theatre – Deborah Makarios

July 23, 2014October 19, 2017

In Memoriam

“Good stories have teeth.”
Elizabeth O’Connor, 1956-2014

Elizabeth O’Connor was a teacher of writing, a dramaturge, and the Literary Manager of the Court Theatre (among much else).

It was in the latter capacity that I met her, doing a week’s internship in her little office at the top of the Christchurch Arts Centre (now, alas, no more). My task was to make a dent in the two-foot-high stack of scripts on her desk that had been submitted for consideration. As a budding playwright myself (budding? I was barely a sprout) I found both the job and her company very instructive.

The above quote is something Elizabeth used when teaching writing to children. It’s a sort of visual rendition of the fortunately-unfortunately pattern of storytelling, with the ‘teeth’ becoming longer and pointier as the stakes rise and the reversals hurl the character from the heights to the depths and back again. (Children tend to enjoy things that involve big pointy teeth, as do those of us who spend much time in the company of our inner child.)

In 2010 Elizabeth invited me to be part of the Court’s Young Playwrights Initiative, where I developed Dead Man Talking – again, a hugely instructive time. Encouraging as she was, Elizabeth was not one to let you get away with doing less than your best – and she knew if she hadn’t got it.
She was also instrumental in bringing about DMT‘s subsequent performance as part of the Elmwood Players’ 3 Piece, Sweet!

In short, I owe her a lot. She was not only rich in knowledge and understanding of storytelling, theatre, and the theatrical world, but she shared that wealth. She not only welcomed newcomers to that world but elicited the best from them while helping them find their feet. The New Zealand theatre world is a good deal the poorer for her untimely loss, and she will be sorely missed.

The last communication I had from Elizabeth was an assessment of a play I had submitted for the Olga E Harding New New Zealand Playwriting Award. She wrote “should write more”.
I have. And I will.

September 22, 2013

The Artist's Way: A Sense of Catching Up

Covering July: a Sense of Connection, August: a Sense of Strength, and September: a Sense of Compassion.
Lightly covering – a crisp linen sheet, say, rather than a fat and puffy quilt.

July revealed such gems as “I believe I am getting better at socks” (knitting them, not the Pratchett kind) and “I feel more possible” (although the Caped Gooseberry assures me I am not only possible, but actual – I think my meaning may have escaped him).
Also “As a kid, we never had enough: books” (whether you can have enough books is debatable; our perceived lack drove me to read encyclopaedias and Agatha Christie at the age of six, so it’s not all bad).

August asked me to complete this sentence: In a perfect world I would secretly love to be a…
All right, there’s not much secret about it, but I want to be a full-time writer.
In five years’ time, I’d like to be writing full time with one novel published and two plays produced.
What can I do now to help make that happen?
Write hard on Mondays. Make the most of morning spaces. Get to bed on time.

I was also invited to select a role model. The three women who sprang to mind are not only among my favourite writers (international women of mystery) but are also all three writers who balanced novels and the theatre in some way or another: Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh and Dorothy Sayers.

The one woman who sprang to mind whom I most certainly do not wish to take for my pattern is P.D. James – at least having a DDJ until reaching retirement age. In the areas of literary achievement, faith and perseverance (not to mention the life peerage) I’d be most happy to follow her example.

Also, if I was a colour, I’d be russet: colour of earth and blood, rich cloth and poor, and the bindings of old books. The colour of autumn leaves, the colour of rust.

September brought an insight – I should stop calling myself lazy. I wrote “you may be scared, self-doubting and self-flagellating, feeling tired, heartsick and guilty – but you are not lazy.”

Procrastination isn’t the result of laziness, Cameron says. It’s the result of fear. “Fear is what blocks an artist. The fear of not being good enough. The fear of not finishing. The fear of failure and of success. The fear of beginning at all.” (p.152)

Another insight: “Over any extended period of time, being an artist requires enthusiasm more than discipline. Enthusiasm is not an emotional state. It is a spiritual commitment…” (p.153).

Much like marriage: you can’t stay in the same emotional state for 50 years, you need commitment. But commitment shouldn’t be replaced by discipline (hug two three! kiss two three!) because discipline isn’t rooted in love – except perhaps in love with how wonderfully disciplined we are!

The trick is to find our enthusiasm for the task at hand – and how to find it quickly in the pre-dawn dark when getting out of the nice warm bed seems like a particularly sadistic rebirthing technique.

As always, your wisdom welcomed! Or witty folly (better a witty fool than a foolish wit) – we’re not fussy here!

Sinistra Inksteyne

July 26, 2013

Existential Angst

As previously mentioned, I don’t like angst. And yet here we are.
On Wednesday I shared my internal debate on whether to use my true and lawful name on this blog, or to stick with my nom de plume.

So far the reaction has been largely “stick with Sinistra”, but it is a complex and many-faceted question, which I would still be greatly mulling over if it hadn’t led me on to an even more complex and many-faceted question.

What precisely am I trying to accomplish with this blog? I know what I said in my first real post, but is that still the case?

Am I here to fight procrastination, and help others do the same? Or am I here to talk about my own struggle with procrastination, and the writing life generally, and books on writing I’ve read and so forth?

I admit until recently I thought I had the procrastination pretty well sorted. I had my routine, I was doing fairly well. Then I went on holiday and got sick (yes, at the same time) and it all turned to custard.

I fell off the procrastination wagon big-time, and am still staggering down the road in its dust in the apparently vain hope that it will stop and let me back on. So yes, there could be some worth in carrying on the chronicle of the procrastinatory battle.

But am I writing for writers or readers? And if readers, readers of what? Besides those of you who are related to me by blood or marriage (dear as you are to me, I suspect you would still be reading if I was blogging about the reproductive habits of newts a la Gussie Fink-Nottle), what brings you here?

What little success I have had as a writer so far has largely been in the area of theatre. I am a scriptwriter. Not that you’d know it from this blog, as I am currently working on a fantasy novel, which is an altogether different kettle of fish. Or apples. (I don’t like calling it ‘fantasy’ for some reason. Perhaps because fantasy sounds a little too wish-fulfilment and not enough this-world-doesn’t-exist-but-would-it-not-be-fun-if-it-did?)

Is there still space on the great wide interwebs for ramblings about writing, reading, and ~~the mating habits of newts~~ the like?
Is anyone encouraged by hearing of someone else’s battle with procrastination, won or lost?
Or am I more style than substance? Would newts do?

Your input welcomed, even if you happened by while doing research into the aerodynamics of custard pies.

Your obedient servant,

Sinistra Inksteyne