Extra Criticum

Sounds like listening: The Hear Me Out Monologues pursuit of Audience

It's been a year and a half since that day in March when suddenly we understood (or almost did) that audiences could not gather under one roof without putting our lives at risk. I remember getting some angry emails after I posted this piece [Social Distancing and the Power of Audience, March 11, 2020] on Medium suggesting that it was not a matter of if but when Broadway was going to have to shut down.

They announced a 30-day shuttering the next day.

At the time it seemed inconceivable to me that we might somehow find a way to re-create audience online.

And then that summer I mounted the first Hear Me Out New American Monologue Competition and on Labor Day we celebrated 12 finalists with live presentations of their monologues and an impromptu awards ceremony at which new work was celebrated. Although with an audience of 300 unmuting everyone would have been impossible, we did carve out a small audience "on stage" comprised of about 25 of us -- writers, actors and competition judges. And this little audience within an audience enjoyed the show unmuted with earbuds or headphones and cameras mostly on.

It was magic.

And so I got a little obsessed.

Purchase one of 30 "We Are Audience" (Seen & Heard) Tickets to Hear Me Out 2021

Borders: The 2021 Hear Me Out New American Monologue Competition Theme

Borders. 

In the early days of the pandemic, there were calls for barring flights to the U.S. from China. My sister was in Poland when Donald Trump suddenly announced an impending ban on incoming flights from Europe. She hastily scrambled to adjust her itinerary and was home in Massachusetts within a week. 

It didn't take long for us to understand that travel bans be damned, the horse that was CoViD19 had long since left the barn and locking the barn doors now was a pointless exercise in willful blindness. It soon dawned on much of humanity that regardless for our relative comfort or antagonism toward the idea, we were somehow finally going to be forced to accept the degree to which the human race is itself a single organism. We are all interconnected. Gangrene in any corner must not be ignored.

3 weeks til deadline! How to best use this time to submit a winning monologue to Hear Me Out 2021?

June is ending. And you haven't figured out what to submit to this year's Hear Me Out Monologue Competition?

Don't panic. Sure, you only have about three weeks til the July 22 deadline, but if you break it down, you have more than enough time to conceive of, write and submit a winning response to this year's festival theme: Borders.

Here's my two cents on how I'd go about this if I were hoping to submit.

1. Write something new specifically tailored to the guidelines of the competition. 

As you consider the calendar, it may be tempting to go digging into your files in search of an existing monologue from some older work that might fit the various judging criteria outlined in the Call for Entries. 

The impulse is understandable. I admit to having wrestled with similar notions myself when hoping to enter a potentially lucrative competition with thousands of dollars in prize money at stake. The submission of a tried and true piece, perhaps one even pulled from a successful full-length play may be a kind of comfort a de-stresser. And of course, it requires less of you. Less time. Less thought. Less work. 

Here's why I suggest you avoid this path.

Hear Me Out 2021: Submissions Are Already Pouring In. The Why and the How and the What For of Deep Diving into Monologue Writing... Again and Again (and again).

Last Spring as the possibility that CoViD19 lockdown might eat up more than a month of 2020 turned gently into probability, then undeniable certainty, I noticed something interesting. Those of us who have a hand in the creation of film and theatre--of entertainment in the form of stories that unfold before a live audience--we were all showing clear signs of cabin fever. Playwright friends were having readings of new and old work. Actors were gathering to perform sonnets. Songwriters were grabbing their guitars, logging onto Zoom and sharing stuff. 

It was exciting. And healing. We needed that. We needed to connect and to reaffirm what it is we do best. 

But there were problems. For one thing, Zoom is a pretty sorry substitute for actually being there. [Look for my upcoming argument: Zoom: Fear her not. But pity her a little bit. She'll never convince us that nothing's lost.] When it comes to live theatre, the most obvious problem is that no two actors can ever really make eye contact via webcam.

RT Action Network Member: William Ivor Fowkes

In early 2020 I began an experiment in mutual cooperation and career accountability. I'd noticed that many of the creative folk in my workshops had to contend with a lot of fear, uncertainty, indecision and isolation and that all these were undermining what should have been a steady forward momentum in their careers. These were seriously talented people who more often than not found themselves slightly paralyzed by not knowing which next steps for a given project made the most sense. I've always believed that when we form coalitions when we offer help to friends we respect and enjoy, everyone benefits tremendously. So I started the Roland Tec Action Network. Based on the simplest premise: going it alone is ten times as difficult and feels lousy too. Each month the 9 members of RTAN meet for a Saturday morning accountability and business brainstorming session. Members are encouraged to share whatever's challenging them most that day. And a couple weeks later we gather on a Friday evening to share work and further bond as artists. Now, the accountability part of this equation has a new home online in a private forum that allows members to post project goals each month and solicit the input of colleagues. In April, RTAN celebrated its first year of existence. And I decided to ask the current members what the Action Network has meant for each of them. For the next few weeks I'll be posting some of their answers. 
- Roland Tec

William Ivor Fowkes

Having a monthly meeting at which we were held accountable for taking the steps we committed to at the previous meeting

New Remastered Demo Tracks for The Curse of Batvia

I'm really happy to have finally taken the time to organize the best versions of the songs that make up the musical THE CURSE OF BATVIA so that they now live in one online playlist for anyone considering producing this silly scary and slightly insane little show. Katherine Burger wrote the book and lyrics and I composed the music. It was fun to collaborate with a wordsmith who is also a musician and shares my passion for dissonance as a theatrical spice. I'm very proud of this baby of ours. And hope one day soon it will be produced.

I keep getting asked about WE PEDAL UPHILL. I think it's really resonating for folks so I've decided to screen it online February 20th

I think it first came up in one of my online writers workshops when Kate Weiman asked if I could share a bit about how the film came into being...where and how it all began, what I wrote first, what we shot first. I was happy to explain that after volunteering on the John Kerry Presidential Campaign and coming face to face with truly criminal tactics on the ground in Florida in the days leading up to the election, I was despairing.

When I told my then producing partner Chris Arruda of my absolute fear that the country I loved (the chosen home of my immigrant parents) was in danger of turning toward darkly undemocratic impulses, he answered the way the best collaborator would.

Why don't you write about it? See what comes up.

Overspecialization has been choking our culture for decades. CoViD_19 offers us a way out of this mess. A way to take back our agency as people who write new plays.

 

Pandemic Pause has taught us many things. Sometimes I think hardly a week goes by without some lesson arriving at my feet. And as I live alone, I feel a responsibility to bend down and pick it up. Take, the business of playwriting, for example. 

I bet if I were to poll all the playwrights on my "inner circle" email list and ask them for a job description, we'd get a lot of talk of drama, the blank page, dialogue, script format, etc. etc. And the American ones at least, would take pains to steer clear of anything remotely related to the directing, designing or performing of their scripts. Heck, many of my friends who are playwrights wouldn't dream of allowing their new play to premiere without first consulting a trusted dramaturg. I remember during my tenure at the Dramatists Guild hearing Mr. Edward Albee on more than one occasion rant against the American Theatre's conspiracy to convince playwrights that they needed help writing their plays.  I must say I always enjoyed that rant and felt he had pretty much nailed it. 

But the problem lives in all corners of life and work in the 21st century and it's literally killing us. It's gotten so completely virulent.

The Fuel Getting Me Through Pandemic Pause is You

It's taken me a good six months but I think I've finally landed on one of the most effective antidotes to Pandemic Pause Malaise. Since March my teaching activities have slowly increased week by week by week. And in a less direct way, perhaps almost unconsciously, I've been increasing the various opportunities for encountering the creative work of colleagues. 

Some of you have joined us for the monthly celebration of monologue we call Some1Speaking. It's been one of the most important means of staying sane for me. And it wasn't until last night when we heard some amazing work from John Yearley, Sara Israel, Sherry Friedman, Alonzo Lamont and my dear old pal from the days of Naked Brunch, Mr. Rick Park. Rick's piece, by the way, closed out the hour with a riveting performance by a Minneapolis-based actor I'd never met before,  Andre Shoals. Wow. So, yeah, one of the things that keeps me sane these days is the work itself. It's inspiring to hear writers like Yearley and Israel who are really working at the top of their game.

And then the other thing that's huge for me is the warm fuzzy feeling I get when I can see first-hand that simply making the space for this is having an impact. Now, more than ever, I feel we artists need each other. We need to see and hear each other and be reminded of others who, like us, may occasionally fall into deep dark despair but manage against all odds again and again to sit down and make new work.

When I see you creating something powerful it renews my faith in my own ability to do the same.

That's why, as it became clear that this Thanksgiving was going to contribute to bigger hotter fires of infection all across the country, I knew what I had to do. I had to make room in my week for more opportunities to bump up against your new work.

And so from now through the end of February (at least), I'll be hosting a free online Wednesday Gathering from 8PM to 9PM, EST. This will be a kind of open mic but I really hope that visual artists will join us too. Take 5 min. to show us some slides or film or just talk about your practice. We'll gather weekly and in so doing, I have no doubt, we'll each, in our own way emerge renewed and energized.

For security reasons, if you want to join us, you'll need to sign up in advance. Please join the circle.

Hear 5 New Monologues on the Eve of Election Day 2020

The quest for something closer to the live theatre experience continues with our November 2nd Some1Speaking lineup. Five writers will share a new monologue and then we'll chat for ten or fifteen minutes about what we've just witnessed. Because we encourage our audiences to UNMUTE, the experience at Some1Speaking is a bit more reminiscent of sitting in an actual theatre and becoming part of an audience. 

It really is true. A random collection of strangers gathers together. And by witnessing the same thing -- be it a concert, film or play -- we become one. When all is said and done, we are transformed into an audience. A unit. With a specific shared experience that binds us. That's powerful. 

Here's the November 2nd lineup. Hope to see you there!

The Power of Monologue at this Unique Moment in History

When I decided to launch a nationwide monologue initiative I hoped that writers would be inspired by the call to take the lemons of pandemic shutdown and make some serious lemonade. I hoped. Maybe I'd say I even suspected that the 'Me & My Masks' prompt we used in our call for submissions to the 'Hear Me Out' New American Monologue Competition would inspire writers to write and send us their pieces.

Well... more than 350 submissions (from 43 U.S. States, Canada, South America, Europe, Asia and New Zealand) later, the verdict is in. Writers everywhere are ready willing and able to take hold of this unique historical moment and forge a viable path forward for making exciting theatre happen again, one talking head at a time.

And naturally, the infrastructure of this competition has been challenged by the overwhelming flood of entries. [Recently, I shared about the frustrations of having to say "no" to last-minute requests for "a few more minutes" past entry deadline.] Although I'd spent months inviting a hand-picked collection of seasoned actors, directors and writers from both stage and screen to serve on our National Circle of Judges, the circle was not going to be big enough to evaluate so many entries.

So I did what I've done since the beginning of this initiative. I reached out to some trusted leaders in the field, people like Gary Garrison, Kate Snodgrass, Faye Sholiton, Vicky Pittman, John Wooten, Paul Outlaw, Jeremy Dobrish, and Teresa Coleman Wash. And boy have they delivered!

A Writing Competition Perfectly Suited to These Pandemic Times

Anyone who tells you their adjustment to life under soshedist has been smooth sailing, A-OK, is without a doubt one of those annoying frenemies who only present the rosiest picture of themselves to the world in an attempt to psyche-out the competition. Make no mistake, life during Pandemic, life under partial lockdown is merely an approximation of life for the living because human beings need human contact to thrive. 

As a writer, I've found the past few months excruciating. Because while it may be true that writing itself is a solitary activity and actually depends upon the writer's disciplined ability to end conversations, usher guests out the door and ignore phone calls in order to actually get the requisite alone time needed to write, writers, at least those who are consumed with questions of what it means to be human (which certainly includes those of us writing plays and films), need human interaction to feed the flame. I'm inspired every day by people I work with, people I love, people I grew up with, people I share a city block with, etc. etc. And I use the word "inspired" in the most neutral sense. People offer me fascinating stuff the chew on. Being consciously separated from the unpredictable chaos of other human people's agendas for the past four months has driven me to a place called Zoom.

I really ought to take my own advice.

This morning I was reminded of the advice I shared with members of the Roland Tec Alumni Action Network just days ago. "Do yourself a favor," I said. "See if you can get in the habit of not checking email before Noon."

I was reminded of this today at 9:55AM just as I was checking my INBox.

But really, what advice worth giving has ever been given by someone with a perfect track record?

The truth is this pandemic shut-down has put many of my resolutions around my creative work to the test. Almost on a daily basis I'm confronted with ways in which this new and uninvited social distance (or soshedist, as I like to call it) is encroaching on my productivity, my sanity and my way of life. Some days it feels as though I'm simply outgunned by forces of nature that are encroaching on my goals like roaming sand dunes. You don't really notice them moving moment to moment. But make no mistake. These dunes are moving. And they aren't concerned with li'l ole me with my plans and lists and hopes and dreams and ideas. Fuck your intentions, little guy, step aside. We're drifting! We are, after all, the sands of time.

I created the Action Network to provide a monthly means of connection, of methods testing, of providing one place where members might check in with each other and with me about issues they're having around productivity, specific artistic projects or any other goals. We only began in April. This last session was our third meeting. And so far I'm finding myself inspired by the wide range of approaches to making a creative life these days. It's still early days in what is essentially a grand experiment. 

At the core of this monthly online gathering is my conviction that without a simple roadmap for success, we artists will always do better wrestling with the big questions in a group context than alone. Having a conversation in your own head is never as surprising as having one with a dozen colleagues you respect.

If you think you'd benefit from this kind of forum, you can join on a rolling basis. The monthly cost is $45 (which I'm told is way too low but, hey, we're still in Beta testing so take advantage.) Admission is rolling which means you can join in any month for as short a period as 4-months or as long as a year. It's up to you to choose depending on what you feel you can get out of it. Here's a link.

Hitting Storefronts and Thankful for the Generosity of My Fellow Artists

I'm spending a good portion of this summer workshopping my storefront spectacle, No Place to Hide. In a nutshell, I appear inside the storefront window of a local business somewhere typing on a laptop and either by means of projector or flatscreen, every word I type is instantly enlarged and displayed to passersby.

I started doing this piece without fully understanding exactly why I was doing it. Something just seemed to propel me to want to try this out.

Truthfully, I'm not yet sure what this will all amount to, whether the playwright in me will ultimately find this format interesting enough. (I tend to want my work to be somehow transformative, either by way of taking an audience on a journey, or at least shaking them up a bit and the jury's still out on whether this idea has the potential to do this for us.)