Process Journal for See Greg; See Greg Dream [Or some play with another title that

is just as kick ass]

Wednesday March 21 The Day I Realized Writing is Shit. Im stuck. And not the boring, typical, writers block Oh, Im stuck. I mean it in a much more larger, general sense. And that is really affecting my writing. I look back at the first draft of my first act and I get so confused. Its utter shit. It doesnt make sense. I cant believe I actually thought what I was writing was decent. And I dont understand why I wrote any of it. I try and go back and find a story in what Ive written, and I cant. At all. I dont know where to start. Do I scrap it all and start from scratch? Just carrying the idea over and see where that leads me? Or do I try and salvage something. But can you really salvage something from shit. I know it sounds like Im making it sound worse than it actually is, but hopefully I will never be able to prove you wrong because I have long since gotten rid of the first draft and it is hidden somewhere no one can see it, or it just disappears. Lets just say its about to disappear. But Im liking the idea I have or at least the concept, so Im not going to give up completely. Something I havent done yet is write down what the play is about, or really write anything at all about the play Im working on. So here is a list of facts and key points I want to hit in the play. 1. 2. 3. 4. Greg is our main character Gregs mother is agoraphobic and hasnt left the house in several years. The boy down the street (David) is in love with Greg Greg has been having dreams that a stranger comes into his room at night and visits him. These visitations range anywhere from a simple meeting between friends, to kissing, to love making. These scenes are visible and constitute as wet dreams. 5. Gregs other classmates, Emily and Richard, are secretly in love with each other as well. But too worries the other doesnt return the feelings that the are only together in dreams. 6. This is a dream play. Much of the action happens when the characters are asleep. 7. When the mother dreams she dreams of her late husband and decides that she never wishes to wake up and goes into a comma like state in which she is stuck in her dream forever. Okay so this is probably hardcore TMI, but I just went to the bathroom and I was thinking about this play and where its come from and where it is now. And the title used to be Greg Write a Letter and the entire thing was a letter that Greg was writing and so that was the narrative to the audience. And that got me to thinking about how the play is going to change next. I changed the form of the play (from a

letter more to an American myth) because I was stuck. Now Im less stuck, but still stuck nonetheless

Thursday March 22 The Day I Was Able to Salvage Shit. So Ive done some serious soul searching with this script and Im making some progress. Ive decided to open up a new document and start with the opening scene, which acts very much like a prologue. It introduces our character and slightly establishes the rules of the chorus. I think this scene is important and I am pretty happy with the way it turns out. Thats not to say that it is going to stay there, but I feel that it is a good scene to find derivatives from. (Is that even the right word? Im even using that right? I hate when I do that. When I try and sound all writer-esque and I end up just sounding like a pretentious fuck.) So Ive begun, now with the opening prologue and went to the next scene that I wrote that I felt was the most important. Which is the dream sequence between Greg and the stranger. This has changed a lot in my reading or it thus far, in that we are immediately introduced to the issue at large, which is Greg is having fantasies of a man coming into his room at night and he think that perhaps this man may be his father. Ive elaborated that scene as well. I had Fiddle Boy, the lead chorus member take more of a back seat in the scene and allow the characters to live in the scene. That makes it less narrative. It adds a nice affect to see Greg living in it rather than being narrated with it. Also, I had the issue of this man being his father, not only introduced by the chorus member, but also coming out in the scene. Greg confronts (sort of) Guitar Man (whom acts as the stranger) and asks if he is his father or not. It created an interesting tension. Im feeling pretty good about it so far. In the original script this conflict was not introduced until about page 20. Now its within the first 5 pages AND I have set up this faltered dream-like world right at the get go. Having finished that scene (ha. Finished.) I moved onto another scene that wasnt in the original draft. I wanted to flesh out the character of Richard more so I had the scene open up to him in bed. But, I didnt want another dream sequence to happen and so I decided to find out what happens in Richards world when everyone else is dreaming. He is growing a garden underneath his bed. He is creating a hybrid corn/pumpkin vegetable called Pumpcorn. Pumpcorn is a typical gourd, like a pumpkin, but inside instead of seeds, it grows ears of corn. He is doing this out of the hope that he can help families eat well. The gourd will protect the corn inside. It is my hope that this will create an interesting tension. The other characters cannot live out their fantasies unless they are dreaming, but Richard can only do it once everyone is asleep because of his

reputation he must uphold. His reputation is one of the high school bully. The difficulty here, I believe, will to make this a genuine idea. This has just been done so many times. The story of the bully who isnt a bully because he wants to be but a bully because he has to be. I want to find something original in this. And I dont want it to be that he is secretly a homosexual and that is why he is a homophobe. This is the one story line that Im nervous about coming off as unoriginal. I also thought up of a story line for the mother. She is an agoraphobe because her husband died. But I need something more interesting than that. I need her to do something in the house besides just sit and look at the walls. Thats been done (American Beauty and even in my one act The Day We Fell In Love). So I thought what if she is a writer. What if she is writing a book or perhaps an online story series? But what if it is misconstrued for what it is? This play deals a lot with hidden desires. And since most of the characters on the cusp of puberty, or ending puberty what if this series was erotica? By which I mean what if it is read as erotica, but really it is an autobiography of her and her husband. Im not sure where that idea is going but we will see. Friday March 23 The Day I Made That Shit Better [Kind of] Part Uno Now were rolling. Were on a motherfucking roller coaster! Not really. But some good things are coming out more. I havent really looked back at the original draft I have written. Instead, Ive been going forward with what Ive been writing. And its good. Its not amazing. But I am being more keenly aware that I need to introduce conflict soon. Im introducing a lot of potential conflict, but nothing has conflicted yet. And Im also afraid Im getting to bogged down in songs. It wasnt until I wrote an interlude for the mother where she sings her secret song (which introduces the notion that she just wants to go back five years to November. But when I go back and read it Im just afraid that it is making it messier. And I dont want this to be one of those messy plays. I want it to have impact. Not impact. Thats not the right word. I want it to stick. I want these characters to be real. I dont want there to be a bad guy. I want to be able to love all of these characters. And I do. I love them very much. They have been with me for quite sometime. So how do I make the audience love them? I think thats where Im stuck right now. I need the audience to love these characters just as much as I do. Ive been having that problem lately. I wrote a ten minute play recently called Three Beautiful Boys and thats what Kens biggest problem with it. That he didnt understand why we are supposed to care for these characters.

And thats why Im struggling with in my writing in general. How am I supposed to make people care about characters? I care about them. And so when I feel like I write it in there it comes off as melodramatic, or I hit them over the head with it. I need to find that balance. And this is about my writing, not just about this play. I need to learn to make people love who I write about. Or else why the fuck do they even care. But this is terrible. Im only on page what? 10? And Im already censoring myself. Im already worried about going on. I need to just go on. Go on. I have done something that Im not sure how I feel about. I have the chorus members playing different characters. Which I suppose is fine. But thats not how I wanted them to act. But it just sort of happened so Im not going to fight it. Im just going to let it happen and go on. Part Duo Is that right? Duo? The only reason I put that on there is because I didnt know how to spell it in Spanish. Anyway. I picked up my old Foucault book. For some reason it seems like that should make it into the play. Im not sure how though so this should be fun I think thats a key thing when I get stuck. I look at other pieces of literature (not plays. I dont like plays when Im stuck. I love plays when Im in a good flow because then I can steal things and make them my own, but if Im stuck I just steal and copy). March 24 The Day That The Shit Keeps Coming. And Coming. And Coming. And Coming. It just keeps getting better. Sort of. Ive come to the realization in my writing that I must keep track of these people and their story lines and I must have some sort of idea where they are going. I cant have my eyes on the end result or else Ill miss all the beautiful roadside distractions. But Im making solid characters, which is fantastic. And solid decisions that theyre trying to make in order to be happy. Im slowly defining the want of each character, which is really helping a lot. Its one thing, I think, to know what these characters want, but I have to put it in the play. Or else the play falls apart. I need to be specific. That I was what Im learning through out all of this. Im a certain kind of stuck right now in that its not that I can write. Its not that I cant

figure out what to write, its that what Im writing just seems to be stringing my play a long. And I cant decide if its better than having writers block or not. At least with writers block its as if the characters story is not ready to be told. But when I can write. But nothing happens. Its a different sensation. Its like Theyre just kind of in the background and theyre preparing me for something. Bracing me almost. Making a nice plush mattress so when they decide to show me their shit, show me what theyre made of, I have something to fall back on. March 25 The Day I Learned to Get The Fuck Out Of The Way. We collected inspirational items today. We had to pick out one poem, 2-3 songs and 2-3 pictures that we felt really spot to us in some way or another. The poem I decided to go with was Love by Matthew Dickman. Ive always enjoyed this poem because, I feel the essence of it is really what all my plays are about. Not only is it about love, but it doesnt turn it into some grand gesture, it doesnt make it one of those things that Shakespeare can only define. He makes it simple. And simple is what love is I think. I think love is simple and we make it complicated. All the shit we through at it to make it grand, really just weighs it down. The three songs I decided to go with were Owen Palletts Lewis Dream, Neko Cases I Remember Nothing, and Tegan and Saras The Con. I went with the Pallett song, not necessarily because the words spoke to me about what this play was about. But as soon as I heard the opening pluck of the guitar I became enamored with how it sounded. Its simple. I want the songs in my play to sound like that. Neko Cases song is just beautiful. She always has a wonderful way of capturing things in simple words and I think this song speaks very much to what I want the feeling of this play to be. And last, but certainly not least, The Con, I picked this song, now, because of the poetry of the lyrics. I think the guitar and melody is beautiful, but the words in it, how the song is written- thats how I want me songs to be in the play. Its simple. The rhymed are not forced in the slightest. As Im writing this Im finding things out. Look how many times I used the word simple in the last paragraph. Maybe thats whats missing. Maybe Im being too complicated. Maybe I need to find the bare bones of this play. Stop trying to write a play and just write these characters lives. I dont think these characters can fit in a novel or a short story or a comic book. They are for a play. So of course it complicates things when I try to write a play for characters that were MEANT for a play. I just need to let this happen and get the fuck out of the way. For the pictures, I found my three favorite pictures. One of Sufjan Stevens in an amazing Americana type jacket and headband holding his guitar (or maybe mandolin). I love this picture because I think of the chorus whenever I see it. I think its just wonderful. The other picture is the famous picture of the two skeletons in

an embrace. Im pretty sure it cam from Pompeii? That town in Italy that had a huge fucking volcano? I love it because thats what I want my characters to be. I want my characters to be so in love that they would die with one another. And the last is a still from some old black and white movie that Im not too sure about. But the picture was just too gorgeous to pass up. Thursday March 29 The Day I Lost All That Shit I dont know what happened. I really dont. I havent been able to work on the script in a couple days. And thats awful for me. When I know Im on a roll, usually its hard to stop. Or I get ideas and jot them down. But this? Its like this daunting task that I need to finish and I dont want to. Im beginning to think there is somewhere that I went wrong. There is something that Ive written into the play tthat is not supposed to be there and so the gods of theatre or whatever the fuck you want to call them, are not letting me right anymore until I figure what that thing is. And I think I know what it is. But I dont want it to be that. I think its the chorus. I thought that this was going to be my chorus play, but I think I was wrong. I think its making things messy and making things sloppy and hindering these characters from actually being all they can be. I dont think this is my chorus play. And that blows! I was so stoked about this chorus. But the more and more I think of it without the chorus, the more Im attracted to the simplicity of it. So. There are going to be major rewrites tonight. Not just rewrites. Im talking like surgery. Like liposuction. Like There will be blood. Ugh. So not looking forward to this. Monday April 2nd Im Writing Too Much Shit So, Im becoming distressed. For many reasons. But the main reason is Ive never been as lost in a play as I am with this one. I, literally, have about seven different word documents that all have scenes that have these characters in them. And usually when that happens I discover that a certain scene wasnt really meant for that character or this character. Or perhaps a different play all together.

But its not. Im looking at these scenes and, I fully understand that some of these scenes are not going to make it into the final draft, but these scenes are for these characters. And some of them are just scenes so I can get a grasping on how they talk and such like that. But, some of them are crucial plot examples. Its as if I am writing a sitcom and I have to make sure I have enough story lines to keep things interesting. And they have different tones too! In one scene I have plants singing with an Ant and in another I have a super realistic scene between two of the characters. So Im just a tad bit lost. But Im cranking them out you know? Im cranking these scenes out and thats great! Thats fantastic! But Im just so confused how they are ever going to get together. **The missing sections in here are on the Tumblr. You should replace them later. Wednesday April 11 Good Shit/ Bad Shit And then the golden gates opened and welcomed me home. Or I had a break. But it sure did feel like it was an epic ceremony. I will admit, I felt the daunting task of finishing the entire play within a week was well daunting. But it was exactly what I needed: A kick in the ass. Here is the thing. Im too soft on myself. I still have this romantic idea of being a writer. In which the muse comes down and unfolds the story right in front of me on the computer an dI feel like I am no longer w writer, but Im a vessel. And I am GLORIOUS! AND I AM GODSENT AND A GIFT TO THE ARTS FAR AND WIDE! Then there are times when that bitch doesnt show up. Or she is late and very stingy. Or she shows up hung over and incoherent. And I sit in front of my lap top while this fucking muse talks about her night at the bar last night how she made out with ALL THESE guys and how she had a fight with Stephanie that Amanda was making eyes at her man. And Im sitting there getting a headache from the fucking bitching. And I have such a hard time during the latter. Even if I was on a roll for several days straight and I slam in the writers block wall. And what couldve been a small bump in the head. I run to mommy. Complaining I have a bloody lip. A bruised rib. Twisted ankle and, of course, a broken heart. I cant go on. I tell my mom she must take care of me because I will not be able ot move for the rest of the week until I am fully heeled. I take no steps for rehabilitation because I am just too weak to get out of bed.

And I lay. And I cry for my muse to come back. And when she does. She is drunk. Again. And so, while it is not ideal, I have something to write. But it mostly has to do about her vomiting from drinking too much alone last night because her man ran off with Amanda (that bitch). But this is different. I could feel it coming. I saw the wall off in the distance. And it was heading towards me fast. And I got scared and nervous, as I often do. I looked drastically for a way out. But the walls were on all sides. (To think of this better remember in The Star Wars movie when they were in that garbage disposal type thing? And there was like that snake that was creeping around? And all the characters were scared about being crushed. Thats sort of what happens. What Im talking about) The wall was coming. It was coming fast. And I wanst going to let it stop me. I couldnt I dont have time to lay on my couch and feel sorry for myself and wonder why I decided to ever be a writer in the first place. So I just asked the wall to stop. Nicely. And it did. And it started backing up. And I wasnt hurt. In fact. All the walls fell down. And I could see everything. Did you know how blue the sky is? Or that there are little animals everywhere? Have you ever looked at the people on the street? There is so much to write about it. So I started journaling. And writing about everything I started writing my hopes and dreams and where I Want to be and how I want this play to be and how I want this to be received and how I want my love lives to evolve and how I wish I didnt mess up my friendship with Bryn in the ninth grade and how I wish I didnt get in the metal baseball sword fight that led me to chipping my tooth and how I wish I fought my brother back when he punched me in the face because my mom told him to. I have so much stuff to write about. And I dont need to make these thing up like I think I do. I have my life. And Ive lived such an extraordinary life that I dont understand how I ever get writers block. But the block will happen again. And it will hurt.

And I will lay on my couch crying and drinking wondering why I became a writer. But I think thats kind of part of the deal at times. With this job. And maybe life too.