!
Here's what I wrote for the prompt "Not one dime." Since the exercise, I've tweaked about 20% of it. Please leave a comment and tell me what you think. (If you like it, please don't steal it. It's copyrighted.) Rated MAL.
THE RELIC
SETTING: A cruddy pawn shop in Manhattan.
AT RISE: BOBBY, a scavenger just this side of homeless, stands opposite PHIL, the proprietor.
PHIL Not one dime.
BOBBY Aw, c'mon!
PHIL She's in bad shape, Bobby.
BOBBY But she's gotta be worth SOMEthing.
PHIL Not to me.
BOBBY But maybe to one of your customers, right?
PHIL Have you taken a close look at her?
BOBBY You could fix her up.
PHIL I'm not in the business of fixing up, Bobby. I'm in the business of selling. Take her out of here.
The door bell jingles. A distinguished GENTLEMAN ENTERS.
GENTLEMAN Excuse me.
PHIL Yessir.
GENTLEMAN Do you have any Beanie Babies?
PHIL A couple, yeah. In the glass case over there. Let me know if you'd like to see anything.
GENTLEMAN Thank you kindly.
HE EXITS
BOBBY People still buy Beanie Babies?
PHIL Hell, yeah.
BOBBY How much?
PHIL I think I got a couple hunnert on the ones in the case.
BOBBY A couple—! Jeezus. What'd you pay the poor bastard who sold them to you?
PHIL I'm getting' kinda busy here, Bobby, so if you don't have anything else.
BOBBY Well, I do, actually. Have something else.
PHIL (Sighs.) Let's see it then.
BOBBY produces a fist-sized box, places it delicately in front of PHIL.
PHIL What's this?
BOBBY Open it.
PHIL You open it.
BOBBY opens it. PHIL grimaces, disturbed.
PHIL What is that?
BOBBY A relic.
PHIL What do mean, a relic?
BOBBY You know. A piece of a saint.
PHIL This is a piece of a saint?
BOBBY Swear to God.
PHIL What piece?
BOBBY Don't you wanna know which saint?
PHIL No, I wanna know which piece. I don't like the way this thing looks.
BOBBYIt's a uterus.
PHILSay that again?
BOBBYIt's a uterus.
PHIL Get outta here.
BOBBYTouch it.
PHIL I ain't touchin it. You touch it.
BOBBY places the gray, shriveled organ in the palm of his hand.
PHIL Jeezus. A uterus. Ugly thing, ain't it?
BOBBY It's old.
PHIL It's also ooghing me out. Get it outta here.
BOBBY Don't you wanna know what saint it belongs to? The GENTLEMAN ENTERS.
GENTLEMAN Hello. Sorry.
PHIL Yessir.
GENTLEMAN May I see the Beenie Baby in the case?
PHIL Yessir. Which one?
GENTLEMAN Both, if you don't mind.
PHIL Yessir. I'll bring them to you. Won't take a second.
PHIL EXITS.
BOBBY So. You collect Beanies, huh?
GENTLEMAN I do, yes.
BOBBY Like, for your kids, or whatever?
GENTLEMAN No, for me.
BOBBY That's cool.
GENTLEMAN You collect Barbie dolls?
BOBBY Yeah. I can't unload this bitch, though. I think she's been hung from one too many ceiling fans, if you know what I mean.
PHIL ENTERS, places two Beanie Babies on the counter.
PHIL Here you are, sir.
GENTLEMAN Do you mind if I examine them?
PHIL Knock yourself out.
The GENTLEMAN takes out a loupe and examines the Beanies as a jeweler might. BOBBY looks at PHIL as in "Getta loada this guy."
PHIL (cont.)Excellent condition as you can see. The original tags are still on them.
GENTLEMAN I'll give you $50 for the pair.
PHIL A hunnert.
GENTLEMAN Seventy-five.
PHIL Sold.
BOBBY Jeezus. $75 for that Chinese crap?
PHIL Hey! (To the GENTLEMAN) I'm sorry, Bobby ain't right in the head.
BOBBY There's nothin' wrong with my head.
GENTLEMAN Quite all right. You'll take a check?
PHIL I prefer cash if you have it.
GENTLEMAN Of course. Here you are.
PHIL Lemme get you a bag here.
GENTLEMAN That won't be necessary.
THE GENTLEMAN puts one Beanie Baby down the front of his pants, then the other.
GENTLEMAN Thank you.
PHILSure. Come again.
The GENTLEMAN EXITS.
PHIL Takes all kinds, huh?
BOBBY Thank God he didn't buy my Barbie.
PHIL I'm lockin' up, Bobby.
BOBBY What about my uterus?
PHIL Put it on eBay.
BOBBY I didn't even tell you the saint yet.
PHIL I don't care. Take it with you.
BOBBY It's Mother Teresa.
PHIL Mother Teresa.
BOBBY Yep.
PHIL That's Mother Teresa's uterus.
BOBBY Yep.
PHIL Lemme see it again.
BOBBY opens the box, puts it carefully in front of PHIL. PHIL picks up the uterus and throws it across the room.
BOBBY Hey! Goddammit, Phil!
BOBBY retrieves the uterus.
PHIL I'm lockin up, Bobby.
BOBBY A little respect here! It's not a fuckin' tennis ball.
PHIL Let's go.
BOBBY What about my Barbie?
PHIL Time for her to go, too.
BOBBY Ten dollars, Phil.
PHIL Not interested.
BOBBY You owe me.
PHIL How you figure?
BOBBY You just threw Mother Teresa's uterus across the room.
PHILCut the crap, Bobby. You stole that thing, whatever it is, from the Body Exhibit.
BOBBYIt's a uterus.
PHILThat may be, but it don't belong to no saint.
BOBBYSays you.
PHIL Out. All three of you. Let's go.
BOBBY Ten dollars for my Barbie!
PHIL No deal.
BOBBY Five!
PHIL If I give you five, you'll get out?
BOBBY Swear to God.
PHIL Aw right.
HE opens the cash register.
BOBBY For another buck I'll throw in the uterus.
PHIL sighs, gives him another buck.
BOBBY Thanks, Phil. I'll see ya tomorrow.
PHILI'm all aflutter.
BOBBY leaves.
PHIL picks up Barbie with one hand, picks up the uterus with the other, and makes them talk to each other. Simply, with no malice. Childlike, even.
PHIL (In a Barbie voice) Bitch.(In an old lady voice) Whore.(In a Barbie voice) Scag.(In an old lady voice) Tennis ball.
PHIL smiles at his own silliness, then places the items on the shelf. The door jingles. A WOMAN ENTERS.
PHILHelp you, ma'am?
WOMANWell, I don't know. I'm looking for a gift for "the man who has everything."
PHILKind of gift?
WOMANI don't know, really. I thought maybe you might have an idea. Something old and creepy?
PHILDoes he like Barbie dolls?
WOMANNo, I don't think so.
PHILWell, I do have one thing. It just came in today. Tell you the truth, I'm not sure what it is.
HE lifts the box from the shelf and places it in front of her.
WOMANWhat is it?
PHILOpen it.
SHE opens it.
PHILBet he doesn't have one of those.
WOMANOh, my God. It's Mother Teresa's uterus!
PHIL reacts.
END
From July 13 – 24, I attended the Southampton PlaywritingConference, and every other day, had a workshop with Emily Mann, the notedplaywright and artistic director at McCarter Theatre in Princeton, NJ. Emily isa great fan of "free writing," and for 10 days, that's what we did.
It goes like this: Emily gives us a prompt: "It's all yourfault." That becomes the first line of the play you will write, withoutstopping, for at least 20 minutes. The idea is not to come to the play with anypreconceived ideas about plot, characters, or setting. You just start writingand "discover" where you are as you compose.
I've never been a fan of this approach. I have troublefooling myself into believing my characters will subsume my will and take onlives of their own. At some point (preferably early), the author has to makechoices. Otherwise, you do the writing equivalent of a vamp.Backandforthbackandforthbackandforth with no discernable purpose.
But if you give over to it, someone eventually jumps up anddoes something. Pulls someone's hair. Opens a file drawer and discovers a pairof snakeskin boots. Eats a bad éclair. That's when the fun starts.
And I had fun!
Here's what I wrote for the prompt "Not one dime." Since theexercise, I've tweaked about 20% of it. The rest tumbled out. (If you like it,please don't steal it. It's copyrighted.)
THERELIC
SETTING: Acruddy pawn shop in Manhattan.
ATRISE: BOBBY,a scavenger just this side of homeless, stands opposite PHIL, the proprietor.
PHIL
Not one dime.
BOBBY
Aw, c'mon!
PHIL
She's in bad shape, Bobby.
BOBBY
But she's gotta be worth SOMEthing.
PHIL
Not to me.
BOBBY
But maybe to one of your customers,right?
PHIL
Have you taken a close look at her?
BOBBY
You could fix her up.
PHIL
I'm not in the business of fixingup, Bobby. I'm in the business of selling. Take her out of here.
Thedoor bell jingles. A distinguished GENTLEMANENTERS.
GENTLEMAN
Excuse me.
PHIL
Yessir.
GENTLEMAN
Do you have any Beanie Babies?
PHIL
A couple, yeah. In the glass caseover there. Let me know if you'd like to see anything.
GENTLEMAN
Thank you kindly.
HEEXITS
BOBBY
People still buy Beanie Babies?
PHIL
Hell, yeah.
BOBBY
How much?
PHIL
I think I got a couple hunnert onthe ones in the case.
BOBBY
A couple—! Jeezus. What'd you paythe poor bastard who sold them to you?
PHIL
I'm getting' kinda busy here, Bobby,so if you don't have anything else.
BOBBY
Well, I do, actually. Have somethingelse.
PHIL
(Sighs.)
Let's see it then.
BOBBYproduces a fist-sized box, places itdelicately in front of PHIL.
PHIL
What's this?
BOBBY
Open it.
PHIL
You open it.
BOBBYopens it. PHIL grimaces, disturbed.
PHIL
What is that?
BOBBY
A relic.
PHIL
What do mean, a relic?
BOBBY
You know. A piece of a saint.
PHIL
This is a piece of a saint?
BOBBY
Swear to God.
PHIL
What piece?
BOBBY
Don't you wanna know which saint?
PHIL
No, I wanna know which piece. Idon't like the way this thing looks.
BOBBY
It's a uterus.
PHIL
Say that again?
BOBBY
It's a uterus.
PHIL
Get outta here.
BOBBY
Touch it.
PHIL
I ain't touchin it. You touch it.
BOBBYplaces the gray, shriveled organ in thepalm of his hand.
PHIL
Jeezus. A uterus. Ugly thing, ain'tit?
BOBBY
It's old.
PHIL
It's also ooghing me out. Get itoutta here.
BOBBY
Don't you wanna know what saint itbelongs to?
TheGENTLEMAN ENTERS.
GENTLEMAN
Hello. Sorry.
PHIL
Yessir.
GENTLEMAN
May I see the Beenie Baby in thecase?
PHIL
Yessir. Which one?
GENTLEMAN
Both, if you don't mind.
PHIL
Yessir. I'll bring them to you.Won't take a second.
PHILEXITS.
BOBBY
So. You collect Beanies, huh?
GENTLEMAN
I do, yes.
BOBBY
Like, for your kids, or whatever?
GENTLEMAN
No, for me.
BOBBY
That's cool.
GENTLEMAN
You collect Barbie dolls?
BOBBY
Yeah. I can't unload this bitch,though. I think she's been hung from one too many ceiling fans, if you knowwhat I mean.
PHILENTERS, places two Beanie Babies onthe counter.
PHIL
Here you are, sir.
GENTLEMAN
Do you mind if I examine them?
PHIL
Knock yourself out.
TheGENTLEMAN takes out a loupe and examinesthe Beanies as a jeweler might. BOBBYlooks at PHIL as in "Getta loada thisguy."
PHIL(cont.)
Excellent condition as you can see. Theoriginal tags are still on them.
GENTLEMAN
I'll give you $50 for the pair.
PHIL
A hunnert.
GENTLEMAN
Seventy-five.
PHIL
Sold.
BOBBY
Jeezus. $75 for that Chinese crap?
PHIL
Hey!
(Tothe GENTLEMAN)
I'm sorry, Bobby ain't rightin the head.
BOBBY
There's nothin' wrong with my head.
GENTLEMAN
Quite all right. You'll take acheck?
PHIL
I prefer cash if you have it.
GENTLEMAN
Of course. Here you are.
PHIL
Lemme get you a bag here.
GENTLEMAN
That won't be necessary.
THEGENTLEMAN puts one Beanie Baby downthe front of his pants, then the other. Heturns to Phil.
GENTLEMAN
Thank you.
PHIL
Sure. Come again.
TheGENTLEMAN EXITS.
PHIL
Takes all kinds, huh?
BOBBY
Thank God he didn't buy my Barbie.
PHIL
I'm lockin' up, Bobby.
BOBBY
What about my uterus?
PHIL
Put it on eBay.
BOBBY
I didn't even tell you the saintyet.
PHIL
I don't care. Take it with you.
BOBBY
It's Mother Teresa.
PHIL
Mother Teresa.
BOBBY
Yep.
PHIL
That's Mother Teresa's uterus.
BOBBY
Yep.
PHIL
Lemme see it again.
BOBBYopens the box, puts it carefully in frontof PHIL. PHIL picks up the uterus and throwsit across the room.
BOBBY
Hey! Goddammit, Phil!
BOBBYretrieves the uterus.
PHIL
I'm lockin up, Bobby.
BOBBY
A little respect here! It's not afuckin' tennis ball.
PHIL
Let's go.
BOBBY
What about my Barbie?
PHIL
Time for her to go, too.
BOBBY
Ten dollars, Phil.
PHIL
Not interested.
BOBBY
You owe me.
PHIL
How you figure?
BOBBY
You just threw Mother Teresa'suterus across the room.
PHIL
Cut the crap, Bobby. You stole thatthing, whatever it is, from the Body Exhibit.
BOBBY
It's a uterus.
PHIL
That may be, but it don't belong tono saint.
BOBBY
Says you.
PHIL
Out. All three of you. Let's go.
BOBBY
Ten dollars for my Barbie!
PHIL
No deal.
BOBBY
Five!
PHIL
If I give you five, you'll get out?
BOBBY
Swear to God.
PHIL
Aw right.
HEopens the cash register.
BOBBY
For another buck I'll throw in theuterus.
PHILsighs, gives him another buck.
BOBBY
Thanks, Phil. I'll see ya tomorrow.
PHIL
I'm all aflutter.
BOBBYleaves.
PHILpicks up Barbie with one hand, picks upthe uterus with the other, and makes them talkto each other. Simply, with no malice. Childlike,even.
PHIL
(In a Barbie voice) Bitch.
(In an old lady voice) Whore.
(In a Barbie voice) Scag.
(In an old lady voice) Tennis ball.
PHILsmiles at his own silliness, then places theitems on the shelf.
Thedoor jingles. A WOMAN ENTERS.
PHIL
Help you, ma'am?
WOMAN
Well, I don't know. I'm looking fora gift for "the man who has everything."
PHIL
Kind of gift?
WOMAN
I don't know, really. I thoughtmaybe you might have an idea.
PHIL
Does he like Barbie dolls?
WOMAN
No, I don't think so.
PHIL
Well, I do have one thing. It justcame in today.
HElifts the box from the shelf and places it infront of her.
WOMAN
What is it?
PHIL
Open it.
SHEopens it.
PHIL
Bet he doesn't have one of those.
WOMAN
Oh, my God. It's Mother Teresa'suterus!
PHIL reacts.
END
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July 10, 2011
In Which I Finish Act 1 and Don't Know What it Is.
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Go with it, that is.
(Insert winking emoticon here.)
I've never had much patience with writers who say things like, "I just let my characters take over" or "I just listened to what my characters were talking about until I figured out what was going on." Such remarks strick me as precious. After all, aren't you on the other side of the keyboard? Characters don't think, talk, or act without you imposing thoughts, dialogue, or action on them, right?
body {font-family:helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:12px;}a.stbar.chicklet img {border:0;height:16px;width:16px;margin-right:3px;vertical-align:middle;}a.stbar.chicklet {height:16px;line-heI'm not so sure anymore. I feel officially taken over by a figment of my own imagination. And all I can say is, "You go, girl!" But if you insist upon adding a second act to my long one-act, you better come to the table with plenty to say.
body {font-family:helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:12px;}a.stbar.chicklet img {border:0;height:16px;width:16px;margin-right:3px;vertical-align:middle;}a.stbar.chicklet {height:16px;line-height:16px;On Tuesday, I'm driving up to Southampton, NY to attend The Southampton Playwriting Conference, a 10-day playwriting workshop and festival which will culminate (I think) with staged readings of student work. I'll be sitting at the knee of multi-award-winning playwright and artistic director, Emily Mann (Having Our Say, Testimonies), and boy am I ever looking forward to this. I haven't received a schedule or anything yet (and what is up with THAT?!) but I know I'm supposed to submit the first 8 - 10 pages of the play I'm working on for the first day of class. That much, I have.body {font-family:helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:12px;}a.stbar.chicklet img {border:0;height:16px;width:16px;margin-right:3px;vertical-align:middle;}a.stbar.chicklet {height:16px;line-height:16pIt will be interesting to me to see what I've got here, if anything. I like it, but hey. I'm me.
Hic.
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July 1, 2011
In Which DeLand Public Library Hosts Me and My Peeps!
The hometown crowd showed up for me on June 28, when I took my dog-and-pony show to DeLand Public Library. I am very grateful to librarian Susan Fichter (below) who made it all happen. And she and gave me six beautiful, red roses, too! I felt honored, and very welcome. Thank you, Susan.
I wasn't sure what to expect on a Monday morning; as it turned out, it was a homie reunion! Mom and dad came, too. And the people I didn't know didn't throw eggs, so I think I'm safe in saying a good time was had by all. Even my ninth-grade journalism teacher, Jessie Morland showed up. Jessie was the first person to encourage me as a writer, and gave me the space to do it. One time she let me out of class to go outside and write a story beneath a tree. I don't remember WHY she did that. Maybe her class was more manageable without me in it, I dunno.After the presentation, Jessie took me to lunch along with four of her very accomplished friends (below), none of whom got drunk or cursed. From left to right is playwright Ann Magaha, Helen Johnson, retired Stetson English professor Ellen Smith, Becky Bostic, and Jessie Morland is the one making horns behind my head. (Sigh. You can dress them up...) They invited me to come back in March and speak to their chapter of the Florida Pen Women. I said hail yas.
Thank you, DeLand. It's always great to go home again.
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In Which ASHES TO WATER is Chosen for River City Reads!
I'm very grateful to Carra Rose and Chop Suey Books for choosing ASHES TO WATER as the July/August pick for River City Reads.
Every two months, River City Reads and Chop Suey Books pick a book for a city wide book club, encouraging the city of Richmond to read and discuss the same book. Through River City Reads, residents of our great city are offered online forums, guides for starting mini-book clubs and reading groups, and literary events during which time they can meet and talk with various authors. River City Reads is similar to traditional book clubs in that there is a designated book to read and review with others (if you choose), a list of topics to discuss, and a sense of community and belonging.
Thank you!
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June 22, 2011
In Which The Mister Loses the Squirrel Wars
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He blames himself. "I must have pruned it wrong," he said, shaking his head. But I have a different theory.
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Squirrels.
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The Mister and squirrels have a history, and it isn't pretty. Each July, when the plums come under squirrel siege, The Mister bursts from his husband suit and becomes GRAHAM ASTON, SQUIRREL KILLER.
Don't worry, he hasn't killed any, but not for lack of trying.
Last year, he spooned blood from a rump roast into baggies, and hung them from the branches of the plum tree. His theory was that the squirrels would get freaked out by the animal blood, and stay away from the tree. It worked for me. But it turns out the squirrels aren't afraid of rump roast blood.
Then he gathered a few round, tinfoil pie plates, passed string through a hole at the top, and hung the pie plates on the branches. His theory was that the squirrels would get freaked out by the reflective flashes when jostled by a breeze. They just waited until the sun went down to chow down. As for a breeze, do you remember last July? If you felt a breeze, you called NBC12 About Town.
Then Graham and I went to Wal-Mart, ostensibly to buy refills for the electric toothbrush, but really to buy a gun. That's when I realized how far the situation had escalated. My peace-loving husband had blood lust.
"You're not really going to spend $120 on that BB gun, are you?" sez I.
"Uh," sez he.
"Please put it back."
He put it back. Then he picked up a another gun. "But I'm really going to spend $30 on this one."
Once home, he removed the screen from the balcony window, aimed the business end of the gun at the tree, and waited.
"Would you like your meals out here?" I asked.
"Sure."
I heard a lot of "pfft" from the gun and a lot of "damn!" from the Mister. Apparently the sight "was off." Then he picked up an antique gun we had sitting around and fired it. Or tried to. The cartridge casing blew up in the barrel and backfired. The wad grazed his face, but didn't take out any flesh or optic tissue.
"That was close," he said.
And now the tree is split down the middle, all its green plums littering the ground. Graham is sad.
The squirrels are not.
Me, I just live here.
May 29, 2011
In Which Miss Palmer introduces herself and identifies the Top Ten Civility Offenses.
LIGHTS RISE on MISS PALMER. SHE stands before a blackboard, flip chart, and overhead projector. SHE addresses the audience.
MISS PALMER
Good evening, nonviolent civility offenders. Welcome to Miss Palmer's School of Penmanship and Civil Behavior. My name is Vidalia Palmer, and for the next two hours, you belong to me. Have some instant gratification.
MISS PALMER lobs a fistful of wrapped candy into the audience.
Feel free to unwrap those little suckers right now. That's right, enjoy them while you can. Delicious, aren't they? You and I are going to become very good friends; I just know it.
You are here because each of you were caught in one or more of the Top Ten Civility Offenses—which was your first mistake—and refused to see what the fuss was about, which was your second. Right now, you simply stand accused. The civility justice system, in all its wisdom, believes you can benefit from community-based guidance, and has appointed me to set you on the righteous path to redemption. Those of you who complete this class will receive lesser sentences and improve yourselves. Those of you who do not complete your lessons will get locked up and probably raped.
To reshape your character, Miss Palmer extols muscular motion handwriting, a method that has a proven to reform civil offenders, assimilate immigrants, and create a skilled workforce. Pupils who conform never fail to become good penmen and women, and consequently, good citizens. Free thinkers and left-handers, on the other hand, will undergo persuasion until they see the wisdom in submission.
Princess Diana was accepted to secondary school based on the strength of her handwriting, did you know that? I still have her thank-you note, penned on Crane stationary in a hand that almost rivals my own.
The secret to her success?—patience, practice, and precision. At first, your writing will be insulting to the eye, and this is to be expected. Eventually, characters will form, both the letters of the alphabet and the sturdy core of moral fortitude you currently lack.
Personal idiosyncrasies will be discouraged. The first person to dot her i's with a heart shall undergo shock treatments, which I shall personally and happily administer.
Before I introduce you to Miss Palmer's method of muscular motion penmanship, I'd like to remind you to turn off and put away anything with a keyboard. So-called smart phones and similar devices act as shields of anonymity. They distract you from the here and now, and prevent you from connecting with the people in front of you. Furthermore, cell phones carry cancer, and people who text are slow learners, as I shall later prove.
We'll begin with a quick look at the Top Ten Civility Offenses. If you fail to recognize yourself among these behaviors, you're in denial, as The Civility Justice System does not make mistakes.
10. Talking, texting or upwrapping candy in a theatre.The world is not your living room.
09. Allowing your animal to relieve itself beyond the perimeter of your own property.That's littering. The world is not your garbage can.
08. Making a customer grub around for the penny they owe at the cash register."If I did that for everybody, where would we be?" begs the answer, "In a kinder world, maybe?"
07. Attempting to establish false camaraderie by using a person's first name without permission.Whoever told you that's an effective sales technique owes you a refund.
06. Smoking in a public place or lighting up without first asking."Do I mind if you smoke?" "Only if you don't mind if I spit in your mouth."
05. Disregarding safety precautions on an airplane. If this plane goes down, I can think of another hole you might want to plug with those earbuds.
04. Parking in spaces reserved for people with disabilities.Ever hear of karma?
03. Using your alpha status as a weapon.Despite what you may have observed in business, politics, or on the playground, discrimination, bullying and other acts of intentional cruelty are not leadership qualities.
02. Believing your windshield or computer screen gives you permission to endanger, demean or deceive another person.You are not A-nonymous. You are an A-hole.
And the number one civility offense is:
01. Ignoring, avoiding or failing to see the people around you."Keeps to himself" is not a compliment.
Feel free to inform me of any offenses I may overlooked in the Comment section below. Until next time, I'm Miss Vidalia Palmer reminding you to practice your letters, and be kind to service providers, even telemarketers.
LIGHTSRISE on MISS PALMER. SHE stands before a blackboard, flip chart, and overheadprojector. SHE addresses the audience.
MISSPALMER
Good evening, nonviolentcivility offenders. Welcome to Miss Palmer's School of Penmanship and CivilBehavior. My name is Vidalia Palmer, and for the next two hours, you belong tome. Have some instant gratification.
MISSPALMER lobs a fistful of soft candy into the audience.
Go ahead and enjoy thoselittle suckers right now. That's right. Delicious, aren't they? You and I aregoing to become very good friends; I just know it.
You are here because each ofyou were caught in one or more of the Top Ten Incivility Behaviors—which wasyour first mistake—and refused to see what the fuss was about, which was yoursecond. Right now, you simply stand accused. The civility justice system, inall its wisdom, believes you can benefit from community-based guidance, and hasappointed me to set you on the righteous path to redemption. Those of you whocomplete this class will receive lesser sentences and improve yourselves. Thoseof you who do not complete your lessons will get locked up and probably raped.
To reshape your character,Miss Palmer extols muscular motion handwriting, a method that has a proven toreform civil offenders, assimilate immigrants, and create a skilled workforce.Pupils who conform never fail to become good penmen and women, andconsequently, good citizens. Free thinkers and left-handers, on the other hand,will undergo persuasion until they see the wisdom in submission.
Princess Diana was acceptedto secondary school based on the strength of her handwriting, did you knowthat? I still have her thank-you note, penned on Crane stationary in a handthat almost rivals my own.
The secret to her success?—patience,practice, and precision. At first, your writing will be insulting to the eye,and this is to be expected. Eventually, characters will form, both the lettersof the alphabet and the sturdy core of moral fortitude you currently lack.
Personal idiosyncrasies willbe discouraged. The first person to dot her i's with a heart shall undergoshock treatments, which I shall personally and happily administer.
Before I introduce you toMiss Palmer's method of muscular motion penmanship, I'd like to remind you to turnoff and put away anything with a keyboard. So-called smart phones and similardevices act as shields of anonymity. They distract you from the here and now,and prevent you from connecting with the people in front of you. Furthermore, cell phones carry cancer,and people who text are slow learners, as I shall later prove.
We'll begin with a quicklook at the Top Ten Incivility behaviors. If you fail to recognize yourselfamong these behaviors, you're in denial. The Civility Justice System does notmake mistakes.
10. Talking, texting orupwrapping candy in a theatre.
The world is not your living room.
08. Allowing your animal torelieve itself beyond the perimeter of your own property.
That's littering. The world is not your garbage can.
09. Making a customer grubaround for the penny they owe at the cash register.
"If I did that for everybody, where would we be?" begsthe answer, "In a kinder world, maybe?"
07. Attempting to establishfalse camaraderie by using a person's first name without permission.
Whoever told you that's an effective sales techniqueowes you a refund.
06. Smoking in a publicplace or lighting up without first asking.
"Do I mind if you smoke? Only if you don't mind if Ispit in your mouth."
05. Disregarding safetyprecautions on an airplane.
If this plane goes down, I can think of another holeyou might want to plug with those earbuds.
04. Parking in spacesreserved for people with disabilities.
Ever hear of karma?
03. Using your alpha statusas a weapon.
Despite what you may have observed in business,politics, or on the playground, discrimination, bullying and other acts ofintentional cruelty are not leadership qualities.
02. Believing yourwindshield or computer screen gives you permission to endanger, demean ordeceive another person.
You are not A-nonymous. You are an A-hole.
01. Ignoring, avoiding orfailing to see the people around you.
"Keeps to himself" is not a compliment.
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May 15, 2011
In Which I Ask You to Tell Me About Your Encounters with Incivility and How You Handled Them
Since I've begun writing this play on handwriting/civil behavior, I've had some wacko encounters with representatives from the planet Me, and each time I am flummoxed as to how some people can be so disrespectful.
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Okay, yes it is.
Because, see, there are things we can do when we encounter rude, boorish or inconsiderate behavior. In a previous post, when I told about a woman who texted throughout the performance of a play I was trying desperately to enjoy, I recommended mailing her anthrax. While effective, it is conceivable this could create more problems than it solves, and I thought maybe you could come up with better solutions.
For instance, what (if anything) would you have done in this case:
I went to the Picasso exhibit on Friday (You missed it? Oh crap, you should just kill yourself right now. I mean it.) A security guard saw my cell phone in my hand and said, "Excuse me, you do realize you can't take pictures, don't you?" I fell all over myself assuring her I wasn't taking pictures (I wasn't), and put my phone away. She thanked me. Then I thanked her for asking me so nicely.
Her posture immediately changed. She grabbed herself around her middle and i thought she was going to cry. "Thank you so much for saying that to me," she said, "because this big guy just screamed at me when I asked his mother to stop taking pictures of the exhibit. I'm still trembling. Look." Her hands were shaking. "He said, HOW DARE YOU TALK TO MY MOTHER THAT WAY. WE KNOW SO-AND-SO ON THE BOARD OF THE MUSEUM AND YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE TALKING TO! MY MOTHER CAN TAKE AS MANY PICTURES AS SHE WANTS. WHAT'S YOUR NAME? WHAT'S YOUR BADGE NUMBER!"
As she told me this, I felt my blood pressure going through the roof. "Where is he?!" I demanded. "Let me at him!" It was my plan to pretend to be an off-duty police officer and order him to stand down. If that didn't work, I was going to recite his rights (I knew those 980 episodes of Law & Order would come in handy) and order him outside, call a police cruiser, the whole bit, until I could, like, duck behind one of Picasso's WOMAN WITH BONE FOR HEAD sculptures, and slip out. Oh my, I was indignant. Every bit as indignant as he had been, and therein lies the rub. You can't counter uncivil behavior with uncivil behavior without causing an escalation. All you can do is call upon your interpersonal communication skills in order to diffuse the defensive behavior by—
—oh who am I kidding. I still want to kill the guy.
Doreen and I talked a while after that. It so happened she writes Sponge Bob episodes when she's not being verbally abused by bullies. She had worked the Picasso exhibit for 17 straight days and was in obvious need of a break. But here's the thing: the VA Museum of Fine Arts is fined by the lending institution for each illegal photo they capture on surveillance cameras. VMFA needs to pull in $5 million to break even. As of Friday, with 2 days to go, they were close. But still. You're feelin' me, right?
So here's what I invite you to do: tell me about an encounter with incivility that you've had, and how you defused/solved/escalated it, maybe what you learned in the process. It will help inform my play, and help me personally as well. I mean. I can't go around pretending to be a cop all the time. Last I looked, that will land me in the pokey faster than yelling at a museum employee. And if you don't want to write in the comment section, here's my email address: iziegler2@gmail.com. I would love to hear from you.
Thanks. I'll close with a bit of penny wisdom: be nice to people. Everyone is someone, and has a story to tell. You might even come away from an encounter a better person, unless you're a bonafide sociopath, in which case put your hands behind your back, you're under arrest.
May 10, 2011
In Which Minka Kelly Performs my Monologue Off-Broadway
I submitted a monologue to a "have your monologue performed Off-Broadway contest" and I won. So on Mother's Day, As far as plays go, the show is a sit-down reading of several dozen monologues inspired by the book, LOVE, LOSS AND WHAT I WORE. Five actresses sat on stools and performed the material in front of them. It's low key drama, and not everyone's baileywick. The Mister yawned and checked his watch a lot. Afterward, he said, "Who would have thought five women could sit around and talk about clothes for an hour an a half?" Silly man. And let it be said that
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At the end of the show, So I made it to Off-Broadway. In a very small way, of course, but I made it. I always imagined it would be as an actor (third spear carrier to the right kindathing), but this was better. I got to sit back and not worry about wearing all the parts to my costume.
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The house manager told me to hang out in the theatre afterward, because Minka wanted to come out and say hello. She did, and we hugged, thanked each other, and she tolerated a few pics. That's me on the left.Okay, okay. That's me on the right. Sigh.
So here's what I want to do now. I applied for admission into this playwriting intensive at the Kennedy Center this summer, and I'd like to experience that (Master Classes with Lee Blessing, Marsha Norman, Mark Bly and oh so many others), and set some new creative goals. I think three plays in three years is a reasonable goal. (I'm pretty sure I'm done with fiction.) It's okay if they don't make it to Off-Broadway. I already get to cross that one off the Bucket List.
And to the woman in E-111 who texted throughout the performance, you are damn lucky The Mister sat between you and me, because if I had been next to you, you would have left the theatre bald-headed. What part of TURN OFF YOUR PHONES NOW did you not understand? I've asked the theatre for your address so I can mail you some anthrax. You better hope they don't give it to me.
(To any government agent monitoring my blog: I'm kidding. To the woman in E-111: no, I'm not.)
The Mister and I also saw Jerusalem with Mark Rylance on Broadway. If Rylance doesn't win the Best Actor Tony, I am going to be first in line to the see the performance that does, because RYLANCE is a one-man tour-de-force. If you plan a trip to NYC soon, see Jerusalem (6 Tony nominations). No one sings or talks about clothes or their mother. But the play leaves the ground and flies around the theatre for almost three hours which feels like one.
And if you kill the person texting next to you, no one will notice.
April 28, 2011
In Which I Consider Living Social's Coupon Offer
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But anyway, today's Living Social offer was Gun Instruction & Whiskey Tasting.For only $49 (regularly $100), you can combine two of American society's most deadly weapons. The come-on was "You get to spend an evening shootin' guns and shootin' whiskey."
The only thing missing from this equation is a bar fight.
I don't know where to begin with this one. I posted it on FaceBook and let my friends take shots at it. (See what I did there?) AnnaMarie said, "Girls night out!" which made me snort. Why the heck not? I'd kind of like to see them offer ER Training and Blood Soup Sipping. Or maybe Sheep Shearing and Sex Therapy. I'd also buy Introduction to Cannibalism and Eco Recycling.
But none of those are necessities, really. Not like freezing your fat cells to death. No down time, either. And it doesn't hurt. And the results? Well, those pictures didn't look touched up to me, that's all I'm sayin. You want it now, don't you? Too bad for you, it's gone. But if they offer a Naval Reconstruction and Creationism package, I'll let you know.
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