Rejection

A famous writer said this to me a long time ago: "The more material you send out the more you'll be rejected and you know what? The pain of rejection lessens."

It does. Seriously. A short 2 hander play I've been trying to get staged for a while now was scheduled to be performed in February. But cutbacks. Now the powers-that-be inform me that they can now only put on 3 plays for the festival rather than 5 and mine didn't make that particular shortlist.

Next.

Scatter/Scattered

scattered p ppl EDD ~ 1 ~ few; SED iv, 921 Co, ~ few.
1 1986 Nfld Herald 15 Mar, p. 33 Merasheen Farewell [recording] is available in scattered stores around the province and can be purchased by mail order.
2 1981 PADDOCK 25 "Camp Seven": A scattered spruce is fit ta pile;/But only try ta git it!/You'll 'ave ta cut a t'ousand firs--/Each one will make a picket. 1987 POOLE 1 [We left Carbonear] and the meadows where we used to kick football and win a scattered game of rounders.

I love the way that word is thrown around here, it's quite inadequately covered in the above definition from the Dictionary of Newfoundland English.

I hear it used a fair whack - usually applied to people and their doings and not so much to inanimate objects.

"I was some scattered last Saturday with all those shops I had to go to."

"There was a right scatter of cousins at that funeral."

I'm a bit of a scatter myself. I suffered a major disappointment in that the two actors who had first dibs on my play have turned it down due to the scatter of both the demands of their families and the serious commitments to rehearsals and tours for the play.

I wasn't talking about this major setback at all, or sharing it. I'm a right good bottler of emotions at times. It has gotten me into a fair degree of trouble in the past.

But over dinner last night with a friend I was able to let it all out. And alternative scenarios surfaced in my mind as I shared.

I didn't go the normal route (for me) and take it all on board and tell myself it must be a dreadful play. I was surprisingly heartened by my belief in it: in recognising there is a story to be told and it needs to be heard.

I'm finally my own cheerleader and champion.

Logo for the play:

Would anyone like to take a guess as to what the play's theme is?

Coming to Life

In my experience there is nothing more profound than seeing one's creation come to life. Whatever it is, a painting, a poem, a book, a song, knitting, embroidery, sewing. Yesterday, it happened again for me when our theatre board met in St. John's and we had a first read-through of my newest play, a two-hander (two actors on stage). The feedback was terrific, the suggestions for enhancement thoughtful, even the ideas for promotion and public relations superb. I felt so blessed. They, well, loved it.

Some of the idioms I use are very Irish and after feedback I changed it to the Newfoundland patois. A wonderful 3-1/2 hours of seeing my newest infant take her baby-steps and spring to life. I was very close to tears at the end, happy tears, and, so I noticed, these were shared with 3 others. One even went so far as to tell me that his own father, many years ago, had handled an emotional scene in their lives exactly the same as the scene at the end of my play. Different words of course, but the scenario was the same: ordinary, everyday words carrying a wealth of underlying meaning.

There is no greater feeling in the world than this: watching my baby stagger out into the world and lead me where? Who knows.

Bring it on.

Finito

I finished it tonight. Amongst other things, like a 7k jog, like a card game at the community hall followed by a long telephone chat with a friend who is leaving for a cruise to Alaska in the morning.

It was nearly finished anyway. I started it on Sherkin Island and fell upon it every chance I got, packing it in with my book and my android and my notepad and my camera and taking it with me everywhere so I could stroke it and add colouredy squiggles to it. Like a well loved pet. Well, so it is.

So I knew what the end should be. And tonight I wrote it.

And it's, like, done. Seriously done.

A two person play. I'd always wanted to write a play about two women with a secret. I knew the secret but they didn't. So then they find out and tell me about the secret. And you too when you see it.

And today I told one person, then another. About this play and these two women. And they got excited too. As excited as me.

Let the production meeting begin. Then the auditions. Then the table readings. Then.....

I am over the moon. Elated. Excited.

Writing does this to me.

Surreality

>>>>>mein host behind the bar today in the midst of crew and mikes and lights<<<<<

So I get to the rehearsal today for the Debut of the Seanachie (she appears next Saturday night).

"What are all these film crews and cameras and lights doing?" I ask, shocked.

"Oh, didn't we tell you? Oops, sorry! The History Channel is here doing a documentary on the area. So, if you don't mind, could you sign a release form and then chat up your show next weekend. And your new play if you like as that's about the end of a way of life in an outport, so all part of the history, right?"

"Oh, OK."

Feeling oh, so glad I'd put on some non-jeansy type clothes and dabbed a spot of powder on the gleaming nose, and sorted out my hair before I arrived. Luck of the Irish as some calls it.

So we test the stage and head for the bar where the interview happens and I get such a strong feeling as I talk that a family member is present in spirit, a really strong feeling along with "He would really love this, it's like an Irish snug-in-a-pub even with all the lights and the action and crew everywhere."

And we wind it up. And it's all good.

And I drop in on a really good friend on the way home afterwards to tell her and she laughs and says, "They followed me as myself and a crew cleaned up the old graveyard earlier on today and I was able to tell them about the old gravestones -they're talking of a series in this area."

And I say "Yeah, they want to film some of our play rehearsals too."

And we're quite gobsmacked over dinner and can't stop grinning at each other (she's the executive producer of our theatre company). And sqweeing in disbelief. She had a feeling I'd show up so she threw my name into the pot of heavenly slow-cooking beef stew earlier in the day.

And I came home and swear to gawd, the brother I'd been thinking so intensely about was on the phone from Ireland and said to me: "I've had such strong thoughts about you today. Like you were here. And then I said to myself I've got this big birthday coming up in the autumn and the biggest present I can give myself is my sister here for it."

And then we talked for nearly three hours.

Endings and Beginnings

This is my very last tax season. There. I've said it. Right out loud. I just need to make the announcement to clients now and not be persuaded to NOT hang up the calculator. Like last year. I truly, truly am finished with it all. I found this nearly over season (still quite a few boxes and files kicking around my office) extraordinarily taxing. And do pardon the pun. I'm not smiling. It's not funny. To me at least.

A huge negative was in the past years I would add up your 250 medical receipts, for example, and have my mind somewhere in my next book. Or play. But not this year. It required every last bit of my mental energy to add those prednisone scripts and chiropractic chits. I tried meditation to graciously accept the work, I tried gratitude exercises for Gaia's munificence. NONE of it worked. I even burned karmic incense (direct from Tibet!!) to restore my chi to balance with the universe. The smoke fled out my door, leaving me gritting my teeth.

It is over, I am done.

I sent out a song to my lovely young actress to rehearse for my new play tonight.

This brings me joy, excitement and anticipation.

Something that's been hugely lacking in my life through this past trying month 2013.

And what, pray tell, is more important than bliss?

Someday

You get to an age when the somedays are all behind you. Do it now or not at all is my new mantra.

My recent (well the last few years') desire is to be a Seanchaí. One of those old Irish story tellers at events. You know, engaging with the audience, taking on a role or two within the context of the old story. Using no notes. Au naturel, unlike my previous foray into a one woman performance thingie.

My first gig as a Seanchaí is in a month's time at a dinner theatre. I will be telling a story from my life, well my aunt's life, previously featured in Time Goes By a while back. The venue is an old convent converted to an inn so I thought it would be conducive to a story about my aunt's nunnish aspirations.

I've been commissioned to write another play, another musical drama, and that is completely over the top exciting. Auditions will take place soon and the first table reading will be at the end of May. I am hoping for it to be an inter-generational theme, depending on cast.

I was at a concert complete with afternoon tea on Saturday. It was a wonderful event, great music and the tea was deluxe, lashings of beautiful food, flowers and china. A few of my friends are in the choral group. They perform mainly jazz interspersed with folk songs from the sixties and seventies, along with Andrews Sisters' numbers. One came up to me during the intermission and put her head on my shoulder, nearly in tears.

"Oh, WWW," she said sadly,"Can you believe it? My life is nearly over! I'm getting so old. I'll be fifty next week!"

Somedays, I wanted to say as I comforted her. You still have somedays!

But she wouldn't have understood.

2013

Well, I get to use my avatar again. I rather like it. I made a card with a poem about it at one stage. More like a story poem. Sad it was, so I won't reprint it here on New Year's Eve.

Best times I had on past New Year Eves were the little dinner parties I'd throw for strays such as myself. We'd play music and talk the hind legs off donkeys while feasting on each others' potlucks. Best kind. Now I have my Nollaig na Mban which is next Sunday January 6th. So to run another stray dinner party would be too much for me, I'm afraid. Too much for most people.

I tried the dances and the fireworks (only good with kids in tow)and coupleystuffs. but now choose to spend it alone. Just being with myself. I'm never bored with her. And it's a relief to create that boundary and not bustle out to please others.

It was a good year for me, 2012. So many performances of my play including the run in St. John's, and the big trip to Ireland to present it to my people, family and friends. Everything about it took much of my time but it was all such fun. Even today the cast and I pinch ourselves and say: Did that really happen? Really? Wow!

And seeing my precious birth family and just hanging out, particularly with the newer members. Who remind us all of how precious our time here is.

And the Writer's Conference in October where I got all fired up again. And Grandgirl's annual trek out here where she got to spend a weekend with the cast and crew and see the play. And Daughter's trip out here last May along with one of my closest friends to see the St. John's performances. And two other trips by Daughter.

These in themselves are wonderful but I get the greatest pleasure from my loved ones partipating and taking such joy in sharing the experiences.

What do I wish for 2013 - it's not a very pleasant sounding year is it? I think the 13 throws me off. I'm staying in the moment even though all politicians have shown their true colours as never before.

Canada has been sold to China behind our backs. We have a First Nations Chief on hunger strike (Day 17,today I believe) at the base of our parliament buildings until the prime minister meets with her to discuss the trashing of our environment and the breaching of all native treaties. And on. Too many issues. We are all in oligarchies. Democracy has always been a dream.

We all need to fasten our seatbelts and as I said before: Plant. Shop locally. Turn off main stream media. They are bought and paid for by the very corporations that are hurting you in the name of obscene taxless profits. Stop subsidizing all of them!

And remember: if your grandparents didn't eat it, try not to!!

Athbhliain faoi mhaise dhuit! = Happy New Year!

Without you, this blog would only exist in a void. So I thank you all for your wonderful kindness, it's such a pleasure meeting such kindred spirits!

Words on Play, Play on Words

Podium where we all read at nightly salons last week.
 

I have this marvellous idea for a new play. All based on a story that was told to me and my friends on a mini high school reunion. We were on the floor, howling in disbelief. My friend who told it is one of those really serious people. She seems to attract family trouble and drama like pins to a magnet.

Her house is the original Dysfunction Junction where her husband lives on one floor of it and she on another. Where they have favourites amongst their adult children and entertain them separately and the daily policy is to take sides on each and every family argument, banishment, grandchild-sitting, dryout centres for various progeny and real estate difficulties.  And they own a shop in a small town and see absolutely nothing wrong with their lifestyle choices.

She is totally oblivious to the fact she is causing havoc in a room with the droll way she uses words. With the result that now all she has to do is enter a room and we all fall down. Her eyebrows are always elevated in shock at the instant hilarity that greets her.

"No, seriously now, what's so funny? You can't be laughing at me, as my hair was just done and my clothes are not loud or anything and I have sensible shoes, look....." and she sticks the shoes in our faces.

And the way she says this? Roseanne Barr would have serious competition. When we performed my play in Ireland, she barged right into the dressing room after and told us all that that kind of drama happened in her house all the time. No, boy, there was nothing new in my play for her and she walks out, shaking her head. We all fall down.

So this play based on one of her stories? Well, it is scattered throughout pieces of paper and notebooks and needs to be keyed onto my playwriting software and submitted by December 15th, for performances in May 2013.

I would credit my friend Faye but she just wouldn't get it.

Scattered thoughts on Ireland: The family and the experience.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~In Ballyduff on a magical evening~~~~~~~~~~~

One of us said: Isn't it wonderful to be together as a family with all the old baggage dead and buried?

Another said after a wonderful dinner with the linen and china and crystal and silver outdoors on the sun-filled patio: This has been the best day of my life.

Another said: Can you believe the Canadian ambassador to Ireland attended your play, I mean, can you believe it?

Someone else said: That concert we just saw at The Booley House, I would pay $500 to see it again it was so incredible, all that talent under one roof.

I said: It took this trip for me to see Ireland like I never saw or heard it before.

I said: I never did so much dancing to so much live music!

I said: Was that Liam Clancy's daughter and sister I spoke to? Seriously. Was it?

All of us said: Everytime I sit on this rock on this strand, I feel such peace and happiness. Like my whole life comes back together. Or something.

PS One of these days I'll string it all together and it will come out all coherent like.

.

Brief Update From Ireland

Thank you all for your good wishes.

The performance was a great success.

There are so many highlights of this trip of a lifetime that I can't begin to list them.

But in the blog world it was incredibly wonderful to see Grannymar and her gorgeous daughter Elly in the audience and afterwards at the craic, the caint and the ceol at the pub.

More on all this later when I have time to process all these magical moments.

Wow.

Ouch!

So far, I've been on a fairly blissful ride with my play. Rapturous (well, close!) audiences, A smooth run of over a year now in different corners of the province and a crowning success in St. John's back in late May where the standing ovations were swept into our spirits and became almost a de rigeur feeling at every performance.

You may think life is all a big bowl of cherries for me, as a playwright and director.

Not!

Last night, well, last night.

It started poorly with people gossipping loudly at the back of the theatre, it looked like (from what we could see) they were pointing out people they knew in the cast.

Our stage manager did the needful and it looked like she just fell short of ejecting them physically. Bear in mind we are performing while all this is going on.

Then there was the opened plastic wrapping of the programmes by the door which a breeze caught and the unholy sound of this was amplified throughout the theatre. Another intervention by the stage manager.

Meanwhile we struggle womanfully and manfully to perform against these irritants. There are defective stage lights which overheat us greatly. I positively hate heat of all kinds, anywhere near the tropics is wasted on me as a vacation.

And then the audience. We struggle to describe them at intermission.

We never... Arctic chills... Can you believe?... Are they just stuffed mannequins?... What's with the silence?... Are they breathing?... Should we shout fire, just for fun?...

The second act brings the same. A coldness we'd not experienced all through the play's run. Unresponsive? Someone should call the coroner!

Lines were fluffed, cues were missed. We were just not having any kind of a good time with it. You need audience interaction. One can feel warmth and positivity.

When the final curtain came down - I'm serious here - there wasn't even a ripple. The coma continued.

We forced ourselves to take a curtain call. It felt so weird. But then a slight arousal rippled across the living dead and they clapped. Gently. Politely.

We decostumed and mingled with them afterwards and the verbal feedback was excellent, as in "best ever" "Oh, I'm fair haunted with it" "I could listen to that music forever, you must put out a CD," etc. Many hugs and kisses.

But. But. We were shell-shocked. It knocked all the stuffing out of the catcalls of "See you at the airport!" when we left.

And since then, the cape of self-doubt settles down around my shoulders like thick, black smoke and steals the glory of the past year.

Oh please be kind to us, Ireland!!

Ireland Performance - Update

For any of you who will be at or near Tipperary, Ireland in late August and have even a faint interest in seeing my play please email me:

wisewebwoman at gmail dot com

and I will send you particulars. Tickets would have to be booked right away as it is a small theatre and tickets for the general public will be released directly after the first dibbers, such as you and my Irish friends and family.

We have one more performance here before leaving for Ireland next week.

And I can't tell you how excited the cast, crew and myself are.

In all cases it is a dream come true.

I continue to pinch myself.

Travelling Theatre Troupe

~~~~~Ansa, taking a break from rehearsals~~~~~

Our cast and crew of my play were 'away' this past weekend, so we made a 'time' of it. 'Time' being part of the Newfoundland lexicon.

time n DC ~ n (1950, 1963); cp DAE 10: on a time 'spree' (1855 quot), NID 12 c 'carousal.' A party or celebration, esp a communal gathering with dancing, entertainment, etc; cp SCOFF n

Cast and crew number 12 of us, well 13 when you include my dog Ansa, who has become an integral part of rehearsals and getaways and is quite spoiled by everyone.

I've talked about this amazing cast before but given the afore-mentioned 'time' more talents unfolded. One actor channels Bob Dylan in his spare time and another rivalled KD Lang in a performance of Hallelujah. We had to drag ourselves off to bed as I think we could have partied until dawn, but had our audience to keep in mind for a top-notch performance of the play the following day.

I'm beyond delighted to be a part of all this, especially with Grandgirl in tow who said to me coming home in the car:

"Boy, grandma, I sure wish that looking down the road, my gang can have this kind of fun once we're older!"

Amen, baby. Amen.

~~~~~~~Curtain call and standing ovation.~~~~~~~

~~~~All pictures taken by Grandgirl.~~~~

The View from Here

View of the packed theatre from the 'gods' on Saturday night.

Wow.

I feel that my life, being quite surreal at the moment, needs a few days for it to drag my arse back down to earth and into normalcy, or whatever passes for that.

Talk of wildest dreams, dreams that I carried with me from about seven or eight years of age, being realized sixty years later!

So the play has now been performed in the city. Twice. To sold out audiences and standing ovations. Media coverage was amazing. Print, radio and television. I would have told you I was not good at speaking spontaneously. I proved myself wrong. I think this goes to the place where passion sits. Once we are passionate about something we can talk of it without preparedness or scripting.

The cast and crew were amazing, it is wonderful to see the characters birthed originally in one's spirit come to life in a professional, beautifully lit and 'sounded' environment where the acoustics are perfect. What a theatre!

A precious friend flew in from Toronto to offer her support and attended both performances. Daughter insisted on arriving a few days before to provide whatever I needed to keep the nerves and stress at bay. At such a time, I realized one really senses who one's dearest are. And words are completely inadequate to express how I feel about them. I could never have done it alone as the enormity was too great to comprehend and I needed their soothing presence, reality checks and outrageous humour. And we all realized that this was One Big Moment, never to be repeated in such a way again.

I'm still absorbing it all, still pinching myself, thinking there is be a play inside me, all ready to be written about the making of this play.

Blog Jam

Thanks for all the good thoughts on my last post, some of you took the time to email me privately and I am so grateful for that. I am truly amazed at the circle of love out there both in blog land and in my own personal sphere. Two particular friends of mine have been like bodyguards in the last few days and another friend dropped in unexpectedly as she had some sort of vibe that things were not so good. They still aren't. I've got an action plan but patience is running thin as to implementation and/or success.

Courage! Said in the French way. Always.

Elsewhere, I found this nugget on the web. Something that prods my thinking and my creativity is always welcome.




Right now I'm doing the stuff that earns me a sorta-living. Taxes. And editing a collection of short stories along with the editor. And both promoting and planning a series of rehearsals for fresh performances of Da Play.

All a little half-heartedly. A little sadly. Sometimes a little dramatically: Why me?? Oh Gawd why me?? enunciated loudly to the dog from the bottom of the stairs as she blinks at me from the top step, head on paws, waiting for the command to descend said stairs if I could get my act together.

And why not me? Drops of rain and all that.

And Out The Other Side

Amazing possibilities are out the other side when I suit up and show up.

We have this amazing theatre troupe I've written about and a pretty damn good play. So everyone says. For how can I speak of it, all the characters are dear to me and spring from my fertile imagination. I get to love my characters, they are my babies. And the brilliant cast makes them even more real. And people ask me about them.

"So what happened to Phelim," they ask. And I am flattered. He has become real to them too.

And for years, many times, I drive by this place, a very old church, oblong. Tall and sleek-ed. Lovely old windows. White and blue. And another dream takes hold. And I think, ridiculous. No. This could never be.

And a friend has the dream too. Independently. And we find out the building is for sale. For a song and some TLC. And we go there today. And say to each other as we look around this gorgeous place, key trembling in our hands.

"This is where the box office is. This is where the washroom will go. This is where the dressing rooms can be built on."

And maybe, just maybe, our theatre, our very own theatre will be birthed. Yes, overlooking the ocean. You are all invited to the premier performance. We counted. It will seat 90. Comfortably. How perfect a dream is this?

Cast Parties and Nollaig na Mban

My heavens, (said she in ladylike fashion) my post on Nollaig na Mban has just about gone viral.

Just in time, say I, as I am planning my NM event here for January 15th (next Sunday) when Daughter is here. Tomorrow (8th) I have the cast (and crew) of my play here for lunch. Marvellous times are ahead for us all, we are black and blue from pinching ourselves, and we need to nail all further rehearsal times down, prepare for fresh debuts and sort out far flung travel arrangements, etc. More on that later.

Needless to mention all this cleanup and reorganization of my home has paid off in droves. Dark secret - one bedroom - in spite of all my good intentions - has become a bit of a catch basin for STUFF.

There hasn't been much time for anything else and Daughter arrives on Tuesday. I am so looking forward to that.

And the cast event tomorrow is icing on the cake. It's extraordinary when you put one foot out into uncharted territory where the footsteps following can take you. And I hadn't a clue when I first conceived this play that it would take me on the best journey of my life. Beyond my wildest dreams.

Pinch.

The Care & Feeding of my Groupies

Normally I'd have been delighted.

Normally, I'd have got right out of my car and stood and chatted for a while with such lovely people.

Normally I'd compare notes on the very best french fries (chips) this side of the ones I get in Dublin in Powerscourt (fried in duck fat), and available only on the side of the road off a wagon as one heads towards the TCH* where we were all stopped.

"We've been to both your shows!" They say, "And when and where is the third one happening? We want to book tickets for that too!!"

Through the car window I shake hands with all four of them. Keeping my left arm pinned across my chest. Praying they're going to move along, there's nothing to see, nothing peculiar at all about my dog licking my lovely linen jacket, just one of her tricks. She does it all the time. Cute, ha?

I'm breaking out in a sweat as they finally wave goodbye, full of compliments and admiration for the licky dog.

What I've desperately tried to hide is my catastrophic spillage of one small pot of gravy all over my white, yes white, jacket and down my pants with my beloved Ansa frantically trying to clean me up.

I mean, public image, papparazzi, 'n all that. One has to look one's best for one's fans. Right, Angelina?



*TransCanadaHighway

Reflections

Sunset from the deck, tonight.

I never get more excited than when I'm working on a new piece of writing, followed perhaps by a new knitting design. The creative process. It's wonderful. Nowhere else in life can this thrill and excitement be sustained and for so long. It must be the same for all artistes whatever the medium.

The complete forgetfulness of self.

I have a couple of stories on the go and a concept for another musical drama which is filling my mind at the moment.

I get these little frissons around them - not fear - but of the excitement itself, as if sometimes I can hardly believe my absolute good fortune in doing exactly what I dreamed of doing when I was a very small child.

And I'm simply blown away that this has all come to me so late in life and is filling it with such passion.

Newfoundland and Newfoundlanders: Best Kind! I just loves ya, b'ys!!