One of the best pieces of advice I've received as a playwright in terms of the role of the playwright was the following, (I'm paraphrasing a little):
Other artistic collaborators, like actors and designers, must wait until they are provided an opportunity. Once actors, directors, and designers are given a script or an ensemble, then they can practice their art by interpreting the work on the page and transforming it on the stage. Playwrights do not have to wait. The only permission we need is from ourselves to practice our art. As a result, we should use this privilege or freedom to assist our fellow artistic collaborators in flexing their interpretive muscles. After all, without them, our work dies on the page. Actors, designers, directors, dramaturges, stage managers, all of them give our work life. We owe it to them for breathing life into our words. So, we must create.
BUT...I LOVE this story. I LOVE these characters. And I want to see how far I can go. I didn't wait for someone to give me permission to start writing this podcast series. I am a creative artists and I am giving myself permission to write this podcast series - with mistakes, flaws, plot holes, missed beats, and all. One of the best pieces of advice I can bestow upon new playwrights is to keep creating even if you think no one is watching. Playwrights at the beginning of their careers have shared with me that they stop creating after one or two plays. They then spend years advocating for this one play. They refuse to move on and stop practicing their art until this one play gets published, produced, etc... Please do not do this. Do not push aside new ideas, observations, outlines, scribbles on paper because you MUST cling to this one play. Embrace those thoughts, put pen to paper, open the laptop, and get to writing the NEXT play. Even if no one is watching. Do it for your future collaborators, but must importantly, do it for yourself. I have no clue how to construct a podcast, let alone write a series for it. But, I'm not here to be an expert. I'm here because I have a story. For more info on Murder, We Spoke, click here
The story of Tight End smashed into my mind and out of the rubble rose the character of Ashley “Ash Smash” Miller. I suddenly had this image in my head of a woman constantly in motion. She never stops moving. Ash is always pushing her body to its limits as her sweat floods the floor. I wanted to ask Ash, “Why can’t you stop?”
I realized this is the brave truth for all women, femmes, non-binary folks and any human who identifies outside the constructs of strict gender binaries and cisgender male, heteronormative standards – described by Simone de Beauvoir as “the other.” We can’t quite vocalize this truth, but we know it exists. If we, as “others,” stop to rest for even a second, we are not taken seriously, we are not considered strong/smart/qualified enough, and we lose out on opportunities to our male counterparts who, at times, did not work as hard as us and got by on their mediocrity. This kind of haunting, unspoken truth is best described by the word “mokita” in the Kivila language. Mokita roughly translates to, “The truth we all know, but do not discuss.” All of my plays are motivated by a mokita. In Tight End, I am trying, with the help of my characters, to vocalize one of the many unspoken truths of growing up and being considered “the other” by society . One of the violent, unspoken truths I address in Tight End is violence and sexual assault. Even in the 21st century, as I grew into my womanhood, I was taught important lessons on how to avoid violence simply because I am a woman. However, it is important to note that Tight End is not a play about sexual assault. Ash is a survivor, but she is also a football player, a student, a friend, and a daughter. Tight End is a play about human beings searching to be more than just a title or fit into a simplified category. The play is about living beings who dare to love, exist, explore and learn outside the boundaries their gender roles and societal standards. Sports have always been a fixture in my life. My parents were athletes, either playing in high school and college or just in their free-time at the local park. ESPN constantly buzzes in the background of my family’s home. I cannot remember one car ride with my father where I am not listening to the radio comment on the Chicago Bears defense, the Blackhawks most recent trade deal, or the Cubs World Series chances. Sports culture is as familiar as my childhood home. Sports culture interests me for its immersive dynamics where, in order to participate, you must adopt a collective mindset. You are no longer an individual, you are apart of a group, and you must do what is best for your team. The team must always come first. How does this effect a person’s identity both on and off the field or court? This identity question becomes more prevalent when we begin discussing gender. Sports is a heavily male dominated arena. It does not take a degree to notice that male sports team get far more coverage and airtime than their female counterparts. While there is the WNBA, WPS, and NPF, what about the female athletes who dare to call football their dream? Football, a sport that forces bodies against bodies and whose own mokita is to cause enough pain to your opponent so you may dominant them. And, yes, there is the WFA, but, let’s face it, it’s not quite the NFL. In Tight End, I ask the questions, “What would a female athlete have to do to prove she belongs on a male dominated field?” “What if the female athlete completely embraced the culture of the team comes first mentality, but it was her male opponents who continued to view her as just a girl?” “Does being perceived as a girl make it too dangerous?” “Why does it take so much strength to be a woman?” “What ‘is’ a woman?” “At what point should she stop?” “How do you push away from your opponents’ perceptions and define yourself?” |
About the BlogI write plays. I tell stories. I create content. I vent. I offer advice. I hope people will learn from my mistakes. Categories
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