ANDREW BISS

Do You Have and Embarrassing Odour?

2012-01-17T19:54:00.000-08:00

If you don't, you can get one for just 99c (or about 64p) in the Kindle Store. Yes, that's right, another short story release from the upcoming collection Strange Tales of the Curiously Uncommon is available now. Don't delay!

The complete collection should be released before the end of the month, or early February at the latest.

Now, one of my New Year's resolutions was not to shill my books so much on my blog, so having gotten that out of the way...

Random thoughts:

As of the 15th day of this New Year, we've had 22 murders here in the fair city of Philadelphia. We average around the same number of murders as there are days in a calendar year, so we're off to a bad start. To give some kind of comparison, London, with an urban population of around 8.5 million people has an average of 171 murders a year. The urban population of Philadelphia is about 0.5 million. Yes, it's that bad. There's a reason we have acquired the unfortunate nickname of Killadelphia.

Looking for some good new music? I'd recommend a new album I just discovered by Jez Kerr called "Numb Mouth Eat Waste." It's great! He's a former member of A Certain Ratio (ah, back in the day...Orange Juice, John Cooper Clarke, all that stuff). Anyway, check it out if you're starved of good new music that isn't genetically engineered: Numb Mouth Eat Waste (And iTunes, of course).

Haven't seen "Mamma Maggie" yet, and as much as I admire Meryl Streep, I don't think I will. Acting it's one thing, living it's another. I dug deep for the miners.

It's Alive!

2012-01-02T08:33:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's my first post of 2012 and despite my resolution to shill less often with my posts, I'm starting off the year by doing just that!

Well, in this case I sort of have too, as this is a new book release. Yes, A Stunning Confession is finally live in the Kindle Store! It's a quirky, darkly humorous short story taken from my forthcoming collection "Strange Tales of the Curiously Uncommon". Here's an overview:

As Ron and Jan made themselves comfortable on their sofa, they thought they were settling in for just another quiet night in front of the television. But beneath the surface of this seemingly benign evening of domestic routine, each was withholding a guilty secret from the other, and on this particular evening one of them found they could contain themselves no longer.

Questionable paternity, a murderous child, artificial insemination - all of this paled in comparison to the evening's final, sensational revelation!

I hope to have the complete collection out before the end of the month, so stay tuned!

Happy New Year All!

2011-12-31T17:05:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's that time of the year when otherwise normal-seeming people everywhere cut loose, get wasted and scream like banshees between shots of Jägermeister (or heaves).

Thanks to all who follow my blog, visibly or otherwise, and for taking the time to read my posts. Next year I'll continue to update this place with news of my books and current writing projects, but I also plan to have a lot more random posts about anything that interests me (though whether they'll interest you remains to be seen :).

2011 has been a mixed bag for me. On the plus side, I began my ePublishing journey (inspired in no small part by the most lovely Helen Smith), and 9 months since I first went up on Amazon I can tell you I've learned so much. Sometimes the hard way, but sometimes that's the best way. So I enter 2012 with a lot more knowledge than I had at the beginning of the last, and a determination to get my work in front of as many people as I can. The adapting will continue, of course, but I also plan to write my first full-length novel this coming year. And I have to tell you, I'm very excited about the prospect. In some ways it feels like this year has been a training ground that has been preparing me for this task.

It's also been a difficult year for me. In the autumn I lost my oldest friend to breast cancer. I can't describe to you how much that impacted me. Still now I haven't fully got my head around it. And there have been other health-related problems with people I love that I shan't go into here. But as trite or clichéd as it may sound, these experiences serve as a harsh reminder to be grateful for your own good health as long as you have it, and to treasure the time you have with those you love, as it's finite - no matter what the circumstances.

So with 2012 looming on the horizon, I look forward to another year of the inevitable good, bad, and the ugly, though hopefully much more of the good than those other two.

I wish you a happy and healthy New Year, and all good things to you and yours.

See you next year!

A Number 1 Book!

2011-12-31T07:52:00.000-08:00

Yes, okay, it's a free download, but trust me, getting big downloads, even for free copies, can be quite a challenge.

Yesterday I decided to do a 2-day free promotion of my short story collection The Impressionists to see if I could get it some attention that it had been severely lacking. I consider the stories in that collection some of my best writing, and as proud as I am of them, it pained me to see them drift off into that vast sea of obscurity in Amazon's mega slush pile.

So imagine my surprise (not to mention happiness) when I saw that it had reached the #1 spot for short stories (free bestseller list) on Amazon US!

I just hope that when those who have downloaded it get around to pulling it out of their (probably massive, with all the free books that are available right now) TBR list, that they enjoy them. Meanwhile, I'm just enjoying having reached this little milestone.

Back later with my end of year final post!

The End of the World on Pixel of Ink!

2011-12-29T10:45:00.000-08:00

The End of the World is featured today on Pixel of Ink! Please head on over there and click its "like" button. If you do, I'm going to be sending you the largest package of good karma you've ever received!

I don't expect to sell Amanda Hocking or J.A. Konrath numbers, but hopefully it'll get a nice boost.

Many thanks and be sure to get lashings of good karma now!

The End of the World Book Trailer

2011-12-27T08:34:00.000-08:00

I've finally got around to doing something that I'd wanted to do for a while now, and that is to produce a book trailer for my contemporary fantasy novella The End of the World.

I hope you'll take a look. It's only a couple of minutes long, which in the big scheme of things is really just a nanosecond of your life.

And if you do, I hope you enjoy it!

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-24T07:08:00.000-08:00

I'd just like to wish everybody a very Merry Christmas wherever you are in the world. And if you don't celebrate Christmas, then I wish you a joyful and peaceful holiday season and many good tidings.

Sadly it seems I'll be denied a white Christmas yet again this year. In fact, here in the Northeast it's going to be almost balmy, which is kind of barmy, but there's nothing we can do about the weather. If you're lucky enough to live somewhere where it snows all the time you'll be fortunate enough to enjoy the wonders of a white Christmas. But then again, if it's snowy all the time, I wouldn't imagine it would feel that special.

But whatever the weather, this time of year is very special, so Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours!

At Last!

2011-12-17T12:45:00.000-08:00

Ah...as soon as I wrote that title, I of course thought of the great Etta James and the terrible news this week of her now terminal condition. In the news reports this week, they naturally mentioned a couple of her most popular songs, but in the reports I read, at least, not the one I'd consider my favourite of hers - "I'd Rather Go Blind." If you're not familiar with it, I'd strongly encourage you to check it out. Is there a more gut-wrenching lyric than "I'd rather go blind than see you walk away from me"?

And sadly today, we learned of the passing of Cesaria Evora. I got into her music back in the early 90s and it really sort of defined much of that time for me. Check out this song if you're not familiar with her. Such beautiful melancholy. Rest in peace, Cesaria, and thank you.

But the "At Last" in the title of this post refers to the fact that at last I have a cover for my upcoming short story A Stunning Confession. It's been the hardest cover to lock down, and I'm so glad I now have something I'm pleased with. I hope you like it. If you sense something androgynous about it, even better :)

A Stunning Confession

2011-12-10T08:46:00.000-08:00

I realized I haven't blogged in a while, so I thought I'd give a quick update at this most wonderful (and busy) time of the year.

I'm currently working feverishly at completing my next short story, A Stunning Confession, from my upcoming and as yet untitled short story anthology. This "untitled" business is currently the bane of my existence, as I'm very particular about titles and I can't seem to settle on one for this collection. It could be simple or it could be rather more thought out and crafted - it really doesn't matter as long as it feels right to me. But so far nothing has felt right. So I'll keep going back to that drawing board in my head until something clicks.

Don't forget, the first tale from this anthology, A Familiar Face, is now available from an Amazon or Nook store near you.

In the meantime, look out for the upcoming release of #2 of "Untitled" in the next few weeks, which fortunately does have a title - the aforementioned A Stunning Confession. As for the book cover for this one...well, that's another headache altogether. Oy!

A Familiar Face - Out Now!

2011-11-27T10:14:00.000-08:00

My new book release, A Familiar Face, a new cozy mystery short story is available now on Amazon UK for just £0.86p and Amazon US for just $0.99c.

Here's a little bit about it:

Two elderly Cockney women, old friends, meet up in a London café shortly after one them, Dora, has been widowed. As Dora's grief and anger grow increasingly fervent, her good friend Eydie begins to suspect there may be more to her angst than the loss of a loved one. When Dora calmly removes from her shopping bag a large glass jar containing a human head, discussions over its mysterious identity and how it came to be lodged in the cupboard under her stairs lead to some startling revelations.

If you do pick it up, I hope you have as much fun spending time with these characters as I had writing them.

The End of the World!

2011-11-21T17:36:00.000-08:00

I'm pleased to say that The End of the World is featured in today's edition of Daily Cheap Reads UK. Each day the site lists cheap reads available for your Kindle (or brand spanking new Kindle Fire!) e-reader through Amazon, with the guarantee no book will be priced over £6.

It's a great resource for people to find reasonably priced quality books, and they're also very selective about what they'll put up on their site, so you can rest assured you won't be wading through piles of ~~crap~~ pabulum.

As their motto says, it's all about: The book, the whole book, and nothing but the book.

You can also follow them on Facebook or Twitter to keep up with daily postings and announcements.

And of course, if you're in the US, The End of the World is also available here!

A Familiar Face

2011-11-17T09:50:00.000-08:00

This is the cover for my upcoming new short story release A Familiar Face. It’s the first in a collection of short stories based around ordinary people who find themselves in extraordinary circumstances. I’ll be releasing another stand alone story from the collection early next year, with the entire collection following a little later.

Here’s a little about A Familiar Face:

Two elderly women, old friends, meet up in a London café shortly after one them – Dora – has been widowed. As Dora's grief and anger grows increasingly vehement, her good friend Eydie begins to suspect there may be more to her angst than the loss of a loved one. When Dora calmly removes from her shopping bag a large glass jar containing a human head, discussions over its mysterious identity and how it came to be lodged in the cupboard under her stairs lead to some startling revelations.

Nothing odd in that, right?

Hopefully it’ll be out in the next couple of weeks or so. In the meantime…don’t touch that dial!

Kindle Finds / Kindle Fire

2011-11-15T09:55:00.000-08:00

There’s a great new site to find books for your Kindle, named – rather aptly – Kindle Finds. The great thing about this site is that, just like listings and sponsorships at Pixel of Ink, a book needs to have a 4+ star average rating from at least 10 reviews, either on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Goodreads (that’s all from one of those sites, not a combination of the three), which helps readers know that the books they’re browsing have been screened for quality and popularity. So many more incredible books are now available due to the rapid growth of the eBook and self-publishing, but there’s also an awful lot of dross. I don’t mean that meanly, it’s just a fact – and an inevitable one (and that’s from all publishers, by the way, not just independents).

Now, allow me to say that I’m not simply recommending Kindle Finds because I have one of my own books on the site. That just wouldn’t be right. Then again…it wouldn’t be The End of the World, either.

Also, today is the day Amazon begins shipping its brand new Kindle Fire – in the U.S. at least. I think it’s going to be a while before they distribute to other countries, which is a shame. I really don’t know why they can’t do global rollouts with things like this, especially considering the size of the company.

Anyway, I don’t have one on order. I have a Kindle, of course, and it suits my needs very well. So I don’t need a Kindle Fire. Do I? Um…no, I suppose I don’t need one. But do I want one? Oh, you bet I do. You see, I’m something of a closet gadget freak. Were I a millionaire I would have rooms literally overflowing with gadgets of all kinds, most of which I would only use once, some never at all.

But as well as the gadget freak in me, there’s also the ever present pragmatist who never fails to remind me of the distinction between want and need. Who will eventually win out in the battle over Kindle Fire? Only time will tell. But the truth is I don’t need one. Then again, $200 really isn’t all that much…it’s just ten $20 bills, that’s all. But I don’t need it…but at that price…oh!

Tap, Tap, Tap...Testing, Testing...

2011-11-11T16:24:00.000-08:00

I've had two of my books (The End of the World and Schism) approved at ACX (and Amazon company) for production as audio books. I'm quite excited about this as I think audio books are a great way of hearing a story, whether it's simply because you just want to settle down somewhere comfortable and let the narrator pull you in (some childhood connection to bedtime stories there I shouldn't wonder), or for people on the go to listen in their cars or portable devices - not to mention the visually impaired.

Now I'm waiting to hear back from any potential producers/narrators who are interested in either project. I could narrate it myself, of course, but I'm afraid I'm far too self-conscious to do that any more. I've done plenty of voice work in the past (commercials mainly), but my performer side has long since departed. You couldn't get me on a stage now for all the tea in China. I suppose I could feel comfortable enough narrating someone else's work, but my own...nah.

So we'll see where this goes.

Another thing I'm going to try my hand at soon is book trailers. I'd always thought they seemed like a rather pointless exercise and not really something the average reader would bother with, but I've heard some people have had quite good results from them, so it's certainly worth a try. And with all of the free time that I have...cough, cough, cough.

Talking of time - you know I had to blog today if for no other reason than to have a post on 11-11-11. I was going to wait until the next time this occurred, but by then I'd be a hundred and...well, never mind.

Robert Pattinson Wants My Number!

2011-11-07T20:52:00.000-08:00

Since The Craft is currently being turned into a short film by Emmy Award-winning editor and filmmaker Andy Lewis, I began to wonder who would play the title character, Horatio Higgins, if Schism was ever made into a movie.

Besides all of all the names of actors I thought would make a great Horatio, I also thought of those that seemed the least likely fit for the role, and on top of that list floated the name of Robert Pattinson. But then I thought about it a little more and realized that the idea wasn't as outlandish as I'd originally imagined. After all, take a look at this picture...

Now that's an image of someone who could conceivably be experiencing emotional problems, wouldn't you say? He certainly seems quite vexed in my opinion, even if the shot was intended to portray something more akin to glamorous angst or a James Dean-like pout. But then I came across this picture...

I think even the most generous and forgiving observer would have to admit that this is not the look of someone who is in full command of their mental faculties. The hairstyle alone suggests a clear and indisputable breakdown with reality. And to feel comfortable enough to actually pose for a picture while in this condition is - much like the hairdo - verging on madness.

So perhaps Robert Pattinson would make an ideal Horatio Higgins after all. And now that the Twilight Saga has come to an end, I'm sure he'll be looking for that next breakout role.

Robert, I think I have what you need. Call me.

Release Day! Schism: A Psychological Thriller

2011-11-01T07:54:00.000-07:00

The day has finally arrived for the release of my new book Schism at the Amazon Kindle Store. It’s a dark, disturbing psychological thriller laced with plenty of dark humour. I do hope you’ll check it out.

You can find it at the U.S. Amazon Kindle Store here and at the U.K. Amazon Kindle Store here.

Description:

As a boy, Horatio Higgins was ignored by the other children, but that didn't stop him having lots of friends...friends only he could see and whom he'd regale with tales of his fantastical exploits. Eventually, though, his parents became concerned at the inordinate amount of time their son appeared to spend talking to himself and took him for treatment, which, in time, proved successful...almost. One friend remained. Unfortunately it was the spiteful one.

Years later, living alone in his tiny London flat, Horatio's loneliness is mitigated only by his acid-tongued friend and the company of what he affectionately refers to as "my wife". After losing his job, however, his life begins a rapid downward spiral...that is, until he meets a sweet, impressionable young woman named Nore. As their relationship lurches unsteadily forward, Horatio finds himself struggling against a riptide of conflicting realities he's ill-equipped to cope with. Can Nore save him from himself or will she, too, be dragged into a world where the line between fantasy and reality becomes increasingly and perilously blurred?

Weaving together dark humour with shocking, unsettling twists, Schism is sure to stay with you long after you've turned the last page.

Warning: This book contains Adult Subject Matter.

Author Interview

2011-10-31T11:20:00.000-07:00

Today I’m interviewed on the All The Days Of blog, hosted by the wonderful Chrizette. I’ll also be doing a book giveaway for The End of the World. You can check it out here.

“They say you are a man of good… taste.”

2011-10-30T07:42:00.000-07:00

Today I have a guest post on the Sapphicscribe blog of bestselling author Saffina Desforges. It's part of a series of Halloween themed posts, and in mine I share my experiences of working with rats on the set of Francis Ford Coppola's "Bram Stoker's Dracula".

You can head on over there and take a look by clicking here.

Stevie Smith

2011-10-21T20:45:00.000-07:00

I'm not terribly into poetry, I have to admit. I hope any poets or poetry aficionados will forgive me for saying this. But it's the truth.

However, since I was a teenager, I've been a huge admirer of the poems of Stevie Smith, so I thought I'd drop one in here from time to time, as I think they're magnificent.

I'll start with her most famous and probably my favourite poem...or in my top 5, at least. How could it not be?

Not Waving but Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

The Craft…The Movie?

2011-10-19T15:32:00.000-07:00

After its successful run at this year’s Off Cut Festival in London, it seems The Craft will now be turned into a short film. Andy Lewis is an award winning editor and filmmaker who happened to see The Craft at the festival last week. He contacted me to see if I would be interested in having a short film version of the play made, which naturally I thought was a terrific idea.

You can check out some of Andy's excellent work on Vimeo or on his website.

I'm looking forward to seeing how this progresses and of course when it's finished I'll let you know where you can see it.

Off Cut Festival Finals

2011-10-13T17:30:00.000-07:00

Well, The Craft made it through last weeks performances at Riverside Studios during the Off Cut Festival and garnered enough votes to make it to the finals this week, where it's playing every night until Saturday. Saturday's performance will be the final which will happen in front of an audience of industry luminaries, including Olivier Award nominated playwright Moira Buffini. Actress Patricia Hodge was also scheduled to be one of the judges but unfortunately had to pull out, which is very disappointing. I'm not sure yet who's stepping in to take her place.

My little play in such venerated company! It's quite humbling.

The End of the World ~ Frugal Find of the Day

2011-10-08T11:49:00.000-07:00

The End of the World is today's Frugal Find of the Day over at The Frugal eReader site.

Are you prepared for what comes next?

Accustomed to a life of cosseted seclusion at home with his parents, Valentine is suddenly faced with making his own way in the world. His new life is quickly upended, however, when he's mugged at gunpoint. Finding shelter at a mysterious inn run by the dour Mrs. Anna, he soon encounters a Bosnian woman with a hole where her stomach used to be, an American entrepreneur with a scheme to implant televisions into people's foreheads, and a Catholic priest who attempts to lure him down inside a kitchen sink. Then things start getting strange...

In this story based loosely around the state of Bardo from The Tibetan Book of the Dead - an intermediate state where the dead arrive prior to rebirth - dying is the easy part. Getting out of Bardo and returning to the land of the living is a far more perilous proposition, and unless you know what you're doing...you might never leave.

An odd, yet oddly touching tale of life, death, and the space in-between.

The Craft

2011-10-06T17:20:00.000-07:00

My short play The Craft just played its first performance last night at the Off Cut Festival at Riverside Studios, in Hammersmith, and was very well-received, according to Lydia, the play's director. She said there was much laughter and many compliments paid after the show, so I'm hoping the remaining performances do as well and hopefully garner it enough votes to move it into the finals next week.

If your in London with a free night (or afternoon) why not head over there and check it out? My play performs in its group again on Friday the 7th (7:30pm), Saturday the 8th (at 3:00pm), and Sunday the 9th (7:30pm).

Break legs, guys!

Whizbuzz!

2011-09-30T08:47:00.000-07:00

The End of the World is today’s featured book on Whizbuzz, a great new site that’s all about books and authors.

Check it out here.

Cheeky!

2011-09-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

I received a lovely review for The End of the World this week, courtesy of Jessica Knauss, Famous Writer. Jessica had won a copy of my first person short story collection The Impressionists in a giveaway I'd held at LibraryThing, and had enjoyed it so much she decided to check out The End of the World and subsequently write a review of it on her blog.

It's a lovely, smart and insightful review, and I'm so glad she enjoyed it. It's also the first time the book's been described as "cheeky" which I must confess I find rather wonderful.

The New Book

2011-09-16T17:50:00.000-07:00

I'm currently hard at work on my next book, entitled "Schism." It's in equal parts humorous, unsettling and tragic, and could be described as a psychological thriller of a different breed. The main protagonist, Horatio Higgins, is, in my humble opinion, one of the most interesting and complex characters I've ever written and I hope to share him with you in the next month or two.

Which reminds me...back to work!

The Reader's Guide

2011-09-14T07:39:00.000-07:00

The End of the World is one of the featured books on today’s The Reader’s Guide. The site publishes information on quality reads and bargain ebooks for both Kindle and Nook. It’s a relatively young site, but one that seems certain to grow into a great resource for readers looking for high quality books at affordable prices. Please check it out here.

Ereader News Today!

2011-09-07T08:16:00.000-07:00

The End of the World is Ereader News Today's Book of the Day. You can check it out here.

Book of the Day!

2011-09-06T17:05:00.001-07:00

Kindle Nation Daily's Book of the Day today is The End of the World. You can check it out here.

Heideman Award Finalist

2011-08-31T13:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was very pleased to learn that my short play A Rebel Among the Wretched has been selected as a finalist for the The Heideman Award. The finalist plays were chosen from over 1,300 entries to the Actors Theatre of Louisville’s National Ten-Minute Play Contest. Finalist plays are considered for production at the theatre and as part of the Humana Festival of New American Plays.

From Wikipedia: Humana Festival of New American Plays is an internationally renowned festival that celebrates the contemporary American playwright. Produced annually in Louisville, Kentucky by Actors Theatre of Louisville, this prestigious event showcases new theatrical works and draws producers, critics, playwrights and theatre lovers from around the world. The Humana Festival is made possible by the generosity of The Humana Foundation. The festival was founded in 1976 by Jon Jory, Actors Theatre Producing Director from 1969 to 2000.

Author Outbreak!

2011-08-30T10:11:00.000-07:00

The End of the World is today’s featured book on Author Outbreak, a great new site that connects readers with the best new Indie authors. I highly recommend taking a look around as well as bookmarking this site as I’m sure it’s going to prove to be a valuable resource for both readers and writers alike.

Off Cut Festival

2011-08-24T17:40:00.000-07:00

As we move closer to the autumn, I'm looking forward to seeing how my play The Craft fares at this year's Off Cut Festival at Riverside Studios, in London. Interestingly enough, the play is written by an Englishman living in the U.S. (yours truly) and is being directed by an American living in the U.K. What are the odds?

There are a whopping 28 plays in the festival, and these are whittled down through audience voting as the festival progresses through its 3 week run, until a winner is declared at the end. Sort of like an American Idol of short plays. I hope I make to a respectable finish at least, and don't get chopped in the first week.

The Craft is from my play collection The Meta Plays, and revolves around two actors performing a scene from a play. However, the words you hear them speak aren't the words of the play they're acting in but rather their inner dialogues, which are comprised mostly of their mutual animosity towards each other.

Anyway, I'll update more on this as events warrant.

Schism

2011-08-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

I'm currently hard at work on my next book which has the working title "Schism" (and unlikely to change from that - but never say never, right?). You can pronounce that either with or without the "k" sound, but I pronounce it with. Also, I believe the non-k ("sism") pronunciation is more generally used when referring to religious matters, and this book has no religious themes in it at all.

It's a dark, psychological mystery thriller that centers around a very unique and troubled character named Horatio Higgins. It'll hopefully be both humorous and entertaining and down right disturbing, being, as it is, a product of my mind's blender of the witty and the warped.

Here's an early version of the blurb:

Horatio Higgins recently lost his job. He also lost his parents, so he claims, though the precise cause (and truth) of their demise remains something of an enigma. Living alone in his tiny flat, Horatio’s sense of isolation is mitigated only by a near-continual dialogue with himself and by the companionship of what he affectionately describes as “my wife.”

Things change, however, when he encounters a sweet, impressionable young woman named Nore. As their relationship lurches unsteadily forward, Horatio finds himself struggling against a riptide of conflicting realities that he is ill-equipped to cope with, until events at last overtake him and a new yet oddly familiar reality emerges.

I hope to have it completed and on sale sometime around October/November. I'll post more on that as things progress.

The Weight of Words

2011-08-04T17:57:00.000-07:00

There's a very interesting article in the Guardian book blog at the moment, discussing the pricing of ebooks compared to traditionally published books. It's very interesting and well worth checking out. I found the cost difference between publishing a paperback compared to a high quality hardcover to be extremely surprising. And of course, with the sea change in the way consumers have access to books now that epublishing has taken off exponentially, makes it all the more fascinating.

Because ebooks cost so little to produce and distribute than physical editions, should you pay considerably less for the electronic book? Or are you actually paying for the content - for the hours and hours of hard work and imagination that the writer put into their story?

Frankly, if it was just about production costs you'd have to virtually give all ebooks away. But that isn't the point, is it? It's the content you're really buying, just as with an MP3 that contains a musician's artistry and songwriting skill.

Now, with so many indie (self) publishers selling their novels at $0.99 (and some of them becoming bestsellers) and the big houses charging ten times that and upwards in many cases, the dust has yet to settle on what people are willing to pay for a downloaded copy of a book. Personally, I think the price of the book should reflect the quality of the content (and the size of the work to some degree); the price of production is, to my mind, irrelevant.

I also think that in time (perhaps a short time) those big houses will be dropping some of their prices to a more competitive level - at least with books from lesser-known authors. But for those big name authors with huge fan bases, well...I think Stieg Larsson and Danielle Steel can sleep easy for quite some time to come.

I've Had a Facelift!

2011-07-31T19:29:00.000-07:00

Well, not me (not yet), but the blog has. You try to resist. You say to yourself that this was the way it was made, the way it started out, and if it's starting to show its age or look a little rough around the edges, well...it just adds character. So what if there's a lot of younger, prettier, high-tech blogs out there, shamelessly batting their eyelashes out into cyberspace. Readers will see through them. They might have the odd dalliance, but they'll always come back to me in the end, because I'm what they know. I'm familiar and comforting. I make my readers a home-cooked meal every single night and always tell them how much I love them. Who wants Ke$ha when you have Peggy Lee?

But then you recall that wretched but true old adage about familiarity breeding...well, if not contempt, at least indifference. So under the knife I went.

It's still very much a WIP (work in progress, in case you're not hip to internet speak - which I most definitely am not and have to rely on my crossword puzzle solving skills or, more often than not, Google, to try and understand some forum thread abbreviation). So bear with me. If, for instance, you click on one of the above tabs you will find...absolutely nothing. But you will quite soon. And, being a WIP, anything you see right now is subject to change.

In the meantime, I'll still be here, administering hot cups of tea and soothing words to all who may need them (and pimping my work, of course).

So, in short, pardon my appearance.

The Impressionists #6 - WYWH

2011-07-30T13:56:00.000-07:00

Here's sixth and final extract from my new short story collection The Impressionists. In this one, Eileen, a reclusive, middle-aged divorcee still haunted by the loss of her son, discovers a new life in the virtual world.

WYWH

I have presence…can you tell? Can’t you feel it oozing out of my every pore?

No, probably not. That’s because I don’t – not in that sense, in the charismatic sense. Never did, really; not in 55 years. Just ordinary, I suppose. Always have been. No one you’d notice…in particular. But, I do have a presence. A web presence, that is. There’s another me floating around out there in the cosmos. It’s a new and improved me that no one can see, they can only sense. It’s another life and it’s ever so much fun.

My name’s “Misti”…with an “I.” That’s to say, that’s my alternative me’s name, not the real me’s name – my name. I wanted something with a bit of mystery to it, a bit of the unknown. And a touch of the poetic – a bit more poetic than “Eileen,” at any rate.

And all right, yes, if I were being honest, maybe just a hint of the young and sexy, too. Well, why shouldn’t I? It’s a new me, I made it up – I can make it whatever I want it to be. Who’s to know? No diets, no plastic surgeons, just re-label yourself and change a “Y” to an “I” and 30 years of your life can just disappear in an instant. It’s a modern-day miracle!

Sam’s the one who got me into all this. Sam’s my nephew. He’s a big whiz in the computer industry from what he tells me. Does all sorts of programming and coding and…whatever else it is they do. He’s one of the best, from all accounts. Anyway, he’s the one that pushed me online, as it were. He said I needed “modernizing,” which I had a good laugh over. “Sam,” I said, “I’m a woman on the threshold of old age, not a 1970s prefab kitchen – there’s not a lot you can do to change me at this stage in the game.” “You’d be surprised,” he said. And I was. Mind you, I will admit there were a few scenes and tantrums and one or two panic attacks along the way – not to mention the day I broke down in tears, sobbing that if I couldn’t even set the toaster right to do dark brown instead of burned, how on earth was I going to communicate with 4 billion people across the globe, most of whom didn’t speak English? But I got there…eventually.

I mastered this beast…this magic box.

He’s a very patient boy, our Sam. And persistent. “You never come and visit, you don’t show up at family get-togethers, and you never call us, so maybe this way we can all get to hear from you a bit more often.” “Yes, Sam,” I said, “You have my word. From now on I’ll let my fingers do the talking.”
I do love him. He reminds me of my Billy in some ways. Or at least…how I imagine Billy would be if he were still here.

I have a boyfriend now – did I mention that already? Hard to imagine, isn’t it, me at my age, after all these years, back on the dating scene again. But I am and I do. His name’s “Rocky”…with a “Y". We’ve been seeing each other for almost six months now. Six months. That’s quite a long time – or it seems like it. Though I should add, we’ve never actually used the words “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” in any formal sense. It’s more of an unspoken thing, really. But he makes his intentions clear enough. Once he sent me an instant message with an emoticon of a very stiff, expressionless couple holding hands, and underneath it he’d written: “This is us.”

***

The Impressionists is also available at Amazon UK here.

The Impressionists #5 - Organ Failure

2011-07-25T17:33:00.000-07:00

This is an extract from the fifth story from The Impressionists. In this one, a woman in the viewing room of a funeral home addresses the body in the coffin before her. This is a very short one, hence the short extract. I hope you enjoy it.

Organ Failure

Well, well, just take a look at you…all scrubbed and polished and ready for inspection. I have to hand it to them, they really did a good job on you. Who could imagine seeing you now that such a short time ago you were lying in a pool of your own vomit, your organs finally having decided to give up on you…just like everyone else.

Except me.

What did they stuff in your cheeks? Cotton, is it? Or some synthetic stuff? No, I think it’s cotton…the look, the feel of cotton. Cotton mouth – how ironic. Well, whatever it is, it’s a good look for you. You were always so gaunt and drawn, but now you look…well, quite lively. What a shame. Still, it’ll make for a good send off. And like they say, you never get a second chance to make a last impression.

I will miss you, you know that, don’t you? Despite all those years of being second-best to…well, just about everything really: the wife; later, the ex-wife; the job; probably the dog…and oh, let’s not forget the all-consuming, never-ending, neurotic bouts of introspection. If you’d been any more self-absorbed you’d have turned into a black hole. Just a small one, though. And last but not least, of course…the bottle. Though under the circumstance, I suppose that goes without saying. Yes, I think it’s fair to say the only thing in your entire life you ever committed yourself to fully and unreservedly was the bottle. And look how it’s thanked you.

***

The Impressionists is also available at Amazon UK here.

The Impressionists #4 - One Night Only

2011-07-13T20:05:00.000-07:00

Here's an extract from the fourth short story from The Impressionists. This one is entitled "One Night Only." In it, Denny, a prisoner on death row in an Alabama State Penitentiary spends his final moments reviewing his career as a serial killer in an interview with himself.

One Night Only

Hey!...Hey!...HEY!

I know you can hear me. You’re not so good at pretending, either…I saw ya flinch on the last one.

How thick d’ya figure that glass is then? Thick enough to stop me? Probably. Not so thick as to stop my voice gettin through, though, is it? Your little jump gave that away.

Come to think of it, this place is probably more miked and wired than a fuckin TV studio. Mike’s everywhere, right? I bet even your name’s Mike. No wonder you jumped. Bet my voice was really loud, eh? Mike?

How about if I whisper? Is this better? Can you hear me now?

How about that, eh? All this just for me. The lights, the microphones…my very own little stage on which to give the performance of a lifetime.

One night only, of course.

So, come on, ask me some questions. Go ahead, fire away...or should that be stab away? No...nothing? Cat got ya tongue? All right, I'll ask 'em for ya.

So, Denny, how exactly did you come to find yourself in your current circumstances?

Well, that’s a very good question and I’m very glad you asked it. You see, Mike…can I call you Mike?...thank you…the thing is, Mike, I killed some people, you see…quite a number of people, as a matter of fact, and, well, you see, these other people found it, uh…how shall I put it?...un-ac-cept-a-ble.

I see. That’s fascinating. And how many people did you kill, exactly?

Exactly? No one knows…except me. And I’m not telling.

Ten? Fifteen?

Sorry…that goes to the grave. Secret. We all have one or two we take with us, don’t we?

Yes, yes indeed. So tell me about the first time.

The first time, the first time, yes, yes, yes…well, well, well…the first time, yes, well, I’d been thinking about it, you see – about killing someone – for quite some time. Quite some time. Years, as a matter of fact. And then one day I just decided to do it, just because I could, and…because I wanted to know what it felt like, and because I had the ability and the intellectual curiosity, and because…well, I think it’s fairly safe to assume I was probably having a bad day.

But you knew it was wrong, Denny?

Wrong? What’s wrong? It’s only wrong if you choose to call it wrong. Same as right. Someone decides what’s called wrong and what’s called right. They just give it a name. They say that that’s wrong and that’s right, that’s yours and that’s mine. Doesn’t mean they’re right. It’s just a choice. Look at him in there – he’s about to kill me, and what’s more he’s being paid to do it by the same people who say what I did was wrong. So you tell me? And no one paid me. And I wouldn’t say he looks particularly bothered about it either, would you? Look at him, shuffling around in there like he had all day.

Hey!...Hey!...HEY! I DON”T HAVE ALL DAY!

The Impressionists #3 - A Small Act of Vandalism

2011-07-01T17:45:00.000-07:00

And here is the third extract of my new short story collection, The Impressionists. This one is the most recently written and I'll just let the sample speak for itself:

A Small Act of Vandalism

Malcolm, a gentle, middle-aged soul with a troubled mind, keeps his mother's remains sealed in a small porcelain box. What he keeps hidden among his memories, however, isn't so easily contained.

That’s Mother, that is. Hard to credit, really, but that's her – all squeezed into that tiny little porcelain box.

Well…not her in the strict sense, I suppose…just the bits and pieces of her left over from the cremation, you know. Sort of a dried and granulated version of her, if you will. A bit like instant coffee, you might say, only without the flavour. Not that I’ve…you know…I mean…good heavens.

That’s Wedgewood, by the way. Very expensive. Very expensive indeed. But worth it – worth every penny – ‘cause Mother was worth it. Weren’t you, Mother? She was. Worth every penny.

It’s glued shut, actually. The lid, that is. I glued it myself with superglue – I had to. Seems criminal, really, doing something like that to a beautiful piece of genuine Wedgewood bone china. I’m sure if the Wedgewood’s knew what I’d done they’d be all up in arms and fit to be tied. But it had to be done. Even so, I was riddled with guilt. As I squeezed the glue around the rim, I felt just like a vandal…like one of those yobs on the corner of Wentworth Street, with their saggy trousers and their big hoods with their nasty little eyes peering out…I felt just like one of them. But I had no choice. Not after the, um…well…the incident.

The thing is, I loved Mother, you see. I loved her ever so much. And when she passed on…well, I…it was, um…it was very hard. I missed her something terrible. Some days I’d…well, I won’t get into that now.

Anyway…some days…evenings…when I missed her most, I’d sit down and have a chat with her. Just me and her and a bottle of pale ale…having a chitchat. Well, I did most of the chatting. All of it, actually. But whatever I said, whatever I told her, I knew what she’d say in response, so it all made sense, you see. Anyway, I’d sit her down on the coffee table, take the lid off, open up a pale ale, light up a cigarette, and tell her all that was on my mind – just like before…before she…took her leave.

In retrospect, I’m not entirely sure why I took the lid off to begin with. I think I thought she could probably hear me better, if that makes sense. Which I don’t think it does. Perhaps it just made me feel a little closer to her. In any event, that’s what I would do.

But then, one evening…oh, about two or three months ago now, I suppose…I had…let’s just say, one of my “off days.” It had all become a little bit too much, you see. The images had returned. The final ones. You don’t forget those. I try very hard, you see, to…to banish them. But sometimes they come back. And that day…they’d come back.

At first I tried to hide it from her. I just chatted about this and that – general things, you know – like how I’d shrunk yet another cardigan in the wash, and that Mrs. Tottle at number twenty-three apparently had a new fancy man in her life, from what I could tell. But I knew. I knew that she knew. And I didn’t want to talk about it…think about it. So I’d keep talking, and pour another pale ale, and have another cigarette…and another pale ale, and another cigarette…and another, and another…and I suppose it all started to get a bit carried away, and all these feelings started bubbling up out of nowhere, and just as I was telling her how angry I was with her, I saw myself flick the ash from my cigarette into her little Wedgewood resting place instead of the ashtray!

I froze.

Even though the room was sort of spinning around me, I froze. I was horrified. Mortified. How could I have done such a thing? To my own Mother? It was the ultimate slap in the face. And what could I do? I couldn’t fish it out – it all looked the same. I could’ve scooped out the top part, I suppose…but some of that was Mother. I felt sick – sick to my stomach. But what could I do? What would you have done? I wanted to throw up. And then I went to the toilet and I did throw up. And I was glad I did, because afterwards I felt a bit better…a bit more…sensible. And I walked back into the living room, apologized to Mother very sincerely and without a scene, and vowed that the next morning I would seal the lid of her little Wedgewood tomb permanently and for all eternity – just like the ancient Pharaohs and Cleopatra, etcetera.

So yes, even though in most respects this is my Mother, I suppose that, strictly speaking, I would have to say that this is 99.8% my Mother…and a tiny little bit of Marlboro Light.

The Impressionists #2 - The Replica

2011-06-30T16:54:00.000-07:00

Here's the second excerpt from my soon to be released (perhaps as soon as tomorrow) short story collection, The Impressionists. This is from The Replica and concerns spousal abuse. A number of years ago I received an email from a woman in the UK asking if I could send her a copy of my short play Degraded to read. Degraded was one of several plays I wrote at the time in response to the invasion of Iraq. I used the analogy of a former abused wife in a halfway home who receives a visit from the Department of Social Services, who then proceeds to abuse and rape her, all the while telling her that he's come to help her and that it's all for her betterment.

The woman who had written to me was a former abused wife and had read the sample of Degraded and was interested in reading the complete play. I sent it to her, of course, but I also l took a big risk and sent her a copy of The Replica also. This was not an analogy of anything - simply a character study of an abused wife. I was extremely nervous as to what her reaction might be. After all, I had never been an abused spouse, I was a man, and the piece ends in a certain sort of gray area that I thought might open me up to criticism. But, to my great relief, she absolutely loved it and identified with it no end. She was confused how I could have written such a piece from an outsider's POV. But I have to say, The Replica and all of the stories in this collection were very heavily researched - the most, I think, I've done on any project bar one.

Anyway, here's a brief synopsis followed by the excerpt:

The Replica

An abused wife reflects on her past and deconstructs the emergence of the replica that now haunts her present.

When I got up this morning the first thing I did was use the bathroom, just as always. Afterwards, as I washed my hands in a liquid soap scented with chamomile, I happened to glance up…and there it was, ever so sheepishly looking back at me. I wasn’t shocked or surprised. It’s there every morning. Sometimes I look at it, sometimes I don’t. But it’s always there…there in the mirror…the replica.

I’m not exactly sure when I first started seeing it. It wasn’t as if it appeared overnight. It took shape gradually, over time. But I couldn’t tell you when it began. When I see it now it almost feels as though it’s always been there. But it hasn’t. That’s what makes it hard to look at.

I think the earliest I can recall it beginning to take shape was about four years after I’d married Karl. Nothing too pronounced at first; nothing to set off any alarm bells. Just a slight stiffening around the mouth, the eyes ever so slightly less…curious. It’s strange how these things creep up on you without you noticing. Until it’s too late, of course.

I married Karl in a fit of existential panic, and, like most decisions made in a state of panic, it wasn’t a particularly wise one. He was older and colder, and quite successful. He ran his heart, mind, and business with ruthless efficiency. Not to be outdone by anyone, his rivalrous nature sought supremacy in all things – all but a popularity contest, that is, shrewd enough as he was to know that that was one battle he had no hope of winning. The very fact that he didn’t give a damn what those around him thought of him made him doubly despicable to those who were unfortunate enough to have the pleasure – including most of my family. Unburdened by the need to please, he was free to treat people in whatever way would best achieve his goals, however callous the method.

Why, then, would I have married such an autocratic bully, I hear you ask. Ah, but that’s a trick question, you see – because I didn’t. Not the person you see now. Not the one I can barely stand to look at anymore. No…it was a very different person that married Karl, as she wandered through the woods with her little basket on her way to granny’s house.

She was…well, she was many things, but most of all she was lonely. Lonely and unloved. Yes, I know, I can almost hear the strains of a violin in the background myself, adding its cloying accompaniment to those hackneyed words. How pathetic it sounds now – especially now. And how ironic that the emptiness I felt then took me firmly by the hand and led me to this hollow place I now dwell in.

Back then, she was the middle child of middle-class parents with middling expectations of her. They loved her, I suppose, as best they could. But in truth, they were both so busy resenting each other there was very little emotion left to go around. Rather than their child, she sometimes felt they regarded her as an all too real and unwelcome reminder of a time when they were once intimate.

Nevertheless, despite their indifference, she’d decided she was destined for greatness and before long would be celebrated and adored the world over – as a novelist. First a bachelors in English at a prestigious university, followed by her masters, then on to a hectic life of publisher's deadlines, endless book tours, interviews, children, more deadlines, more interviews, more children, holidays in far-flung corners of the earth in order to reclaim her sanity, then back to more of the same, and so on.

When she met Karl she fell for him in an instant. Not because of anything he said or did – though he could be very charming when he wanted. No, it was his face that sealed her fate. It wasn’t particularly attractive or handsome – not by accepted standards. But it almost broke her heart to look at it. It was so pitiful and forlorn – despairing, even. He had the sort of features that gave one the impression he was perpetually on the verge of tears. How could she resist? She wanted to make it all better.

Ah, the treachery of images.

She wasn’t accepted into any of the colleges and universities she’d applied to, but higher education or no, she was determined that she would be a writer. Six months later, she’d completed her first novel and felt a level of pride and self-fulfilment that she’d never imagined possible. After a flurry of rejection slips from all the publishers and agents she’d sent it out to, she felt decidedly less so. Still, unbowed, she continued to write, pouring her thoughts and feelings into her little worlds of love and longing.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in great pain as Karl enters me from behind using a mouthful of spit and a great deal of force. Sometimes I have to bite the pillow to stop myself from crying out as he thrusts into me with increasing fury, muttering insults and abuse under his breath as he does so. It’s not directed at me, I don’t believe. It’s directed at whoever he’s imagining me to be at the time. I often wonder if it’s always the same person or if it’s someone new each time. Once, just as he was coming, I distinctly heard him say, “Fuck you, Cohen, fuck you!” I wondered if it was the same Cohen I thought it was.

The Impressionists - Big Girl

2011-06-24T17:32:00.000-07:00

As I've mentioned before, I'm currently working on putting together a new collection of first person short stories, entitled "The Impressionists." Each story juxtaposes an individual's public face with their private turmoil. I thought it might be nice to preview each of the six stories here on my blog as I'm preparing it for publication, so I'm beginning today with a sample from "Big Girl." It's the thoughts of an overweight young woman, named Peggy, appraising her recently purchased self-help book, “The Bigger the Better.” This is a relatively long sample; others may be shorter.

Please excuse the line breaks. Since tabs aren't an option here (that I know of) it seemed the best alternative.

I hope you'll enjoy it.

PEGGY

I weigh 276 pounds and I love every single God-given one of them!

I don’t, actually. Not if I were being honest. But that’s what you’re supposed to repeat, according to the instructions in the book.

It’s called, “The Bigger the Better.” Written by…oh…isn’t that odd. I can’t recall her name. Ordinarily, I could quote you from here to eternity on just about anyone, but at this precise moment I’m drawing a complete blank on the author. An American, I think. Oh well…

It’s meant to empower you, apparently – repeating this mantra. They suggest standing completely naked in front of a full-length mirror under overhead lighting and repeating at least twenty times before going to bed, “I weigh 276 pounds and I love every single God-given one of them.” Not that it says “276” of course. It just leaves a blank space for you to plop in whatever it is you’re lugging around. Then you’re supposed to wake up the next morning feeling completely at peace with your physical being and the world in which it moves…or lumbers…or words to that effect. Whatever the case, it’s not working. I’m not sure if it’s because I hate my body or because I don’t believe in God…though I suspect the latter. At any rate, I’ve a feeling I was had.

As Nietzsche so adroitly put it, “Does wisdom perhaps appear on the earth as a raven which is inspired by the smell of carrion?”

Perhaps yes, perhaps no. But I did buy the book.

Maybe I’ll write a book someday. I’d title it: “How to Hate Your Bloated Carcass, Yet Still Continue to Enjoy a Relatively Happy, Healthy and Productive Life…Barring One or Two Exceptions…Especially When Sitting Alone on a Saturday Night with a Bottle of Vodka and a Bellyful of Bile.” Or something like that.

I think I’d need an editor.

I’ve always been big. I was born big. I was a big baby. Still am in some respects. In fact, one of the earliest memories I have is of my Aunt Nester staring down at me, her thin lips contorted into a forced expression of adoration, saying to my mother, “My word, you’ve got a big girl there, haven’t you, Georgie.”

She’s dead now. Not my mother – my Aunt Nester. A severe stroke whilst pruning her beloved roses in her front garden. She fell into them face first, the thorns of her pride and joy gashing open her wizened face in her moment of need. They did a good job, though – at the mortuary, that is. She looked quite regal, all dished up and served before us, there in her casket. I stared hard at her face but I couldn’t see even the trace of a scar. Mum fell apart. Sadly, all I felt was a slight twinge of guilt as I contorted my not-so-thin lips into a forced expression of loss.

And so it goes.

I think self-hatred is vastly underrated, don’t you? I mean, everyone seems to have such a negative view of it. But if you really think about it, it makes life so much easier in so many ways. For a start, you don’t have to bother giving yourself all those tiresome confidence-building pep talks inside your head every time you look in the mirror or step outside the front door. You can simply hate what you see before you, shrug your shoulders and get on with your business. And if someone insults you or shoots you a disdainful glare, it doesn’t sting or chip away at your delicately crafted shell of self-confidence – it just lands harmlessly in that boggy pit of everything you already despise and fizzles out with barely a flicker. You don’t wrestle with it, you just absorb it. It can save an awful lot of time in this fast-paced world of ours. Think about it.

“It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see.” That’s according to Henry David Thoreau, and he’d have been quite surprised at what people see had he been me. When you’re the size I am you become an object, a thing – not a person. People who might, in any other circumstances, be perfectly polite and well-mannered, somehow feel entirely comfortable staring at me in the most blatant, obvious way. They don’t see me, of course, they see a mass – a misshapen mass; never imagining for a moment that there might be someone living inside it…looking back. I become an object of curiosity. They look away self-consciously when a person in a wheelchair approaches, but with me it’s open season. Some simply gawp, slack jawed. Others eye me more studiously, as if taking mental notes on the nature of this strange, deformed specimen they’ve just stumbled upon. Others, as I said before, spit looks of disdain or disgust, as if I were the living embodiment of the sins of overindulgence, and should, at my earliest opportunity, carve off large chunks of my flesh and mail them to malnourished children in developing countries.

Wonder what I’d taste like? Sweet and sour is my guess. Probably go down a treat with some white rice and a Tsingtao. I could be big in China without even going there. Well, bits of me would be there, I suppose. And as Confucius so discouragingly pointed out, “No matter where you go, there you are.”

The One-Eyed Guru - Live!

2011-06-20T16:57:00.000-07:00

My mystery novelette The One-Eyed Guru is now live and on sale in Amazon's Kindle store in both the US and the UK (and Germany, should you happen to reside there), as well as Barnes & Noble's Nook Books.

I'm hoping it does well and that people will enjoy reading it. It's around 30 printed pages (were it made from dead trees) so I think it could be a great quick summer read for the beach or relaxing in the garden. I'm doing a giveaway for it on LibraryThing, which is a great way to get a book out there, as well as test reader interest in what you're offering. My only concern is that the cover doesn't scare people off - I've been told it looks kind of creepy - which I guess it is. But I like the artwork and I think it certainly gets your attention, which is half the battle in marketing. And anyway, there is a creepy element to the story, so it's not out of place in that sense.

Next up is my collection of first person short stories entitled The Impressionists. I'm excited to get that out, too, as some of those pieces are some of my favourite things I've written.

Which reminds me...back to work....

“The Craft” at Riverside Studios, London

2011-06-17T10:26:00.000-07:00

I was happily surprised to receive a call from one of the Artistic Directors at In Company Theatre in London, letting me know that my short play “The Craft” has been selected for this year’s Off Cut festival at Riverside Studios. A total of 28 short plays will be performed during a three week run at the end of September and beginning of October. For the first two weeks the audience gets to vote on their favourite of the evening, and all of the finalists are voted on again during the third week. At the final performance, a panel of industry professionals, chaired by the National Theatre’s Writer-in-Residence, Moira Buffini, will choose the winners of the Playwright, Director and Company of Actors Awards.

This is a very popular event (formerly held at The Old Red Lion, where the 2009 and 2010 festivals were its most successful productions ever) and great exposure for all involved.

And since Hammersmith is a former stomping ground of mine, it’ll sort of feel like a homecoming.

Nice!

Coming Soon!

2011-06-11T08:39:00.000-07:00

My new mystery novelette The One-Eyed Guru is finally ready for primetime. I was originally going to label it a short story. However, I've since learned that a work the length of The One-Eyed Guru is technically a novelette. At first I was hesitant to call it that, as I imagined many readers wouldn't be familiar with the term. But I've decided that even if they aren't, anything using the suffix "ette" denotes something that is diminutive, so there shouldn't be a problem. I was also wary of calling it a short story because these can be as short as 1,000 words, and I didn't want someone dismissing looking into the book further if they thought it was really short and not worth spending a buck on. (Guru is around 8,000 words, by the way.)

So a novelette it is. A mystery novelette. It should go live on Amazon in the next day or two. Sales for The End of the World have been picking up lately, so I'm hoping that if The One-Eyed Guru does well, it'll give it an additional lift.

Bon voyage, Guru!

Curtains

2011-06-04T22:36:00.000-07:00

Today, sadly, is the last night of "Suburban Redux" in St. Paul, in its U.S. premiere by those lovely people at Gadfly Productions. I can honestly say, I've never had such a wonderful relationship with a theatre company as I've had with Immanuel and Cassandra at Gadfly...and all of it online.

They are such good-hearted, driven people with a passion and love for that dying, yet ever-lasting art known as theatre. I am so grateful that our paths crossed. I hope they know how special they are.

From all accounts, it's been a great run, a terrific response to the play, and a very good time had by all. What more could you ask for?

So to all my friends at Gadfly Productions - Peace, Love, and Equality.

Andrew

And They're Off!

2011-05-26T17:18:00.000-07:00

Tonight is the official opening night of the U.S. premiere of Suburban Redux and I just hope that everyone breaks legs and has a thoroughly good time. As my very clever and talented friends at Gadfly Theatre Productions so eloquently put it, "Get Ready for Throwbacks to Wildean Humor, Confused Mid-Twenty Somethings, and Mrs. Pennington South."

And most of all, I hope the audience has a fantastic time. After all, that's who all of us involved are doing it for.

Break a leg, everyone!

Coming Soon...

2011-05-25T18:10:00.000-07:00

Well, soon-ish. The end is finally in sight for the completion of my short story The One-Eyed Guru. To be honest, it's been a lot more work than I imagined when I began it, but I think it will have all paid off in the end. Talking of ends, I'm now just tweaking and toying with the ending. As always, endings are so critical. Someone can read something you've written and thoroughly enjoy it all the way to the last few pages, but if you blow the denouement then they walk away less than satisfied.

On a separate and entirely unrelated note, I was horrified to learn yesterday of Denmark's plan to ban Marmite - apparently because it's fortified with added vitamins! Who doesn't love added vitamins? I can't get enough of them to help prop up my generally poor intake of all that's good for me. And if you're not familiar with Marmite, it's a yeast extract spread that people tend to either love or hate, but if you love it, having some spread on hot buttered toast with a nice cup of tea is next to nirvana. I'm not quite sure how the rest of the world should respond to this, though I expect tactical airstrikes are out of the question. But if there's anyone in Denmark reading this and having Marmite withdrawal symptoms, I'll be happy to airlift you an emergency supply.

I just realized I've spent more time talking about Marmite than my upcoming ebook. You see its power?

Suburban Redux

2011-05-20T09:44:00.000-07:00

Gadfly Theatre Productions in Minneapolis-St. Paul, is presenting the U.S. premiere of my comedy of mores and manners, Suburban Redux, beginning May 26th at the Lowry Lab Theater in St. Paul. Gadfly Theatre Productions is a professional, non-profit theatre and arts organization promoting socioeconomic justice, individuality, and equality for all. Suburban Redux will complete the young company's inaugural season. The play will run until June 5th and details can be found here.

Gadfly are a terrific group of people and you can check out production photos, outtakes and more (along with their very witty introductions to all of the play’s characters) on their Facebook page here.

Please note: If indeed the world does come to an end on Saturday, as many have predicted, the play’s U.S. premiere will be delayed until further notice.

The Treachery of Images

2011-05-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

I am very happy to report back that the reading of "The Treachery of Images" in New York went better than I could have hoped for. The actors, Randy Noojin and Amanda Ladd, under the sensitive direction of Marisa Viola, gave brave, fearless performances in a play that asks much of them emotionally. Their willingness to give such raw, emotionally honest performances was quite humbling and I am so grateful to them. The audience seemed very absorbed and moved by the play, and their comments in the Q&A after the reading were all very positive and insightful. Though the play is quite harsh and emotionally raw, the word I heard used most frequently afterwards was "cathartic" - just as I'd hoped.

My other concern for this play was its length. On paper it comes in at just over 50 pages, which concerned me, as it doesn't seem like a full evening of theatre by that count. But the nature of the play necessitates quite a number of silences and pauses, and I was hoping that these would translate to a more appropriate running time. Thankfully they did, and it came in at around 75 minutes. In fact, I heard several people mention that the play ended at just the right time, and I agree. The intensity level of the play would be hard for an audience to bear for much longer than its current running time.

It's a play about, grief, loss, coping and forgiveness, and of the very different ways we process pain. Above all, it's an examination of the basic instinct to survive, and that despite surface appearances, not everything is always as it seems.

I'm so grateful to Heiress Productions for giving me the opportunity to see this play come to life. All of the people involved in the company were so very kind and welcoming and they gave me one of the nicest experiences I've ever had as a playwright.

My heartfelt thanks to all of them.

Comma Gain?

2011-05-04T21:30:00.000-07:00

I posted this a while back, but it just came back to my attention again, and I love it so much, so I thought it was worth re-posting in this increasingly comma-less world:

Unresolved ambiguity

The Times once published an unintentionally humorous description of a Peter Ustinov documentary, noting that "highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector".

Hope that brightened your day!

Meanwhile, Back in Theatreland...

2011-05-01T10:01:00.000-07:00

All of the work I've been putting into publishing and marketing The End of the World these last few weeks has taken my focus off of my plays, which have been quite active of late. This week my one-act Carbon-Based Life Form Seeks Similar opened in New York as part of the Curan Repertory Company's Notes From The Underground festival. I received a lovely email from the director this week, telling my what a fantastic experience it's been for her and the actors to work on the play, which was very gratifying to hear. I wanted to get up there and see it myself, but at such short notice (the run ends today) it just hasn't been feasible, which is a great shame.

I will be in New York this coming Thursday, however, for the reading of my full-length play The Treachery of Images. It's being given a reading by Heiress Productions, a great company that donates money from all of their productions to various cancer charities. The play was selected by Heiress as a winner in their 2010 Playwriting Competition. From everything the director has been telling me, I've a feeling this is going to be a very intense and memorable evening. The play is very raw and emotionally honest, and if done right has the potential to be a very affecting piece of drama. In it, a husband and wife are dealing with the loss of their daughter, who was brutally raped and murdered. While the wife has withdrawn into a deadened world of anger and bitterness, her husband has taken the unusual step of forgiving his child's killer. This is their night of reckoning.

I'll report back on how it goes. Am I nervous? You bet.

Guest Interview

2011-04-21T18:10:00.000-07:00

This coming Saturday, April 23rd, I will be a guest on Babs World of Book Reviews, so if you're interested, head on over to her terrific book review blog and take a look. And in case you need an additional incentive (but why on earth would you?), I'll also be doing a book giveaway of The End of the World.

Babs gave The End of the World a lovely review on her site last week and it's been a real pleasure getting to know her a little, as she's a terrific person who truly loves books.

Marketing Mania!

2011-04-14T18:03:00.000-07:00

All of my time seems to be taken up at the moment by marketing my book. I never knew how much effort it would take. Actually, I suppose I should say, I never knew could much effort it could take, as no one has a gun to my head. But having adapted it and gone through the whole process of making it available, it would be silly to let it just sit there gathering e-dust. So I've been researching and nosing around all over the place to find out the most successful ways to get your book noticed. It's hard! Still, I've always loved a challenge, and until the fire in me turns to apathy I'll be doing all I can. If I find out anything that I think others may not be aware of, I'll be sure to post it.

I just did a revamp of my book's cover. I think it's a bit more impacting now, and despite what adages tell us, we all fall victim to judging a book...

I'm just now waiting for my Smashwords edition to be approved, so that should help. I read a lot of posts on Kindleboards of people despairing of no sales despite gargantuan efforts of all kinds, so I'm wondering if luck plays a part. I also read that it can take months, perhaps even a year or more for your book to find traction.

Of course, I'm also aware that my book isn't mainstream genre fiction, so that will surely limit its commercial appeal to some degree. But I think there's still an audience out there for it, and I will track them and find them if it's the last thing I do!

And now for a joke: A woman walks into a bar and asks for a double entendre. So the barman gives her one.

Is that old? I just heard it recently and liked it.

The One-Eyed Guru

2011-04-08T20:12:00.000-07:00

I've decided that my next project will be to adapt my one-act play The One-Eyed Guru into a short story. Generally, my writing tends to fall into one of two camps: a heightened reality/absurdist style or straightforward realism/naturalism. I didn't decide this...it's just how I write. The One-Eyed Guru was, at the time that I wrote it, the most naturalistic play I'd written up until that point, which was still very early in my writing career. I have no idea where the idea for the story came from, but it appeared in my head one day and I wrote it all out. For whatever reason, I never really pushed that play in any marketing sense, though its had several productions and still generates interest from visitors to my website. But I've never really given it the attention that I honestly think it deserves.

Part of that is the onset of the "anything longer than 10-Minutes will not be accepted" trend in one-act festivals that has taken place over the past decade. But, honestly, part of it is my own negligence of that play.

Looking at it now, I realise that it would make a very good candidate for a quick, interesting short story, so that is what I shall do. Roughly ten years after the fact, this play will now get my undivided attention. Currently it runs at about 30 pages (in play script format), though I have no idea how long it'll end up when I've adapted it. So much disappears, so much is added.

By the way, in case you're wondering if I'm looking to adapt most of the 40 or so plays I've written into novel form at some juncture, that's not going to happen. Most of them simply aren't viable possibilities due to the way they're written. But I think that this one is. And I admit there are one or two more that might fit the bill. But that's it. Right now, I've discovered a new way of reinterpreting some of my plays and I'm loving the challenge. It's uncharted territory for me and I'm enjoying the process and experience immensely. Perhaps sometime I'll write a novel from scratch. I'd certainly like to be able to do that. But the truth is, my heart has always been and always will be with the theatre.

In the meantime, I'll continue interloping.

A Book Bind

2011-04-07T14:46:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned before, I’ve been formatting The End of the World through CreateSpace (an Amazon company) to create a paperback version to sell alongside the Kindle edition. I’m just going over my second proof copy now, and I have to say they do a pretty fine job. It’s also quite simple now that they provide templates that you can simply insert your body text into, and their cover creator is very easy to work with. It’s somewhat limited in terms of font options and things like that, but they provide enough styles that it’s not difficult to find and modify one of them into something you like. My only problem is that the length of my book (about 96 pages in this format) means I can’t use spine text (meaning, for instance, it could never be sold in a bricks and mortar store…those that are still left, sadly). Actually, I could add spine text, but they don’t recommend it for books of fewer than 130 pages or so, as the accuracy in getting the spine text exactly centered on such a narrow area can’t be guaranteed. I took their advice and decided not to as I didn't want to risk having a naff-looking project. So I am…uh, yes…spineless.

Also, here’s a tip for anyone who publishes their work through KDP that they may not be aware of. When I was initially publishing The End of the World, I was getting horribly frustrated by the fact that the chapter titles would sit directly on top of the beginning of the first paragraph, with no space in-between. This also went for any other page that I had separate lines of information on. The problem arises from the fact that the process that converts your document into the Kindle format does not recognize empty (white space) lines. However, I finally figured out that if I went to the paragraph option in the format tab in Word and widened the line spacing for the title, I could adjust the gap between the title and the first paragraph to my liking. The Kindle process keeps the gap in place because it’s reading a line spacing, not an empty line.

All good fun…when my blood pressure returned to normal, that is.

The End of the World Reviews

2011-03-30T18:52:00.000-07:00

I’ve received a very nice review for The End of the World from the terrific folks at the Literary R and R blog, and a five star review on Amazon from the immensely gifted, award-winning British writer Helen Smith, along with a wonderful piece about the book on her blog.

It’s quite nerve-wracking to open your work up for critique, and even after all these years of having my plays produced and reviewed, it still doesn’t get much easier. But this was very welcome news and I’m quite thrilled by the response so far.

It’s also a rather odd feeling presenting myself as the writer of a book. I feel like something of an interloper. I’ve written so many plays over the last decade and have been fortunate enough to have had almost all of them produced at some point, but the literary world is a very different place, and I’m a newbie in that arena. Actually, I kind of like it. Just as I liked adapting the play into a book. It’s a new challenge that takes me out of my comfort zone, which is always healthy.

I have another play of mine that I’m also considering adapting. It’s a one-act and would translate into a short story, but I’ve a feeling it could work. This one’s far more naturalistic in style than The End of the World.

And then the big question – do I attempt to write a novel from scratch? Gulp!

Anyway, do check out Helen’s books at her blog – she’s an amazingly talented writer. I’ve only read Alison Wonderland to date, but it’s a must read that more than deserves all of the acclaim its received. The others are next on my must read list. She’s also made some free podcasts, which are also available on her blog. If you’ve ever wanted a behind the scenes peek into the process of writing a book you have to check them out.

P.S: Talking of reviews, if you’ve been following the Jacqueline Howett saga, you may interested (horrified) that it’s even made The Guardian Book Blog today. Blimey!

The End of the World Report

2011-03-23T17:58:00.000-07:00

Sales for the Kindle edition of ‘The End of the World’ have gone through the roof, so I’ve decided to capitalize on this phenomenal response by creating a hard copy version of the book. Okay, maybe my sales figures are exaggerated a little (read: lot), but it’ll take time to get it moving, so I’m not too concerned, and I already have two literary blogs that have agreed to review the book, so if the response is good that should help a little.

Meanwhile I’ve been busy with Amazon’s Create Space company, fine tuning the hard copy. It’s with them now, pending their review process. It’s been a lot of work (much more than the Kindle version) but hopefully it’ll be worth it. I’ll let you know!

The End of the World Is Here!

2011-03-15T17:17:00.000-07:00

Yes, that’s right. After a few not entirely unexpected formatting problems in the conversion process, I have now published the Kindle edition of my new short novel The End of the World, adapted from my play of the same name. It’s now live on the Amazon site, ready to download to your Kindle device or app, by clicking here in the U.S. or here in the U.K.

It’s about 27,000 words in length (the equivalent of around 104 pages if translated into paperback book form) and costs a paltry 99 cents (about 62 pence), so it’s a very inexpensive and (hopefully) entertaining read.

By yours now while stocks last! :)

The Treachery of Images

2011-03-12T19:09:00.000-08:00

I was very pleased to discover that my full-length play ‘The Treachery of Images’ has been selected as one of three winners in Heiress Productions’ 2010 Playwriting Competition. As a result, the play will receive a staged reading in New York in May or June this year (exact date to be confirmed).

This is very gratifying, as this play was one of the most difficult plays I’ve written. The subject matter (a husband and wife dealing with aftermath of the rape and murder of their daughter) meant that I had to immerse myself in a very dark, painful place every time I went to work on it. There’s a lot of emotional sweat equity of mine in that play – if that makes sense?

The other gratifying aspect to this is that Heiress Productions is a truly unique and eminently admirable company. A not-for-profit theatre production company that raises awareness and funds for cancer organizations, they partner with one cancer organization for each production and donate a portion of the proceeds to their charitable cause.

It feels good to have had ‘The Treachery of Images’ chosen as a winner in their competition, but all the more rewarding for having it involved with such a worthy organization.

I’m looking forward to the reading, though I know I’ll probably be nervous wreck on the actual night.

In other news, don’t forget – the End of the World is almost upon us!

The End of the World is Nigh!

2011-03-11T18:13:00.000-08:00

Yes it is. My so-called ‘secret writing project’ is just about complete. The reason I’ve been keeping it under wraps from almost everyone I know is because I wasn’t sure it would work. But I think it has and it’s now time for me to push it out into the world.

I have written my first novel. A short novel (about 27,000 words). More precisely – and this is why I thought it a little tricky – I have adapted one of my plays into a novel. Yes, strange indeed, as it’s the wrong way around. Novels are adapted into plays, but virtually never the reverse. However, I had strong feeling several months ago that this particular play could possibly work quite well as a novel. Encouraged by my e-friend, the excellent writer Helen Smith, I took the plunge and went to work.

This was like learning a whole new language for me, as the mediums are very different in their execution. However, after a lot of research and a leap of faith I began the process. And I have to say I enjoyed it greatly. I do like writing prose (as evidenced in the number of lengthy stand-alone monologues I’ve written for the stage) and having the freedom to delve into the corners of the story in ways that you simply can’t in a play was wonderful. I suppose the next step would be to write a novel from scratch, but that still intimidates me at the moment, if I were being completely honest.

Anyway, as I said it’s just about ready for primetime and I will be publishing it as a Kindle edition in the next day or two (providing I don’t get derailed by formatting issues).

Oh, I almost forgot to mention the title. It’s called ‘The End of the World’ (based on my play of the same name).

I’ll be pricing it at a whopping 99 cents, so start saving your pennies now!

A Brief Overview

2011-03-05T12:05:00.000-08:00

I was very pleased to learn this week that my one-act play ‘Carbon-Based Life Form Seeks Similar’ had been selected for this year’s Notes From The Underground festival, produced by New York’s Curan Repertory Company.

I had another play of mine (‘Public Relations’) in the same festival a couple of years ago, and everyone at Curan Rep, especially Artistic Director Ken Terrell, was great to work with. ‘Carbon-Based Life Form Seeks Similar’ is essentially a brief meditation on the question of whether it’s still possible to be loved for who you are, or if ‘being yourself’ has become something of a liability in the digital age.

On a related note, there are many days I need reminding that I’m actually made of skin cells, not pixels. I’m convinced it won’t be long before official forms ask you to fill out your age, height, weight, and dpi.

(I'm 72 dpi on a good day, by the way, though after Christmas and times like that...forget about it!)

I was also happy to learn this week that my one-act play ‘The Skewed Picture’ was selected by the Hovey Players, in Waltham, Massachusetts, for their Summer Shorts Play Festival. This little play seems to be taking on a life of its own, and would appear to bode well for the longtime prospects of my one-act anthology ‘The Meta Plays’, from which it is taken.

All good news, and especially welcome coming on the heels, as it did, of my being laid low with a quick but nasty bout of the flu last weekend. So much for this year’s flu shot. I got a dose of it after I got the shot, and now this episode. Frankly, I’m beginning to wonder if my shot wasn’t watered down in some black market conspiracy, à la Orson Welles in ‘The Third Man’.

Which brings me back full circle, as if I were viewed from the top of a Ferris wheel, I would indeed be one of those dots he speaks of.

No Peeking?

2011-02-13T10:04:00.000-08:00

There’s a very good post on The Guardian’s Theatre Blog by Matt Trueman, defending the existence of the theatre preview. His post was a response to Alistair Smith’s recent post which posited the notion that the theatre preview was no longer necessary, as it no longer benefited audiences (since preview tickets now cost almost as much – and in some cases the same as – regular priced tickets), or producers, since theatre bloggers are often posting reviews of the shows after seeing a preview, thus no longer protecting the producers from negative buzz before opening night.

What Mr. Smith’s post, much of which I actually agreed with, missed was the artistic necessity of the preview period – something which Mr. Trueman expounded upon quite eloquently, summing up just about everything that makes the concept of the preview period vital to the artistic process of creating theatre. Note I said artistic, not commercial. That said, though, a show honed and tuned in previews should theoretically result in better reviews, and consequently bigger ticket sales.

At the end of his post he makes an impassioned plea for theatre bloggers to adhere to the same principals and codes of conduct as professional theatre critics by not reviewing previews (making an exception – quite rightly – in the case of Spiderman). I couldn’t agree more, of course, but I’m afraid in the internet age, where so many people are scrabbling for attention and lusting after “exclusives”, that’s unlikely to happen.

My advice – stick to the reviews of the critics you trust. And certainly never give credence to a review of a preview. Those are redundant before they’ve even been written. Except, of course, in the case of Spiderman, the producers of which have turned a “work in progress” into the product itself.

A Spark

2011-01-30T10:36:00.000-08:00

It is truly awe-inspiring to observe the events that are happening in North Africa right now. On December 17th last year, in Sidi Bouzid, a rural town in Tunisia, a street vendor named Tarek al-Tayyib Muhammad ibn Bouazizi was stripped of his means of making a living, beaten, and publicly humiliated by local municipal government officials for supposedly not having a license for his street cart. He went to the governor's office to file a complaint, but the governor refused to see him or hear his case. He then chose to set himself on fire in protest.

That one desperate act by an ordinary citizen in a rural community set in motion an ever-spiraling series of protests that would bring down the government of Tunisia that had been in power for 23 years, lead to protests in Khartoum and other cities in Sudan, and bring the 30 year old reign of Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak to the edge of the abyss.

That one spark of a match changed the course of history.

Indeed, one of the social networking sites that has been created by protesters in Sudan is called “The Spark.”

These are how great stories are told. As a writer, I find it incredibly inspiring to see how one small, seemingly insignificant event (in the world at large, at least) can snowball into something epic.

Fascinating.

‘Spider-Man: Turn Off the Life Support?’

2011-01-15T11:01:00.000-08:00

I’d promised myself several weeks ago that I’d refrain from commenting on the ongoing, seemingly never-ending ‘Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark’ saga. Like many other people, I’ve been rubbernecking the accident-prone, perpetually delayed fiasco that this show has become. It’s hard not to. After all, the story of this $65 million behemoth has become a theatrical event in itself. But ultimately, the show falls out of my sphere of existence, since it’s nothing I’d ever consider seeing, or even something I’d consider to be theatre come to that. But it’s now reached the point of lunacy, and has made me and lots of others quite disgusted.

After all of the accidents, all the departures, all of the delays and delays and delays, the producers have now decided to extend the preview performances to somewhere around mid-March…though take that with a pinch of salt. Frankly, I wouldn’t care that this show has broken all records for the longest number of preview performances for a Broadway show ever, but the fact that preview audience members are being asked to pay full-price admission ($140 to $275) for something that is still having its basic elements (script, lights, music, script, again) reworked and rehashed, not to mention the much publicized lack of a “big closing number” is just a rip-off. And now this situation will continue for another two months!

Preview performances, of course, are where the wrinkles are ironed out after rehearsals are done with. Preview performances are also lower priced than regular performances, since the attendee is not seeing the fully finished, polished final product. In fact, they’re helping to create it. As anyone involved in theatre knows, the transition from rehearsal to live audience can raise many unforeseen issues that need to be adjusted and tweaked before opening night. In the case of ‘Spider-Man’ though, the producers seem quite happy to charge exorbitant prices for what is essentially an on-going rehearsal process.

Look, lots of people enjoy (and many expect) a bit of spectacle when they go and see a Broadway show, and that’s fine, especially at those prices. But if this production has so much difficulty in pulling off all of its “ground-breaking” special effects and flying sequences, then why not just film the damn thing? The producers are calling it “action theatre.” To me it sounds more like Cirque du Soleil without the skill and training.

Naturally, I wish all of the hard-working actors and stage crew well in this venture. I certainly hope no more of them end up injured and hospitalized. But as for the people behind this high-tech lemon, I can’t help but think that that $65 million could have been put to far better use. Disaster relief, for instance. Or nestled snug and secure in my own personal bank account.

On a completely different and far more delightful note, there is a very interesting interview with Dame Harriet Walter in today’s Guardian, which I highly recommend reading. What an insightful and articulate person she is.

Among other things, she discusses how difficult it is to find well-rounded parts in the theatre for women of a certain age. This is something I’ve talked about here before, and vowed to do some thing about – and I will. But, there is a problematic element to this situation that anyone who isn’t a playwright may not understand. But that, as they used to say on 'Tales of the Riverbank', is another story. (Or blog post.)

[Insert Hackneyed End-of-Year Phrase Here]

2010-12-31T08:28:00.000-08:00

Well, here it is – my last post of 2010. It’s been my first full year of blogging and I must say I’ve quite enjoyed it. I’ve tried to blog reasonably regularly (roughly once a week or so), but also tried to avoid blogging just for the sake of it (i.e. when I really didn’t have anything of interest to report). Thanks to all of you that swing by regularly or infrequently to check in on my rambling, especially to my two wonderful followers below. I promise next year to make a bigger effort in networking on the blogosphere.

I read today that Harriet Walter has just been made a dame, which is fantastic. It’s rare for an actress who hasn’t had significant exposure in film or television to receive this honour, so this is also a win for theatre, in my opinion. I had the pleasure of meeting Harriet last year. We’d just seen her in the Broadway production of Mary Stuart (along with Janet McTeer) and were roaming the streets of New York looking for a place to eat late, when suddenly there she was up ahead, walking straight towards us. Of course, we stopped and chatted and congratulated her on her fantastic performance, and she was absolutely lovely. She said she found it rather odd that when in London she was rarely ever recognized, but whenever she visited New York she invariably was. Anyway, I’m very pleased for her. I also liked what she had to say about receiving the award. She said she had mixed feelings about it, as the voting system for them didn’t seem very fair, and that lots of people who should be getting similar recognition weren’t. But she said that she’d use hers in the defense of theatre (meaning, of course, against those axe-wielding yahoos in Whitehall that view the arts as…well, you know).

So onward we go. My new writing project is coming along very well – better than I expected, actually – and I have another couple of projects in the pipeline, so I’m going to be kept very busy in the coming weeks.

I hope the New Year will bring all good things to you, especially good health and happiness.

See you next year!

Prepare for Takeoff

2010-12-24T08:41:00.000-08:00

It’s that time of the year again, isn’t it? No, I don’t mean Christmas (or whatever it may be that you celebrate), which I love and look forward to with childlike anticipation every year. No. I’m referring to that end-of-the-year feeling, when you look back at the last twelve months through the artificial prism of the calendar year. Whether you want to or not, it’s almost impossible not to reflect upon the year that is just now approaching its end, and contemplate all of the highs and lows, achievements and disappointments that it contained. You recall how you felt back on that first day of January, with that odd mixture of hope and trepidation as you looked out ahead at those 52 weeks of yet-to-be-told stories.

For me, on balance, it’s been something of a difficult year. This, of course, is all relative, as had I been born in the Swat Valley or Mogadishu my perspective would entirely different. But in the context of my own little space on the planet, this year wasn’t “one for the books” as they say (at least, not in a good way). I say “on balance,” because it’s actually been a very productive year for me, playwriting-wise. But it was also a year of ‘ever so very nearly but just not quite’ experiences as a professional playwright, battling his way through this very tough business. There were simply too many potentially very big things that didn’t quite come to fruition, which is very frustrating to say the least. Large carrots dangled in front of me, only to be whipped away at the very last minute. Oddly enough, my astrological chart had predicted just such a year for me (I didn’t know this at the beginning of the year, thank goodness). I’m not big into that stuff, by the way, but I did find that interesting nevertheless.

But, as I’ve said many times before, a writer’s greatest asset is tenacity. If you can take the punches and keep coming back up (see my last blog entry), then sooner or later that pendulum will swing back around. So, I’m looking forward to the coming year as if it were another chapter in a book that is sometimes hard to read but impossible to put down.

Myself, I’m about to start work on a new writing project that I’m very excited about. More on that later.

In the meantime, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, and I hope that 2011 brings all good things. Bon voyage!

Battling Back!

2010-12-18T11:24:00.000-08:00

There’s a very interesting article in the New York Times today about a play that essentially flopped when it was produced Off-Broadway in 2006 (losing all of its $800,000 capitalization) but has since gone on to be one of the most produced plays in U.S. high schools this year, knocking Will Shakespeare off the top spot, as well as receiving a slew of productions around the world.

It’s an interesting story and you can read it here. There’s a lot of lessons in what works (or doesn’t) in certain markets, and proves that a play can have a very successful life of its own even after it’s been hammered by the critics. Of course, there’s nothing new in stating that what works in New York isn’t necessarily going to fly regionally and vice versa, but this particular example of a phoenix rising from the ashes is quite unique.

It also did not escape my attention that one of the reasons for its appeal regionally and in amateur and school/college markets is that it can be performed by a cast of as many as 19 or as little as 4. “The Meta Plays” has a similar calculation (18 or 4, I think), and even though there’s probably a little more adult content in some of the pieces, I doubt any of what little there is would be enough to prevent these markets producing it (not to mention that the occasional swear word here and there can easily be substituted for something more palatable for the easily offended). So, perhaps this play collection has the potential to take off around the world and make me embarrassingly wealthy…or at least awkwardly comfortable. (Though I’d really rather not get a hammering from the critics in the process, if at all possible.)

Anyway, it’s already piqued the interest of one of the big publishers, so that may not be as far-fetched as I make it sound. In the meantime, I’ll be putting my marketing hat back on and see if I can make 2011 the year of “The Meta Plays!”

The Craft

2010-12-01T11:18:00.000-08:00

I was very pleased to learn that my short play ‘The Craft’ has been selected as one of three finalists for the 14th annual National One-Act Play Competition at FirstStage, in Los Angeles. The finalists will be presented in staged readings at The Missing Piece Theatre next Monday.

This is a sort of homecoming for me, as FirstStage was indeed my first stage as a playwright. The very first time I ever saw actors on a stage performing something I’d written in front of actual living, breathing human beings was at FirstStage, almost 10 years ago now. A lot has changed since then, of course, not least of which is the fact that I now longer live in LA. But you always remember your first time, right? And oh, good grief, the fear, panic, nausea, and sheer frustration with myself for thinking that I could write something that people would actually find interesting or entertaining. I thought I’d be laughed out of the building. But they didn’t laugh. Well, they did…but in the right places.

Another good thing about this development is that ‘The Craft’ is one of ‘The Meta Plays’ collection that I just recently completed, so hopefully this bodes well for the entire project. In this one the actors are performing in a play within the play, but the words they speak are those of the inner dialogues they are having with themselves whilst performing – so from the audience’s perspective, it’s rather like being a fly on the wall in their minds. Neither of them can stand the other, and both are less than thrilled with the material they are working with…but on they go. It’s a little homage to those brave and fearless creatures who tread the boards, often under very challenging circumstances, and often with little or no compensation other than the opportunity to practice their craft.

"V" To Her Friends

2010-11-22T18:40:00.000-08:00

This past weekend I had the honour and privilege to witness a stage performance from our greatest living actress. I speak, of course, of Vanessa Redgrave, who is currently starring opposite James Earl Jones in the Broadway debut of Alfred Uhry’s ‘Driving Miss Daisy.’

I can’t say that I’m a huge admirer of the play itself. It has much to recommend it, of course, not least of which is the way in which it’s able to be quietly subversive in its social and racial politics while masquerading as something far more sentimental and homespun. That said, though, at the end of the day it isn’t the sort of play that stay’s with you for very long after you’ve seen it…at least, that’s how it is for me.

But the performances! Ah, they stay with me to this very moment. And I do say “they,” as James Earl Jones was truly wonderful in his role. But it was Vanessa Redgrave that bowled me over and had me transfixed by her every utterance and movement. I was like a little child who, after much fighting off of the urge to sleep, finally got to see Father Christmas appear in the room. I suppose, in truth, she could have been acting in just about anything and my sense of awe and admiration would’ve been the same. What is that strange something that only a very small few ever possess that make them seem almost otherworldly? She has it, but I have no idea what it is.

I read that in June of this year, she’d announced that she was taking a break from her acting career in order to spend more time with her family. It didn’t last very long…and I’m very glad.

It’s Not Me, It’s Me

2010-11-14T09:57:00.000-08:00

I would like to take issue with myself. There may be something schizophrenic in that, but I feel I must. It was something I said in my last post about “writerly isolation.” There is a clear implication in that – and one that was in my mind, no doubt, as I wrote it – that there is something lonely about the process of writing. I frequently read interviews with writers who talk about the loneliness of the writing process. It’s almost become an accepted truth that the act of creative writing is an inherently lonely occupation that writers must endure in order to do what they do; that it comes, as they say, with the territory.

However, after pondering awhile on this piece of supposed conventional wisdom, I have come to the conclusion that I wholeheartedly disagree. When I’m working on a play, I am engrossed in a story that is unfolding before my eyes. More importantly, I am in the company of characters who are as much taking me on a journey as I am them. Hours fly by with me hardly noticing them. I emerge for a while and realize it’s late, I haven’t eaten, and there’s nothing but crap left on the telly (though that last part isn’t necessarily time specific). Was I lonely? Absolutely not. I was boating up the Amazon under constant threat from marauding tribes of headshrinkers. Or I was crouched in a trench on the Somme with bullets whistling overhead as I wrote a letter home. (Okay, I haven’t written a play with either of those scenarios, but you get my point).

Now, had I spent those hours alone in front of the telly watching the aforementioned crap, there’s every possibility that loneliness may have become a significant component of my evening. But, when trying to figure out how I can prevent my character’s head being shrunk to the size of a tennis ball, solitude was nowhere in sight.

The Meta Plays

2010-11-14T08:17:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I finished a project I’ve been working on for some time now – ‘The Meta Plays’ – and what better feeling is there than when you’ve finished a writing project you’ve been toiling over long and hard for some considerable time, all in writerly isolation? Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say “toiling,” as these plays were all terrific fun to work on. Truthfully, I had a really great time writing them, as they allowed me to play in that absurdist fun park that occupies a certain portion of my brain. It’s essentially a collection of short plays that takes theatrical conventions on a metaphysical joyride (which is also essentially my logline for the play). One of them (’What’s the Meta?’) I’d actually written a couple of years ago, and already has a significant production history behind it and is published. However, the other seven are all new. One of them (‘The Skewed Picture’) is scheduled to go up in New York tomorrow, although the last I heard that could be postponed.

Anyway, it’s done and I’m now tasked with finding homes for them all, though preferably they’d all be produced together as a complete set. And, of course, I’m shopping it around to publishers, which is always a hard slog, but I think this collection has a lot of commercial potential, so I expect to find them all beating down my door any day now. Ahem.

Time to move on to something else now. But I do hope that somewhere within me there lies ‘The Meta Plays: Volume II.’ There might…or am I being a little…unreal?

A Delicate Balance

2010-11-01T18:00:00.000-07:00

I finally got to see this play this past weekend. It was a production at the Yale Repertory Theatre (and what a lovely theatre that is) in New Haven, Connecticut. I’d read the play for the first time earlier in the year and had moped and moaned on here about how infrequently this play is produced (or perhaps I was just being impatient, having just read it and wanting to see it now!).

It starred Kathleen Chalfant and a host of other extremely talented Albee alums, and they did a fantastic job. The interesting thing for me was that it left me with the exact same feeling I’d had after I’d read it; namely, that I was glad I’d seen (read) it, enjoyed (?) the experience, but was left feeling more than a little unnerved by it afterwards. Unsettled may be a better word. Unsettled in a place within you that you rarely if ever visit. And there’s a good reason you don’t.

If you ever get the chance to see a production of this most hard to describe play, I highly recommend you take advantage of the opportunity. You might hate me a little bit afterwards, but I’ll take the risk if you will.

Inspiration

2010-10-24T11:02:00.000-07:00

It can be an elusive thing to a writer. Sometimes painfully so. I’ve been fortunate of late, in that I haven’t had to struggle (beg, plead, make pacts with supreme beings whose very existence I seriously question) to find it. We’ve certainly had our ups and downs over the years, not to mention periods of downright estrangement. But somehow, sooner or later, we’ve always managed to reconnect and rediscover what it was that brought us together in the first place. Like a good friend, you sometimes may not see them for quite a while, but when you do, it’s just as it was before – and the time in between evaporates.

When inspiration is not around, however, it can be devilishly hard to seek it out. Of course, you can always sit and patiently wait in the hope that it shows up. Or you can try to cajole it out from wherever it’s hiding. I have a number of methods for doing this (besides the tantrum-like approaches mentioned above, which tend to be a last resort prior to a full-blown existential crisis).

Not a lot compares, however, to the inspirational journey my friend Aldo recently made: The Camino de Santiago. In case you’re not familiar with it (which I wasn’t before he decided to undertake it) the Camino de Santiago (or “The Way of St James” in English) is a series of pilgrimage routes in Northern Spain, all of which will eventually lead you to Finisterre, which, as you’d imagine, is “The End of the World.” It’s a long, rough, hard journey, with just a few hostels scattered along the route to provide you with some basic accommodation and sustenance before you set off once more. I can hardly imagine anything more inspirational and spiritually rewarding than undertaking such a trip – setting off on some dusty road with little more than the occasional painted arrow sign or scallop shell image to guide you along. No cell phones, no emails, no television or any of the seemingly endless distractions we’ve come to accept as normal life. What a powerful release of the mind that must be.

And so I ask myself, if I undertook such a trip, would I return with an expanded mind, full of inspiration and insight into the meaning of my own existence? And if so, how long before I slipped back, like a lazy recidivist, into my old ways, with all their cyber connections and petty life concerns?

No, I don’t think I’ll ponder that. I’d rather believe I’d come back a changed person. Not suddenly administering alms to the poor or anything. Just more centered. Yes, that’s nice.

So, well done, Aldo, my hat’s off to you…even if it is a little off-center.

Bad Drivers

2010-10-16T08:11:00.000-07:00

I currently have a play in production, put on by a great group of theatre practitioners based in the Northern Panhandle of West Virginia. Can I say that again? The Northern Panhandle of West Virginia. I don’t know why, but I really like the way that sounds. Anyway, I really wish I could get over there to see it, but at an almost six hour drive from here on highways that seem to be increasingly littered with lunatic drivers, I’d probably never survive the journey. Not to mention that I’m still recovering (in the nastiest way) from a bout of the flu (thanks to my trusty flu shot last week).

So here’s to all the terrific folks at the Independent Theatre Collective…in the Northern Panhandle of West Virginia…break legs, guys!

Rest in Peace

2010-10-03T10:12:00.000-07:00

I was very sad to hear of the passing of Tony Curtis last week. Another loss from an ever-dwindling pool of movie stars of the Golden Age. I was, however, further saddened when I read an interview with him from a few years back in which he lamented the fact that he’d not done the sort of important work he felt he should have during his career, and that he felt the studios had never given him his due in casting him in such films. I found this rather sad for a couple of reasons. Firstly, because it smacks of a certain sense of entitlement, which is an unappealing trait. I understand that he came from a time when the studios would groom, guide, and essentially have total control over your career, but I wonder how hard he really tried to get those weightier roles that he thought should have been his. Then, as now, big names still had to fight for certain roles, no matter how popular they were at the box office. If they weren’t considered right for the part they had to prove it. And so I couldn’t help wondering, as he looked back on his life with so much regret, how vigorously he actually went after those parts, and whether his own insecurities in his abilities had held him back in that regard.

I also felt it unfortunate that he could look back on a career like his and not find the pride and sense of accomplishment in what he had done, only the disappointment in what he hadn’t. “Sweet Smell of Success,’ ‘The Defiant Ones,’ ‘Spartacus,’ ‘The Great Race,’ and of course ‘Some Like it Hot’ are terrific films that any actor should be extremely proud to have been a part of.

Anyway, rest in peace, Tony Curtis…and thank you.

The System

2010-09-22T17:50:00.000-07:00

I read an interview with playwright Kate Fodor over on Adam Symkowicz’s blog, and in it she shared a quote about life as a writer from Cary Tennis, who is an advice columnist at Salon.com, oddly enough. Anyway, I thought it was terrific and thought I’d do my part to spread the good word:

“Remember that as a writer you must find your motivation internally, not in external rewards, and you work in opposition to the system, not as a supplicant to the system. Whatever contingent truces you have maintained with the system in order to participate in its orderly orgies of consumption and distribution, good for you. But you are not a part of the system. You are a free creative worker. You do not need the system to do your creating. You only need it as a utility to reach your audience, and increasingly not even for that. On the other hand, the system cannot create anything on its own. It can only manage and distribute. So it needs you. It needs you but it is not on your side. Remember that.”

Hella!

The Shock of the Neu!

2010-09-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

There’s been much talk in the theatre blogging community of late extolling the virtues of new forms of theatre, such as the one-on-one intimate performance piece (“You Me Bum Bum Train” at the Barbican and the “One-On-One Festival” at BAC are two good examples); site-specific theatre that has left the notion of the auditorium behind and pops up anywhere and everywhere that feels right (hotel rooms, empty buildings, public toilets, etc.); and theatre that emphasizes the “new” in terms of form and presentation over everything else.

This is all well and good. In fact, it’s great. Without innovation and experimentation we would find a hardening of the arteries that would lead to a deadening stagnation to the art form as a whole, and so a constant reexamination of what we do and how we do it helps to keep theatre fresh, relevant and alive. However, there appears to be a pervading sense of “out with the old, in with the new” amidst all this chatter, which makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it makes me want to roll my eyes. Is that because I find it more than a little naive to think that the concept of traditional theatre has become antiquated and redundant? Or is it because I sense an attitude of conceitedness among so many of these proponents of a new theatre world order?

Whatever it is, and despite my professed admiration of innovation expressed above, I know that so-called “traditional” theatre does not and will not ever need to be replaced. And that’s because the fundamentals are, quite frankly, irreplaceable. Rock and roll will always be based around drums, bass and guitar. Punk came along and did an amazing job of breathing new life into a music scene that had flatlined. But what was that music essentially based on? Drums, bass and guitar. More raw, more energetic, but in truth, more basic. A return to the basics of the genre. A simple stage, a couple of actors and a good story to tell are the fundamentals of theatre. They always will be. It’s extremely healthy to play with form and presentation, but content will trump concept every time.

If you don’t believe me, just stick around a few hundred years.

“There's villainous news abroad!"

2010-09-09T17:50:00.000-07:00

There is a well-known and respected theatre in London (which I shall refrain from naming) that has a stellar reputation for presenting new works of social and political relevance. Thinking that this could be an ideal place to send a particular play of mine, I decided to look up their submission policy. Sure enough, after a short while I discovered a link named “new writing.” To my dismay, however, upon opening the “new writing” page I discovered not an explanation on how to submit a play or play sample for their consideration, but rather a short paragraph asking for £15 (or $25) in return for which they’ll read your play and let you know what the reader thought of it (whoever and however qualified this anonymous person may be). That’s it. No consideration for further development, simply a paid opinion on your play from some unknown entity. They also make a curious comment about your “reader’s fee” not being acknowledged by them.

I find this all rather disingenuous for a state-funded company that prides itself on presenting “new writing” with a social conscience. There are plenty of theatres that accept plays with the proviso that they’re unable to offer written feedback due to the number of submissions they receive, and this is completely understandable. But these theatres are also taking the time and trouble to read your work (gratis) with this possibility of future development with them. You tell me which is the better deal?

This company’s policy is not in service of new writing, and certainly not of playwrights. In my opinion it’s simply treating up-and-coming, struggling playwrights as a revenue source.

Not pukka, sahib.

My little tantrum over, I shall now go and lie down for a while.

The Long Haul

2010-09-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d offer another example of the true value of tenacity in this hardscrabble business. I offer it because, personally speaking, I always find it immensely encouraging when I hear writers share their tales of overcoming the odds or snatching victory from the jaws of defeat.

Several years ago I had an idea for a short play that I thought was rather novel and could prove to be quite popular at short play festivals if done right. After all, it could be played by any age, ethnicity or gender, and in any combination thereof. It also would require no props and no set. A cash-strapped producer’s dream, not to mention the casting director.

After I’d finished it I sent it off to any opportunity that it seemed like a good fit for…which was pretty much most of them that I saw at that time. Again and again I’d submit it, feeling confident that its debut production – the first of many – was imminent. Wrong. Again and again the play was rejected. However, I resolutely continued to send it out, though after a while more from a feeling of obstinance than confidence. Still nothing. That play couldn’t get arrested. Eventually I resigned myself to the fact that something about the play just didn’t connect with people, and I accepted that this was one play that just wasn’t ever going to be brought to life.

A few of years later, after rereading it and deciding that I, at least, still believed in it, I began sending it out again. Lo and behold, a short time afterwards I had four productions of it lined up in different parts of the country, all within a few weeks of each other, and it received a great review in a newspaper of note. Not only that, it was accepted for publication, and now I’m even generating a little income in royalties from it (and can’t stress the word “little” enough here).

So there you have it: an object lesson in believing in your work when it seems as though no one else does. Sometimes it’s timing, sometimes it’s luck, and sometimes it’s simply a matter of who’s hands your play falls into. You can never second guess any of this, so, in the words of Curtis Mayfield, you just have to keep on keeping on.

The Art of Survival

2010-08-28T10:45:00.000-07:00

There’s an interesting discussion going on at The Guardian’s Noises off theatre blog surrounding the question of whether it’s possible for an artist to make a living in theatre. Well, all but a tiny fraction of us already know the answer to that, but it has generated some very interesting debates, including some intriguing arguments on subsidizing the arts. I’ve posted my humble contribution below:

Even putting the current economic situation aside, I don’t think we’ll ever arrive at a time when the government decides it’s a good idea to support all artists with a living wage if they’re unable to support themselves by their work alone. It just won’t happen. Therefore, anyone opting to pursue a career in theatre must surely acknowledge that in doing so they will have no guarantee of financial security and will almost always have to support themselves in other ways…unless they get very lucky. We can all look enviously at someone whose wealthy parents subsidize their endeavors, but the truth is most of us will always struggle to balance art with survival. Even well-known playwrights who have had much commercial and critical success still have to rely on teaching or other forms of income generation in order to maintain a relatively secure existence.

The arts will always be seen by the majority as a luxury rather than a necessity. Yes, the arts can be seen as the heart and soul of a people and without them that soul would wither and perish, but when all is said and done, if you’re on a fixed income a night at the theatre isn’t going to feed the kids or pay the heating bill. For most people, what we do can enhance their lives, make them laugh or cry in cathartic recognition, etc., but it will always be at their discretion using their discretionary income (if they have any) because we aren’t, in the hard cold truth of survival, necessary.

I have spent my life in the arts. It is all I know and all I ever will. And I have always had to walk that tightrope of pursuing what I love and staying alive. But I have never had any lofty sense of entitlement about what my life choices should mean to other people, nor have I considered the arts to be a sacred cow that all who exist outside of it should remain in thrall of.

Some big theatres in some big cities are afforded some big subsidies so that some people with big incomes can pay big ticket prices and congratulate themselves on being patrons of the arts. Hooray for them. But of course it’s not the arts…it’s artifice. For the rest of us, the real world beckons.

Tenacity

2010-08-22T10:20:00.000-07:00

Aside from the ability to actually write a good play, one of the most critical assets a playwright must possess in this toughest of businesses is tenacity. This has been proven to me time and again, and I will illustrate my point with the following example:

A couple of years ago I had submitted a script of mine to a prestigious theatre festival in New York (not the Fringe, I should add). The play was rejected. The following year I submitted again to the very same festival…with the very same play. It was accepted. Not only that, but I was informed by one of the curators of the festival that it was the first play she’d read and the first play she’d accepted into the festival.

Interestingly enough, I have a very similar situation happening right now with another theatre…and with the very same play.

The lesson: No doesn’t mean yes, but it doesn’t always mean no, either. Yes or no?

Thrill Me With Your Acumen

2010-08-16T17:10:00.000-07:00

I came across an interesting article a couple of days ago on the subject of whether or not playwriting can be taught. This isn’t the first discussion on the topic, nor is the argument confined to playwriting – one could ask that of any of the arts – but it is a good article and includes of lot of opinions from some very interesting people.

I have always been of the opinion that, no, it cannot be taught. Or perhaps I should qualify that by saying I don’t believe it’s possible for someone else to teach you to write a play, but if you have a natural affinity for it, it’s entirely possible for you to teach yourself to write a play. That, to me, is at the crux of the argument – that you have to have that inherent ability within you. It can be coaxed out under the right circumstances, but if it's not there to begin with, it’s impossible to manufacture or “teach” that ability. Yes, you can give anyone a pen and paper and they could string together some dialogue for a few characters and attempt to tell a story from it. You could similarly give anyone a paint brush and they could paint you a picture. But you could also put me in an operating room, hand me a scalpel, and I could perform brain surgery. It wouldn’t make me a brain surgeon, and in all three instances I think it’s a fair bet that the results would be pretty mind-numbing.

I don’t question that writing programs at colleges and universities can “enhance” one’s talent and technique, but again, the natural ability has to be there in the first place. And even then, many courses, as some in this article point out, can be fraught with danger. A tutor with an agenda of exactly how a play should be written can stamp out the natural voice of an aspiring young writer before they’ve had a chance to grow into the one they were meant to be. As an art school graduate, I can tell you this was very true of my college years. If your work wasn’t influenced by German Expressionism it was likely to be mocked and belittled or simply ignored. My own work wasn’t influenced by German Expressionism, but it was taken seriously by my tutors…but that’s only because I was a pretentious twat who could spin a convincing yarn (hence my natural evolvement into a playwright).

Anyway, you can read it here in The Faster Times if you should be so inclined. Give it a shot…you never know, you might learn something.

Legit Lit III

2010-07-30T13:01:00.000-07:00

According to Playbill, Derek Jacobi is set to star in an upcoming production of King Lear at London’s Donmar Warehouse, before touring the U.K. This, of course, would be quite something to witness. In fact, the production is due to be broadcast in more than 22 countries thanks to the National Theatre’s NT Live project, which broadcasts live productions to various cinemas around the world.

However, of additional interest was something I noted at the end of the press release. In the words of the esteemed Donmar Warehouse, they say of the play, “One of the greatest works in western literature, King Lear explores the very nature of human existence: love and duty, power and loss, good and evil."

Now you wouldn't argue with that, would you?

I Think She's Gonna Pull Through...

2010-07-29T16:16:00.000-07:00

There is a lot of concern in the theatre community (on both sides of the Atlantic) on the impact these recession ravaged years may have on the immediate future of the arts. This is very understandable. Here in the U.S. the concern is more generalized in terms of people simply tightening their belts and cutting back on discretionary spending – meaning fewer tickets sold and companies of all sizes facing a drop in operating income, or even the chop. With less operating income, conventional wisdom has it that more and more theatres will turn to the safe, proven hits that are more likely to guarantee return on investment, and consequently drop new writing like a bad smell. To some degree I have already seen signs of this happening. But, as lamentable as it is, during tough times everyone has to go into survival mode, so you can’t blame the non-profits for doing what they need to do to stay afloat.

In the U.K. things are a little different. Much theatre is state subsidized, and the new “coalition” government (a combination of Conservatives and whored Liberals) is taking an axe to public spending in a way that makes Lizzie Borden look like Laura Ingalls. The scale of the cuts they are proposing (and now implementing) are truly abhorrent, and quite possibly counterproductive to a fragile yet delicately resurgent economy. But to a theatre community that relies substantially on state funding, they are being seen as a guillotine to the neck of new, exiting and original talent that is fostered and propagated under such conditions. In fact, in The Guardian, Lee Hall (writer of “Billy Elliot” and the Broadway bound “The Pitman Painters”) writes a very powerful and passionate article on the devastating consequences such cuts would engender. (A wonderful line that I have to quote from it, in speaking of the coalition government, is this one: “Do not be fooled – they are much more dangerous because they don't know what they don't know.”).

Only time will tell, of course, whether such predictions of calamity will come to pass. I myself, though, do not believe that the sky is about to fall. As ugly and regrettable as the whole situation that got us here is, the fact remains that theatre has, and always will have, a card up its sleeve that will ensure its survival: its fundamental nature. Theatre can be produced anywhere at any time with next to no resources other than a group of willing individuals offering up their time and talent to tell a story. It doesn’t even need a stage – only the concept of one. Theatre is all about the audience buying into the world being presented to them by the practitioners of it. They know it’s not “real.” They know the blood is fake. They know the wood-paneled walls are painted board. But they buy into it willingly, because they accept that that is the nature of theatre. It isn’t film or television, where reality is painfully (and expensively) recreated to achieve believability. In those industries, lack of funding is a death knell. Theatre, though, whenever it needs to, can go right back to basics and still work its magic. The experience is unique, and that is why it has survived - marginalized though it may be – the onslaught of film, television, and anything else that’s been thrown at it.

I wouldn’t expect those who have made their careers under the umbrella of government subsidized funding (we are, after all, merely talking about subsistence funding, rather than an actual living wage) to share my optimism. For them it is a lifeline that’s being withdrawn. But for the state of theatre in general, I see no atom bomb. We've lived through difficult economic times before, just as we’ve lived under previous arts-unfriendly governments. Plays will always be written, and entrepreneurial, driven people will always find ways, means, and venues to put them on. They may not make any money from it, but that was never the goal in the first place.

Was it?

(Would be nice, though)

P.S: Lyn Gardner in The Guardian yesterday wrote a very interesting piece about audiences, which I thought was perfect in light of my little paean the day before.

To Whom We Serve

2010-07-27T20:34:00.000-07:00

I have to confess, I do get a little tired when reading discussions on the current state of theatre, theatre funding, funding cuts, commercial versus non-profit, etc., etc., and repeatedly seeing a word bandied about like some old rag doll with its stuffing hanging out…the word in question being “audience.” For many, it seems, that word has come to describe some homogenous blob of humanity that has one face and operates completely in tandem. “The audience” wouldn’t be there for a show like that, it’s too edgy. “The audience” is tired of endless revivals and jukebox musicals. We’d like to program more new writing in our season, but “our audience” doesn’t like taking risks.

I find this all very strange, not to mention patronizing, whichever side of the fence it’s coming from. Audiences come in all shapes and sizes, with only one single trait common to all: an appreciation of the performing arts. Yes, there are those that prefer their theatre experience to veer to the lighter side; shows that have hummable tunes, humor that won’t scare the horses, or are populated with hit songs from a bygone era. Then there are those that like the excitement of seeing something new, something just now being discovered; something that might challenge them, perhaps intellectually, morally, or in its form or structure. And there are those that fall somewhere in between or straddle the divide.

Many audience members (a great number of whom certainly couldn’t be considered wealthy) are willing to throw down a ridiculous amount of money to see shows like “Wicked” or “Mama Mia!” Others (some quite moneyed) will hike to a hole-in-the-wall space in a different part of town, sitting in conditions that are often cramped and uncomfortable, all to experience something new, with no guarantee of satisfaction.

Sometimes, I believe, people in the industry get so bogged down in the business of what they’re doing that they forget who they’re actually doing it for. Economics, logistics, and demographics bury them so deeply in their own money-crunching logic that they lose sight of the human element. As Bob Dylan said, “You gotta serve somebody.” If you’re in the theatre business, you serve the “audience.” You don’t underestimate their intelligence; neither do you pander to them. You just respect them. I am the audience. You are the audience.

In the words of Noel Coward: “To an audience---shock them, amuse them, entertain them but never bore them.”

Amen.

P.S: If anyone’s interested, Paul got both of his two final predictions right in the final (somewhat to my chagrin). I bow down (yes, to an octopus).

In Praise of Paul

2010-07-10T10:18:00.000-07:00

I had promised myself at the beginning of the World Cup that I would refrain from mentioning it here - even though I become completely and hopelessly obsessed with this greatest of all sporting events every four years - since it has nothing to do with theatre or writing (notwithstanding the theatrical antics of players who claim to have been fouled in the most brutal way, writhing in agony on the pitch for several minutes, before getting up and running around again once they realize their performance failed to convince the ref).

And I have done very well at keeping that promise…until now. Until, that is, I learned of Paul. If you haven’t heard of Paul by now, then you must not have been following the news very closely. Paul is an octopus. A psychic octopus who has proven to have extraordinary powers of prediction when it comes to international football matches. Paul lives in Germany (at the Sea Life Centre in Oberhausen to be precise), and achieved a degree of fame in that country when he successfully predicted the outcome of four out of six of Germany’s matches in the Euro 2008 tournament. Not such a big deal in itself, you might say. But then came the 2010 World Cup, where Paul has accurately predicted every one of Germany’s games, from the group stages to the knockout rounds, and has now shot to international stardom. His predictions are now televised live on many channels in many countries, and his celebrity status is off the charts. He has made two more predictions for this weekend – today’s playoff game between Germany and Uruguay, and the final tomorrow between Spain and Holland – but whether or not his final two divinations prove correct (and I’m actually hoping they’re not), he will have already become an indisputable star and forever remembered for his fascinating contributions to this historic event.

Paul, like me, was born in the South West of England (in the same seaside town that I spent all of my childhood holidays at). Paul, also like me, now calls another country home. And Paul, again like me, has an all-consuming interest in international football tournaments. It’s quite uncanny how much we have in common now that I think about it. True, he has more limbs than I do and can remain underwater for much longer periods, but on balance I think we’re more alike than dissimilar. Professionally, though, I have to go by “Andrew Biss”, whereas he, like Cher and Madonna, etc., can simply go by “Paul”.

So, Paul, thank you. Life is much more interesting with you in it. And I promise I will honor you by including you in one of my plays in the near future. Oh, and sorry for all the grilled octopus I’ve eaten in my life…I’m different now.

P.S: A big thank you to my German friend, Inga, who first brought Paul to my attention (shortly before he became an AP Newswire sensation!)

Oh Dear!

2010-07-01T17:36:00.000-07:00

Perhaps serving as a sort of counterpoint to The Guardian’s recent blog on whether or not plays should be considered literature, they currently have a blog discussing the topic of “Why can't novelists make it work in the theatre?” The article itself is not up to much, in my opinion, being far too generalized and dismissive in its argument; but the responses it has generated make for some interesting and very insightful reading if you happen to be so inclined. You can read it here.

Legit Lit II

2010-06-19T10:15:00.000-07:00

Following on from my post over the argument as to whether plays should be considered literature, I suddenly remembered that I actually have a monologue from one of my plays published in an anthology entitled “Monologues from Literature.” What other proof do you need?

All right, I will admit that at the time the editor contacted me to ask whether I thought it would be “okay” to include it in there. Still…it’s in there, and the title of the book spells out very clearly and unambiguously what it contains.

I just checked, and it’s in there, right opposite a monologue from Emily Bronte’s "Wuthering Heights." There! I’ve single-handedly ended the argument.

Right?

Mind Over Meta

2010-06-18T17:44:00.000-07:00

I’ve been dreaming a lot this week. In the literal sense, that is, not the aspirational one (although I may have indulged in a bit of that, too). Now, there are few more groan inducing things in life than hearing someone else jabber on about the dream they had the night before. It comes just above being forced to wade through other people’s holiday snaps, and right below having to hear someone subject you to tales of the latest cute thing their toddler (or cat) learned to do last week. Don’t worry, I shan’t be relating any of my dreams here (even if I could still remember them).

However, what struck me as quite bizarre about one of them was the incredible amount of literary detail it had. I was reading from some strange book (just telling this bit, I promise), and it was full of curious, quite frightening admonitions that were fascinating to read. I remember thinking at the time (in my semi-conscious state) that if I could just remember them when I woke up I could put them to great use in a play. Of course, I couldn’t remember any of them when I got up. But I was amazed at what my unconscious mind had written/created in sleep mode. And I got to thinking that, while sleeping, the mind is not concerned by any external rules or processes that one employs while writing. It’s free to just string together what ever it has in its data bank in any way it wants, without worrying about structure, plot, character development and motivations, etc., it just does whatever feels right. How great it would be, I thought, if one could harness that ability when putting pen to paper. Now, you might counter that what I read (what my mind wrote) in that book could quite easily have been unintelligible nonsense that seemed good at the time, without the clear insight of a conscious mind to appraise it. This is quite possible. But I don’t think so, and I’ll tell you why.

The best place of all to be when working on a play is in the zone; that is to say, so immersed in your story and characters that it all just seems to write itself…which is rather like being drunk, only without the alcohol (or the headache the next day). However, you have no control of that state – you either find yourself slipping into it or you don’t. But, when you’re fortunate enough to be there, it is like being in a dream state. Somehow you’ve slipped from your world into the world of your characters, and what flows from your mind to you fingers is on a sort of autopilot. In my opinion, that is very similar to what’s happening when you’re dreaming.

I could be wrong. It’s happened before.

Legit Lit?

2010-06-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

I’ve been adding my (rather grumpy) five cents to an initially interesting, but ultimately pointless discussion in The Guardian’s theatre blog today, over whether plays are/can/should be considered “literature.” I’m too lazy to retread my thoughts on the matter here, but check it out if it sounds like an interesting topic of conversation.

(Smiles back, with a hint of menace)

2010-05-26T10:40:00.000-07:00

I recently finished reading Albee’s “A Delicate Balance.” It’s one of those plays that I’ve always meant to read but somehow never got around to. Anyway, finally I did. As I understand it, this was the play that turned his ascendant star on a downward trajectory that would lead to many years in the wilderness in the eyes of the critics. After the raw, brutal brilliance of “Woolf” it’s not hard to see why this play was the cause of some disappointment, and indeed head scratching. It did, however, win the Pulitzer that year…though, as so often happens with Academy Awards, I think this may have been in part something of an atonement for past misjudgments – i.e. “Woolf” not getting it.

However, I found the play to be quite affecting for the most part, and at times rather harrowing. I'm certain that any play he’d written after the huge critical and commercial success of “Woolf” would inevitably have been seen as something of a letdown. Consequently, I don’t think this play has been given a fair shake, and I wish it was produced more often, as I would love to see it performed. Although “Woolf” has its share of Albee’s penchant for metaphor and clever wordplay (something which some of his later plays have a little too much of in my opinion – and I say this as someone who puts Albee on a higher pedestal than any other living playwright), it also has a grounded quality that never alienates you from the reality of the characters’ lives. “Balance,” though, has an odd combination of realism and something else - I resist calling it absurdism, as that, to my mind, is misleading. Perhaps, hallucinatory would be closer to the mark – a heightened, nightmarish realism. I would reserve judgment on how well they work together in this particular play, as I’ve not seen it, but it certainly made for some interesting, and on occasion, very disturbing reading.

One thing about the play that I also found quite surprising was his bounteous use of stage direction. Albee is famous (some directors might say infamous) for his insistence that his plays be performed exactly as written, down to the last stage direction. I myself believe that is the playwright’s prerogative, and is no more unreasonable than a composer insisting that every note in his score be played as written. However, in “Balance” almost every piece of dialogue is preceded by a very specific piece of stage direction, frequently long and detailed. I don’t recall ever having seen so many stage directions in a play before. Clearly, Albee wants (and has every right to expect) his play to be heard exactly the way he heard it in his head. But not until I’d seen the stage directions in this script did I realize just how exactly that was. Quite amazing, really.

For my own work, the amount of stage direction I include depends entirely on the individual play. Some have quite a few (though not by Albee standards) and some almost none. The latter are a minority, I admit, but occasionally I’ll write something that really can’t be choreographed, as it were, until it’s on a stage being worked through by the actors and the director. Perhaps all of Albee’s plays are this heavily loaded with stage direction. I suspect they are and will definitely investigate further.

But all of this talk of stage direction brings me to my final comment. There are those (including a lot of playwrights, in fact) who frown upon using much stage direction. There are also those who will readily trot out that crusty old adage that “plays are meant to been seen, not read.” And to those people, I will say this: Whatever else may happen to a play, it is – without exception – read before anything else. Nothing happens to that play until after it’s been read by someone somewhere, who must imagine as they do so, what the script would play like on a stage. There is no way around this. Therefore, if the playwright wishes to have the reader understand their work as they’d intended, they have to arm the reader with as many signposts and as much information as is needed to achieve that.

That old adage is true in principle, but in practice, if your play doesn’t read well…it may never be seen.

Cormorant Comma Rant

2010-05-15T11:38:00.000-07:00

Here’s a fine example of why the common-or-garden comma (not just the Oxford variety) should be embraced with open arms. While reading a review by Michael Billington of a play called Madagascar in yesterday’s Guardian, I stumbled (literally) upon this sentence:

"Lillian, speaking five years ago, is a super-civilised American dwelling on her son's defection, possibly to Madagascar."

How, I asked myself, could Lillian be a house? Was it metaphor? Symbolism? Theatre of the absurd? No, it was none of those. It was, of course, the absence of a comma that lay behind my initial confusion. Now, I’m sure there are plenty who would read that sentence for the first time without any misunderstanding or puzzled double-take. But I’m also confident that there are many who, like me, had to reread the line before understanding its intent.

In Mr. Billington’s case, I’m sure this omission was more of an oversight that a conscious decision. But it does highlight what I see as a world that increasingly finds the use of proper punctuation to be an option and not an obligation. Hardly a day goes by that I’m not tripped up while reading an article, often in some of the most vaunted and respected publications, where lack of punctuation has punctured the flow of the piece. This has increased alarmingly as the use of email and “quick” writing has rapidly become the norm, and is especially prevalent in the news media, where the 24/7 news cycle has pushed expediency at the expense of accuracy. But I also think that a lot of it is simply laziness, where too many people just aren’t willing to make the little extra effort that’s required. Unfortunately, the more people there are that adopt this laissez-faire attitude, the more acceptable it becomes, until eventually it’s no longer perceived as poor grammar, but rather a more modern approach to writing.

Yes, language is something that continually evolves over time – this is a given. At the same time, there are certain fundamentals of language that have to be respected, lest we devolve into a world of BlackBerry-speak and shapeless rambling.

I am not a grammarian. My grammar is not perfect (I’m quite sure this blog is riddled with imperfections and mistakes). But punctuation is a valuable toolbox that allows the writer to structure sentences so that his or her literary intentions are clearly set out, while affording the reader a smoother and more immediately coherent reading experience.

And finally…this rant went on far longer than I intended. I shall stop now.

Folk Tales

2010-05-14T09:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Playbill announced that Joan Collins would be making her pantomime debut in “Dick Whittington” at the Birmingham Hippodrome this Christmas. Among the other stars mentioned who will be joining her in this production was the (very funny) comedian Julian Clary. What the article neglected to mention, though, was the fact that when Julian Clary began his career, he went by the stage name (moniker?) “The Joan Collins Fan Club.” And thus a beautiful symmetry was wrought that day and the sun shone just a little bit brighter.

And yet I can’t help feeling I should be applying my focus to more weighty matters.

Hmm…what would Goodluck Jonathan do?

Mr. Jonathan’s Big Day

2010-05-07T11:14:00.000-07:00

You might think that the inauguration of a new President in the most populous country in Africa would have considerable global press coverage…but alas, no. Yesterday, this event – whilst obviously a matter of great significance for Nigeria’s 150 million people – slipped by with barely a flicker of acknowledgement from the fourth estate. It seems to me that Western media seem completely uninterested in what happens on that continent unless it relates to war, famine, or disease, and consequently frame and define Africa through such a prism for the more casual observers of world affairs. This is a shame, obviously, but I must confess that the main reason that the swearing in of Nigeria’s new president caught my eye was because of something equally facile…his name: Goodluck Jonathan.

How odd, I thought. And yet, how perfect. His parents, in their infinite wisdom, bestowed upon him from the very moment of his birth, a benediction in perpetuity.

Let’s hope that it bodes well for his time in office and that he can do great things for his country and soon bring peace to the Niger Delta. Good luck, Goodluck!

Perhaps one day I’ll write a play about his rise to power, the title of which would simply be “Goodluck Jonathan.” What else do you need?

That said, I'm not sure I'd have been entirely thrilled with them had my parents decided to name me Bestwishes Biss.

Recently Cited

2010-05-05T11:04:00.000-07:00

I saw this excellent quote from Moss Hart in The Dramatist (the Guild's bi-monthly magazine):

"I was the guy there when the paper was white."

Great stuff. And I think I'm quoting it accurately...but if not, remember the words of Hesketh Pearson:

“Misquotation is ... the pride and privilege of the learned. A widely-read man never quotes accurately for the rather obvious reason that he has read too widely.”

Hesketh Pearson (1887 – 1964) English biographer and writer

Thanks, Hesketh, I’ll try to remember that (but not accurately).

What's in a Name?

2010-05-02T10:45:00.000-07:00

I just recently finished a short play entitled "A Small Act of Vandalism." It's part of a larger project I've been working on for sometime now - a collection of one-person plays centered around a theme. Yes, I'm aware that this is not exactly an original concept, but let's face it, a four character, two-act play is hardly a groundbreaking idea either, is it?

Anyway, every time I've finished one of these, I've run up against the same problem...what do I label it? Is it a monologue? A one-person play (as noted above)? A monologue play? Or just a play? I hesitate to call them monologues or even monologue plays, even though technically that's what they are, as I think calling it a monologue somehow suggests that it's something less than an actual play. This is not the case, but I think there's a tendency to see them as pieces or extracts rather than complete stories. I've been drawn to the idea of calling them one-person plays, but in another sense that seems rather silly. It's not as if you would call a two-character full-length play " a two-character play." Or a duologue play, for that matter. So, after much rumination, I have decided to simply call them "plays," as in "A Small Act of Vandalism - a play by Andrew Biss." While this may all sound very punctilious, it's been (perhaps bizarrely) the cause of some consternation for a while now. So, having happily resolved my pedantic crisis, I am now free to contemplate the larger issues around me, such as war, famine, and the decline of Western civilization.

All in good time...

Redux Redux

2010-04-22T14:02:00.000-07:00

This week I had my play “Suburban Redux” selected for the final slot in the 2010/2011 season of a new theatre company in the Twin Cities. Naturally, I was very pleased by this development, but especially so in light of recent events…namely, the rather off-putting final panel discussion at last week’s Guild meeting (which I’ve been grousing about far too much and vow never to mention again).

It was a timely reminder that if you write a play that someone enjoys and wants to produce, it really can be that simple and straightforward. We had no prior relationship, imbued with tacit understandings; it was simply a case of them enjoying the play I’d written and discovering that it fit very well with their mission and core values, so a request was made to stage it. How nice and uncomplicated.

And they seem to be really terrific people to boot, so it’s a double plus.

So, yes…sometimes it can be just about the work. Amen.

In Praise of the Oxford Comma

2010-04-14T10:35:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been a big proponent of the Oxford comma. As a playwright, I believe you are a director of words. It’s your job to make the script convey exactly what you’re trying to say in exactly the way you’re trying to say it. Consequently, I continually strive to remove any ambiguity in my work and make my intentions quite clear and recognizable. If something’s ambiguous in something I’ve written it should only be that way because I’ve chosen it to be so.

Anyway, while idly researching the Oxford (or serial) comma (Who does that? What a loser!), I found this gem on Wikipedia:

Unresolved ambiguity

The Times once published an unintentionally humorous description of a Peter Ustinov documentary, noting that "highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector".

I’m so glad, in this instance, that they didn’t use one, as it would have denied me the wealth of pleasure I’ve derived from rereading this sentence many, many times today.

Other People

2010-04-12T17:57:00.000-07:00

I received and email last week letting me know that the Dramatists Guild would be rolling into town next Sunday. Never having gone to one of these Guild town hall meetings (Philadelphia barely seems to register on their radar), I immediately emailed back to RSVP for two of the meetings, the first starting at 4:00pm. Only later did I realize that next Sunday I was planning on being in New York for the 4:00pm (and final) performance of "Cafe Grotesquerie" at the Red Room. Why does life do things like that? True, I can head up there on Saturday to see it, but the trains to NYC on Saturdays are usually bursting at the seams with all manner of humanity...and you all know what hell is.

Happy World Theatre Day! (?)

2010-03-27T11:57:00.000-07:00

Yes, today is March 27th, the occasion of World Theatre Day. Apparently, this annual day of celebration for all things theatre is quite popular and revered in some parts of the world, but not, it would seem, well...in these parts. Let's be honest here, anyone outside of the theatre business is unlikely to have a clue that this event actually exists, and even if they did, probably wouldn't give a flying toss about it anyway. But exist it does, and I've been racking my brain to come up with an appropriate way of marking the event myself. I haven't been very successful.

The problem is, I'm not entirely sure what it is that I'm supposed to be celebrating. Is it myself, in as much as I'm a part of "world theatre"? If so, it feels slightly awkward, rather like singing "Happy Birthday" to yourself. Or is it the general concept of theatre itself that we're supposed to honor? And if that's the case, how does one honor a concept? Conceptually, I suppose, but frankly, I don't know how to do that.

Ultimately, I think that World Theatre Day is rather like a night at the theatre itself: participated in by few, but loved and revered by those that do; something ephemeral and intangible that, once over, disappears into the ether, never to be repeated in quite the same way again. There, wasn't that nice?

And now that I think of it, I'd say I've honored it simply by blogging about it.

Job done.