When I announced that I would be writing 100 short monologues in twenty-four hours, the main question I got from people was this:
Aren't you worried it's a little...gimmicky?
Well, yes, I was worried.
But felt that if I did it well, then what seemed like a gimmick would become a "concept."
I mentioned that the only difference between a gimmick and a concept is execution.
Any great concept sounds gimmicky when you first hear about it.
So how did I do with the project?
Well, to--at first--not answer that question, let me just say that every few months I do a Monologue Madness Month where I write 100 pieces over the course of the month.
Some are great, some are okay, and some are awful.
I've learned that you have to write the awful pieces to get to the good pieces, so the awful pieces don't bother me that much.
Then I came to the 24 Hour Project, where each piece had to be at least an A- because each piece was going to be given directly to a performer, and I realized that I was in trouble.
I was going to have to write short, succinct pieces that left room for interpretation, and then give them to really, really good actors.
Luckily, that last part came to fruition and so my behind--for the moment--is saved.
One of the reasons I was determined to do this project, even when I wasn't sure I could, was because I wanted to take the mystique out of writing.
In a little less than a week, I'll be working with teenagers on putting together a project using their own writing.
I find that in the arts, there are a lot of artists who like to muddy the waters of technique, because they want to make it seem like talent is something given by the gods to the lucky among us.
Not the case, at least not with writing.
Like anything else, there are writers who are just naturally good at it. I was not one of those writers.
If you go back to the beginning of this blog and move up, you'll see that I sort of learned as I went, and I'm still learning.
I read some great writing books, but the problem is, most of them weren't actually about writing.
Tips like 1) Find a quiet corner to write in. 2) Play music. 3) Meditate.
They're nice and all, but how about some ideas? How about jumping off points to help get me started?
People get nervous when they have to talk about art in objective terms like "good" and "bad."
The fact is, there is good and bad writing, the same way there are good and bad movies, and it has nothing to do with who enjoys what.
If a million people love Transformers 3, that doesn't make it a good movie, it just means those people have bad taste.
(I happen to be one of those people by the way.)
This fear of objectivity and of continuing to encourage this notion that art is ethereal--that it's in the air, and we have to try and snatch it with invisible nets--is preposterous.
(By the way, whenever I use the word "preposterous" I imagine myself as Mr. Banks from Mary Poppins.)
There are ways to improve someone as a writer, actors, artist, etc.
We just need to start thinking of these things in purely technical terms, and from that technique, all the magical, invisible stuff will grow from that person's individuality.
I don't plan on trying to help these teenagers write like me. I want them to write like themselves. That means I have to give them basic ground rules and a foundation.
A jumping off point.
The stronger the foundation, the better the building.
...Hey, that's pretty good.
I should write that down.
Aren't you worried it's a little...gimmicky?
Well, yes, I was worried.
But felt that if I did it well, then what seemed like a gimmick would become a "concept."
I mentioned that the only difference between a gimmick and a concept is execution.
Any great concept sounds gimmicky when you first hear about it.
So how did I do with the project?
Well, to--at first--not answer that question, let me just say that every few months I do a Monologue Madness Month where I write 100 pieces over the course of the month.
Some are great, some are okay, and some are awful.
I've learned that you have to write the awful pieces to get to the good pieces, so the awful pieces don't bother me that much.
Then I came to the 24 Hour Project, where each piece had to be at least an A- because each piece was going to be given directly to a performer, and I realized that I was in trouble.
I was going to have to write short, succinct pieces that left room for interpretation, and then give them to really, really good actors.
Luckily, that last part came to fruition and so my behind--for the moment--is saved.
One of the reasons I was determined to do this project, even when I wasn't sure I could, was because I wanted to take the mystique out of writing.
In a little less than a week, I'll be working with teenagers on putting together a project using their own writing.
I find that in the arts, there are a lot of artists who like to muddy the waters of technique, because they want to make it seem like talent is something given by the gods to the lucky among us.
Not the case, at least not with writing.
Like anything else, there are writers who are just naturally good at it. I was not one of those writers.
If you go back to the beginning of this blog and move up, you'll see that I sort of learned as I went, and I'm still learning.
I read some great writing books, but the problem is, most of them weren't actually about writing.
Tips like 1) Find a quiet corner to write in. 2) Play music. 3) Meditate.
They're nice and all, but how about some ideas? How about jumping off points to help get me started?
People get nervous when they have to talk about art in objective terms like "good" and "bad."
The fact is, there is good and bad writing, the same way there are good and bad movies, and it has nothing to do with who enjoys what.
If a million people love Transformers 3, that doesn't make it a good movie, it just means those people have bad taste.
(I happen to be one of those people by the way.)
This fear of objectivity and of continuing to encourage this notion that art is ethereal--that it's in the air, and we have to try and snatch it with invisible nets--is preposterous.
(By the way, whenever I use the word "preposterous" I imagine myself as Mr. Banks from Mary Poppins.)
There are ways to improve someone as a writer, actors, artist, etc.
We just need to start thinking of these things in purely technical terms, and from that technique, all the magical, invisible stuff will grow from that person's individuality.
I don't plan on trying to help these teenagers write like me. I want them to write like themselves. That means I have to give them basic ground rules and a foundation.
A jumping off point.
The stronger the foundation, the better the building.
...Hey, that's pretty good.
I should write that down.
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