August 2004 Archives

Casting has always been a problem with Mom, Dad, I'm Living with a White Girl, but for the first time it's not men who are hard to find; it's Mom. An actor had to pull out at the last minute and the other candidate was unavailable. The good news is that the Pan Asian is looking at the actors who played Mom in Canada. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the actor who went on the tour is available to do the show. Hopefully, casting will be resolved by the end of the week.

I've been sending out letters to try to meet agents when I go to New York. So far I've received a lot of "thanks but no thanks" form letters. The thing that I really appreciate about these responses is their speediness. I know right away who is looking for clients and who isn't. This is so much better than waiting forever to get a no. I'd love to get a fast yes, but the paranoid conspiracy theorist in me would wonder what kind of person would want me as their client. I'm the classic whiner who wants summer weather in winter, and complains about the heat in July.

I'm finally starting to write the second book. After plotting the outline and fretting over how to write this thing, I decided to jump in with both feet. I'm having a great time now that I'm in the water, and I wonder why it took me so long to actually dive in. I think the fear of failure is a powerful thing. Anyway, I'm splitting time between the novel and my adaptation of the Count of Monte Cristo. Not sure how long before my brain explodes doing double duty, but the good thing is that I'm too tired to be scared. Back to work!

Call display has infected me with a bad case of "who-is-it-before-I-answer-itis." I won't even pick up the phone unless I know who's calling. I think this syndrome has something to do with the barrage of sales people calling to sell me carpet cleaning services, telephone long distance plans, or protection plans for my credit card. Enough already! The one that cheeses my cracker is the automated phone dialer that puts me on hold for a salesperson. It's the ultimate insult. I wish there was a SPAM filter for phone calls. Better yet, I'd like to redirect calls from carpet cleaning callers to the bank sales staff. I wonder how telemarketers react when they get cold calls. Do they have some kind of secret code that says "it's okay, I'm one of you"? Or do they listen to the pitch out of sympathy for all the times an angry homeowner has hung up on them? I bet they have call display.

I just received an update from Tisa Chang, artistic producer at Pan Asian Repertory Theatre. Everything for Mom, Dad, I'm Living with a White Girl looks good so far. I saw a mock-up of the poster which looks pretty fun. I'm treating the whole experience as my one and only time in New York. I don't know if I'll ever have a show produced in the Big Apple again, so I'm going to enjoy the moment rather than worry about reviews or what might happen next. I guess that's good advice to myself about writing too. Just worry about the scene and not what other people might think of the scene. I'll try that this week and see how far it takes me.

I handed in my draft of the Forbidden Phoenix. Now all I can do is wait for feedback before I proceed to next draft. I'm supposed to get together with my composer at the end of next week to work on the remaining songs, but I've got a few days to kill before that.

I'm going to tackle the revisions to Count of Monte Cristo, the play commission for the Citadel Theatre. I've written a first draft of the script, but it's far from ready and I need to bang it into shape. I'll probably read the draft tonight, hate what I've written, question my worth as a writer, then slap myself out of the depression, and revise the script. Who said writing wasn't glamorous?

Yesterday, I went through a general polish of the Forbidden Phoenix script and suddenly got a last-minute idea which blew the play open. In the original draft of the play, the Iron Dragon (the allegorical parallel to Canada's railroad) was played by a Chinese dragon. While this element added to the spectacle of the show, it did make the play seem more like a theatre for young audience show. Yesterday morning, I came up with the idea that the Iron Dragon should be a soprano warrior with an entourage who metaphorically follows her like the box cars of a train. Now I have to track through the script to make the alterations, give the Iron Dragon dialogue, and shape her character. I don't mind the work, because this change has solved a few problems. To be honest, it's also created a few new wrinkles, but I'm excited about the possibilities. Sometimes I think that writing is a healthy combination of chaos and problem solving. I just have to find the right balance. Guess what I'm doing this weekend? Yup... working!

The punch-drunk Fringe reels into its final weekend carrying two performances of Repose. Today, the Journal reviewer wrote an article about shows with audience buzz (A Good Sign - The Buzz is About New Stuff). She talked about shows such as Dear Penthouse, Little Room, Iron Woman, Make Me, and Repose. I found the last mention odd since earlier in the week the critic had written a bad review of my historical play about Impressionist painter Edouard Manet. This is what she had to say about my play in today's column:

"...Marty chan's Repose, which I seriously undervalued in the star-count, takes this prolific writer into a discussion about artistic creation itself, in the historical setting of painters Edouard Manet and Berthe Morisot. The abstract hasn't quite arrived at the dramatically passionate, but the attempt is well worth the catching."

I swear I did not challenge the reviewer to a duel (as Manet did with art critic Louis Duranty in real life and in the play). I appreciate the re-evaluation, but I am more grateful to hear that my show actually has audience buzz around it. To all those who have seen the play and enjoyed it, thank you for the support. For those who've seen the play and not enjoyed it... pistols at dawn!

I've been waiting a long time to say that. Yesterday, I finished revising the play. I'll take a day off from the script and then read it with fresh eyes and do a character polish before I show it to my composer. What a huge relief. I felt like I had just finished a marathon. I'm trying to figure out what gave me the energy to finish; the only thing that I did differently was I barbecued while writing. Maybe I should do that more often. There's still more work to do, but I'm enjoying this moment. I learned a while ago that if I don't celebrate the completion of a draft, then writing feels too much like work.

One day after a bad review from the Journal critic, I get a glowing review from the Edmonton Sun. What a contrast between articles. Where one reviewer saw a murky story that tackled too many themes, the other praised me for keeping the play "bubbling with ideas." I'd swear that the critics had seen two different plays, but I saw both critics at the same performance.

On a personal level, the Edmonton Sun review lifts my spirits, which were mighty low yesterday. On a creative level, the conflicting opinions clarified my ramblings of yesterday's blog. A story resonates with someone depending on their personal tastes. Yes, there are concrete elements that can be objectively critiqued (ie. do the actors know their lines, is the dialogue repetitive, did the set fall down). But ultimately, a person will rely on subjective standards to judge a work. If the story doesn't connect with a person, then no amount of craft will overcome his or her dislike of the content.

I embrace today's review, but I respect yesterday's critique, just as I'm thankful for the positive comments that I've received from audience members. If everyone shared the same opinion of a play then there'd be no diversity in the world, and that would be sad. (Isn't is strange that yesterday's blog was bitter, and today's is philosophical? Can anyone say "thin-skinned playwright"?)

Yesterday, two strangers approached me to say how much they enjoyed Repose. Later, I ran in to a couple of acquaintances who said they also liked the show. I was feeling pretty good all day. Then I read a review in the Journal this morning. The reviewer thought the play tried to do too much, and she didn't enjoy the show.

What depressed me was that her review negated what yesterday's audience members told me. Nine out of ten people can tell me something positive, but I'll always focus on the one person who said the negative thing. I don't know if that's human nature or my low self-esteem.

I could rationalize the review by saying that the play has a healthy dose of critic-bashing, but I think this reviewer makes a valid point. I did try to cover a lot of ideas, maybe too many; however, I'd rather be criticized for going out on a limb than be praised for taking the safe route. I've always believed and continue to support the Fringe as a place for writers to try new things out. I also think that the Fringe is a great democratic forum, where every opinion (audience or reviewer) carries equal weight. It still sucks when people say they don't like what I've done, but I understand that I can't please everyone.

If you ask me, the toughest part of being a writer is dealing with the criticism, and knowing that some people's opinion of my work will be shaped by the review and not by the play. The only way I can deal with this is to embrace the positive comments, respect the negative ones, and let neither dictate what I write next.

One more rehearsal left and then Repose opens Friday at 12:15 pm. I can feel my body bending into the all-too-familiar fetal position. I get this way before the opening of every one of my plays. I feel like the day I went to school with my first (and only) perm. I was so nervous about how everyone would react, but I had nothing to worry about. Everyone loved my brand new look--Yeah right! The guys ridiculed me and the girls said I looked like my mom. To be fair, the perm did give me an uncanny resemblance to my mother. Opening night is like showing off a new hairdo. You won't know if people will love or hate it, but either way, you're stuck with the thing for awhile.

I was on a roll yesterday with the play. I had revised 10 pages and incorporated the last song that my composer Bob and I had worked on. I was thinking that by the end of the week, I'd have the full play revised so that I could get together with Bob and finish writing the rest of the songs. Today, I hit a road block. Not a huge one, but just enough to force me to take a detour into research. I'm writing a key scene which is to cover the allegorical ground of China's transformation to socialism and communism, but I don't think I have enough information to make the allegory clear. I'm going to have to hit the books and do some more reading. This is my style of working; I like to start with a little bit of research, then write as much as I can until I hit a wall, then go off and do enough research to get me past the block. For this play, I had done a lot of reading about what happened to the Bachelor Men in Canada, but not much about what happened in China. Now I have to find some books on China's history. Hopefully, I can get back to revising the play in a couple of days, because I've got a lot of momentum built up and I don't want to lose my head of steam.

Oh boy, now I feel nervous. Three days are left before Repose opens. This is the part of the process that drives me nuts. The cast and crew are in production, tech mode. In other words, it is totally in their hands now. I have to take a leap of faith that the play will work. Regardless of who's in the cast I always feel like this just before the show opens. The only parallel I can draw is a parent teaching her kid to ride a bike for the first time. She goes through the theory, and hopes enough instruction sinks in so that the kid won't tip over and scrape a knee. The moment when she lets go of the bike and lets her kid pedal on his own power is exhilirating and nerve-wracking because of the fear of failure, the thrill of success, and the regret that the child has grown up just a little bit. My play is wobbling away from me and I wish I could hang on for just another minute, but everyone has to let go sooner or later.

I had a pretty rough night, and I'm taking it easy today. Either I have a cold or a bad allergy. I couldn't fall asleep until 4:30 in the morning because I couldn't breathe. Instead, I tried to watch television, but early Sunday morning television is an infomercial world. I channel surfed from a guy dressed like Zorro pitching guitar lessons to two perky VJs pitching the Ultimate Hits of the 70s. I knew I was losing it when I closed my eyes and tried guessing the songs. I had Santanna's Black Magic Woman running through my head until I finally passed out. If Santanna were to offer guitar lessons in a Zorro costume, then I'd order right now.

It's 10:24 pm on a Friday night, and I'm floating on air. I just finished the revisions to the first act of The Forbidden Phoenix. Wow, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I still have the second act to write, but now I feel like I can do it. I know it sounds weird, but if I can get to the halfway point of a script, then I know I can finish it. The mid-point is a key milestone for me. I'm so glad to have reached it ahead of schedule. I thought for sure that with the interruptions of Repose I would have to work this weekend on the Phoenix. Now I can mow the lawn and have a normal weekend... well as normal a weekend as any writer can have.

There's nothing more disconcerting than do-it-yourself home renovations. I equate them to a game of Jenga--the one where you build a tower of tiles and then pull them out one by one until the tower topples. Our home reno tower just fell over.

After six years, my wife decided to replace the baseboards in the living room. Originally, the hard wood floor was covered with an orange shag carpet. When we moved in, the first thing we did was pull up the carpet, which complimented the lime green walls and smoked mirrors (they came off as well). The baseboards were raised about half an inch off the floor because of the carpet, but we were too tired to lower them. Instead, we opted to do the project the following weekend... 326 weekends later, my wife decided it was time to set things right.

She yanked off the baseboards with a Terminator-like determination. However, every effort seemed to create a new set of home reno concerns. Like the game of Jenga, one tile sent the others tumbling down. There were holes to be patched, walls to be re-painted, and some yahoo cable guy thought it would be funny to run the television cable through the baseboard instead of six inches above the floor.

Now, we have to figure out how to accommodate the cable line when we (and when I say we I mean my wife) install the new baseboards. Thankfully, Michelle is handy with tools and determined to see things through to the end. As for me, I'm not allowed to touch a paint brush because I can't "stay between the lines." I could help, but that would just give Michelle more to do, because she'd have to follow me and fix all the mistakes I made. Instead, I'll play home reno cheerleader - Go, Michelle, go!

I love when a week begins with a holiday. As a freelancer, I don't get any "days off," but somehow working on a stat holiday makes me feel like I'm getting a head start on everyone else.

Today, I did no writing, but lots of planning. I think I know what I need to do this week to finish out the first act of Forbidden Phoenix and get a good start on the kids' novel sequel. The only thing that will get in the way is publicity for the Fringe Play, Repose. I figure I'll be working next weekend to make up for today, but that's okay. Michelle is going to Folk Festival, which means I'm pretty much alone in the house to catch up on my work... as long as she doesn't make me mow the lawn.