Onion Man

Onion Man Productions: State of the Union 2012

2012-02-12T16:54:00.000-08:00

As we start 2012, we thought it would be a good time for a little message from Manager and Founder, James Beck:

Each June for the past three years, Onion Man Productions has produced a collection of short plays by local playwrights at the Lionheart Theatre Company. This year Onion Man Productions will present “Summer Harvest 2012,” a new collection of ten minute plays by local playwrights. This showcase gives playwrights the opportunity to be produced, while local actors and directors have the chance to work on original pieces. Since January 2009, Onion Man has produced 33 new plays by Georgia playwrights, which resulted in 33 directing opportunities and 95 paid roles for actors. In addition, Onion Man has always performed staged readings of some of the submitted plays that do not make the showcase. All in all, every June is a rich harvest of talent and a treat for the Norcross community and the Atlanta theatre community.

But Onion Man Productions now has to ask the question, who do we want to be on a year round basis? Based on the experience that Founder James Beck had while living in Chicago, it was clear that what the Atlanta theatre community needed was a more fertile field for creativity. More than yet another theatre company, what Atlanta needed was a theatre organization dedicated to providing opportunities for theatre artists from all backgrounds, or an "open door" where they could learn and grow. Whether performing on stage in shows, attending classes, or by participating in ongoing free and open programming, members of the local community, as well as current theatre artists, could find a creative home with Onion Man.

Therefore in 2011 Onion Man started the journey to becoming a well rounded theatre arts education center while continuing to produce new plays annually. With the addition of some terrific talent like Programs Director--Joanie McElroy, Artistic Director--Daniel Carter Brown, Literary Manager--Daphne Mintz, and Director of Social Media and Marketing--Brandi Kilgore, who will work with James Beck as the Managing Director, the "open door" was created for the theatre community.

As 2012 begins, Onion Man has a home for classes and programs at the Norcross Garden Club located at 33 College Street, Norcross, GA 30071. This February, Onion Man will feature an Audition class taught by Daniel Carter Brown. Starting in March, Onion Man will also offer the first in a series of film classes, beginning with a screenwriting class and followed by an On-Camera acting class. All of the classes are affordably priced in the spirit of community outreach and participation.

Also, Onion Man hosts regularly scheduled, free events that the public is welcome to attend. A regular meeting of actors and playwrights called “Roots and Shoots” is held once a month, where writers are offered the chance to hear new works in progress read aloud by actors. Onion Man also hosts a reading of a new play on the “Second Saturday” of every other month. In addition, Onion Man is always open to finding new ways to be a benefit to the local Norcross community, as well as the greater Atlanta theatre community.

For more information, about Onion Man Productions visit www.onionmanproductions.com

Onion Man can also be found on Facebook at facebook.com/onionmanproductions and on Twitter @OnionManNews

The Craft of Storytelling: Endearing Characters

2012-01-20T06:42:00.000-08:00

A wise, old man once told me, “Young people like to write about death. All their stories are about facing death, facing disease, facing a gun, losing a father, losing a brother, losing a baby. They need to know what it is to face unemployment, face a child with a note in your hand that just says “Gone out,” lose a job, lose a house, lose your heart, lose your pride. Then, they’ll have something to write about.”

Subsequently, I have participated in several writing workshops where the only rules are:

No death or terminal illness
No big guns
No genre fiction (ghost stories, sci-fi, fantasy).

Death and terminal illness are fine in memoirs. Big guns are fine in plot driven stories. Genre fiction is fine for your third or fourth attempt at creating a story, but not to start off—you get too caught up in creating an imaginary world so that your characters become understudies.

The first chore of telling a story is to endear your audience to your main character. Why should they care about this person? If she has a big gun pointed at her, has liver cancer, and is being haunted by the ghost of her lost love, then we care about her for the wrong reasons. We don’t even have to know her to hope she finds a cure for cancer, doesn’t get shot, and wakes up from a bad dream to find that there is no ghost at after all. These are contrivances (nice word for “cheap shots”) to get people to care.

Now think of all the people you care about in real life. Do you care because they are victims of some dreadful circumstance? Hopefully, you care about them because you know their heart. Hopefully, you care about them in spite of their shortcomings. Think of someone you once knew that you wish you didn’t let get away, someone else who made an impact on one recurring theme in your life, someone you weren’t able to help when they needed a hand, someone you took time to change your whole day for. These are the seeds of the stories you will tell.

The wise, old man said it best, “Stories should be about life.”

2011-10-18T13:45:00.001-07:00

Onion Man Production's Programs Director Joanie McElroy is currently directing "Death of a Salesman" by Arthur Miller at the New Dawn Theater Company in Duluth, GA. In honor of her recent experience in the "Director's Chair" Joanie has written a few words for us about her relationship with Creativity and with Directing.

Directors are Creative, Too!

By: Joanie McElroy

This summer has been atypical for me. Usually I have some major project that requires the movement of furniture and the rethinking of the color scheme of certain rooms in the house. In other words, I tend to repaint the rooms on average about every summer. This summer, I have yet to lift a paintbrush. That isn’t to say I haven’t done any rearranging of furniture, purchased new items for the fireplace mantle and so on. I derive some sense of satisfaction doing this. But why?

What do directors do anyway?

I have concluded that it appeals to my sense of creativity. I need to see the fruits of my labor, be it a different paint color on the wall or a repositioning of the sofa. So, how does directing appeal to my sense of creativity? Isn’t directing more of a logistic or an event--an executive thing as opposed to creative? What creative input do directors have on a play?

How a vision is formed

I can only answer that question for myself. This summer I taught a directing workshop which required me to deconstruct my approach to directing. I had to begin with the beginning, as they say, which is the central conflict of the story. Who is in this play, what do they want, and what is getting in the way of allowing these characters to fill that vacuum? How can I illuminate that vacuum, that conflict? And where do I find the creativity in that?

I find as I am reading and analyzing a play that I begin to visualize the finished product – from the look of the set to lighting to important scenes. I also think about the flow and dynamics of the action.

Directing IS Art!

When I think back upon what influences me in my “art” – my creative input as to the look of the play – there were two major influences: a beginner’s drawing class and choreography.

When I think of choreography, I remember the words, flow, dynamics, depth, static, tension. The movement in dance (and movement ONLY) told the story. How can I take these elements of dance and use them in the movement of a play? Using the height, depth, line, and point of energy on stage allows me to manipulate how an audience will respond to that point of tension from point to point, character to character, or character to object. I can allow the flow to happen, impede the flow, or alter the flow.

One of the best things I remember from drawing is how to manipulate the eye – what do I want my viewer to see? I draw only what I see, but I don’t have to draw everything. What is important? What is irrelevant? What is incidental? And what is essential? Also, how can using shading allow me to highlight the point of focus of the eye? I tell them what to look at; I say, “Here, this is important; See this moment. This is the purpose of the scene.”

Of course, all of this begins with analysis. And in my analysis, I love to find symbols and metaphors. For example, in the play "Strange Snow," the two characters are going fishing. How can I use fishing as a metaphor? How does a scene show a character baiting the hook, waiting for a bite until the moment when, "A ha! You’ve got’em!" Or is it the story of the one that got away? Metaphors and symbols are literary elements you can really grab onto and help answer a lot of questions for your vision.

Payback

I have always been envious of my husband, a guitar player. When he wants to get out his creative energies, he simply picks up his guitar and goes and plays for hours and hours. But me? I've got to mount an entire production! However, after the weeks of rehearsals, analysis, and collaboration and so on, the final product becomes the visual and emotional payback. It’s a long way to go, but it’s sure with the trip!

If you would like to learn more about Directing from Joanie, she will be offering her "Directing Workshop" on Saturday, November 12 and Saturday, November 19th, 2011 from 10:00 AM to 3:00 PM. This is a two-part workshop, with a lunch break. Visit www.onionmanproductions.com to register and for more information. We are offering an early sign up fee of $75!

Action is Character

2011-07-26T18:58:00.000-07:00

After much pleading and prodding, we have finally convinced our Literary Manager of Onion Man Productions, Daphne Mintz, to provide some inspirational words for your reading pleasure.

Daphne is a playwright, whose play “In Lieu of Flowers” is currently nominated for a MAT Award. She also is the creative force behind After Dinner Theatre, a networking group for all of us hardworking theatrical arts participants.

Daphne is a woman with many “Mantras” to share. Read below for some insight on one of her favorite mantras regarding ACTION, and how it applies to writing and creating characters.

Mantra: ACTION IS CHARACTER

People love to talk about themselves and love to talk about each other. So, be ready for your characters to spend a lot of time either talking about themselves or other people. Be ready to prove their perceptions right or wrong through the use of action.

Example

Lillian (dressed in overalls): I don't give a rat's ass what people think! I mind my business, so they should mind theirs. What business has she coming in here telling me I'll never get a man 'cause of the way I dress. Not every woman needs a man like that shined up hussy!
Martin: Well, pretty is all Emma Jean has going for herself I reckon. So, the thought of being plain is scary to her. I suppose the day will come along when your sense outshines her pretty face. That will be a sad day for Emma.

Martin exits.

Lillian's anger subsides to a pout as she returns to the table and flips through her school book not really reading. Determined to get her mind off of Emma Jean, she searches for the homework page and finds it. The difficult science or philosophical problem restores her usual confident, demeanor. Ready to tackle the problem she reaches for her pencil that is not there. She goes to the bureau opens the top drawer where she finds a pencil and heads back to the table. She stops part way then returns to the bureau and reopens the drawer. She pulls out a pink hair ribbon. She ties the ribbon in her hair and smoothes her hair.

Lights fade.

Analysis of the Scene: Imagery Offers Clues

The book is a symbol of SENSE, as is the pencil, perhaps. The ribbon is a symbol of BEAUTY. The business about the science or philosophy is to help the actress and director understand the internal character. The audience will not see what is in the book, but they will see how Lillian interacts with it. This bit confirms that Lillian is a woman of sense/smarts, even though her dialogue indicated that she's not committed to perfect grammar. Lillian's interaction with the ribbon contradicts her dialogue about beauty.

But How Does this Apply to Action?

Give each of your characters something TO DO WITH THEIR HANDS HABITUALLY...even if that means keeping them folded neatly, or tensely, in their lap. (Royalty, matriarchs, patriarchs, other persons in charge can stand like a chess piece with arms down, hands relaxed...even that shows character.)

WARNING: Do not write every hand action down. Include this in the character breakdown or when you first introduce the character. The actor will find the right time to use this information.

Examples:
* Susie keeps a compact mirror and lipstick handy. She methodically applies lipstick whenever she is about to take over a situation or conversation.

* Lewis keeps a pair of dice handy, but never rolls them.

* Brad is always reading. You're never sure if he's really listening to anyone.

~Daphne Mintz

The Actor's Role and Responsibility

2011-06-24T19:04:00.001-07:00

The last couple of posts have gotten me thinking about the role of the actor in the play and how creativity fits into the equation. Is the actor an independent agent pursuing his own creative path? How does the actor fit into the director’s vision or the playwright’s intentions? It's a balancing act, and I think it's something that has to be explored anew in every theatrical experience.

Stanislavsky said that we create a new being every time we do a play: you as the character in the part. He felt that the ultimate character was a unique combination of the text, the character, and the particular experiences of the actor. I've always liked that idea, because I think it leaves room for artistic expression for everyone; no one is a puppet. One important element of acting as art is the actor's ability to bring him/herself to the role. It’s kind of a cliché, but we have to bare our souls and let the audience see inside us. Whether we do this is the difference between entertaining an audience and moving them. I’ve seen far too many performances where an actor simply did an impression of the movie version of a role, often to the delight of the audience. Yes, they were entertained. Yes, the playwright’s intentions were met. The director may have even pushed the actor toward the ordinary. But this is still mediocrity on the actor’s part, and a lack of fulfillment of responsibility.

The actor has a responsibility to present a live, truthful performance every time, even if Saturday night is not the same as Friday. She has a responsibility to reveal something of herself to the audience. Most importantly, she has a responsibility to continue to grow in every role and never settle. These things make the difference between an actor and a performer. I say we should be actors.

The Function of Creativity

2011-06-21T19:27:00.000-07:00

A lot of thoughts on the creative process and experience have been kicking around inside my old onion head. Having just produced another collection of short plays – this year’s collection called "Life is Short" – I was able to both participate and observe a variety of approaches to crafting a play and a performance. One thing I certainly learned is that there is no single absolute when it comes to creativity. As we are all different human beings, we therefore must bring ourselves to the process with our own history, work ethic, emotional qualities, and spirit. Everyone seems to have different needs when it comes to creating a play or a role. But there are a few common aspects that all strong plays and performances share.

Passion
There is really no substitute for this energy. It will keep an artist moving through a process even when it gets tough. In our most recent collection of plays, I think I let my passion slip just a small degree. And that is dangerous.

Doing the Work
You have to do the work. You can’t do half the work and call the result of your work something great. It may have the makings of something great but it never truly becomes manifest because the artist doesn’t stay in the fight. And if passion starts to slip, the place it will show is in the total effort. This doesn’t seem to be an equation in a linear form. There is a compounding effect. For every ounce of passion lost for the project, the result will be an even greater loss in the overall quality of the work.

Finding a Good Balance
Creativity is a chaotic force. The idea that it can be harnessed or forced in any manner is simply a false belief. It is a partnership. As a leader of a creative effort it is necessary to create a fun, enjoyable atmosphere while at the same time setting a standard. This is where I seem to find the biggest challenge. It has been the hardest component to manage. Creativity needs freedom to roam and the opportunity to be constantly evolving. The people doing the creating need a certain amount of structure and that will vary from artist to artist. So it is very much a moving target all of the time. For a person like myself that enjoys the occasional sense of completion or stability, I am constantly being nudged out of rest and back into the spinning turmoil. This is not a bad thing, but it can wear me down unless I stop and understand what is happening in the moment. And, in doing so, I am left with this last important realization.

The Evolving Nature of Creativity
This is the idea that has become the most profound in my juicy mind. We are on a constant course to reinvent and to be reinvented. So any attempt to stand still for any length of time beyond a brief moment (time being subject to Einstein’s theory) is missing the mark. I’ll try this as an explanation. The nature of creativity is like a child playing a very weird game of hopscotch. In the game there is a pattern drawn out on a sidewalk, the child somewhat at the mercy of the toss of a beanbag but also left feeling secure by the lines that mark the course and the numbers that define the progression of movement. But the game it seems is being played in a multi-dimensional space on some spinning axis with levels that change with each new thought, intent, or action. The path is there. The path is changing. And when you reach the point that signals "home" you must then return back the way you came, but it’s not quite the same. That’s as reasonable of an explanation of the experience of creativity that I can articulate. And, in reality, it is probably much more true for a progression of a life than the creative process. Creativity has some other cog in the wheel. This thing called Chaos. A beautiful monster.

And now, having finished our annual shows and ready to find some sense of stability, Onion Man Productions is moving into the educational arena and I find myself right back in the midst of the turmoil. I think I just need to stop believing in the idea that we are ever at rest. Something is always churning.

I just have to keep my onion head rolling along.

Actor vs. Playwright

2011-05-27T06:19:00.000-07:00

I notice an odd phenomenon sometimes when I'm at the theatre, or at a rehearsal. An actor, in a contemporary play, will say something no person would ever say; or perhaps say words in a way that no person would ever say them. The speech onstage becomes unnatural.

- I should take a moment and emphasize that this post was not inspired by any of the acting in any of the Onion Man shows... everyone I've seen is doing great. -

This is commonplace in modern Shakespeare acting. The actor who can speak Shakespeare naturally and conversationally is rare. But it happens in modern plays as well.

I think it comes from distrust, either in the playwright, or in the actor himself. A line doesn't make sense on first reading, and the actor makes one of three assumptions: 1) The playwright wrote a bad line, 2) The playwright made a mistake, or 3) The actor isn't smart enough to grasp the language, so he's going to have to fake it. I don't buy any of them.

1. Most published plays have been through several staged readings, and a first rehearsal process and production. Hundreds of opinions, on moments big and small, have been thrown at the playwright. The playwright has thought through all these opinions and altered the script as she has seen fit. So much thought went into the words of that line, there's a 99.99% chance that they say exactly what the playwright wants to say.

2. Typos happen, but they're fairly obvious. The character Brian's name didn't suddenly become "Brain," though if "Brain" is written, you might want to explore the possibility that it's a nickname before you assume it's a typo. If an actor thinks there's a typo, she should explore every avenue that the words are the playwright's intent before finally concluding otherwise.

3. At some point, every actor was given their role by a director or casting director of some sort. Dumb actors don't get cast as smart characters. And most actors are actually pretty smart, despite what the techies say. The language of a play may have a level of poetry or nuance to it that makes it difficult to grasp; but it should still be spoken as though the characters do naturally speak that way.

One thing that throws actors is inconsistency between playwrights in style. Some playwrights will include "wrylies" all over the place, telling actors that the line should be read according to some adverb. Therefore some actors don't explore sarcasm as a possibility in lines that don't say "sarcastically." Some playwrights will cut off an interrupted line with (...), some with (--), and some make sure to include "interrupting" on the following line.

The solution to this confusion is looking elsewhere in the play for similar usage. Readers of my plays should find that I consistently use (--) to mean the line is interrupted, and (...) to indicate that the line trails off. They'd also find that I rarely include acting directions in the text. Shouted or overemphasized words might be in all caps; or I might include a "[to Brian]" where leaving it out would be confusing.

Here's a quick example:
The line "Despite what you've heard, I am not a thief" doesn't tell you what word gets the emphasis. Or does it? Why would the character say "I am not" when he's clearly not above using contractions in the first clause? That tells me that "not" should be emphasized.

Yes, I could write the line "Despite what you've heard, I am NOT a thief," but doing that with every line will irritate the actor and the director.

So my advice to the actor struggling with making a line make sense: trust that the playwright knows what they're doing and did it on purpose. Trust that you can unlock the reason. There may be some illumination of character hiding behind it.

Time to Grow

2011-05-22T21:26:00.000-07:00

It is time for this blog space to transition from a blog about one person to a blog about many people. Specifically, the artists, instructors and creative talent working with Onion Man Productions (OMP, www.onionmanproductions.com), as well as other invited talented creative types. The purpose being to relate the experience of artists exploring this mystery we called “creativity.” And since many of the artists writing for this blog will be related to the company, OMP, I thought this might be a good time to explain the name, Onion Man.

The “Onion Man” is a character in a play of mine by the same name. The character is a metaphor for the unconscious part of ourselves that will hold us to the truth of our experience and existence. In the play the Onion Man is specifically the reflection of all the things the father in the play refuses to recognize in himself. And the play goes on to use this character to explore how things are passed, unconsciously, father to son. In starting the company, it meant a lot to me to name the company Onion Man because in many ways it is a reference to my own father. But I also realized that the name would need to carry a “larger” meaning to represent an organization.

And there is more meaning in the name. One meaning is obvious – the peeling away of layers. And that is certainly intentional but not the only metaphor at work. Some other meaningful connections between the name and the creative experience – the firm, roundness of the onion, the thin skin that covers the body, the relationship between what is “natural” and the experience of “man,” the organic nature of creativity, and there are certainly other parallels that can be found in the meaning.

But, in the simplest terms, it is a metaphor for our unconscious self. And as an arts organization focused on developing new plays, working with the unconscious elements that emerge in new work and also from an actor or director bringing themselves to the experience, a crucial element is being able to parse out the fragments of inspiration and working to craft something wonderful from often the odd impulses from our “other” self. It is the way to create meaningful, powerful work

So it is my hope, that the people contributing to this blog will explore the experience of creativity. Because at its best, Onion Man strives to be a place where creative thought and energy can be made manifest on the stage in a manner that reflect both the individual experience in life but also the “big ideas” represented by a good old round onion.

In Lieu . . .

2011-02-13T19:49:00.000-08:00

It has taken a while to be able to post anything. I have written some things but in the end they did not feel right for putting up on this blog. Maybe the timing was just not right. So, nothing has gone up for months.

But now, with the opening my friend’s play Daphne Mintz’s wonderful “In Lieu of Flowers,” it’s time to put words on this blog.

As a playwright, your dream is to get your play produced. And as I have been very successful in producing short plays by many Atlanta playwrights and some of my own short plays the production of one of my full-length plays is still a goal that has remained unfulfilled. And I have some strong work that is ready for production; I just don’t do a very good job of submitting my work. I decided a couple of years ago that I wanted my first full-length production to be in Atlanta so I have limited myself to a large degree. I’m sure I need to re-evaluate that position.

But then Daphne’s play kind of fell into my lap and I decided to be the one to produce her lovely play. I was first introduced to the work through a staged reading of the play presented by Working Title Playwrights. After hearing the reading, I knew at that moment this was a gem of a play and assumed one of the local theatre companies would snap up the play. But they didn’t. So, fast-forward a couple of years and Daphne and I had grown close and worked together through Onion Man Productions. I don’t remember the moment it happened, but she gave me the “okay” to produce her play. But I did so stating that if a better offer came along, I would want her to take advantage of the larger exposure. Onion Man is still a new company and would be straining its resources to produce her play, but I felt it was a gamble that would pay off. But there was also this . . .sensation, feeling . . . that I would only need to take the play part of the way and someone else would step in to finish the job. And I was right.

Thankfully, Tanya Caldwell, a close friend and Artistic Director with Lionheart Theatre Company agreed first to direct the piece and then agreed to also produce it as part of Lionheart’s season. I happily stepped aside and was thrilled for Daphne and the play. I knew Tanya could do the play justice. It also allowed me to fall back into the role of volunteer and supporter of the creative effort. It is a role I relish and felt I could really help the play by doing a lot behind the scenes. In the end, Tanya ended up listing me as Technical Director. A kind gesture and a reward for all the time and effort I put into the production of this lovely play. But that is not “why” I worked so hard to see this play succeed.

Going back to the idea that a playwright’s goal is to see their work produced, it began to dawn on me that maybe the best thing I could do was help another playwright - one I admire, respect and love - gain their first full-length production. Having been way too self-absorbed for much of my life, this seemed like a good opportunity to put another’s dream ahead of my own, and I set a goal to work just as hard on the production of her play as I would one of my own. I also had a great love for her play and an emotional connection to the work, although I only came to really understand that deep connection through the process. And I would also be helping out Tanya and Lionheart Theatre. So, there was a lot to be gained in the process, but none of it was directly about me. And well, I guess it’s almost unnatural to invest yourself in someone else’s dream. But I did it and her lovely play has hit the stage and become a fully realized dream.

Maybe blogging about all this takes away from the effort and focuses things back on me. I don’t know. But I learned so much. And I have always carried the hope that in some karmic way by helping another playwright gain their first full-length production it would at some point come back to me in the form of a production of one of my own plays. But you can never know. It is an act of faith and love.

Often in my relationship with God, it is easy to complain, whine or get my nose out of joint based on my life. But what I often don’t see are all the little ways God blesses me and allows my life to continue to grow and serve a greater notion. And, of course, I rarely acknowledge that love. God is selfless. It is a whole other way to experience love. And it is new to me . . . to give with little expectation of return, to fight against any growing need of reward, to just to give and find satisfaction in giving and seeing it cause joy for another. It is certainly not something I am used to experiencing. But I have been thoroughly touched and amazed by how deep the experience can be in terms of my understanding the love of God. That’s a big lesson for me.

I pick up this post the night before the closing performance of “In Lieu of Flowers.” The experience has only grown richer. I have witnessed this gem of a play touch people. As a team working on the play, we have all grown and gained from the experience. It has truly been a joy. Friday night, in a moment of joy, Daphne jumped into my arms and we laughed and embraced. That was it. That was the moment that made all the work worth the effort. To experience that kind of joy with another person is so deep and wonderful.

And then there is a neat twist in this story. One I never saw coming and then it just kind of happened. Tanya, the director and producer of “In Lieu of Flowers”, and I were exchanging emails. We were kidding about how well we worked together. So I proposed she direct one of my plays. The one play she was aware of that I have completed and ready is not one she wants to touch. And I get that. But, I was like “No, no no, I have this other play that is REALLY funny.” And it is. So I sent her the play and she totally gets the humor and sees the potential. Next thing I know she is offering to produce my play “Bleach” as a part of the 2012 Lionheart season. It truly was the last thing I saw coming down the tracks. I was stunned and amazed. Here I was totally engaged and enthralled in the production of Daphne’s play and next thing I know I’m finding out that I will get my play produced. Someone should have just gone ahead and kicked me in the head. I was dizzy.

I conclude this post with a prayer. A prayer that many will start to take themselves less seriously and learn to give of himself or herself to someone, or something, they love. It is not only well worth the effort, it is where true meaning can be found in this life. To give as God gives – not because we expect something, not because we feel obligated but because we are able.

This post is dedicated to Daphne and Tanya. I love you both. I am blessed to call you friends.

The Seperation

2010-04-19T20:47:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure how I’m going to write about this subject because the matter, certainly the wrong word, is wholly abstract. That doesn’t make for good writing. I owe QuinnMama thanks on that lesson – specifics. A writer must anchor their work by using specifics. “When I woke up this morning I had rot in my mouth.” Much better than, “I woke up this morning with a bad taste in my mouth.” Snoozefest. Better still, “When I woke up this morning I had rot in my mouth, a woman’s monstrous brown nipple poking my eye and the memory of small bald man with cracked, marbleized teeth saying ‘Do you take this woman. . .’ Far better. Thanks, QuinnMama.

But for this piece of writing, I’m left in the territory of abstraction. How else do you write about a separation from the physical world into another perception. Like the snap of a fresh onion layer, I have broken the bounds in some small way. This break started after the writing of my prior post. All of it triggered by the death of my friend. Clarity, a clear day, blue sky, spring . . . the tether was broken . . . like a balloon I go sailing away, away . . . But I am still here . . .

We are physical beings, tied by forces to the physical world and walking under such gravity certain that we know this place. It almost fits in our minds, almost. We cram all we can – facts, figures, measurements, quantities. And they are real, they just aren’t all real. There is another perception. When we think of the dead, we think of them going somewhere . . . other. I’m hear to argue that we are a short step in perception away from occupying the same space, time . . . something. An added dimension for lack of any other way to describe such a thing. A movie rushing at full force into your brain and occupying everything, inflating, expanding and then rushing away. So it’s temporal, this crack in the fabric. At least for now. And exhausting. I haven’t been the same. There is no living in such a realm while experiencing through the prism of this mind. The screen locks up. It’s just too much.

How can anyone talk with certainty about life when life is the host? This borrowed state of consciousness is not a right, certainly not owned. It is given. An opportunity. For what? I don’t know. I matter little. I am only good as I am a part of the whole. Whatever it is I’m here to learn, I’m learning. Then, I go home. My heart aches.

Our efforts matter because we help move each other onward. An object at rest . . . so move me. I’ll move you. The whole thing will turn over and life will change, again. It is a heartbreaking journey we are all on no matter how we try to pretend otherwise. But it’s not all . . . it’s not . . . it’s just a mild separation to be, hopefully, healed.

A Gift from a Friend

2010-03-31T18:48:00.000-07:00

I’ve debated how, or if, to write this post. In the end, I hope it is about what I learned in experiencing the passing of a friend. My intent is to explore my own feelings on the matter and not to make public something that was, for a friend, very private. I will describe a few things about my couple of visits but only those things that relate to my feelings and to what was learned. So, let’s hope I achieve that goal and that this post is not about my friend’s experience in death, but about how, through his difficulty, he gave me a gift.

In November last year, a friend and actor in town, Allen, was diagnosed with stage-four esophageal cancer. As a community of theatre artists, we raised money for him, let him know we loved him and tried to support those who were doing the hard work of caring for Allen in his terrific battle.

This past month I got the call that he was in hospice care. On, Sunday, March 14th, after hearing of his deteriorating state, I went to see my friend. That Sunday, my friend was certainly very sick, but he was there. I held his hand, felt warmth and stroked his arm. There, I had the chance to put my arms around someone who was very dear to Allen. One look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know about the battle she had fought since November. By the time I returned on the 18th, his decline was profound. This time his family was in the room. It was the first chance I’ve had to meet them. It was nice to sit with them and do my best to just help in some very small way. Allen was not responsive. Medication was taking away most of the pain, but it was hard looking at my friend. His body shutting down, cell by cell, organ by organ. We turn off computers so much in our modern day. It was like the brain was doing the same for Allen: terminating processes, eliminating data, disengaging and allowing for the final movement to silence. Allen was five years older than I am. I sat there talking with his mother as she told me how hard it was to watch her boy, her child, suffer. How hard it was when the moment came that two-way communication was no longer possible. It wasn’t as hard to take when she could do things for him. I could not help but think of my own mother in that position. It was a crushing thought.

I left my friend, eyes closed, with little weight left on his frame, breathing in odd strains. I knew when I left that day that he would pass when the moment was ready for his family in their process of grief. Then he would go. There is more to life that what we see. I feel that other space and time, or timelessness, just a short, quick, idle step away from what we call life. I know that. So, I did not worry for my friend in death. I cried for him in his suffering. The lesson, “We are quiet visitors in this life – nothing more.” No need to pretend otherwise.

The following morning, March 19th, my friend passed away. When someone leaves this world through illness, for the longest time it is about the person. But over that it span, the person with the illness begins to give back to us and the subject becomes those around him or her. Then we are taught and comforted. We fear death when it is rightfully a full passage out of this world and into the hearts of many. The self is given, dies, and dissipates. Then there are only the ones remaining - “we” “us” “together” - that share a common love and a common grief.

On, Tuesday, March 23rd, I went to a memorial service. A service in a beautiful place, on what turned out to be a beautiful day, with a lot of people who would have loved nothing more than to hug Allen. His body did not exist anymore. That sole point drove the heartache home like no other aspect of his death. This person who I came to care for, love, and who had an impact on my life was now physically no longer a part of this world. I really struggled to fully embrace the idea. That day, his ashes were buried in a beautiful garden on the grounds of the church. He was certainly alive in spirit, and I know I’ve felt his spirit on a few occasions since his passing. Whatever void is crossed, he made it to the other side. I feel that strongly but, obviously, it is not a point that can be proved. It is something I take on faith and in my feelings and perceptions about life.

I have identified with Allen’ passing in a way I have never done before. I’m usually pretty good at maintaining a certain distance when it comes to illness and death. Not that I pretend I was there helping him through the brutal days - I wasn’t. I did a few things to help along the way, let him know I loved him and in the end went to see him a couple of times before his passing. But he had great, loving people doing so much for him. But I could have done more for him, I know that. But for me, in my own cautious way, I reached out and let him know that he was my friend and that I loved him.

His death has had a profound impact on my thinking. It has stirred me and has me asking questions and seeking answers. And not the question of why bad things happen to good people or the issue of fairness or any other issue that is of this world. It gets back to that moment when I learned that Allen was no longer available to me in physical form. It brings me back to the central issue of my faith – Christ’s death and resurrection. To be honest, I’ve learned to accept it as a metaphor for my faith. A journey we undertake in seeking God. But, now, I wonder. I still can’t imagine any physical body just up and disappearing. There is not any evidence in life to even suggest such a thing is possible. So, on that sole issue, I have not changed. But in terms of the physical body of someone being available one day and then gone; only to be felt as spirit – that experience seems entirely real. Maybe I just need to feel that way. Maybe I talk myself into feeling my friend’s spirit to ease the grief. Maybe. But there are little things that happen, small reminders that speak . . . they say “I’m here. Maybe out of reach. But I’m here.”

I’ve been acting in a play through this process, and I’ve enjoyed talking to Allen and asking for his input on the challenges in playing the role. It’s been a fun and instructive conversation to have while I prepare to step on stage. I have a great imagination so it is an easy conversation to have with my friend. And in my prayers before I take to the stage, I welcome him to play out under the lights. Crazy, to be sure. Fun, absolutely.

In the days since his passing I’ve begun to wonder about my attachment to Allen’s death. The way it impacted on me in relation to how well I really knew Allen does not seem to be in proportion. Allen had a family and many loving friends. It was not necessary for me to do or feel anymore than any friend might feel at such a time. So, that tells me there was more at work. In addition to my true concern and love for Allen and those around him, I know I was grappling with my own issues about death and in some way dealing with feelings about the absence of my brother in my life. It is a choice my brother and his wife made and only time and circumstance will heal that rift. And I’m okay with that. My life is a lot simpler without having my brother in my life. I pray from him and love him from where I sit in life. One day, that will change again. But, I think, in Allen, I have been able to work through some of my grief on the subject. Of course, I was not aware of this aspect in feeling all that emotion regarding Allen, but I think there may be something to the idea. Somehow, in Allen’s suffering, he was giving me a gift. And amazing idea if you stop to think about it. God’s grace and mercy knows no limits. Even in pain and suffering, something deep and rich can be at work. I don’t claim to understand any of it. But I want to thank my dear friend Allen for his gift. He was my friend. We laughed a lot together, battled though some tough moments on creative projects and shared some terrific times together. I am a lucky and blessed man. Despite the day job I work, the crappy apartment I live in, being alone, living paycheck to paycheck, and living with a feeling of being broken and flawed in so many ways, I can’t help but feel blessed. I’m still here, my dreams still alive and granted the chance to have a terrific friend like Allen and others in my life. The opportunity is mine. A gift given. Thanks, Allen. Thanks, my friend. Big love.

Onion Life

2010-02-28T19:04:00.000-08:00

Or life as an onion. Either way, it describes me. A seedless bulb, wrapped in layers, resting in the dirt, considering the sky. It doesn’t have to be precise, just to get the point across. It also describes the heaviness I carry in my head. Most would call it depression. I just call it having an onion head. And the weight varies from day to day, week to week, situation to situation. Get me to a point where I’m feeling overwhelmed and fearing that the wheels are about to come off, and the weight gets heavy and over I fall. And once down, I stay awhile. Or some days, I wake up and it’s as if a thin, fine onion skin has covered my head, and I spend the morning wandering in a daze until I realize the skin can be easily peeled away. And, often, on those days, I’m okay with not seeing clearly, at having an altered point of view. I like the warm buzz, the feeling of swimming underwater in a gentle pool. Although awake, I am hidden. Don’t let anyone ever tell you depression doesn’t have an upside. It certainly does. It’s where I stumble on some really strong creative images and thoughts. I think it’s also some sort of self-protective mechanism. Growing up amidst chaos, a very logical option was shutting down, retreating. And after awhile, it gets real comfortable and safe. It still is. Give me a weekend where I can shut down, retreat, I’m in heaven.

Of course there is the downside, when my head is left underground for too long, it goes bad. I forget there is a sun, the sky. I focus only on the grinding dirt and become preoccupied with rot. I’ve suffered a rotten head a number of times in my life. The first that I really can identify was in my early twenties. That one hung around for years until I finally found help through therapy and by beginning to take acting classes. The therapy has been off and on through the years. The acting classes led to an unknown passion and the discovery of a form of writing that made sense – plays.

In 2001, as a long-term relationship came to an end and then my job did the same, I went down the old road again. And only a few years after, I lost my balance again and went down really hard. The onion in my head had simply grown too fat and round. There is no doubt that age and body chemistry play their part, but, it also had to do with being disobedient to God’s will, a true purpose, a path. I wanted! I had made Chicago home. I would not leave! So, God covered me with soil until I figured out the problem was me. So, I moved back to Atlanta. Through a lot of good work with a great counselor, some medication, help of family and a miraculous new network of friends, I have healed and even grown strong.

But I still have an onion head. I’m learning to see it as a blessing. In an immediate world, I walk a step behind, moving slowly. The light is different, the sounds not the same – I hear trains, my breath, the muffled murmur of eternity. I am God’s. Only he knows what to do with an onion head. My job is to keep upright, to maintain balance and to do my part in helping to create this onion life.

. . . the subject of trains

2010-01-29T18:08:00.000-08:00

Trains drove their sound into my subconscious at sixteen. After spending all of my life in the suburbs of Atlanta, my family found itself in a ranch style home that rested on a concrete slab like all the other homes in the small neighbor that was once, apparently by the number of fruit trees, a grove. It was an odd spot for a neighborhood in that it was really only one road circling a flat piece of ground between one of Orlando’s many lakes and Hwy 17/92 - a main thoroughfare, leading north out of Orlando deeper into the sprawl.

In the morning darkness, I would drag myself from bed, prepare and walk out of the grove of homes and go and wait on the side of the highway for the bus to take me to Winter Park High School. That’s when I remember really hearing that train, in those early hours, as I slumbered my way down the empty neighborhood road, feeling the bath of warm air of middle Florida and noticing a seeming gloom hovering in the trees, moss, around the streetlights. I would hear that train. Even came to expect it in the morning. Then I would hear it again at night, lying on my back in bed.

It’s hard to say how often I heard the pulling train cars because after awhile, I think I actually stopped noticing. My mind began to register it as insignificant. Until sometime in the late night or early morning hours of February, when my father pulled himself from my parent’s bed, quietly removed the small shotgun and shells from underneath the bed (the same gun and shells I had seen under the bed when snooping for no real reason). He walked out to a small fenced area just off the master bath. A solitary place where a person could stand naked if they wanted because no one could see through the overlapping slats of the dark fence. And wearing only his underwear, a sight I had come to see a lot of in his last days, a man seemingly unaware or unconcerned with his personal state, he put the shotgun to his chest and pulled the trigger. It was a small caliber shotgun and my guess is that the shot itself did not kill him right away. There would have been a lot of bleeding, choking on one’s own blood and then consciousness would cease. I heard none of it.

But I did wake early that morning. I lay in bed. What was it I heard? Why are Mom and Dad up? Something is not right. But, I honestly did not want to know. Then my bedroom door opened and the shadows of two people entered. One was Mom. Something was not right. The second shadow was much larger than my father. The dark shape belonged to the minister from the church we had started to attend. They told me and then I listened as they went to tell my brother. I remember sitting on the sofa talking to the police – there were questions to be asked and answered. There was the feeling of the world suddenly upside down, my head on the brown carpet with my feet spinning in the air. Then there was my Mom walking around the house, trying to be functional, but completely lost. She was wearing a nightgown and at some point I noticed my father’s watch hanging loosely around her wrist. Something wasn’t right. I took it from her. There were specks of my father’s blood on the watch. It needed cleaning. He was, apparently, also wearing his watch, the same watch that is wrapped around my wrist as I type this post.

It’s all murky, that morning. With the passage of years it has become even less clear. And, I could not tell you then or now, for sure, if I heard the train that morning, but something in me says I did. I’ve lived many places since that morning. And in quite a few, there have been trains. And every time I hear one, somewhere inside, a signal is sent. There is a wail in the air, a scream, a cry . . . “this is life, this is life.”

So I Walk

2010-01-24T09:31:00.000-08:00

So I walk . . .

At soon to be 45, if you can call July soon, I am in the middle period where I seem to sway back and forth along a tightrope trying to decided which way to proceed. Of course, there is no choice, but, at times, I still fool myself, just not for long. So, I have to be honest. At almost 45, given that men die sooner than woman and that I really don’t have a great desire, at the moment, to see 80+, I have maybe 25 to 30 years left in this life, barring some unforeseen incident or health issue. And that pure, concise thought settles it for me. The “it” being the desire to waver or consider for too long a course of action. It is clarifying. And I am thankful for the realization. You know, “thanks God for reminding me that it will end.” So often I, we, work really hard to avoid our eyes on that real truth (i.e. the graveyard scene in “Our Town.”) It won’t last – nothing we build, create or claim will hold. The atoms and molecules will lose energy. And we’ll sleep.

I’m not one of those pretends to know what happens after death. You know, that’s an issue of faith. But so is living. At my best, I have learned to surrender to God everything I hold dear – my writing and creative efforts (yes, I list that first and people who know me will understand. And, yes, that is terribly f’ed up), relationships and family (I will blog on family at some point. Could be it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.) and the wants in life (name your toys and ambitions). At my best, none of it matters, I surrender it all and allow God work his miracles. I allow his will to be made manifest in me (and I never claim to understand divine will) and open up to having fellowship with others, being accepting and often loving (despite what some folks claim.) At my worst, I am just the same as any man or woman living in this time – worried, anxious, obsessed with self and status, need, desire and attempting to frame life in a way so I can create a belief that I have some control. I have none. It’s a fallacy. I am completely vulnerable all the time despite the protest of my ego and various means of self-defense. But the comfort, for me, is found in the grace of God. The mercy that says “I love you anyway.” And, “ no, you don’t deserve it, I give it as a gift. Trust me.”

Yes, I am a Christian. Although probably on the liberal side of the aisle, and I don’t pretend to know the only way to God. Others, I’m sure, find the same grace by different means. But one thing I feel to be true is that grace doesn’t care how you arrive. Grace and mercy are just glad to have you home.

This blog will be a place to help me along in that journey, and, maybe, help others in their walk. And that matters. The togetherness part. That although we are, by the seeming function of the world, forced to take the walk alone, and yet, the richness in life is found together – bouncing along the same taut wire, somehow managing, by grace, to make our way.