It’s
stressful, emotional AND painful… there are times you want to give up. But
people cheer you on saying, “You can do it!” or “Keep pushing!” or “You’re
almost there!” As much as I appreciate the support, sometimes I just want to
politely tell them to piss off. The frustration, the agony, the torture… is it
worth it? I have no idea. I’m still waiting for my baby to appear, and by baby,
I mean my play.
It’s been
two and a half years since I went into labor with “Elephants and Other Worldly
Dilemmas.” Back then, it was a one-act called “The Day Martha Chose to Ignore
God,” inspired, in part, by my real-life friend Martha.
Perhaps
it’s not completely accurate to say there’s no baby at all. My play is more
like a set of twins. The first part of the delivery went so smoothly. Act 1
(Twin #1) popped out in under two months, and I’ve been nurturing it ever since
to make sure it continues to grow and develop.
But after
delivering Act 1, I discovered there was yet another baby still to emerge—Act 2
a.k.a. Twin #2. Together, my set of twins join forces to become the full-length
play “Elephants and Other Worldly Dilemmas.” There’s only one problem. Act 2 is
simply refusing to make an
appearance. When I think of what I’ve been through with my second delivery, I’m
reminded of mothers contending with bratty children who throw temper tantrums
in the middle of shopping malls. Act 2 requires more nourishment, more
care, more growing time… but TWO
YEARS’ worth? I guess Twin #2 is going through it’s own version of the terrible twos.
With four
major revisions of Act 2 under my belt, I began researching gestation periods
of animals to see if I am not alone in this long and arduous birthing process. To
my relief, I found gestation periods ranging from 2 years for elephants, 2-3
years for black alpine salamanders, and 3.5 years for frilled sharks. Phew. I’m
not as bad as I thought, although I’m not sure my sanity can hold for 3.5
years.
Writing
truly does feel like giving birth. And what comes out feels every bit like a
precious child you desperately love, and at times, secretly loathe as you
wonder what the hell you were thinking when you decided to create this little
monster! And of course everyone has
advice on how to parent your unborn child. I’ve done countless readings where I
survey my fellow writers/actors/artists for feedback as to what I’m doing
“wrong,” and each time I feel like a deer caught in the headlights. You know
that feeling? It used to happen to me in school. A teacher would be explaining
a new concept and it was almost like he or she was speaking gibberish.
Sometimes all I could hear was static, like a radio station you can’t tune in.
My heart would start pounding, as I frantically looked around me to see if my
fellow students seemed as dazed as I was. Nope. Everyone appeared calm and
collected. I was an A student—why did it sound like my teacher was speaking a
foreign language??? It was only after class I would discover that everyone else
was equally dumbfounded. They just had better poker faces than I did.
Well that’s how the process of
feedback works too. At first, I’m furiously taking notes even though I have no
idea what the words I’m writing mean. Everyone is firing thoughts at
me—sometimes simultaneously—and it’s like I’m being hit with bullets. But you
just have to take the hits, and trust in time a light bulb will go off and
understanding will come.
And such is the case with my latest
unborn child, the aforementioned Act 2. The feedback, which is so overwhelming
at first, slowly sinks in and gives deeper meaning as to what my piece is
about. Now, as I prepare to embark on revision
#5, I’m scared but excited at the same time. Each revision brings me closer
and closer to seeing this baby finally come to life. I look forward to
metaphorically slapping it on its bottom and welcoming it to the world! And to
all of you who have helped me along the way—John Olson, Joanie Schlafer, Sue
Cerreta, Audrey Attardo, Audrey Sawaya, Drew Dickhart, Melvin Huffnagle, Danny
Dragone, Mike Gregorek, Erinn Moran, Martha Arnold, Monica Hanofee… the list
goes on—I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have all taught me the
importance of being honest and open minded with my work. Someone once told me
that art is “creative sharing” and I have to agree. I believe what we create
together is better and more profound than what we can do on our own.
And now
it’s time to give birth to this blog entry. This one was a pretty painful
delivery too, but well worth the effort!
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