Thursday, August 1, 2013

Two and a Half Years In Labor… Where’s the Baby?



            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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