Category: writing

Irons in the fire

I’ve been in a long six-month period of development with many projects. Here’s what I’ve been up to.

-an original TV pilot that puts a revisionist supernatural spin on the California Gold Rush

-an adaptation of a sci-fi book into a feature

-a new play called SHEEPDOG (just finished) about a police officer shooting

To write this play I’ve been talking with police officers – primarily officers of color – conducting interviews and diving deep into the complex issue of police violence in this country. I’ve been truly fortunate to speak with Officer Nakia Jones, whose brave testimony after the Alton Sterling shooting struck a chord with me and millions across the country.

rules for us all

From Truthout’s “Five Principles for Independent Media”:

1. Be Intentional.

It means being intentional about what voices we quote and promote; being aware that if we do not make conscious choices, invisible privileges will lead to the continued predominance of white, male, abled, heterosexual, cisgender and well-off voices. It means acknowledging power dynamics and seeking, wherever possible, to confront power and to avoid the cheap and easy satisfaction of criticizing those who do not have it – punching up, not punching down.

2. Be Humble

We must admit that we don’t know everything… Non-corporate media can and should provide a space to puzzle out possibilities for both dismantling current systems and paving new paths, and for this journey, humility is an essential ingredient.

3. Be Bold

…if our approach as writers and editors is tied too closely to chasing a bigger and bigger audience, and our desire to reach this audience is primarily tied to ensuring we stay funded, we are putting the cart before the horse in a way that risks falling into the same traps that hamstring the corporate media. If we commit to covering stories that would otherwise go untold, it should be with the understanding that this is a worthwhile act in and of itself. If we commit to giving a voice to the voiceless, it cannot be conditional on the immediate popularity of what the voiceless have to say.

4. Be Accountable

George Orwell famously defined journalism as “printing what someone else does not want printed,” adding “everything else is public relations” – this now seems to us somewhat incomplete without specifying that journalism is publishing what someone with power does not want to see the light of day…  It means acknowledging that by virtue of the platforms we have, most of us enjoy “a tremendous privilege and an even greater responsibility,” and that, to quote Susie Cagle, “At the least, we should seek to minimize harm to those we use – and yes, we do use them – to tell stories and ultimately earn livelihoods for ourselves.”

5. Progress, Not Perfection

Journalists are uniquely positioned to provide an example of what it might mean instead to strive to be “progressive” in a different sense: committed to improving ourselves, our work and our society, but acutely aware of the inevitability of imperfection.

Farewell, My Lovely

I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country. What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun. I put them on and went out of the room.

 

Lecture on the Future of Tragedy

I came across a short essay by Albert Camus on “the future of tragedy”. Some highlights:

…the forces confronting each other in a tragedy are equally legitimate, equally justified… tragedy is ambiguous

Melodrama can thus be summed up by saying: ‘Only one side is just and justifiable,’ while the perfect tragic formula would be: “All can be justified, no one just.’

Tragedy occurs when man, by pride (or even by stupidity, as in the case of Ajax) enters into conflict with the divine order, personified by a god or incarnated in society.

Tragedy is born between the light and the shade, and from the struggle between them.

The hero denies the order which strikes him down, and the divine order strikes because it is denied.

Camus has me thinking: in general, the plays I see that try to take on an issue or political theme ultimately fail to wrestle with two sides of the issue. Most playwrights I know are fantastically liberal people. Wild, crazy liberals. They write plays that confirm or default to – even if unintentionally – a general liberal, humanist mindset. Even when these writers think they are representing the opposing side, it’s usually not where the real energy of the play lies.

But endings are tough…  they can expose us as writers for who we are and what we believe in. What I’m tired of – yet have a hard time avoiding myself – is a kind of Spielberg-sentimentality at the very end of a play or film. Some kind of vague, warm and squishy affirmation of some positive humanistic value. “Love redeems” – that kind of crap. How can we avoid this? When writing drama, go big and go dark, says Camus.

It’s frustrating when playwrights are left out of the larger, national conversation. We are usually looked to last to say something relevant about an issue (with few notable exceptions). In terms of writing political plays with real impact – that go beyond our expected audience – we might need to work harder to legitimize and justify our opposing forces, on the right or the left.

This might demand we become more of an observer than a participant in political life. An activist by day, a dramatist by night.

spam poem 4

A little girl has decided to be a night owl tonight
She loves to have her back patted
so that’s what I’m doing
I think she is about to give it up And so am I
Good night all and God bless

And in an instant I am part of the living

We’re at the edge of things now, and about to leave behind the safety of all we’ve known before. So turn the door and open a life of possibility… And enter the outside and the cobblestones and the sewn-up streets and the salty air and the possibility for further away. The outside and destinations unknown and my world blown open by chance, by this “chance” to change. And in an instant I’m part of the living, the free, the fateless, the “unmarked” and I can see me joining those seagulls and taking my pick of life, and led by airstream and breeze, my life made open by your hand in mine.

-from The New Electric Ballroom by Enda Walsh