Theresa Rebeck's Seminars: The frustratingly unbeaten path to being a "great" writer

Last night I scored a free ticket to Theresa Rebeck's very funny play, Seminars over at the Ahmanson Theater. It was starring my costar from Glee Jeff Goldblum, so I figured I'd check it out. Here we are together:

Wait... that shot's a little too close. Zoom out a little bit. 

There I am! In the back there, see me?

Pretentious celebrity name-dropping aside, this show really got me thinking about writing and what it means to be a "great" writer. The show revolves around four twenty-something aspiring New York writers desperately trying to impress a foul mouthed pro who acts as judge and jury regarding whether their stuff is good or crap.

This isn't really a review of the show. What I want to talk about is how much I identified with the four aspiring students and their desperation to be acknowledged as even a contender for the title of greatness. I wish there was one writer god who could tell me if I had the Gift of Writing, like in the show. But the pit I often fall into is the swampland of completely subjective opinions and tastes that can wrap around a befuddled writer like brain-sucking tentacles. (Which also happens in the show. (Not literally.)) Whose opinions matter? Who do you ignore?

It's somewhat easier to know if you're on the right track if you're a playwright or a screenwriter. If the audience laughs or gasps, keep it up! But prose is a different beast. Nobody gives you feedback because, for the most part, you can't get anybody in the professional industry to comment on your 20 page story. (Or, God forbid, your 500 page novel.) It's just piles of form letters saying your work "does not fit our needs at this time." 

"All this 'well done' bullshit means you're not being honest," Leonard insists in Seminars. "And if you're not being honest who gives a shit what you're writing?"

Good prose writing is, most would agree, a reflection of "the truth." If you want to be a good writer, you have to "be honest." Ah, well that was easy. Go write the truth. Article over!

I think we all understand the problem here. Sure, let's be honest. Honestly, I just had a hot cocoa from my Jack Skellington mug while watching an hour's worth of The Office. I miss Steve Carell, but I still really enjoy the new season. Andy's a funny character and he's really vulnerable in a way that interests me...

Snore. One time, in a panicked fit of writer's block, I decided to just writewhatevercomestomedon'tstopjustgo! This way I can discover MY INNER VOICE! Well, I wrote about sitting on a couch and having writer's block. How many editors do you think were clamoring to get ahold of that gem? (And yes, I actually did send it out.) The line between finding your own personalized "truth" and complete self-indulgence is pretty thin.

On the other end of the spectrum, if you only worry about what your audience wants, then you're selling out, right? Gah! (To my shame, I've tried that too. It was crap.)

I suppose what an aspiring writer should really be chasing is a surprise. Whether it's a particularly creative simile or a plot-shaking twist to the entire story, I think what audiences really crave is that of the unexpected. It's not enough to write about your dying grandmother. You also have to do it in a way that nobody has ever thought of before. Like, ever. In the history of literature. That's where honesty comes in, and the journey you get to take as a writer is discovering what your voice sounds like while communicating that honesty. When you get to a point where every sentence is surprising the reader in some way, then maybe that's when you've hit greatness.

So... yeah. Go do that.

Check it out. Might get you thinking. Or you might hate it. Or maybe you'll just remember that there's boobs in it. It's pretty subjective, really.

52 Sketches in 52 Weeks: Puppy Love

Oh, hello there internet. So sorry for forsaking you. I managed to put this sketch up on time, but somehow doing the corresponding blog post always managed to fall securely in the "I'll do it tomorrow" quadrant of my vacationing brain. But anyway... yeah. New sketch. Here it is.

Puppy Love (#7)

If I can pinpoint any one common thread in our sense of humor, I'd say it has to be ugliness. When I hear of anything especially serious or horrifying, I'll eventually think "How can I make that funny?" As a rule, comedy is generally only funny when somebody isn't in on the joke. The audience's laughter is mostly a knee jerk reaction of "Thank God that's not me." (Or, sometimes, "That's me! That's me!") That being said, I think this ATX project has become something of a challenge of mine to see just how ugly I can make a character and still get laughs. 

The guy in Puppy Love is, I think, one of the more extreme examples of that effort. Heartbreak, obsession, rage, delusion, loneliness, insanity... funny stuff!

It's another weird little piece, and yes, the filming process was just as strange, if not more so. It was literally just Zach following me around with the camera while I did creepy stuff with some confused dog that isn't even mine. He kept nervously shaking his head and saying "What the fuck are we doing?" I got a little excited every time he asked that, because in my artistic experience, that question is always followed by a really unusual answer. 

I just about never know what I'm doing with these things, but as a result, the end product always surprises me. As long as that keeps happening, I'll stay happy, because that means I'm continually making new discoveries.