August 6, 2012

  • The Why of Texas Sky

    During my most recent trip home at the end of last month I realized something. For years I've declared that there's not as big and blue as a Texas sky. And while the San Francisco occasionally has a beautiful azure quality to it (today's a fine example), it doesn't have the big, deep, vast quality I see in Texas.

    This is possibly because I drive more in Texas and see the sky as I'm cresting over hills. But I think it's something else.

    I think it's the clouds.

    While driving when I was home last month I crested a familiar hill and was greeted with the expansive sky filled with cumulonimbus clouds. Scores of them. Some up close, some fading into the distant horizon. And I realized. Cumulonimbus clouds are particularly three dimensional and it's this quality that provides the sky a sense of depth and dimension.

    I think it's the clouds that make the Texas sky feel deep and big.

    And now, because I feel like it: Pee Wee Herman.

August 2, 2012

  • More About Wolf at the Door

    I realize that yesterday's post about Wolf at the Door could use more context. That is, it's been a long time since I talked about that play so maybe a refresher is in order.

    This all started with a dream.

    Literally.

    I had a dream that I was being chased by a pack of wolves. I was running through some sort neighborhood trying to find my house. When I find my home I see it's made of glass so even though I've locked the door the wolves come crashing in through the glass. So I run upstairs. I go to a bedroom and shut the door (which is made of wood--I guess the upstairs is a regular house). So there I am holding the doorknob as a wolf on the other side of the door is biting through the door. I can see his teeth coming through right around the doorknob I'm holding.

    Then I wake up.

    I describe this dream to my co-workers and when I say the phrase "wolf at the door" one of my co-workers stops me and says, "That would be a great title for a play."

    Yes. Yes, it would. 

    I write it down.

    Later that night I wonder what play goes with that title.

    As someone who's incorporated quite a bit of Greek mythology into my plays I get it into my head that I want to write a myth, but one based on Latin American mythology.

    I begin looking online for anything about wolves and Latin American folklore/myths. Bupkis.

    So I begin searching for anything about dogs. That's when I come across a Mesoamerican belief that dogs carried the spirits of the dead across a river to the afterlife.

    Wolf at the Door is set in the late 1800s (that's a recent change, I think it'll stick) on a hacienda in Mexico. And while I began the play with the intention of writing a myth, I soon recognized that I was writing a fairy tale. So yes, this is the play that kicked of my grimm Latino fairy tales cycle.

    SPOILER ALERT

    You've been warned.

    Like all fairy tales Wolf at the Door is a cautionary tale. The lesson here is: don't beat up your wife. Actually, I think the play is more about Isadora (the wife) gaining agency and standing up to her husband (Septimo). The fairy tale element is the supernatural woman (Yolot) who appears on the hacienda coinciding with the burial of Isadora's stillborn baby and a pack of wolves that have been watching the hacienda. 

    Yolot is found naked and very pregnant sleeping in the hay with the dogs. Isadora's husband Septimo prevents Yolot from leaving and literally chains her to the bed (which was brought into the front room near the fire for Isadora). That's an image that really inspired me. One woman on the bed asleep. The other on the floor chained to it. And as the play proceeds they exchange places (though Isadora is never chained).

    SPOILER ALERT ENDED

    That's all I'll say about the play. Like I said it's still in early draft mode. I haven't even officially finished the first draft. But I will, especially since I have that informal table reading this month. 

    -M

August 1, 2012

  • Scribbling On Scratch Paper Or How I Injected Much Needed Drama Into My Play

    Yes, that's a long title. When you see those on the blog it's usually a sign I'm in a chipper mood and it's also a sign of my fondness for Rocky and Bullwinkle. Side note: my fondest memory of Rocky and Bullwinkle is the episode of Mr. Know It All on "How to be a Beatnik" which has a fantastic line for the grownups watching (see italics): "The first step in becoming a beatnik is growing a beard. This can be a long process--especially if you are a girl."

    But back to the meaning behind my long title.

    On my commute today I began thinking about the plays I am working on, the plays I took a break from while in Texas and now must return to. While all have writing that must be done the most immediate concern I have is to get Wolf at the Door ready for an informal table reading this month.

    Wolf at the Door     is one of my grimm Latino fairy tale plays. It's the one that started the whole cycle (you can read about it here but be forewarned names have been switched around), though because of my AlterLab The River Bride (the second fairy tale in the cycle) is much further along in the writing process.

    Anyhoo, I was thinking about a point in the play where I was trying to figure out the action so that I could kinda fill a mini hole in the script (it's in first draft stage and I'm trying to finish that first draft for the read through). I began to consider rewriting a section to amp up the drama, the stakes and the action. And then it hit me. "Isadora needs to slap Septimo."

    It was like a light bulb going off. Of course! Yes, Isadora needs to strike her husband. And I'm not condoning physical violence here but it is exactly what her character evolution needs as she's been the victim of spousal abuse and the play is about her gaining agency. Secondly, the slap would enrage Septimo and third, the action could be what tips Yolot into going into labor. Yes! Yes! Yes!

    And here's the important part I realized: in the script as it is now the women (Isadora, Rocio and Yolot) are unsuccessful in freeing Yolot (she's chained to a bed). But I realized, they do need to release her. They need to start the process of getting her away from the hacienda and that process needs to be interrupted by Septimo.

    So there I am on the bus trying to find something to write with because I don't have my Wolf at the Door journal with me. I found folded piece of paper in my messenger bag. Folded so that I had four squares (which I numbered since I started writing on what would be the lower left square).

    Here's the scene fragment I wrote, though I'm not sure it'll make any sense to you, dear reader:


    The women successfully use the hammer to detach the chain from the bed.
    ISADORA: (to ROCIO) Quick, go get something to keep her warm. And grab a pair of my shoes and some food.
    YOLOT: No. I don't need any of that. I just need to leave.
    ISADORA: But the cold.
    YOLOT: I'll be fine.
    ROCIO: Listen to her, hija.
    A moment.
    ISADORA: Fine, but then take one of the horses.
    They help YOLOT to her feet, she experiences a sharp contraction.
    YOLOT: Ah! Hurry. We have to hurry.
    ISADORA: Rocio, abre la puerta.
    ROCIO opens the front door to reveal SEPTIMO holding the carcass of a wolf in his hand. The women recoil.
    SEPTIMO (to ISADORA): You bitch!
    He throws the dead wolf onto the floor. YOLOT screams in horror and goes to the animal's lifeless body crying. SEPTIMO quickly grabs YOLOT by the nape of her neck. She struggles with a mixture of mourning, hatred and labor pains. SEPTIMO forces her to look at the dead wolf.
    SEPTIMO: You like that? I think I'll make a little fur coat out of it...for the baby.
    ISADORA: Sueltala!
    ISADORA tries to get SEPTIMO to let YOLOT go. SEPTIMO pushes ISADORA away forcefully and throws YOLOT into the bed. ISADORA rushes SEPTIMO again and slaps him, hard. SEPTIMO freezes. As does ISADORA, returning his hard stare.
    SEPTIMO: That's it, mujer.
    He lunges at ISADORA who holds her ground. All this is interrupted by YOLOT screaming and clutching her belly.
    YOLOT: Ah! He's coming! He's coming!

    Hm....now just to figure out what Rocio is doing throughout the scene. I may have Septimo knock her out at the top of this fragment. Yes, Septimo is an all around not so good guy.

    More soon,
    M

July 31, 2012

  • Enjoy the Silence?

    I did.

    I just got back from Texas. Literally. I still have my suitcase with me...unpacked. 

    I went for a few days to visit my family in the blistering Texas heat which makes a lot of outdoor activity hard to do (like cleaning the garage which had to be halted by 8:30 am because it was too hot and I was too cranky--we all were).

    Sometimes on these vacations to visit family I like to completely unplug. Before my parents had Internet access and I had to siphon it off from the neighbors, the media fast was involuntary. But spending very little time checking email, blogging or tweeting the past week was really quite nice. Like I somehow cleared my head a bit.

    In the real world I did quite a bit in the short time I was there: visited my grandparents, aunts and uncles; spent time with my sobrinos who are getting quite big and rambunctious; watched the olympics; played with hand puppets; cooked meals for more than just myself; blew bubbles; and made two batches of strawberry rhubarb empanadas. 

    I needed to bit of change of scenery. Even if it was so hot we spent many days inside. There in the familiar setting of my childhood home with the red floor tiles and 70s avocado green kitchen (that I love), I took stock and am hitting reset. The first half of 2012 has been challenging. But now it's behind me.

    -M

July 23, 2012

  • 2012 Bay Area Playwrights Festival: Opening Weekend

    This past Friday, Saturday and Sunday I attended four (of the six) play readings presented at the Bay Area Playwrights Festival. Four plays in three days is a lot of theatre. And summing it up, well, perhaps it's time for a stream of consciousness list.

    • Friday night plan: catch 10 Townsend to Potrero Hill.
    • Next Muni lied! I am not waiting 45 minutes for the bus.
    • Jumping on a Muni train to Church Street to catch the 22 Fillmore bus.
    • Early.
    • As usual.
    • Goat Hill Pizza: two slices to go, please.
    • Sitting on the steps next to the theatre eating my pizza.
    • Met Patricia Milton in person (have known her via Twitter for a while).
    • Aaron Loeb: Is that your mini cooper with the license plate: "playwright"?
    • ???
    • It was Patricia's.
    • Lots of familiar faces.
    • Warm. It's warm.
    • I have a fan (prepared--last year it was very hot in Thick House without any AC).
    • First play of the festival: Grounded by George Brant.
    • A one-character play that isn't a one person play--successfully puts us both in character's head and puts action in the present.
    • At end I'm left thinking about how warfare has evolved (play is about a fighter pilot who flies drones by remote) so has the types of trauma suffered by those engaged in battle.
    • I catch a ride to the bus stop and enjoy the cool night air coming in through the windows.
    • Saturday.
    • Why is the 1 California not running at regular intervals. Oh well. 38 Geary here I come.
    • I almost miss my stop at Fillmore because I'm listening to the conversation between a mother and her daughter. They're dressed for the beach.
    • 22 Fillmore detour.
    • Early.
    • Of course.
    • 12 noon play is Ideation by Aaron Loeb.
    • I sit by Aaron's wife Kathy who benefits from my constant fanning.
    • Fellow playwrights Garrett Groenveld and Brian Thorstenson sit behind us--miss seeing them regularly (we were in residency at the Playwrights Foundation together).
    • Aaron has a gift for dialogue that's both complicated yet accessible and rife with humor, even when the topic is disturbing. Yes that's a gift!
    • Many moments when I get a chill of recognition/understanding--Danger, Will Robinson!
    • Afterward I have 5 hours until the next play.
    • 5 hours!
    • Luckily my best friend Carrie just finished a dance class nearby. We meet on Valencia Street.
    • We eat at Limon. I've heard great things about it. In the end, while good, I'm a Destinos' gal (Destinos is another Peruvian restaurant).
    • Then we meander around Valencia.
    • Eat homemade popsicles.
    • A round of drinks at Blondie's.
    • She departs.
    • I still have 2 hours.
    • I walk to 24th and Mission. Don't know why when my feet already hurt.
    • I buy a burrito at my favorite taqueria (El Farolito) and BART back to 16th street to catch the 22 bus.
    • I sit outside of the theatre eating my burrito.
    • It's delicious.
    • It's warmer tonight = fan in use entire time.
    • 8pm play reading is Samsara by Lauren Yee. 
    • It's funny, quirky, imaginative, tender and unexpected.
    • "I love you, Microwave."
    • I catch a ride back to Valencia and hail a cab.
    • Sunday.
    • Sunday I time my bus rides better and get to Peet's on Fillmore and Sacramento to grab an iced coffee and citrus bread.
    • I try to do something I do at the Peet's near work: ask for a small in a medium sized cup (so there's extra room for milk).
    • This Peet's is unfamiliar with this type of request.
    • They give me a small filled to the brim.
    • I ask for a larger cup thinking they'll give me a medium.
    • They give me a large. Tons of room.
    • I pour in too much milk.
    • Oh well.
    • I catch the 22 and make my way to Thick House.
    • 12 noon play reading is The Hundred Flowers Project by Christopher Chen.
    • I've heard scenes from an early draft when my residency at the Playwrights Foundation's overlapped with Chris'.
    • It's changed (the play).
    • It's a sort of cerebral exercise of form = content.
    • Chris is one smart guy.
    • I walk out into the sun, past the people playing baseball in the park.
    • I catch a cab and head for my futon.
    • Exhausted.

    -M

July 19, 2012

  • Tiger Balm, John Cusack and Some Wine: Me Last Night

    Yesterday I was in need of a pep talk. I had to give it to myself, which isn't always easy, but some times necessary. I found myself searching for this quote by Calvin Coolidge:

    Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent.Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated failures. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.

    Yeah, I'm not sure how successful I was at lifting my spirits with that quote, but I was trying to refocus my attention on the need for persistence (especially when this world is populated with tons of playwrights).

    Le sigh.

    I spent the early evening working on a puppet for my nephew. (I've been on a mad puppet making bender lately.) Then I got a text from my friend Marilet. I haven't seen her in a while and wanted to catch up. After a few text messages I decided to just say "F*ck it. I'm going to her house. I don't care that it's almost 9pm." I grabbed my puppets (to show her), grabbed a bottle of wine and hailed a cab.

    There's nothing like being in your pj's with a friend. I traded the wine for a neck/shoulder massage where Marilet seriously worked me over and I'm surprised I don't have bruises. But man did I need it. Smelling like tiger balm we opened up over the wine, sharing, laughing, crying and hardly watching Better Off Dead as it played on the tv.

    I'm glad I went. I needed that.

    -M

July 17, 2012

  • Change of Title (I Think) For The Play I'm Not Writing

    I'm supposed to be finishing the first draft of Wolf at the Door. I'm supposed to be working on Alcira. But I know better than to completely ignore my muse and to at least start a bit of writing when I'm inspired, even if it's on a different play than the ones I'm supposed to be working on.

    Yesterday I was calling the play The Flower War, but now I think I may change it to The Abattoir. Flower wars or guerra floridas were ceremonial battles that the Aztecs held in order to capture people for human sacrifice, something they received as part of a treaty with their enemies.

    The idea for the new new play came while I was reading Theatre of War, a HowlRound essay written by Guillermo Aviles-Rodriguez. It was the number of deaths he cited that made me remember the flower wars. What if they were brought back as a more "civilized" way to wage war and keep peace? So instead of each side losing thousands of people each year they agreed to each sacrifice 200 as a way of avoiding actual warfare.

    How would they be chosen? What kind of system would a government institute to try and make it fair? A lottery? Sure, but surely bureaucrats would make it a little more complicated than just a simple lottery.

    Now imagine five people brought to a windowless room with five individual desks on which rests a form and pencil.

    MODERATOR:
    You were selected by state lottery to report for Flower War selection. Guidelines for selection must be adhered to and I will be watching to moderate the selection process. The rules are as followed: You may not leave this room. If you do it will result in automatic selection. The guards stationed outside this room will immediately take you to the holding center. If you lay hands on another individual in this room this will result in automatic selection and the guards stationed outside this room will immediately take you to the holding center.

    Individuals must willingly agree to become a Flower War selectee. Once you agree, sign the form on your desk. Once you sign you will be allowed to leave. You will be given two days to settle your affairs before reporting to the holding center.

    You have ninety minutes. If in that time four selectees are not determined then all five of you will be taken to the holding center forthwith and all five of you will be Flower War selectees.

    Once four selectees are determined the remaining individual will be released and your name will be Retired from the Lottery.

    Any questions?

    That's the idea for the play. The five have no names (well one does but it's a plot point) and end up addressing one another by the color of their clothing as they try to figure out who will sign the forms.

    I think I need to go buy a journal so I can start writing exercises to get to know the characters (Green, Orange, Blue, Red and White) a bit better.

    We'll see what becomes of it.

    -M


July 16, 2012

  • Latest TheatreFace.com Blog Post

    The only writing I managed to do last week while ill was my bi-monthly column/blog post for TheatreFace. I wrote about having a dramaturg I love working with and my hope to bring her in on any future world premieres.

    Have a read here.

    -M

July 13, 2012

  • Things I Realized This Week While Staying Home Sick

    Saturday I saw a truly awesome Norwegian thriller/action movie called Headhunters and while I enjoyed the movie very much I left with a severe headache. Was I dehydrated? What gives? The next day I woke up with fluid in my left ear and realized the headache was merely a harbinger of things to come, mainly a sinus infection.

    When I first moved to San Francisco I got sinus infections all the time because the flora out here is completely different from central Texas. I haven't had a sinus infection in a long time and this one seemed to make up for it. Sunday I had a mild fever--which is a body's way of trying to kill the bacteria by way of raising the temperature, but as I run a low body temperature on a regular basis (96.8) my fever of 98.6 hardly seems impressive enough to even scare the bacteria a little bit.

    So I stayed home Monday. And then Tuesday which also brought the onset of boredom (how many times can I watch Boondock Saints and Girlfight in rep?). Felt worse Tuesday night. Tried going to work on Wednesday only to leave by 10:20 to go see my doctor and get a prescription for antibiotics. Getting home (3 buses) completely wore me out and I slept through the afternoon, adding The Call of Cthulhu to the movie watching rotation which I found I had a Pavlovian sleep response to. Thursday I slept until 11am and of course stayed home. Today, Friday, I am back at work about to take my third dose of antibiotics.

                

    Spending this much time lying on my futon watching movies and feeling generally unwell enough to attempt writing I learned a few things.

    And here they are:

    • Trader Joe's chai is really yummy and comforting when you're ill.
    • Boondock Saints has that actor (Norman Reedus) from The Walking Dead in it.
    • I officially have a crush on Norman Reedus.
    • Movies from the 90s have a definite feel to them.
    • Girlfight is one really good movie. This I already knew, but now I want to own it.
    • I completely identify with the protagonist in Girlfight. Not because I box, but because I want someone who'll be a glutton for punishment (loca) and scale the walls I put up.
    • I can still carry on cogent Twitter conversation whilst ill.
    • I can write haiku poems while ill. And I kinda prefer tweeting a movie that way.
    • But being slightly ill can lead to me reversing the haiku rhyme scheme to 7-5-7 (dork).
    • Eugene Mirman gives the best commencement speeches
    • Thomas Lennon (actor from Reno 911) is related to John Lennon.
    • My home implodes when I am sick. I can't wait to clean it.
    • The Luke Skywalker puppet I'm working on just looks like a blonde guy in a karate outfit. Obviously he needs a light saber.
    • Leftovers can totally save you when you have no desire to leave the house.
    • It's best not to leave your house when sick. Otherwise it feels like Life it totally rejecting you.

    -M

July 5, 2012

  • Get Outta My Dreams

    In the past month someone I know has been in my dreams three separate times. The first appearance was upsetting since I dreamed they were gone. Gone as in gone, gone. Forever. I woke up upset and feeling the strong desire to find them and hug them. Hug them long and hard and tell them all sorts of things I haven't yet.

    I usually wouldn't post something this personal here on my blog, but last night's dream made me change my mind. Why? Because there were hummingbirds in my dream.

    I dreamed that H (we'll call him H for "hombre") and I were making jewelry. Random, I know. It was a random dream. But back to it. We were using this clear resin that we were spreading out on a table. H was really good at it. He made a small circle and on it  was etched a map of San Francisco. I wasn't so good at the resin spreading, so I was concentrating my efforts on finding a chain length that I liked to go with his SF map.

    Then the hummingbirds appeared. And a blue one sat down on the table right in front of me. He kinda puffed up his feathers to look a little more round and he started making faces at me. Silly faces. Which was amusing. H wanted to see and turned the little bird like he was on a lazy susan to face him.
    Yeah, he kinda looked like that.

    I've never dreamed of hummingbirds before and with them appearing prominently in Alcira I wondered what significance my subconscious is giving them.

    Who knows.

    Plus, my subconscious can be a pretty random place. Two nights ago I dreamed that Todd London was making me breakfast waffles like we were old friends.

    And now, just because: Billy Ocean.