Okay, yes, it’s been a while. Would you believe me if I said I got tired of telling you I’m unemployed? Honestly, it just gets old.
So, prepare to go from “unemployed” to “Hollywood” in two seconds.
One.
Two.
Last night, Vicky and I took a few friends with us up to Hollywood to see the production of my play, Myth of the Cubicle. It was my first full production so – yes – I was nervous. Actually, I was practically epileptic. But Vicky drove, so we were safe.
Stepping up to the will-call counter, I gave my name to claim my comps. I was really worried they wouldn’t know who the hell I was or that they had misplaced my tickets or something god-awful. I’ve kinda come to expect the god-awful in my life. Vicky says I set the bar so low I dig a trench.
Not only did they have the tickets but the guy at the counter was also the director of my play and he was very happy to meet me. I was happy to meet him, too, but I was also curious why anyone would be happy to meet me.
In we went and took our seats. I had written a romantic (or, at least, I thought it was romantic) thank you to Vicky in the program – but the lights were out so we couldn’t read the program, thus defeating that entirely. But Vicky pulled out her phone and used that as a light source so she could read it. That woman is resourceful!
As for the play… what can I tell you without sounding like an egomaniac? It was fucking awesome. The actors were fantastic and the director really brought the show to life with lots of movement and bits I would never have considered. One of our friends said they didn’t really understand or have the maturity to understand the comedy of the piece – but I think they worked in their own comedy, which is what it’s all about. Bottom line: they made my work look great and I was elated.
After, I met the cast and was showered with admiration – THIS NEVER HAPPENS TO ME!... so I was surprised…
They’re talking about opening it in another theater in a month or two up in LA. It’s unreal and I’m very happy about it.
Sorry for being quiet for so long. I gotta work on that.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
How long does it take to write a book…
Around Christmas, I got this idea for a book. I’d been writing plays like crazy – what was the final tally? around five or six? – so I questioned the wisdom of returning to long-form writing. But the thing was this: I’d been writing plays so fast, I couldn’t process them fast enough to try and sell them. I was creating a back-log of plays that were just sitting there, unread, unseen… until who knew when…
With the holiday passed, I told Vicky right around New Year’s Eve that I would next write a book. (She might remember it slightly differently – cause I’m old and stupid.) At first, making the switch from plays to novels was uncomfortable. In a play, you just write dialogue, which is easy for me. But in a novel, you paint the entire landscape and I always have a problem with details. But around January 15th, I was able to update my Facebook status quite happily with the news that I had completed one-third of the new novel, which I decided to call The Wrong Magic. The Wrong Magic is about a couple with no magic in their relationship who find that even the wrong magic is better than none at all. But more on that later.
With one month between January 15th and today, I actually completed the other two-thirds of the book, finishing it last night. A month and a half to complete a book is pretty astonishing. I chalk it up to having lots of free time, of course.
The Wrong Magic is the kind of book I’ve been shooting for for many years now. Very marketable, it is movie-ready right out of the gate. You could film it as a summer rom-com with B-list actors and make a decent return without too much work. It is full of whimsy and romance and comedy and drama; I’m almost tempted to say all the books before it let me to this… but it was also pretty random.
What’s next? Well, after I step back from it for a bit to get a little perspective, I’ll dive back in and go through my re-writing process. Since I do so much tweaking as I write, re-writing is a fairly painless process. Mostly, it’s about inserting all the crap I usually forget to include: details. What did the house look like? What did they eat? What were they wearing? As I said, I write dialogue very easily and sometimes I forget to do the rest. So, I’ve basically built a process that addresses my weaknesses.
After that, Vicky will proof it and also be my first reader. How long it takes her to proof the book will also tell me how good it is. For instance, Daughter of a One-Armed Man took Vicky nearly a year to proof – that was pretty damned frustrating, let me tell you! On the other hand, she proofed Last Ditch in about a month because she couldn’t put it down.
All told, I’m looking to start submitting this and trying to sell it in April, if everything works out right. We’ll see.
In the meantime, I’m going to back to plays because I like being ambidextrous in a way…
With the holiday passed, I told Vicky right around New Year’s Eve that I would next write a book. (She might remember it slightly differently – cause I’m old and stupid.) At first, making the switch from plays to novels was uncomfortable. In a play, you just write dialogue, which is easy for me. But in a novel, you paint the entire landscape and I always have a problem with details. But around January 15th, I was able to update my Facebook status quite happily with the news that I had completed one-third of the new novel, which I decided to call The Wrong Magic. The Wrong Magic is about a couple with no magic in their relationship who find that even the wrong magic is better than none at all. But more on that later.
With one month between January 15th and today, I actually completed the other two-thirds of the book, finishing it last night. A month and a half to complete a book is pretty astonishing. I chalk it up to having lots of free time, of course.
The Wrong Magic is the kind of book I’ve been shooting for for many years now. Very marketable, it is movie-ready right out of the gate. You could film it as a summer rom-com with B-list actors and make a decent return without too much work. It is full of whimsy and romance and comedy and drama; I’m almost tempted to say all the books before it let me to this… but it was also pretty random.
What’s next? Well, after I step back from it for a bit to get a little perspective, I’ll dive back in and go through my re-writing process. Since I do so much tweaking as I write, re-writing is a fairly painless process. Mostly, it’s about inserting all the crap I usually forget to include: details. What did the house look like? What did they eat? What were they wearing? As I said, I write dialogue very easily and sometimes I forget to do the rest. So, I’ve basically built a process that addresses my weaknesses.
After that, Vicky will proof it and also be my first reader. How long it takes her to proof the book will also tell me how good it is. For instance, Daughter of a One-Armed Man took Vicky nearly a year to proof – that was pretty damned frustrating, let me tell you! On the other hand, she proofed Last Ditch in about a month because she couldn’t put it down.
All told, I’m looking to start submitting this and trying to sell it in April, if everything works out right. We’ll see.
In the meantime, I’m going to back to plays because I like being ambidextrous in a way…
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Segregate moments…
That’s how I like to write blog entries, as moments segregated from the rest as in a theme…
Not this time.
The fact is I have no news whatsoever and yet find it awfully silly that I have a blog with no entries. So, fuck it. Let’s go potluck!
I’ve been having some very strange health problems of late. First, it was my left arm. Now, it’s my right arm. Pain and tingling all up and down. I thought I was having a heart attack from all the stress I’ve been under but then several days passed so I ruled that out. Back in the early 90’s, I experienced a similar condition and my doctor fixed it with anti-inflammatory medication and a neck brace. (Cervical spine compression caused by stress, Old Doc Ken says.) I still have the neck brace. (Who’s a packrat?!) So, I tried that. And it helped. But it’s not helping so much for the right arm… dammit…
What’s to be stressed about? Well, I’ve almost run out of unemployment benefits. How’s that? We’re waiting to see if I can get an extension but news on that is like women who want to fuck so… sorry, that was inappropriate. I’m stressed. I can’t find a job and, believe me, I’ve tried. After working my ass off to make a career out of writing, it’s all circling the drain. Fuck.
What else?
Oh, here’s one I know you’ll enjoy. I had some short plays read at the meeting of a local playwriting group. And they were met fairly universally with disdain and derisive comments. I suck, was the general consensus. Really put me in my place. Fucking good for them. I’ve checked my readership recently and found that a certain someone still reads – and I’m pretty sure that made it all worthwhile.
Yep.
Stress.
Can’t find a job. All my plans are crashing down around me. I’m having health problems. Fucking Terrific.
See. There was a theme.
Not this time.
The fact is I have no news whatsoever and yet find it awfully silly that I have a blog with no entries. So, fuck it. Let’s go potluck!
I’ve been having some very strange health problems of late. First, it was my left arm. Now, it’s my right arm. Pain and tingling all up and down. I thought I was having a heart attack from all the stress I’ve been under but then several days passed so I ruled that out. Back in the early 90’s, I experienced a similar condition and my doctor fixed it with anti-inflammatory medication and a neck brace. (Cervical spine compression caused by stress, Old Doc Ken says.) I still have the neck brace. (Who’s a packrat?!) So, I tried that. And it helped. But it’s not helping so much for the right arm… dammit…
What’s to be stressed about? Well, I’ve almost run out of unemployment benefits. How’s that? We’re waiting to see if I can get an extension but news on that is like women who want to fuck so… sorry, that was inappropriate. I’m stressed. I can’t find a job and, believe me, I’ve tried. After working my ass off to make a career out of writing, it’s all circling the drain. Fuck.
What else?
Oh, here’s one I know you’ll enjoy. I had some short plays read at the meeting of a local playwriting group. And they were met fairly universally with disdain and derisive comments. I suck, was the general consensus. Really put me in my place. Fucking good for them. I’ve checked my readership recently and found that a certain someone still reads – and I’m pretty sure that made it all worthwhile.
Yep.
Stress.
Can’t find a job. All my plans are crashing down around me. I’m having health problems. Fucking Terrific.
See. There was a theme.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Where I’ve been lately…
Has anyone noticed how “early 21st century” blogs have become. I think that’s because it’s just so much easier for me to update my Facebook page with something like “Halfway done with the new book” than to actually write something substantive on my blog… or my other blog…
By the way, I’m halfway done with the new book.
That’s where I’ve been lately. Planted in front of my keyboard. During the day, I hit the submissions are hard as I can. Then, at night, I try to hammer out a couple thousand words on the new book. The job search stinks so this is my Plan B, if you will.
Nothing new to report, really. Just plugging away and hoping for the best.
By the way, I’m halfway done with the new book.
That’s where I’ve been lately. Planted in front of my keyboard. During the day, I hit the submissions are hard as I can. Then, at night, I try to hammer out a couple thousand words on the new book. The job search stinks so this is my Plan B, if you will.
Nothing new to report, really. Just plugging away and hoping for the best.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Thoughts on the halfway mark…
So, I reached the halfway point in my new novel, The Wrong Magic. I’m 40,000 words in and assuming this book has enough to take me to 80,000 or so. For some reason, this book feels like such a big deal to me – you know, even though it’s my (scary) 17th.
I have some idea as to why this is. I think it’s because I spent the last year writing plays, churning out something like nine or so – I lost count. So, I go back to long-form, novel writing and all I can think is, “Damn, Ken. You think you should do this?” I mean it’s one thing to string together a bunch of jokes, which is sometimes what I think I do with my plays, and another entirely to create plots and subplots and story arcs and enough tension and dynamism to last a whole novel long.
Of course, I haven’t gone a whole novel long. I’m only halfway there. But I think I’m going to make it. Vicky is absolutely sure – underwhelmingly sure. To her, I write books and plays like some people change socks. She doesn’t realize how each project puts me on this journey of low self-esteem: Am I Good Enough, that sort of thing.
So, standing here in the middle of the book, I thought I’d share something it has taught me. That’s one of the wonderful things about creating art (if I dare call anything I do that); you get back as you give. Sometimes, what you get back is an insight you had never considered before.
In this book, that insight is this: A writer is someone who has opened herself/himself/itself up to the possibilities of the universe and can hear the words that go down on paper, can see the story they’re telling, can almost reach through the layer separating real from imaginary.
I’ve been writing about this and it has me thinking about how that place is so privileged and so misunderstood. I mean, I can imagine you, dear reader, saying as you read, “Open to the possibilities of the universe, huh? That’s just a nice way of saying he’s full of shit.” As a writer, I’ve often had people misunderstand me, which has taught me the need to focus my craft and learn the need to communicate more effectively. But with the comes a sense that what I do is something most other people cannot begin to know.
It’s not something only a few can do. I know I’m not so very gifted that I don’t benefit from something nearly anyone can access. Opening yourself and listening to the world, their own impulses, and imagination is surely something we can all do.
Our society spends so much of its time teaching children to ignore those voices that tell us stories, to shut down the imagination so they can focus on their jobs in life. It is still my hope to make my job one in which I can remain open to possibilities, to stories and imagination. I just think it’s a shame sometimes that so many shut themselves off.
I have some idea as to why this is. I think it’s because I spent the last year writing plays, churning out something like nine or so – I lost count. So, I go back to long-form, novel writing and all I can think is, “Damn, Ken. You think you should do this?” I mean it’s one thing to string together a bunch of jokes, which is sometimes what I think I do with my plays, and another entirely to create plots and subplots and story arcs and enough tension and dynamism to last a whole novel long.
Of course, I haven’t gone a whole novel long. I’m only halfway there. But I think I’m going to make it. Vicky is absolutely sure – underwhelmingly sure. To her, I write books and plays like some people change socks. She doesn’t realize how each project puts me on this journey of low self-esteem: Am I Good Enough, that sort of thing.
So, standing here in the middle of the book, I thought I’d share something it has taught me. That’s one of the wonderful things about creating art (if I dare call anything I do that); you get back as you give. Sometimes, what you get back is an insight you had never considered before.
In this book, that insight is this: A writer is someone who has opened herself/himself/itself up to the possibilities of the universe and can hear the words that go down on paper, can see the story they’re telling, can almost reach through the layer separating real from imaginary.
I’ve been writing about this and it has me thinking about how that place is so privileged and so misunderstood. I mean, I can imagine you, dear reader, saying as you read, “Open to the possibilities of the universe, huh? That’s just a nice way of saying he’s full of shit.” As a writer, I’ve often had people misunderstand me, which has taught me the need to focus my craft and learn the need to communicate more effectively. But with the comes a sense that what I do is something most other people cannot begin to know.
It’s not something only a few can do. I know I’m not so very gifted that I don’t benefit from something nearly anyone can access. Opening yourself and listening to the world, their own impulses, and imagination is surely something we can all do.
Our society spends so much of its time teaching children to ignore those voices that tell us stories, to shut down the imagination so they can focus on their jobs in life. It is still my hope to make my job one in which I can remain open to possibilities, to stories and imagination. I just think it’s a shame sometimes that so many shut themselves off.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
One of those moments…
I think we all have moments in our lives that seem to be teaching us a lesson. Some of us listen in those moments. I’m trying to.
I was at the gym this morning, jogging on the treadmill. A fat woman – a really fat woman – was put on the treadmill next to me by a trainer and told to walk for 20 minutes. So, a few minutes pass, and the woman increases her speed. Then, a few more minutes pass, and the woman increases her speed some more. Now, she’s obviously going too fast for her level of fitness. So, a few more minutes pass, and she increases her speed some more. Now, she’s holding on for dear life, tries to take a drink from her water bottle, and nearly slips.
At this point, I think, “She’s going to fall. She’s going to fall.” And thinking of her falling, all I thought about was how it was going to affect me. I thought, “She’s going to fall and I’m going to have to help her – have to help her – have to help her!” It made me so angry.
And, sure enough, she fell. She increased her speed some more and she fell. And I stopped my treadmill and hurried to her asking if she was all right. She said she was but she wasn’t. She was mortified. She was nearly in tears. I told her it was okay, don’t feel bad; what was most important was that she was okay.
Her trainer came over and asked what had happened, which was kind of clear but I said, “She fell.” The trainer got angrier than I was inside, and inside I was fuming because my workout had been screwed up. But seeing this trainer get so mad, nearly to the point of shouting, it suddenly flashed on me that what I thought I was supposed to be there for – to work out – was NOT what I was supposed to be there for. Dumbass, I thought, THIS is what you’re here for!
It all took only about thirty seconds. The trainer took the woman away from the treadmill to get some water – but it was clear she was just taking her AWAY FROM THE TREADMILL. And I stopped my work out early. It was ruined not because of the woman falling but because I felt ashamed for thinking that was more important.
Hopefully, I’ll remember this in the future.
I was at the gym this morning, jogging on the treadmill. A fat woman – a really fat woman – was put on the treadmill next to me by a trainer and told to walk for 20 minutes. So, a few minutes pass, and the woman increases her speed. Then, a few more minutes pass, and the woman increases her speed some more. Now, she’s obviously going too fast for her level of fitness. So, a few more minutes pass, and she increases her speed some more. Now, she’s holding on for dear life, tries to take a drink from her water bottle, and nearly slips.
At this point, I think, “She’s going to fall. She’s going to fall.” And thinking of her falling, all I thought about was how it was going to affect me. I thought, “She’s going to fall and I’m going to have to help her – have to help her – have to help her!” It made me so angry.
And, sure enough, she fell. She increased her speed some more and she fell. And I stopped my treadmill and hurried to her asking if she was all right. She said she was but she wasn’t. She was mortified. She was nearly in tears. I told her it was okay, don’t feel bad; what was most important was that she was okay.
Her trainer came over and asked what had happened, which was kind of clear but I said, “She fell.” The trainer got angrier than I was inside, and inside I was fuming because my workout had been screwed up. But seeing this trainer get so mad, nearly to the point of shouting, it suddenly flashed on me that what I thought I was supposed to be there for – to work out – was NOT what I was supposed to be there for. Dumbass, I thought, THIS is what you’re here for!
It all took only about thirty seconds. The trainer took the woman away from the treadmill to get some water – but it was clear she was just taking her AWAY FROM THE TREADMILL. And I stopped my work out early. It was ruined not because of the woman falling but because I felt ashamed for thinking that was more important.
Hopefully, I’ll remember this in the future.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Verde Merde…
I often talk about how much I love to cook on this old blog but I never talk about what a mess I make sometimes in the process. And I’m not talking about dirty dishes here… though Vicky will attest to that as well. (I swear, I dirty ten dishes to make one dish!)
You see, I’ve been saying a lot lately that I’ve wanted to cook with tomatillos. I love tomatillos but that side of the vegetable garden is out of my cooking forte. I am Cajun and Italian and that’s about it. So, it was probably a bad idea from the start to bring tomatillos into a kind of cooking I enjoy. Somewhere, I got the idea about making a kind of tomatillo etouffee…
I know. Stop cringing.
For those of you who don’t know… you will. Etouffee is a creole dish that starts with celery, onion, and bell pepper (the “trinity”). You spice that up nice and tasty, throw in some crawfish or shrimp or whatnot and serve it with rice and it’s good. Where I went wrong was that I thought tomatillos would add a fruitiness you don’t normally get.
There’s a reason why you don’t normally get that.
And I omitted the rice, too. Another big mistake.
What Vicky and I ended up eating could have kindly been called “hot vegetable mash”. It was just gross.
And, oddly enough, there were leftovers. Imagine!
I immediately looked for a way to redeem myself and this came thanks to a comment from Vicky. “Too bad you can’t just make chili verde out of it.” Actually, I could. What is verde sauce but tomatillos, peppers, onions, with some ect.? So, I made some rice. Then, I seared a couple of chicken breasts in a hot cast iron skillet. I took a hand mixer (“bolt motor”) to the embarrassing mix in hope of redemption, and made it somewhat smooth. I poured it into the skillet, covered it, and threw the whole thing into a 350 degree oven for 25 minutes.
Out came culinary love, redemption on rice. Whew!
So, if you screw up, don’t worry about it. Just keep yourself open to new strategies! Anyway, you’ll never find those new, exciting recipes if you don’t allow yourself to screw up sometimes.
You see, I’ve been saying a lot lately that I’ve wanted to cook with tomatillos. I love tomatillos but that side of the vegetable garden is out of my cooking forte. I am Cajun and Italian and that’s about it. So, it was probably a bad idea from the start to bring tomatillos into a kind of cooking I enjoy. Somewhere, I got the idea about making a kind of tomatillo etouffee…
I know. Stop cringing.
For those of you who don’t know… you will. Etouffee is a creole dish that starts with celery, onion, and bell pepper (the “trinity”). You spice that up nice and tasty, throw in some crawfish or shrimp or whatnot and serve it with rice and it’s good. Where I went wrong was that I thought tomatillos would add a fruitiness you don’t normally get.
There’s a reason why you don’t normally get that.
And I omitted the rice, too. Another big mistake.
What Vicky and I ended up eating could have kindly been called “hot vegetable mash”. It was just gross.
And, oddly enough, there were leftovers. Imagine!
I immediately looked for a way to redeem myself and this came thanks to a comment from Vicky. “Too bad you can’t just make chili verde out of it.” Actually, I could. What is verde sauce but tomatillos, peppers, onions, with some ect.? So, I made some rice. Then, I seared a couple of chicken breasts in a hot cast iron skillet. I took a hand mixer (“bolt motor”) to the embarrassing mix in hope of redemption, and made it somewhat smooth. I poured it into the skillet, covered it, and threw the whole thing into a 350 degree oven for 25 minutes.
Out came culinary love, redemption on rice. Whew!
So, if you screw up, don’t worry about it. Just keep yourself open to new strategies! Anyway, you’ll never find those new, exciting recipes if you don’t allow yourself to screw up sometimes.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Another book and another play…
This year began with a hint of optimism. I had an agent ask to read With Eyes to See. I had another agent ask to read Wormfood. I had a play entered into a festival in Georgia. I had another play chosen as a finalist for an evening of one-acts in Hollywood.
Since then, the theater in Hollywood has gone without choosing my play – but that doesn’t make things any less optimistic. I’m submitting more books and plays to agents, publishers, and theaters than I am applying for jobs, which I assure you is more indicative of the job market than any attempt on my part. There are just more ways to submit work than jobs to apply for.
So, I’ve been working hard selling the old stuff and also coming up with new stuff.
The new book I’ve been working on is called The Wrong Magic. I just completed the first quarter of that and can give some idea of what that’s about. Here’s your semi-official blurb: After eight years of marriage, Stephanie and Alex are finished. Moving to Cambria, Alex is mistakenly shipped more than just his half of the stuff. He also finds himself in possession of the unfinished stories he never encouraged his wife to finish. So, he decides to finish them himself but soon finds elements of those stories popping up all around him. And when redwood trees begin dislodging homes, a butler appears out of nowhere, and a bicycle race is thrown into horrible disarray, Alex realizes he can use a little magic to get his wife back – even if it is the wrong magic.
The first quarter of the book is set-up, of course. How did they split up? What’s their back story? That kind of thing. The first quarter sets them on their separate paths and new lives – call it Act One. Act Two will involve the stories. Act Three will involve the magic. Act Four will involve the resolution. It’s a lot of fun, returning to novel writing after all those plays, and I think this one is good and marketable. As I’ve often said, I will happily sell out and write marketable over artistic at every opportunity.
And with that said… there’s another new play on the horizon. I don’t know how I’m going to shoehorn this in but my current, unemployed state provides me plenty of time to do it. As much as I would love to sit around and play video games, I just never seem to allow myself that luxury.
The new play starts with a bizarre idea. Two characters, a man and a woman, are on a stage. They agree that they should have complete honesty in their relationship. No lies. So, the woman tells the man, “I’m an actress and we’re in a play.” This idea has been with me since before Christmas but I wasn’t sure where it went from there. I mean, once you have a character in a play admit that it’s just a play – there go the barn doors.
I’ve entered a distinctly deconstructionist phase, one which Vicky doesn’t really understand. Hell, I don’t understand it, either – but that’s where the muse is taking me. So, where would a play that begins that way go? That would be telling. Suffice it to say, I had no idea until I began diagramming out the situation the man and woman find themselves in… and once I saw it, then I knew where it should go. Now, I just have to write it.
I am positive that the day will come when I run out of ideas, so I write today with an appreciation for the fortune I have in this area, at least. Anyway, when that day comes I’ll be able to catch up on my video game playing…
Since then, the theater in Hollywood has gone without choosing my play – but that doesn’t make things any less optimistic. I’m submitting more books and plays to agents, publishers, and theaters than I am applying for jobs, which I assure you is more indicative of the job market than any attempt on my part. There are just more ways to submit work than jobs to apply for.
So, I’ve been working hard selling the old stuff and also coming up with new stuff.
The new book I’ve been working on is called The Wrong Magic. I just completed the first quarter of that and can give some idea of what that’s about. Here’s your semi-official blurb: After eight years of marriage, Stephanie and Alex are finished. Moving to Cambria, Alex is mistakenly shipped more than just his half of the stuff. He also finds himself in possession of the unfinished stories he never encouraged his wife to finish. So, he decides to finish them himself but soon finds elements of those stories popping up all around him. And when redwood trees begin dislodging homes, a butler appears out of nowhere, and a bicycle race is thrown into horrible disarray, Alex realizes he can use a little magic to get his wife back – even if it is the wrong magic.
The first quarter of the book is set-up, of course. How did they split up? What’s their back story? That kind of thing. The first quarter sets them on their separate paths and new lives – call it Act One. Act Two will involve the stories. Act Three will involve the magic. Act Four will involve the resolution. It’s a lot of fun, returning to novel writing after all those plays, and I think this one is good and marketable. As I’ve often said, I will happily sell out and write marketable over artistic at every opportunity.
And with that said… there’s another new play on the horizon. I don’t know how I’m going to shoehorn this in but my current, unemployed state provides me plenty of time to do it. As much as I would love to sit around and play video games, I just never seem to allow myself that luxury.
The new play starts with a bizarre idea. Two characters, a man and a woman, are on a stage. They agree that they should have complete honesty in their relationship. No lies. So, the woman tells the man, “I’m an actress and we’re in a play.” This idea has been with me since before Christmas but I wasn’t sure where it went from there. I mean, once you have a character in a play admit that it’s just a play – there go the barn doors.
I’ve entered a distinctly deconstructionist phase, one which Vicky doesn’t really understand. Hell, I don’t understand it, either – but that’s where the muse is taking me. So, where would a play that begins that way go? That would be telling. Suffice it to say, I had no idea until I began diagramming out the situation the man and woman find themselves in… and once I saw it, then I knew where it should go. Now, I just have to write it.
I am positive that the day will come when I run out of ideas, so I write today with an appreciation for the fortune I have in this area, at least. Anyway, when that day comes I’ll be able to catch up on my video game playing…
Friday, January 01, 2010
Resolved… 2010…
Last year’s new year resolutions worked so well, I thought I would lay out some more for the new year…
Oh wait… last year’s didn’t work out at all. I resolved to buy more produce from local growers at farmer’s markets but I lost my job and couldn’t afford it. Oops… okay, so that one didn’t go quite as planned. BUT I did buy more locally grown produce thanks to the folks at my local Vons who bought more local produce. I’m not a big fan of the way they treat their employees but that was a step in the right direction. And we continued to shop at Henry’s, which buys locally as well. So, in as much as I could I tried to keep that one. My second resolution was to grow more produce… which also didn’t go so well. I mean, it had been a while since I gardened so I was a bit out of practice and things didn’t turn out so well. BUT I did grow a lot of tomatoes and they were very tasty and we had jalapenos and basil (my rosemary died a horrible death so let’s not get into that)!
So, they did work out… kinda…
So, let’s talk 2010!
Obviously, there are some things that go without saying. I’m going to continue to look for work, continue to write, continue to try to make a sale. I’m going to continue cycling, continue jogging, continue trying to eat healthy, and this spring I will plant another garden.
But, despite that… let’s face it. I know what I need to do. It’s looking back at me from the mirror.
I’m a fat fuck. Fat fat fat. Fatty fatty fatty. I’m a bit overweight.
Now, I’ve been doing a good job getting more serious about my health. I quit smoking. I took up cycling. Heck, I even began jogging again this year. But the fact is I could do better.
So, this year I am going to work on watching not just what I put in my body but how much. I have a terrible habit of loving food so much that I think more is better. More is not better. More is just more. But that’s my thing. I think “One burrito is good… so two or three or four would be wonderful!!” So, this year I am going to try and stop myself before I have a second helping or before I have a snack between meals. This isn’t something you can track but I think it’s a good idea to be aware of it all the same.
Here’s something I can track. Two years ago, I rode my first metric (which is 100 kilometers). Last year, I cycled two metrics. This year, I’m aiming for three. I’ve found a good, relatively safe route to take so doing more will be a bit easier.
Lastly, number three. The big one. Sugar. If there’s one thing I can do that would both help make this world a healthier place to live while also making me healthier, it is to cut back on my sugar. I love sugar. I love ice cream. I love cookies. I love pie. I love sweet drinks. I love sugar. But I know it’s not good for me and I’m only hurting myself by eating so much of it. So, I’m going to use 2010 as a time-out for sugar. I’m not going to go without, of course; I don’t know if I could. But I eat so much, I know I can cut my consumption considerably.
Those are my three things. Portions and sugar are going to be tough, so I’m asking Vicky’s help. She has expressed a desire to participate in the Disney Half-Marathon, so I’m going to be her partner in that. Together, I’m hoping we can help each other achieve our goals.
Oh wait… last year’s didn’t work out at all. I resolved to buy more produce from local growers at farmer’s markets but I lost my job and couldn’t afford it. Oops… okay, so that one didn’t go quite as planned. BUT I did buy more locally grown produce thanks to the folks at my local Vons who bought more local produce. I’m not a big fan of the way they treat their employees but that was a step in the right direction. And we continued to shop at Henry’s, which buys locally as well. So, in as much as I could I tried to keep that one. My second resolution was to grow more produce… which also didn’t go so well. I mean, it had been a while since I gardened so I was a bit out of practice and things didn’t turn out so well. BUT I did grow a lot of tomatoes and they were very tasty and we had jalapenos and basil (my rosemary died a horrible death so let’s not get into that)!
So, they did work out… kinda…
So, let’s talk 2010!
Obviously, there are some things that go without saying. I’m going to continue to look for work, continue to write, continue to try to make a sale. I’m going to continue cycling, continue jogging, continue trying to eat healthy, and this spring I will plant another garden.
But, despite that… let’s face it. I know what I need to do. It’s looking back at me from the mirror.
I’m a fat fuck. Fat fat fat. Fatty fatty fatty. I’m a bit overweight.
Now, I’ve been doing a good job getting more serious about my health. I quit smoking. I took up cycling. Heck, I even began jogging again this year. But the fact is I could do better.
So, this year I am going to work on watching not just what I put in my body but how much. I have a terrible habit of loving food so much that I think more is better. More is not better. More is just more. But that’s my thing. I think “One burrito is good… so two or three or four would be wonderful!!” So, this year I am going to try and stop myself before I have a second helping or before I have a snack between meals. This isn’t something you can track but I think it’s a good idea to be aware of it all the same.
Here’s something I can track. Two years ago, I rode my first metric (which is 100 kilometers). Last year, I cycled two metrics. This year, I’m aiming for three. I’ve found a good, relatively safe route to take so doing more will be a bit easier.
Lastly, number three. The big one. Sugar. If there’s one thing I can do that would both help make this world a healthier place to live while also making me healthier, it is to cut back on my sugar. I love sugar. I love ice cream. I love cookies. I love pie. I love sweet drinks. I love sugar. But I know it’s not good for me and I’m only hurting myself by eating so much of it. So, I’m going to use 2010 as a time-out for sugar. I’m not going to go without, of course; I don’t know if I could. But I eat so much, I know I can cut my consumption considerably.
Those are my three things. Portions and sugar are going to be tough, so I’m asking Vicky’s help. She has expressed a desire to participate in the Disney Half-Marathon, so I’m going to be her partner in that. Together, I’m hoping we can help each other achieve our goals.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
And so we reach the end of another...
(NOTE: This went out to my friends and family in email form but I know there are plenty of you who keep up via the blog, so...)
It’s the end of a decade – the end of the decade nobody knew what to call. “The Shrub Era”? “The Oughts”? Now people can comfortably settle into the teens and how nice that will be… I’m sure we all hope…
I would like to say a word or two about this past year, 2009, but before I do that – a word or two about this decade. You might say this was a pretty bad year for me, unemployed for 11 months without a nibble on a job or a sale, but please consider… I began this decade with the loss of my first wife and spent four or five or six or seven years finding my way out of those mires. I’ve lost friends, Megan foremost among them. I lost my father. I went to the Grand Canyon to try and kill myself and found that self-destruction does not end when you step away from the edge. All in all, there were other years I would wish to repeat far less than the one that just past.
This past decade held more than its share of lovely memories as well. This was the decade of Vicky. I won’t say we never have our problems but there’s no one I would rather have them with. This was the decade I returned to the stage. I wrote my first play in this decade. Imagine this for a second: in the last 10 years (yes, I’m going back to 1999 – sorry – chronology sucks), I have completed nine novels and 12 full-length plays. My sales record may be abysmal but I’ve had four staged readings and I can say that with every novel or play my quality improves just a little bit. I have learned that being an artist is not about making money and I have found fulfillment in that. This achievement is due mostly to my first book on philosophy, a memoir called Climbing Maya.
I’ve been blessed – in a completely unreligious, non-spooky supernatural way, I assure you – with the gifts of so many people. Annie and Lori convinced me to write my first play. Steve offered to direct it before he even saw it. Sherryl and Chris and Stephanie and Tony have worked with me along the way, supporting me with their amazing talents – especially Stephanie who is my most dedicated fan and who has cheered me on all along the way despite my lack of monetary compensation. Eric has inspired me to take my writing to the next level and, along with the Orange County Playwrights Alliance, have provided me a home amongst peers. Sean has been a friend who has stood by me every step of the way, through some of the worst times for us both. And my family – the screwiest bunch of lunatics you ever want to meet – has popped in and out, together and apart, for too many weddings and too many funerals and not enough lottery winnings. Then, there are those I met, those who came back into my life, and those who left, all adding to a cast of characters I could never measure up to in any of my writing. And then, there is Vicky. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have started writing again after a significant drought. She married me in the good times and has stuck by me in bad. Heck, she’s kept the trains running on time while I’ve been off on this artistic excursion. (Yes, we recently acquired trains…) She started out refusing to be “a fan” and is now one of my biggest. She’s the best friend I could hope for and she’s also a colossal pain in my ass and I consider myself lucky.
It’s been one hell of a decade, is what I’m saying.
So, this year hasn’t been the worst. It didn’t need to be the best… would’ve been nice, but… Say what you want about unemployment and what you like about the economy, here’s what I got. I’ve had eleven months to pursue being an artist, which is something most people don’t get. That pursuit produced eleven plays and the beginnings of my next novel – good work including a play about finding your way after the death of a loved one, crazy work including a Marx Brother’s comedy with one protracted poop joke, political work about the death of ethics, and one very surreal absurdist piece that makes me believe I’ve finally after all these years created actual art. It wasn’t the year I wanted. It was the year I got.
This might not have been the decade I wanted when I rang it in with a certain someone so many years ago but it was the one I got. So it is with everything. So it is with life.
And so I close with a suggestion that you may not have the happiest new year and the next decade may not bring everything you want, but it will be what it will be. Find the good times, find the loveliness, and share them with those who matter to you most. That’s what one decade has taught me.
It’s the end of a decade – the end of the decade nobody knew what to call. “The Shrub Era”? “The Oughts”? Now people can comfortably settle into the teens and how nice that will be… I’m sure we all hope…
I would like to say a word or two about this past year, 2009, but before I do that – a word or two about this decade. You might say this was a pretty bad year for me, unemployed for 11 months without a nibble on a job or a sale, but please consider… I began this decade with the loss of my first wife and spent four or five or six or seven years finding my way out of those mires. I’ve lost friends, Megan foremost among them. I lost my father. I went to the Grand Canyon to try and kill myself and found that self-destruction does not end when you step away from the edge. All in all, there were other years I would wish to repeat far less than the one that just past.
This past decade held more than its share of lovely memories as well. This was the decade of Vicky. I won’t say we never have our problems but there’s no one I would rather have them with. This was the decade I returned to the stage. I wrote my first play in this decade. Imagine this for a second: in the last 10 years (yes, I’m going back to 1999 – sorry – chronology sucks), I have completed nine novels and 12 full-length plays. My sales record may be abysmal but I’ve had four staged readings and I can say that with every novel or play my quality improves just a little bit. I have learned that being an artist is not about making money and I have found fulfillment in that. This achievement is due mostly to my first book on philosophy, a memoir called Climbing Maya.
I’ve been blessed – in a completely unreligious, non-spooky supernatural way, I assure you – with the gifts of so many people. Annie and Lori convinced me to write my first play. Steve offered to direct it before he even saw it. Sherryl and Chris and Stephanie and Tony have worked with me along the way, supporting me with their amazing talents – especially Stephanie who is my most dedicated fan and who has cheered me on all along the way despite my lack of monetary compensation. Eric has inspired me to take my writing to the next level and, along with the Orange County Playwrights Alliance, have provided me a home amongst peers. Sean has been a friend who has stood by me every step of the way, through some of the worst times for us both. And my family – the screwiest bunch of lunatics you ever want to meet – has popped in and out, together and apart, for too many weddings and too many funerals and not enough lottery winnings. Then, there are those I met, those who came back into my life, and those who left, all adding to a cast of characters I could never measure up to in any of my writing. And then, there is Vicky. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have started writing again after a significant drought. She married me in the good times and has stuck by me in bad. Heck, she’s kept the trains running on time while I’ve been off on this artistic excursion. (Yes, we recently acquired trains…) She started out refusing to be “a fan” and is now one of my biggest. She’s the best friend I could hope for and she’s also a colossal pain in my ass and I consider myself lucky.
It’s been one hell of a decade, is what I’m saying.
So, this year hasn’t been the worst. It didn’t need to be the best… would’ve been nice, but… Say what you want about unemployment and what you like about the economy, here’s what I got. I’ve had eleven months to pursue being an artist, which is something most people don’t get. That pursuit produced eleven plays and the beginnings of my next novel – good work including a play about finding your way after the death of a loved one, crazy work including a Marx Brother’s comedy with one protracted poop joke, political work about the death of ethics, and one very surreal absurdist piece that makes me believe I’ve finally after all these years created actual art. It wasn’t the year I wanted. It was the year I got.
This might not have been the decade I wanted when I rang it in with a certain someone so many years ago but it was the one I got. So it is with everything. So it is with life.
And so I close with a suggestion that you may not have the happiest new year and the next decade may not bring everything you want, but it will be what it will be. Find the good times, find the loveliness, and share them with those who matter to you most. That’s what one decade has taught me.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
I guess you can say I’m all caught up…
It was spring or it was early summer. I was 16 or 17 years old. Okay, so much of it is a blur but the things I do remember were that we were all standing at the top of the stairs in front of Valley High School’s auditorium. Roy Johnson, only a couple of years older than me but more self-assured than any age would make me capable, was showing off his new short story. It was called Snails or something. The important thing was it was genius.
And everyone was saying so.
And I was so desperate for attention back then that I said something like, “So? I can do that.” I was so young that my brain hadn’t quite caught on. Now, if I said something like that, my brain would immediately be asking, “What? When did this happen? I didn’t know about this!” Which is probably why I don’t say things like that any longer. In fact, now when people ask me if I’m a writer, I tend to shrug it off.
But not back then.
And everyone knew it. The guys up there on the top of the steps weren’t just my friends in high school but the other guys from theater, who knew me well enough to know I was full of shit. Talented? Sure. Smart? Maybe. But without a doubt completely full of shit. They turned on me like a crown of young men will and very quickly had me saying things like, “Yeah, I’ve started a novel at home. I just haven’t shown it to anyone, yet.”
Nestor, a big guy who could be your best friend or most vicious adversary depending on lunch or which was the wind blew, suggested he’d really like to see that book. Yeah, Ken, why don’t you bring that book to school and we’ll let you know how good it is…
My stride was calm and confident as I walked home that afternoon, all the while wishing to run because I knew I hadn’t started a novel. In fact, I’d never written a thing in my life.
Oh sure, there were those articles and goofy comedy bits I did for the school newspaper way back in junior high. (This was before My Side, the column I had in high school and so on.) But that would hardly count. No, I had to come up with the beginnings of a novel or fess up to being full of shit.
So, I went home and wrote the beginning of a novel. I wrote several chapters of a book I’d never finish – but there it was. And it wasn’t bad. And, I thought, I really could do this. Imagine!
Roy Johnson never became a famous writer but odds are he became happy. At least, I hope he is happy wherever he is. If it weren’t for him, I would never have become a writer… and I’ve been trying to prove it ever since.
This memory popped back into my head the other day, as I put the last lines down for a new play. That makes six full-length plays I finished this year. Six. Wow. And a sudden, strange inclination had me counting all the books and plays I’d written.
One by one, I counted off the books:
My Side
This Land is My Land
Revelations
A Hex Upon Rynia
The Sons of Rynia: A Rynia trilogy whose books I never got around to naming
Vampire Society
A Grand Canyon
No More Blue Roses
With Eyes to See
Wormfood
Climbing Maya
Love of Your Life
Daughter of a One-Armed Man
Last Ditch
Sixteen. Sixteen books.
One by one, I counted off the plays:
Everything Changes
Atheists
Whatever Happened To Me?
After You Fall
Murielle’s Big Date
Meaning.
Murder, Zombies, the Devil… and stuff…
Sometimes We Find Our Way
Diamonds to Go
The Death of Ethics, etc.
Friends, First
Happily After Ever
Twelve. Twelve plays.
That makes 28 full-length books and plays. This doesn’t include the short plays or short stories or poems or essays or (god forbid) blog entries…
And then I did a bit more math… and I realized that for every year after Roy Johnson and that first moment when I boasted that I could write, I’ve completed writing one book or one play. One a year since the age of 16… still trying to prove myself.
And another memory pops into my head. Ms. Von’s English class… a girl named Michelle asked, “Ms. Von, do you think Ken will ever make it as a writer?” Ms. Von tilted her glance over at me. “If he remains prolific, he will.”
If he remains prolific.
Well, a book or a play each year for 28 years… that’s gotta count, right?
And I thought of this… and I laid down the opening of a new book. This one’s called The Wrong Magic and it’s about how we rely on magic in our lives, in our relationships, and how unreliable it really is… Of course, that’s not all. I’ll tell you more later…
It was spring or it was early summer. I was 16 or 17 years old. Okay, so much of it is a blur but the things I do remember were that we were all standing at the top of the stairs in front of Valley High School’s auditorium. Roy Johnson, only a couple of years older than me but more self-assured than any age would make me capable, was showing off his new short story. It was called Snails or something. The important thing was it was genius.
And everyone was saying so.
And I was so desperate for attention back then that I said something like, “So? I can do that.” I was so young that my brain hadn’t quite caught on. Now, if I said something like that, my brain would immediately be asking, “What? When did this happen? I didn’t know about this!” Which is probably why I don’t say things like that any longer. In fact, now when people ask me if I’m a writer, I tend to shrug it off.
But not back then.
And everyone knew it. The guys up there on the top of the steps weren’t just my friends in high school but the other guys from theater, who knew me well enough to know I was full of shit. Talented? Sure. Smart? Maybe. But without a doubt completely full of shit. They turned on me like a crown of young men will and very quickly had me saying things like, “Yeah, I’ve started a novel at home. I just haven’t shown it to anyone, yet.”
Nestor, a big guy who could be your best friend or most vicious adversary depending on lunch or which was the wind blew, suggested he’d really like to see that book. Yeah, Ken, why don’t you bring that book to school and we’ll let you know how good it is…
My stride was calm and confident as I walked home that afternoon, all the while wishing to run because I knew I hadn’t started a novel. In fact, I’d never written a thing in my life.
Oh sure, there were those articles and goofy comedy bits I did for the school newspaper way back in junior high. (This was before My Side, the column I had in high school and so on.) But that would hardly count. No, I had to come up with the beginnings of a novel or fess up to being full of shit.
So, I went home and wrote the beginning of a novel. I wrote several chapters of a book I’d never finish – but there it was. And it wasn’t bad. And, I thought, I really could do this. Imagine!
Roy Johnson never became a famous writer but odds are he became happy. At least, I hope he is happy wherever he is. If it weren’t for him, I would never have become a writer… and I’ve been trying to prove it ever since.
This memory popped back into my head the other day, as I put the last lines down for a new play. That makes six full-length plays I finished this year. Six. Wow. And a sudden, strange inclination had me counting all the books and plays I’d written.
One by one, I counted off the books:
My Side
This Land is My Land
Revelations
A Hex Upon Rynia
The Sons of Rynia: A Rynia trilogy whose books I never got around to naming
Vampire Society
A Grand Canyon
No More Blue Roses
With Eyes to See
Wormfood
Climbing Maya
Love of Your Life
Daughter of a One-Armed Man
Last Ditch
Sixteen. Sixteen books.
One by one, I counted off the plays:
Everything Changes
Atheists
Whatever Happened To Me?
After You Fall
Murielle’s Big Date
Meaning.
Murder, Zombies, the Devil… and stuff…
Sometimes We Find Our Way
Diamonds to Go
The Death of Ethics, etc.
Friends, First
Happily After Ever
Twelve. Twelve plays.
That makes 28 full-length books and plays. This doesn’t include the short plays or short stories or poems or essays or (god forbid) blog entries…
And then I did a bit more math… and I realized that for every year after Roy Johnson and that first moment when I boasted that I could write, I’ve completed writing one book or one play. One a year since the age of 16… still trying to prove myself.
And another memory pops into my head. Ms. Von’s English class… a girl named Michelle asked, “Ms. Von, do you think Ken will ever make it as a writer?” Ms. Von tilted her glance over at me. “If he remains prolific, he will.”
If he remains prolific.
Well, a book or a play each year for 28 years… that’s gotta count, right?
And I thought of this… and I laid down the opening of a new book. This one’s called The Wrong Magic and it’s about how we rely on magic in our lives, in our relationships, and how unreliable it really is… Of course, that’s not all. I’ll tell you more later…
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
What every writer must do…
So, I’m working on this new play: Happily After Ever. This will be my sixth play this year and a damned good reason to quit for a while. I’m exhausted in a very real sense.
Strangely, though, what has happened possibly as a result of being so prolific is that I’ve stumbled onto one of the presumptions of theater and found a way to tear a hole right through it. The resulting work is better than anything I’ve seen myself produce mostly due to scale alone. It’s not just a “bigger is better” thing; it’s one of those times when you set the bar so high you don’t think you can clear it.
Which brings an important point to mind.
It may be this way for any artist but, surely, it applies to writers. When you’re producing your best work, when you look at it and think “Did I really do that?” you’re in a pickle because until you finish whatever project you’re on you are forced to continue at that level. Mediocre writing provides shelter for the lazy; you never have to work too hard to keep that up. But who wants mediocre? Your whole aim as an artist is to reach those impossible heights!
So, it becomes exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. This is why you became an artist, for this very reason. It’s the same feeling an athlete experiences, but instead of pushing your body to an extreme you never thought you’d reach you’re getting there with your mind, with your heart, with your spirit.
Then, when you finish, you realize the odds of getting there again are pretty minute. I know, I’m thinking about that right about now, thinking, “How on earth did I do this and how can I do it again?” I have to stop asking that question, though, and experience the moment so I can remember it later. Because that day will come when I won’t be able to lay down three words that make sense and I’ll wonder, “Why did I think I could do this?” And this will be why.
It’s important to realize why you commit your life to something. Just like with any romance, it keeps the love alive.
Strangely, though, what has happened possibly as a result of being so prolific is that I’ve stumbled onto one of the presumptions of theater and found a way to tear a hole right through it. The resulting work is better than anything I’ve seen myself produce mostly due to scale alone. It’s not just a “bigger is better” thing; it’s one of those times when you set the bar so high you don’t think you can clear it.
Which brings an important point to mind.
It may be this way for any artist but, surely, it applies to writers. When you’re producing your best work, when you look at it and think “Did I really do that?” you’re in a pickle because until you finish whatever project you’re on you are forced to continue at that level. Mediocre writing provides shelter for the lazy; you never have to work too hard to keep that up. But who wants mediocre? Your whole aim as an artist is to reach those impossible heights!
So, it becomes exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. This is why you became an artist, for this very reason. It’s the same feeling an athlete experiences, but instead of pushing your body to an extreme you never thought you’d reach you’re getting there with your mind, with your heart, with your spirit.
Then, when you finish, you realize the odds of getting there again are pretty minute. I know, I’m thinking about that right about now, thinking, “How on earth did I do this and how can I do it again?” I have to stop asking that question, though, and experience the moment so I can remember it later. Because that day will come when I won’t be able to lay down three words that make sense and I’ll wonder, “Why did I think I could do this?” And this will be why.
It’s important to realize why you commit your life to something. Just like with any romance, it keeps the love alive.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
That moment I shouldn’t enjoy but do anyway…
A year or so ago, Vicky and I sat in an OCPA meeting just after the reading of my (then) new play, Meaning. and listened to the feedback from the small audience that was there. One person groused, “You can’t write plays about the meaning of life. You just can’t do it!” Thought this probably should have worried me, I felt the edge of my mouth raise up just a touch… I liked that.
I’ve been so busy writing this year; it’s really been the year of “Ken La Salle: Playwright”. I’ve finished:
Sometimes We Find Our Way
Murder, Zombies, The Devil… and stuff
Diamonds To Go
The Death of Ethics, The Demise of Morality, and the day we all dropped dead
Friends, First
And those are just the full-length, 90 minutes or so, plays. A list with all the shorts would be much longer. I think I’ve been writing my ass off, mostly, as justification in a way. After all, being out of work, it’s nice to say I’ve actually done something with my time. I could say I’ve been applying for jobs but with so few out there that still leaves many hours in the day.
Now, I’m ready to start my sixth play of the year, which I’m calling Happily After Ever, and my friend Stephanie gives me familiar “You can’t do that”. And I smile a bit. I think I’m most pleased (one is tempted to use the word “happiest” but this is me we’re talking about) when I’m doing something people tell me can’t be done or shouldn’t be done. Without going into details, she’s right, of course. The idea for the new play is fraught with complications and things that might kill an ordinary audience… but if I have faith in myself and in my writing, that shouldn’t be a concern.
And I find that equally amusing as I sit here late at night typing this out: me having faith in my writing. With nearly 20 novels and over a dozen plays but not a single sale to my credit, you’d think that’s the last thing I’d have. But then, I think of the staged readings I’ve had and the times when people have heard my plays at a table read and the generous feedback from those who have read my books… I’m not so stupid that I can’t tell rotten luck from rotten writing.
And I guess that as long as I’m told I can’t do something or I shouldn’t do it, as long as the very idea of what I want to write gets a reaction, it’s a far, far better thing than putting people to sleep.
As long as I can prove them wrong, at least…
I’ve been so busy writing this year; it’s really been the year of “Ken La Salle: Playwright”. I’ve finished:
Sometimes We Find Our Way
Murder, Zombies, The Devil… and stuff
Diamonds To Go
The Death of Ethics, The Demise of Morality, and the day we all dropped dead
Friends, First
And those are just the full-length, 90 minutes or so, plays. A list with all the shorts would be much longer. I think I’ve been writing my ass off, mostly, as justification in a way. After all, being out of work, it’s nice to say I’ve actually done something with my time. I could say I’ve been applying for jobs but with so few out there that still leaves many hours in the day.
Now, I’m ready to start my sixth play of the year, which I’m calling Happily After Ever, and my friend Stephanie gives me familiar “You can’t do that”. And I smile a bit. I think I’m most pleased (one is tempted to use the word “happiest” but this is me we’re talking about) when I’m doing something people tell me can’t be done or shouldn’t be done. Without going into details, she’s right, of course. The idea for the new play is fraught with complications and things that might kill an ordinary audience… but if I have faith in myself and in my writing, that shouldn’t be a concern.
And I find that equally amusing as I sit here late at night typing this out: me having faith in my writing. With nearly 20 novels and over a dozen plays but not a single sale to my credit, you’d think that’s the last thing I’d have. But then, I think of the staged readings I’ve had and the times when people have heard my plays at a table read and the generous feedback from those who have read my books… I’m not so stupid that I can’t tell rotten luck from rotten writing.
And I guess that as long as I’m told I can’t do something or I shouldn’t do it, as long as the very idea of what I want to write gets a reaction, it’s a far, far better thing than putting people to sleep.
As long as I can prove them wrong, at least…
Friday, December 04, 2009
Rope burns…
Just a tip to the perverts out there: No, that’s not what this will be about. Get your hands where I can see them and we’ll continue…
Vicky and I have started walking the dogs together in the morning before she goes to work. Sometimes, we’ll just go around the block. Then, there are times when we’ll walk down to the park and let the dogs get some exercise in.
Herein lies my mistake. About a week ago, Vicky and I were out on a particularly warm morning. It was so warm, in fact, that I was wearing shorts. This is an important point and one I should have considered. As we were walking through the park, Shipoopi (our little nuclear energy dog) darted around me and then darted up again so that her lead was draped across my calves…
… and then she pulled…
… and the lead pulled across my calves very quickly, leaving twin rope burns across both calves… and leaving me screaming like a little girl…
Vicky asked, “What happened?” And when I told her, her response was something along the line of “Pansie…”
The next day, the burns began to scab over. A day or so later, Vicky saw the backs of my calves and made a disgusted sound. “Wow. Those look really painful.”
And they were.
I have a great respect for those who can work with ropes and not get rope burn now that I know what it is. I also have a great respect for ropes and plan to never walk my dogs without long pants again, lest we replay that little dittie. Here it is, about a week later, and I can’t scratch them because of the scabs. They’re like two long crevices across my calves… ouch…
Let’s all try to learn from my mistake, shall we?
Vicky and I have started walking the dogs together in the morning before she goes to work. Sometimes, we’ll just go around the block. Then, there are times when we’ll walk down to the park and let the dogs get some exercise in.
Herein lies my mistake. About a week ago, Vicky and I were out on a particularly warm morning. It was so warm, in fact, that I was wearing shorts. This is an important point and one I should have considered. As we were walking through the park, Shipoopi (our little nuclear energy dog) darted around me and then darted up again so that her lead was draped across my calves…
… and then she pulled…
… and the lead pulled across my calves very quickly, leaving twin rope burns across both calves… and leaving me screaming like a little girl…
Vicky asked, “What happened?” And when I told her, her response was something along the line of “Pansie…”
The next day, the burns began to scab over. A day or so later, Vicky saw the backs of my calves and made a disgusted sound. “Wow. Those look really painful.”
And they were.
I have a great respect for those who can work with ropes and not get rope burn now that I know what it is. I also have a great respect for ropes and plan to never walk my dogs without long pants again, lest we replay that little dittie. Here it is, about a week later, and I can’t scratch them because of the scabs. They’re like two long crevices across my calves… ouch…
Let’s all try to learn from my mistake, shall we?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Ride of the day…
I’ll preface this by saying that Vicky and I aren’t great athletes. We’re kind of round, actually. But every activity Vicky does with me is fun for me because I can be with her.
Last night, we went jogging together. I got her started with me, letting her set the pace, and I think she enjoys it. Unfortunately, she apologizes for being slow but I try to explain to her that it’s okay that she’s not as fast as me (which isn’t that fast, anyway). Speed takes time to develop. What’s important is that we’re out there together and trying our best.
This morning, we packed the bikes into her car… well, I packed the bikes into her car… and snapped off one of her reflectors – doh!... and we drove down to Aliso Creek Trail to meet our friend, Robert, for a ride. Aliso Creek Trail is one of my favorites. I took it last year when I did my first metric and was foolish enough to try and ride Santiago Canyon. This morning, the three of us started out up towards Foothill Ranch.
We parked our cars and started unloading our bikes and as Robert and I gabbed, Vicky tried to sit side-saddle on her bike. My clutzy wife must have forgotten that she didn’t have a kick-stand on her bike because it soon began sliding down, taking her with it. She laughed the whole way down, as she so often does. (I told her she’s going to be the youngest hip transplant patient in history.) Once she was up, we realized it wasn’t all laughs and broke out the first aid kit for some bandages for the scrape on her leg.
Then, we were off! A strong wind out of the foothills had us coasting for a long, long time. You don’t think of it at the time but what that means is you’ll be pedaling against that on the way back! Still, Aliso Creek is a pretty little trail and we enjoyed it quite a bit… then we started to hit the hills… but all in all, it was a lot of fun. Then, we had to turn around and we realized that it would be uphill for most of the ride back… ugh! Still, it was very nice and a lot more interesting than the boring, old Santa Ana River Trail that we take all the time.
One of these days, I’m going to have to hit it again by way of Santiago Canyon but until the day comes when I’m crazy enough to do that, this will suffice!
Last night, we went jogging together. I got her started with me, letting her set the pace, and I think she enjoys it. Unfortunately, she apologizes for being slow but I try to explain to her that it’s okay that she’s not as fast as me (which isn’t that fast, anyway). Speed takes time to develop. What’s important is that we’re out there together and trying our best.
This morning, we packed the bikes into her car… well, I packed the bikes into her car… and snapped off one of her reflectors – doh!... and we drove down to Aliso Creek Trail to meet our friend, Robert, for a ride. Aliso Creek Trail is one of my favorites. I took it last year when I did my first metric and was foolish enough to try and ride Santiago Canyon. This morning, the three of us started out up towards Foothill Ranch.
We parked our cars and started unloading our bikes and as Robert and I gabbed, Vicky tried to sit side-saddle on her bike. My clutzy wife must have forgotten that she didn’t have a kick-stand on her bike because it soon began sliding down, taking her with it. She laughed the whole way down, as she so often does. (I told her she’s going to be the youngest hip transplant patient in history.) Once she was up, we realized it wasn’t all laughs and broke out the first aid kit for some bandages for the scrape on her leg.
Then, we were off! A strong wind out of the foothills had us coasting for a long, long time. You don’t think of it at the time but what that means is you’ll be pedaling against that on the way back! Still, Aliso Creek is a pretty little trail and we enjoyed it quite a bit… then we started to hit the hills… but all in all, it was a lot of fun. Then, we had to turn around and we realized that it would be uphill for most of the ride back… ugh! Still, it was very nice and a lot more interesting than the boring, old Santa Ana River Trail that we take all the time.
One of these days, I’m going to have to hit it again by way of Santiago Canyon but until the day comes when I’m crazy enough to do that, this will suffice!
Friday, November 27, 2009
Late after a turkey…
I should probably be sleeping but, as usual, I’m in front of my keyboard and pecking away.
We had a very nice Thanksgiving dinner this year. As usual, Vicky’s cooking was superb. And we had her friend, Julie, over because we didn’t want her to be alone on the holiday. We invited over some other friends but they missed out. Vicky does a wonderful job as a hostess and I wish I made some money so we could afford to do it more… but, oh well.
I finished the new play this week, which I believe is my fourth new, full-length play of the year. That’s about one every three months! So, as much as I’m hurting for work, I’m still producing some good stuff. This play is a post-apocalyptic musical farce – and my friend, Stephanie, says that now I’m creating my own genres. I consider it more of a mash-up but that’s just me.
Now, I’m doing what I normally do after I finish a project… which is thinking about the next project. One of the nice things about being me – one of the benefits of living in my skin – is that I’m never short on ideas. I have two novels that I had started recently but never finished. One is a children’s book, which I think of as Harry Potter without the magic. I like the idea of a kid in a magical world who can’t do the magic, who really has to deal with being a little kid. The other book is one I really liked; it was what I called a neorealist novel. Inspired by Bicycle Thieves, one of my favorite films, I began writing a book about two people in an abandoned train station in Arizona. It was very gritty and dark and I was loving it… then, I got laid off and that screwed that up. In addition, I have a couple ideas for plays. One is inspired by an idea I have called The Eternal Jew, and the idea is of this Nazi guard in a concentration camp who keeps seeing the same Jew dying in a gas chamber. He sees it over and over, a reflection of his mounting guilt. Of course, the play wouldn’t be about these people; it would take place here and now and use that idea as a starting point. So, you have a regular guy like me who sees the same homeless person out on the street. The play would deal with what that does to a person – to both people, actually. Then, there’s your more typical “Ken” play, which I’m calling The Sandwich and deals with people looking for meaning in every act – even making a sandwich.
I list all of these ideas because I am not compelled to work on any one. This is refreshing and I’m hoping to use whatever break I might have to recharge my batteries a bit. I keep thinking, though, that I may be done with comedies for a while. Of course, last time I said that I went on to write The Death of Ethics – so take that for what it’s worth.
As the year winds down, I try to reflect on some greater narrative than “I was unemployed all year long.” As true as that might be, it feels like shit. So, it’s important to realize there was more there. For instance, I finished seven plays (four full-length) and that was pretty outstanding. I had a staged reading that went very well. I got to do some gardening and took up jogging again after many years. So there is a larger narrative to keep in mind and I’m going to try and remain upbeat.
Anyway, I know several people who are going on their second or third year without steady work so I figure I’m actually pretty lucky. That said, think I’ll go to bed now. G’night.
We had a very nice Thanksgiving dinner this year. As usual, Vicky’s cooking was superb. And we had her friend, Julie, over because we didn’t want her to be alone on the holiday. We invited over some other friends but they missed out. Vicky does a wonderful job as a hostess and I wish I made some money so we could afford to do it more… but, oh well.
I finished the new play this week, which I believe is my fourth new, full-length play of the year. That’s about one every three months! So, as much as I’m hurting for work, I’m still producing some good stuff. This play is a post-apocalyptic musical farce – and my friend, Stephanie, says that now I’m creating my own genres. I consider it more of a mash-up but that’s just me.
Now, I’m doing what I normally do after I finish a project… which is thinking about the next project. One of the nice things about being me – one of the benefits of living in my skin – is that I’m never short on ideas. I have two novels that I had started recently but never finished. One is a children’s book, which I think of as Harry Potter without the magic. I like the idea of a kid in a magical world who can’t do the magic, who really has to deal with being a little kid. The other book is one I really liked; it was what I called a neorealist novel. Inspired by Bicycle Thieves, one of my favorite films, I began writing a book about two people in an abandoned train station in Arizona. It was very gritty and dark and I was loving it… then, I got laid off and that screwed that up. In addition, I have a couple ideas for plays. One is inspired by an idea I have called The Eternal Jew, and the idea is of this Nazi guard in a concentration camp who keeps seeing the same Jew dying in a gas chamber. He sees it over and over, a reflection of his mounting guilt. Of course, the play wouldn’t be about these people; it would take place here and now and use that idea as a starting point. So, you have a regular guy like me who sees the same homeless person out on the street. The play would deal with what that does to a person – to both people, actually. Then, there’s your more typical “Ken” play, which I’m calling The Sandwich and deals with people looking for meaning in every act – even making a sandwich.
I list all of these ideas because I am not compelled to work on any one. This is refreshing and I’m hoping to use whatever break I might have to recharge my batteries a bit. I keep thinking, though, that I may be done with comedies for a while. Of course, last time I said that I went on to write The Death of Ethics – so take that for what it’s worth.
As the year winds down, I try to reflect on some greater narrative than “I was unemployed all year long.” As true as that might be, it feels like shit. So, it’s important to realize there was more there. For instance, I finished seven plays (four full-length) and that was pretty outstanding. I had a staged reading that went very well. I got to do some gardening and took up jogging again after many years. So there is a larger narrative to keep in mind and I’m going to try and remain upbeat.
Anyway, I know several people who are going on their second or third year without steady work so I figure I’m actually pretty lucky. That said, think I’ll go to bed now. G’night.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Death brings new life… but at a cost…
I could have called this “We Killed it” or perhaps “Vicky’s early Christmas present” but I felt like being obtuse… again…
As I thought about what I plan to write, I considered writing, “Vicky and I went to look at computers yesterday” but was sure some anonymous bitch would call me names and say I was sponging off my wife or some such nonsense.
Let me start from the beginning.
This is Vicky’s fault. All of it. Well, most of it. No, all of it. Vicky is very hard on a computer. She downloads everything she sees – every addon, every gadget, every app, everything. She fills her computer with crap and then gets some more. I’m guessing because it’s free. Then, her computer slows down… slows down… slows down…
And then, she calls me. “My computer sucks,” she said one day a few weeks ago. “Sucks” wasn’t the word. It was more like “is dying.” Nothing was working right. It would start and stop on its own. Web pages and apps would open by themselves. Most noticeably, however, McAfee (our virus scanner of choice… a very bad choice) would not open. It couldn’t access the Internet. In fact, nobody could access the Internet on Vicky’s computer except when it decided to at random.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you downloaded a virus or a worm,” I said. To which she replied, “Well, then, fix it.” I guess that since I’m out of work, Vicky assumed that meant I was a PC technician… either that or I just had a lot of free time. The later acknowledged, I began researching Vicky’s problem.
McAfee was no good, so I downloaded PC Tools Spyware Doctor, because I was certain she didn’t have a simple virus… and the initial scan was free. The scan completed, over 100 worms and Trojan Horses were found. Vicky agreed to buy the complete version of PC Tools to kill them off. And kill them off, it did. It also killed off every file they were attached to. So, when we were done with that, Vicky’s computer was left seizing like an ebola victim.
“I’m going to have to reinstall Windows,” I said. Fortunately, PC Club had given us our Windows disk when we bought her computer from them. It was a simple matter of using that to install Windows and fix the problems with her computer. “Before I do, though, you should back up your data.”
“Do what now?”
“Back up your data.”
“Come again?”
“Back up your data.”
“Who?”
I was getting the distinct impression Vicky was not in the habit of backing up her data. And this struck me as funny (strange, not ha ha) because Vicky had my external hard-drive, which I used to back up my PC. She had it for over a year… she never let me use it… because she always said, “I’m using it.”
“Do you know how to back up your data?” I asked her.
She batted her eyes.
“Have you been regularly backing it up?”
She smiled and cuddled close.
“Have you ever backed up your data?”
And that’s when the jig was up. And I began to get a bit angry. But lecturing her on why you’re always supposed to back up your data was a moot point… so I did it anyway. And I went on and on... and it was pretty clear I was wasting my breath. Vicky’s a smart girl… just dense at times…
PC Tools had stripped so much out of Windows, Vicky’s problems were just getting worse. Now, the computer wouldn’t so much as recognize any network connection. Her USB ports were dead. When I tried to move her docs to a separate “backup” folder in case her My Docs folder got wiped out, we discovered that Windows wouldn’t even recognize simple copy and paste commands.
I knew that reinstalling Windows might screw up her My Docs folder so I asked her to do the only thing she could do… a manual backup. Yep. That means writing stuff down by hand – she took down all her passwords and typed her Quicken entries in our laptop… which she had not yet destroyed.
But maybe I’m being too hard on Vicky… because this is where I really fucked things up.
Her most essential data backed up, I went to reinstall Windows. First, I chose the repair option, figuring I’d do as little damage as possible. Inserting PC Club’s Windows disk, I selected repair… and it went straight into a full reinstall. As strange as this was, I shrugged and figured, “Oh well.” And I let it continue.
Then, I was prompted, “Insert Disk Two.”
Insert Disk Two?
“Insert Disk Two.”
There is no Disk Two! PC Club only gave us one disk! For anyone out there wondering why PC Club went out of business… here’s your answer.
There was no going back. Reboots just brought us back to that dreaded, “Insert Disk Two” prompt.
Time to go to our options. We could go out and get Windows 7…
The thing is, Vicky’s computer was pretty cheap when we bought it and was getting pretty old. Why throw good money after bad? Anyway, what Vicky needed was as idiot-proof of a machine as we could get her… and besides, she’s been talking about how much she’s wanted a Mac since we met. The time had come… has come… will come today, I think.
And so, Vicky’s getting a new computer and a very early Christmas gift. We can get a Mac Mini for about $800, which should meet all of her needs. I’ll take her old hard drive and strip out the data files for her so she doesn’t lose anything, such as pictures, music, word docs, etc. And I’ll sign her up for a free backup account at Mozy (yes, I have one and it’s pretty nice)… and hope for the best. (Anyway, you can get a complete, three-year warranty on a Mac for $99… which is a cheap price for three years of peace if you ask me…)
As I thought about what I plan to write, I considered writing, “Vicky and I went to look at computers yesterday” but was sure some anonymous bitch would call me names and say I was sponging off my wife or some such nonsense.
Let me start from the beginning.
This is Vicky’s fault. All of it. Well, most of it. No, all of it. Vicky is very hard on a computer. She downloads everything she sees – every addon, every gadget, every app, everything. She fills her computer with crap and then gets some more. I’m guessing because it’s free. Then, her computer slows down… slows down… slows down…
And then, she calls me. “My computer sucks,” she said one day a few weeks ago. “Sucks” wasn’t the word. It was more like “is dying.” Nothing was working right. It would start and stop on its own. Web pages and apps would open by themselves. Most noticeably, however, McAfee (our virus scanner of choice… a very bad choice) would not open. It couldn’t access the Internet. In fact, nobody could access the Internet on Vicky’s computer except when it decided to at random.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you downloaded a virus or a worm,” I said. To which she replied, “Well, then, fix it.” I guess that since I’m out of work, Vicky assumed that meant I was a PC technician… either that or I just had a lot of free time. The later acknowledged, I began researching Vicky’s problem.
McAfee was no good, so I downloaded PC Tools Spyware Doctor, because I was certain she didn’t have a simple virus… and the initial scan was free. The scan completed, over 100 worms and Trojan Horses were found. Vicky agreed to buy the complete version of PC Tools to kill them off. And kill them off, it did. It also killed off every file they were attached to. So, when we were done with that, Vicky’s computer was left seizing like an ebola victim.
“I’m going to have to reinstall Windows,” I said. Fortunately, PC Club had given us our Windows disk when we bought her computer from them. It was a simple matter of using that to install Windows and fix the problems with her computer. “Before I do, though, you should back up your data.”
“Do what now?”
“Back up your data.”
“Come again?”
“Back up your data.”
“Who?”
I was getting the distinct impression Vicky was not in the habit of backing up her data. And this struck me as funny (strange, not ha ha) because Vicky had my external hard-drive, which I used to back up my PC. She had it for over a year… she never let me use it… because she always said, “I’m using it.”
“Do you know how to back up your data?” I asked her.
She batted her eyes.
“Have you been regularly backing it up?”
She smiled and cuddled close.
“Have you ever backed up your data?”
And that’s when the jig was up. And I began to get a bit angry. But lecturing her on why you’re always supposed to back up your data was a moot point… so I did it anyway. And I went on and on... and it was pretty clear I was wasting my breath. Vicky’s a smart girl… just dense at times…
PC Tools had stripped so much out of Windows, Vicky’s problems were just getting worse. Now, the computer wouldn’t so much as recognize any network connection. Her USB ports were dead. When I tried to move her docs to a separate “backup” folder in case her My Docs folder got wiped out, we discovered that Windows wouldn’t even recognize simple copy and paste commands.
I knew that reinstalling Windows might screw up her My Docs folder so I asked her to do the only thing she could do… a manual backup. Yep. That means writing stuff down by hand – she took down all her passwords and typed her Quicken entries in our laptop… which she had not yet destroyed.
But maybe I’m being too hard on Vicky… because this is where I really fucked things up.
Her most essential data backed up, I went to reinstall Windows. First, I chose the repair option, figuring I’d do as little damage as possible. Inserting PC Club’s Windows disk, I selected repair… and it went straight into a full reinstall. As strange as this was, I shrugged and figured, “Oh well.” And I let it continue.
Then, I was prompted, “Insert Disk Two.”
Insert Disk Two?
“Insert Disk Two.”
There is no Disk Two! PC Club only gave us one disk! For anyone out there wondering why PC Club went out of business… here’s your answer.
There was no going back. Reboots just brought us back to that dreaded, “Insert Disk Two” prompt.
Time to go to our options. We could go out and get Windows 7…
The thing is, Vicky’s computer was pretty cheap when we bought it and was getting pretty old. Why throw good money after bad? Anyway, what Vicky needed was as idiot-proof of a machine as we could get her… and besides, she’s been talking about how much she’s wanted a Mac since we met. The time had come… has come… will come today, I think.
And so, Vicky’s getting a new computer and a very early Christmas gift. We can get a Mac Mini for about $800, which should meet all of her needs. I’ll take her old hard drive and strip out the data files for her so she doesn’t lose anything, such as pictures, music, word docs, etc. And I’ll sign her up for a free backup account at Mozy (yes, I have one and it’s pretty nice)… and hope for the best. (Anyway, you can get a complete, three-year warranty on a Mac for $99… which is a cheap price for three years of peace if you ask me…)
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
One last note about the reading…
(For those wondering if this just means I have little going on in my life, well, I can’t fault your reasoning…)
Something’s been going on since the reading of Murielle’s Big Date a couple weekends ago and it has only caught up to me recently.
Just after the reading, our friend Paula asked me, “What happens now?” She wanted to know what happened to the play and my jaded reply was a bit harsh in the face of her enthusiasm, I’m afraid. But, honestly, nothing happens short of my continuing to shop it around. It’s all a process. You keep running the wheel.
Little did I know there was a far more existential quality to her question than that. After the reading, I noticed something different with Vicky. As I say, it took a while for me to catch on. At first, it just felt… weird. It was a good kind of weird but weird just the same. Then, I recognized it.
I believe it’s thanks to the reading. Vicky is looking at me once again – not as a guy who has been out of work for nearly a year, not as a guy who has to struggle just for a job interview, not as Mr. Unemployment Check but – as someone competent and capable. She’s been speaking to me as though my potential has been made clear. And I don’t blame her. One of the great things about these staged readings is they remind me that I’m competent, that when I tell myself “I can write” I’m not completely full of shit. I hadn’t considered the reading would have the same effect on Vicky.
But it has. For instance, when I mentioned a writing idea before the reading Vicky kind of just shrugged it off. “Sure, whatever. I’m dealing with the real world.” After the reading, Vicky appears to see the potential my writing might have in the real world. It’s kind of nice.
When Vicky and I first got together, she said, “I’m not going to be one of your fans.” She was pretty adamant about it. And I’ve been working hard ever since then to make her one of my fans. As an artist, I need her to be one of my fans, my number one fan. After the reading, I think she may not be a fan but she’s certainly warming to the idea.
Something’s been going on since the reading of Murielle’s Big Date a couple weekends ago and it has only caught up to me recently.
Just after the reading, our friend Paula asked me, “What happens now?” She wanted to know what happened to the play and my jaded reply was a bit harsh in the face of her enthusiasm, I’m afraid. But, honestly, nothing happens short of my continuing to shop it around. It’s all a process. You keep running the wheel.
Little did I know there was a far more existential quality to her question than that. After the reading, I noticed something different with Vicky. As I say, it took a while for me to catch on. At first, it just felt… weird. It was a good kind of weird but weird just the same. Then, I recognized it.
I believe it’s thanks to the reading. Vicky is looking at me once again – not as a guy who has been out of work for nearly a year, not as a guy who has to struggle just for a job interview, not as Mr. Unemployment Check but – as someone competent and capable. She’s been speaking to me as though my potential has been made clear. And I don’t blame her. One of the great things about these staged readings is they remind me that I’m competent, that when I tell myself “I can write” I’m not completely full of shit. I hadn’t considered the reading would have the same effect on Vicky.
But it has. For instance, when I mentioned a writing idea before the reading Vicky kind of just shrugged it off. “Sure, whatever. I’m dealing with the real world.” After the reading, Vicky appears to see the potential my writing might have in the real world. It’s kind of nice.
When Vicky and I first got together, she said, “I’m not going to be one of your fans.” She was pretty adamant about it. And I’ve been working hard ever since then to make her one of my fans. As an artist, I need her to be one of my fans, my number one fan. After the reading, I think she may not be a fan but she’s certainly warming to the idea.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)