Hello intrepid readers. I know I haven't blogged much
here, so introduction time. I am Lee Liebeskind and I am the Producing
Director here at the Inkwell. I am really excited to have my first blog
post on Inkblog!!!
I want to talk and introduce you to Steve Moulds.
Steve wrote a play called The Body. The play has been described as a suspense thriller, a horror play, and just plain different than anything else. One of our readers said of it, "I literally was on edge trying to figure out what was happening and at the same time wanted to cover my eyes because I knew something was coming." I kinda fell in love with this play. It's something so simple, but so beautiful that takes the audience on a roller coaster ride, and we're all dying to see what could happen next. During our last submissions process it came to us, and since then was a finalist for the Wordbridge Award.
Now the first step in our process is a 20-minute reading that we call a Showcase Reading. We work with the playwright to find a 20-minute section of their play in which they are having the most difficult time with or feel the most confused about. We spend a night working solely on this 20-minute section with the playwright, dramaturg, and actors in a room, which will ultimately be presented with two other 20-minute selections on a Saturday evening. The process has often times been referred to as a "First Date," something we at The Inkwell embrace entirely.
So when we offered a showcase reading slot to Steve, we were very excited that he was able to come up to DC for a couple days and work on a showcase reading of The Body with director Amelia Johnson, dramaturg Jenn Book Haselswerdt, and actors Jonathon Taylor and Chrstin Siems. Below you will see Steven's thoughts about having a "First Date" with The Inkwell.
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In the weeks leading up to The Inkwell's showcase reading of my play The Body, I got into a funny habit.
Whenever I'd describe the event to friends or colleagues and it came up that The Inkwell would be reading twenty minutes rather than the full script, I would reflexively offer, "It's like a developmental first date." Surely the play development process has been compared to a romantic relationship before... but then again, everything's been compared to a romantic relationship. It was an easy shorthand, one of those sentences that sums up without actually explaining a thing. But the more I said it, the more convincing it sounded. I was going to go on a developmental first date!
What I realized, however, was that there was a reason I kept offering this unnecessary justification: I was skeptical. For a full-length play, I thought, twenty minutes is a snapshot. It's like trying to tailor a suit for somebody when all you have are the measurements for their arm. Yes, I got to pick the twenty minutes, and yes, I was going to use those to focus on something I wanted to discover, but deep down, I wasn't expecting much. I thought this would be a fun evening, maybe even the launch of something better to come, but was I going to learn anything? Hence my metaphor. If your first date with someone ends badly, you might be disappointed, but it's tempered by the fact that it's only one evening. "It's a developmental first date" might as well have been, "If it doesn't go well, what's the harm?"
Let me immediately cut off all this negativity by saying that my experience was like no first date I have ever had--and yes, that's a compliment. First, there was the amount of care that everyone at the Inkwell took with the play, especially my dramaturg, Jenn Book Haselwerdt, and director, Amelia Johnson. Their operative question for me was, "What will help you, the playwright, understand your play better?" This was just a piece of the play, but they always worked with an eye towards the big picture, and made sure that even if the audience couldn't hear all of it, the people on the creative team would understand the play thoroughly. You always want to feel that you're in good hands when you collaborate, and I felt that way in spades. Contrast that with a scenario where you're simultaneously trying to prove yourself while checking everyone else out, and you'll understand how great I felt.
Then there was the matter of listening to my twenty minutes. Would I be able to glean any insight from this chunk? Or would this just be a jaunt into D.C.? As I sat there listening to my excerpt read in front of a wonderfully attentive audience, I found myself making all sorts of other connections to other places in the play. I wondered how that bit would work with an extra scene in the mix. I questioned whether I needed one of my scenes at all. I even realized something the play as a whole was missing, and started thinking of how I would address that in the next draft. The entire evening was presented so clearly, so free of anyone's ego, so straightforwardly, that I could just listen to my play. Throw in a really insightful comment from my director at the bar later that night, and the evening was a success.
Because here's the thing--you're never rewriting the entire play. You're always looking at this one scene, this one page, this one line. Meanwhile, you're holding the rest of it somewhere in the back of your head. Twenty minutes is plenty to chew on.
What was I ever so skeptical about? Consider the first date metaphor debunked.
Though if The Inkwell calls me up and wants to see a movie, I'm definitely going.
I want to talk and introduce you to Steve Moulds.
Steve wrote a play called The Body. The play has been described as a suspense thriller, a horror play, and just plain different than anything else. One of our readers said of it, "I literally was on edge trying to figure out what was happening and at the same time wanted to cover my eyes because I knew something was coming." I kinda fell in love with this play. It's something so simple, but so beautiful that takes the audience on a roller coaster ride, and we're all dying to see what could happen next. During our last submissions process it came to us, and since then was a finalist for the Wordbridge Award.
Now the first step in our process is a 20-minute reading that we call a Showcase Reading. We work with the playwright to find a 20-minute section of their play in which they are having the most difficult time with or feel the most confused about. We spend a night working solely on this 20-minute section with the playwright, dramaturg, and actors in a room, which will ultimately be presented with two other 20-minute selections on a Saturday evening. The process has often times been referred to as a "First Date," something we at The Inkwell embrace entirely.
So when we offered a showcase reading slot to Steve, we were very excited that he was able to come up to DC for a couple days and work on a showcase reading of The Body with director Amelia Johnson, dramaturg Jenn Book Haselswerdt, and actors Jonathon Taylor and Chrstin Siems. Below you will see Steven's thoughts about having a "First Date" with The Inkwell.
------------------------------------------------------------------
In the weeks leading up to The Inkwell's showcase reading of my play The Body, I got into a funny habit.
Whenever I'd describe the event to friends or colleagues and it came up that The Inkwell would be reading twenty minutes rather than the full script, I would reflexively offer, "It's like a developmental first date." Surely the play development process has been compared to a romantic relationship before... but then again, everything's been compared to a romantic relationship. It was an easy shorthand, one of those sentences that sums up without actually explaining a thing. But the more I said it, the more convincing it sounded. I was going to go on a developmental first date!
What I realized, however, was that there was a reason I kept offering this unnecessary justification: I was skeptical. For a full-length play, I thought, twenty minutes is a snapshot. It's like trying to tailor a suit for somebody when all you have are the measurements for their arm. Yes, I got to pick the twenty minutes, and yes, I was going to use those to focus on something I wanted to discover, but deep down, I wasn't expecting much. I thought this would be a fun evening, maybe even the launch of something better to come, but was I going to learn anything? Hence my metaphor. If your first date with someone ends badly, you might be disappointed, but it's tempered by the fact that it's only one evening. "It's a developmental first date" might as well have been, "If it doesn't go well, what's the harm?"
Let me immediately cut off all this negativity by saying that my experience was like no first date I have ever had--and yes, that's a compliment. First, there was the amount of care that everyone at the Inkwell took with the play, especially my dramaturg, Jenn Book Haselwerdt, and director, Amelia Johnson. Their operative question for me was, "What will help you, the playwright, understand your play better?" This was just a piece of the play, but they always worked with an eye towards the big picture, and made sure that even if the audience couldn't hear all of it, the people on the creative team would understand the play thoroughly. You always want to feel that you're in good hands when you collaborate, and I felt that way in spades. Contrast that with a scenario where you're simultaneously trying to prove yourself while checking everyone else out, and you'll understand how great I felt.
Then there was the matter of listening to my twenty minutes. Would I be able to glean any insight from this chunk? Or would this just be a jaunt into D.C.? As I sat there listening to my excerpt read in front of a wonderfully attentive audience, I found myself making all sorts of other connections to other places in the play. I wondered how that bit would work with an extra scene in the mix. I questioned whether I needed one of my scenes at all. I even realized something the play as a whole was missing, and started thinking of how I would address that in the next draft. The entire evening was presented so clearly, so free of anyone's ego, so straightforwardly, that I could just listen to my play. Throw in a really insightful comment from my director at the bar later that night, and the evening was a success.
Because here's the thing--you're never rewriting the entire play. You're always looking at this one scene, this one page, this one line. Meanwhile, you're holding the rest of it somewhere in the back of your head. Twenty minutes is plenty to chew on.
What was I ever so skeptical about? Consider the first date metaphor debunked.
Though if The Inkwell calls me up and wants to see a movie, I'm definitely going.
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