One Writer's Journey

Many times over the years I’ve been asked why I write. Truth is… the answer is simple. I write to entertain. I write because I get an idea in my head, usually high concept, that some part of my DNA insists I get down on paper. 

Back in elementary school, our teacher gave us a creative writing assignment. I wrote a Scooby-Doo episode that, if given the chance, I’d love to go back in time and get my hands on. There was also a poem I wrote about a kid getting locked out of his house titled, ‘If you ever forget your key’. All I remember of that one was the first few lines:

If you ever forget your key

You could use a heavy tree

Or if you dare, you could use

Some dynamite, just light the fuse

Not Robert Frost mind you, but not bad for an eight-year-old and I’m pretty sure the teacher gave me an A.

I wrote a nice speech for my wedding but being that at the time I was too shy to publicly speak—my words were always better than my delivery—my best man read it for me. He got plenty of laughs and a round of applause.

One night we went to dinner with my wife’s family to Ben’s Delicatessen. Her mother, who turns 90 today as I write this, is a notoriously slow eater. We’d all be finished with our meals, chatting away, and she’d just be finishing the first half of her sandwich. Our game was over and she hadn’t even reached halftime yet. The moment we got home I wrote a poem titled, ‘Ode to a Slow Eater’. My mother-in-law kept that one in her archives and she’d bring it out every few years at family gatherings.

For our Fantasy Football league, which I’ve been proudly playing with the greatest group of guys for the last 24 years, I wrote a weekly newsletter to spice up the trash talking, ingeniously titled ‘Trash Talk’. Nothing better than taking the Bombers team plane logo, flipping it upside down, with a caption reading “May Day, May Day” after his team got bumped out of the playoffs.

The bottom line is I loved to write and finally decided to take a run at doing it professionally, or at least for a larger audience than teachers, family, and friends. Now, just as an aside, before I get into the bigger stuff I’ve written, the whole starving artist thing wasn’t for me. Back in college, I came to a crossroads decision. I could major in creative writing, or I could major in computer science. This was back in the days of punch card programming. Being that computers were the up-and-coming field back in the 80’s, and I had a good head for logic (if not advanced mathematics), I chose the latter. A few years out of school, not quite enjoying the programming work I’d found, I pivoted and went back to business school at USC earning an MBA in Marketing and Finance which I put to good use.

I mention this because as much as I love writing, I decided to do it on the side in favor of a safer career, a choice I often wonder about as my life would have taken a completely different path.

I had a great idea for a comic strip, totally original, and wrote 200 plus daily strips for it, without any idea of how to draw it or pitch it. I hired a very talented artist, who drew the first 36 strips for me for minimal dollars, and it came out better than I dreamed of. Unfortunately, I only knew three syndicates to pitch to, and they all passed (but if anyone reading this who loves the dailies and knows how to get this out there, please let me know because it would be awesome to get these out in the world).

I wrote two children’s picture books. One I self-published; that you might find on Amazon (at least as an e-book), but the second I held back because damn… publishing is a tough business to do on your own and paying an illustrator was money I couldn’t earn back.

Then I had a killer of a sci-fi thriller idea for a novel. I had never written anything as big as a novel at the time. I’m also a plotter and not a “pantser” as they say (referring to authors that just sit down and write their story by the seat of their pants). Nope. That’s not me. I needed to know the beginning, middle, and end before I started. I needed a chapter-by-chapter outline. I also needed to hone my skills because writing a novel requires a whole different level of detail with multiple character arcs that MUST come together at the end to make it all work. And then I had to do a ton of research to make the story as realistic as possible. An audience can buy fantastic scenarios as long as you get the down-to-earth stuff right. And for the most part I did, though it definitely wasn’t perfect.

The high concept: Imagine if Roswell happened again, only this time the UFO doesn’t crash within the United States. My ultimate What If? My answer, well… we’d go to war to get that ship. And so would others. At the very least, a covert war would start between the nations that learned of its existence. And just to add a little extra nuance, this time the alien craft held survivors. A year later, THE ROSWELL PROTOCOLS was complete. Holy shit! I wrote a novel.

A few agents toyed with it. Somehow, I got it to the editor’s desk at St. Martin’s Press on my own. In the end it came down to me and another author (I suspect I know who but can’t confirm) with a similar premise and I drew the short straw. Unable to sell it on my own, I almost gave up, but Amazon launched Book Surge (now CreateSpace) that gave underdogs like me a chance. So I went for it. Within two weeks I sold over 700 copies and received mostly positive reviews. 88 reviews at last glance. And I loved every minute of it, even smiling at the few bad reviews because damn… I had the largest audience I’ve ever had and for the most part they liked it. And even better, a few years after the initial burst died down, a reader in England discovered the book, wrote a nice review, and sales caught a second wind.

As a marketing guy, I knew I should’ve stayed in that lane and kept writing sci-fi, including an immediate sequel. Unfortunately, creativity comes from the heart and the imagination, so I decided to write a TV Pilot. Yeah… that was a wild pivot. A manager would have been good for me back then, but I wasn’t writing for the money. I was writing to get cool ideas out of my head.

I got it to a few producers, who liked it better than they thought they would (with me being an amateur), but they passed, and since I really didn’t know what to do with it next, I tossed it in a drawer and then into some contests later on, where it received a couple of accolades, for whatever that’s worth.

From there I moved on to writing a few monster novels. A decently reviewed monster hunting series I’m looking for a better way to move forward with, and one hell of a thriller of a YA novel that landed me an agent at a big agency. This was it. The big leagues. It looked like I was finally heading to the show with this one. Or at least the nearest Barnes & Noble. It went through several iterations and titles, received an offer from a publisher which then got pulled back because (we think) the publisher was having some financial difficulties at the time. Yeah… like I said, publishing is a tough biz. Ultimately, and unfortunately, the agent moved on, so instead of beginning the arduous year and a half journey all over again, I decided to release it myself as ‘HELLION’. If nothing else, I made a very cool ad.

And though that was a tough setback, I was fortunate to meet a lot of terrific writers along the way and through those connections I have gotten some short stories published by traditional publishers. My recent successes include a short story called ‘THE GRIM’ about a veteran detective investigating a series of frightening crimes in New York City, which just appeared in Flame Tree Publishing’s ‘CHILLING CRIME’ anthology. They produce beautifully bound books all of which are worth checking out. I wrote a ghost story titled, ‘THE FINAL EXPERIMENT OF EUGENE APPLETON’ which recently appeared in the “EVEN IN THE GRAVE” anthology from Espec books.

And in the pipeline, I have another novel, a whole slew of short stories (one I know is being released in 2024), a full-length screenplay, a second TV pilot, and a short film I’d love to produce. The stories I tell and the media through which I choose to tell those stories are all over the map. But it’s the way my brain works, so I just go with it. Sooner or later, one of my stories will hit big. But even if it doesn’t, that’s okay. Just having unloaded all these ideas onto paper in a well-executed manner is success enough. Because at the end of the day, the journey is truly more important than the destination.

If you love to write, do it! It’s a subjective industry so live your dream your way (assuming you don’t need to do it to pay the bills). And along the way, treat everyone you meet professionally and personally with respect, honesty, and integrity. Be proud of your accomplishments and you will prosper no matter how many dollars there are at the end of the path.

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Allan Burd writes imaginative thrillers in the YA, science fiction, and action horror genres. He also dabbles in children’s books and short stories and is a contributing author to a Bram Stoker nominated anthology. For more information on Allan, please visit www.allanburd.com

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Swagger in the Classroom

Throughout my teaching experience, I have worked with many acting students who feel unqualified in their pursuit of acting. This feeling comes from a simple question:  “Am I doing it right?” Various methodologies and pedagogies attempt to reach students in different ways, whether via games, changing the pace of class, or adapting existing plans to meet the needs of the class. I believe that giving an actor a sense of swagger is the key to becoming a great actor because it encourages a willingness to invest in training. Swagger, in this case, means having the confidence to make brave choices in a space where they feel challenged and stimulated, rather than judged and criticized. The focus on confidence needs to be put at the forefront of an actor’s formative education to promote growth. As Michael Powell stated in The Acting Bible, “Tension and our habitual responses are often caused by fear and lack of trust in ourselves.” Trust comes from familiarity and the set expectation that everyone’s boundaries and needs will be respected and adequately met.

The term brave space was first propagated by Brian Arao and Kristi Clemens in their book The Art of Effective Facilitation: Reflections from Social Justice Educators. They state that a brave space within a classroom environment contains five main elements. The first one, “controversy with civility,” defines the classroom as a place where everyone can have different opinions and have them be acknowledged. The second one is “owning intentions and impacts,” which means that students have the ability and space to recognize and discuss instances where a dialogue affects the emotional well-being of another person. The third concept is “challenge by choice,” in which the students in the classroom have an option to step in and out of challenging conversations. The next is “respect,” which needs no explanation. And lastly, “no attacks,” meaning that the students will all agree not to intentionally inflict harm on one another, whether it be physically, mentally, or emotionally. The trauma-informed practices set forth by Theatrical Intimacy Education (T.I.E.) teaches us that we as educators must teach to the most vulnerable person in the room. I believe that best way to do so is to meet students where they are, as people. Creating brave spaces promotes room for growth and grants your students permission to be creative.

Another crucial idea that builds on individual swagger is an acceptance that nobody can know everything; the beauty of learning is pursuing answers through practice. Students cling to safety in the classroom due to prior conditioning through standardized testing and strict grading practices that lead them to believe there is only one correct answer. In theatre, there are multiple ways to reach the objective and it’s important to let students know this early on. Stanford Meisner said that the foundation of acting is the reality of doing. In numerous classrooms, professors start their curriculums by having students do academic readings or immediately begin pedagogical exercises. Students may feel uneasy about immediately starting their journey into pedagogical exercises. It's a scary new experience, and without getting a sense of community, it's difficult to navigate through it with full confidence. Building trust and relationships from the beginning will better help them make brave choices and grow confidently.

Without trust, students tend to set up walls to conceal their real selves in front of the other classmates and professor. I once had a professor give us an exercise on the first day that involved telling the whole class a story about a time we remember from the year 2008. He pointed out that we had all performed instead of simply telling a real story from our lives. As human beings, we tend to perform to seem more likable or please other people. Often, this performative shield is merely an empty attempt to seem more interesting than we are due to not feeling sure about oneself. Stanislavski noted this when critiquing one of his students for delivering a performance of Othello to impress his teacher:

Say to any one of us “Play a savage, without thinking about it, right now.” I’ll wager that most people will do just what you did during the show, because prowling about, baring one’s teeth, rolling the whites of one’s eyes have been associated in our imagination since time immemorial with a false representation of a savage.

It’s important for educators to know that being insecure is not the fault of the student. For most new college students, the past thirteen years has been spent focusing on obedience and compliance at school and home. College may be the first semblance of independence. Creating a classroom dynamic that is more community-based and flexible helps them to develop emotionally and academically. Intimacy direction in the classroom helps students know that they, as human beings, come before the training and allows them to feel comfortable in their environment. 

 Once students are comfortable with an educator, and each other, the practice becomes easy as trust is in the room. To quote Meisner again, “And if you’re really concentrated on just listening to cars or looking at a person, you don’t have to worry about being a character. You have one thing to do and concentrate on.” Actors have an easier time listening to each other when they feel that they can trust each other. Furthermore, this eliminates the mystery in our craft. Acting isn’t science or mathematical, it’s art. Students tend to fear their choices because they believe that acting is a series of mysterious choices they have yet to understand. Marlon Brando called acting “the least mysterious of all crafts. Whenever we want something from somebody or when we want to hide something or pretend, we’re acting. Most people do it all day long.” Acting is simple because it is a series of actions. Every moment of every day, humans are doing something. The job of a class facilitator is to encourage students to do what they do better than anyone else: be themselves. 

The first step in this journey is to establish the relationship between the facilitator and the students. Facilitation is about establishing the brave space and setting the tone early on so that students know what to expect. As Marsha Acker said in her book, The Art & Science of Facilitation: How to Lead Effective Collaboration with Agile Teams: 

It’s about creating the space for what’s needed to help people show up as their most naturally creative selves, voice their point of view authentically, hear different perspectives, develop a shared vision for the future, and decide on a direction forward. Facilitation does not fall for impossible outcomes in unrealistic time frames. It does not stand for unequal participation. It is for creating engaging and connected spaces where all voices are heard.

This means letting students know from the beginning that the journey is about discovery at their pace and individual bar of success. It’s our job as educators to let students know that they should work to their greatest potential and consistently measure themselves to their own standard of excellence. The technique being taught isn’t about finding the ‘right’ way to act; it’s more useful to think of it as eliminating all the hundreds of less effective ways, the acquired habits and obstacles that hamper even the most talented actors. Students grow frustrated when they see their peers “mastering” the technique in a way that they cannot, when they don’t understand that the peer is most likely confident in themselves in one area of the training but very likely not so much in another. Improvement is about identifying one's individual needs at the time.

To ensure that student needs are being met, the simple fix is just to ask them what they need. As Acker said, “People have to know what they will get out of the meeting, why you’re having it, and what you need from them.” Having a solid lesson plan isn’t enough, it’s important to continuously check in with the students by asking what direction would be more helpful for them to head in. It makes the students feel like their education is more important than meeting some sort of course “check list.” Students get more out of the lesson plan when a professor allows them to maybe slow things down and invest more time in studying their given scenes through the pedagogy. This is how I combat emotional and psychological barricades that often stop the creative process: I strive to give students ownership in the classroom. Opinions, personal fears, internal conflict, collegiate stereotypes - these obstacles build a barricade of self-doubt and hinder students from fully joining into the communal experience that is theatre. Swagger comes from freedom, and although there is no way to completely erase self-consciousness, there is a way to create an environment where they are free to grow their craft.

Swagger is the fundamental piece to an acting student’s development. If a student has the confidence to give the practice their best effort, they will have maximum growth throughout the process of the course. My role as an educator is to help students reach an artistic state where they can consistently contribute to their theatre community. My teaching philosophy is to motivate, stimulate, and encourage students to follow my lead: we as a “community” must promote bravery in acting spaces. It’s in these brave spaces that students will find their swagger.

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Kaelem Camper is an actor from Philadelphia, PA who has written numerous plays, as well as directed shows as he crafts his personal consent-based pedagogy. He is an alumnus of Temple University (B.A.) and Long Island University (M.F.A.). Upon earning his Masters, he became an adjunct professor at both Five Towns College and Long Island University Post. He also has multiple certifications from Theatrical Intimacy Education (T.I.E.), which he puts into practice in his educational work, directorial work, and his intimacy coordination. 

Some Past Credits Include: Ralph D in The Motherf***** with the Hat, CB in Dog Sees God, Captain William Beatty in Fahrenheit 451, Michael in Tick, Tick, Boom, Silvius in As You Like It, Walter Beau Willie Jones/The Kid in The Colored Museum, Black Cindy in Orange is the New Musical, Rich in Lockhardt, Victor in Zooman and the Sign, Antonio/Trinculo in The Tempest, Howie Newsome in Our Town. He has directed many original plays, devised pieces, and multiple first year college showcases. Recently, he has become the co-creater of a non-profit theatrical film company called The Wonderstruck Uncut. For the company's opening season, Kaelem wrote and starred in a film titled Quandaries of the Living. He also directed a film titled Tumor.

HIS WEBSITE: kaelemvoncamper.com

HIS COMPANY: wonderstruckuncut.com

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Theatre and the Face of History

I’m a history geek. I’m also a lifelong theatre person. I think, as a child, dressing up and pretending to be people from the past was the closest I could get to actual time travel. In my twenties, I had an eight-year career as a female impersonator, performing three solo shows as Marlene Dietrich.

James Beaman as Marlene Dietrich. Photo: Stephen Mosher

Channeling a great historical icon is a heady experience, and a responsibility. My dream role of John Adams in “1776” brought out the history geek in full force—I even did my own video blog, sharing my research, from a trip to Independence Hall in Philadelphia to a tour of the archives at the Massachusetts Historical Society, where I held letters written by Adams himself. “1776” is, as I write this, completing a run on Broadway. This second ever Broadway revival of the musical was given a radical new life—all roles played by a racially diverse, cis- and trans- female and gender non-binary cast. It’s a powerful commentary on the piece, on the Founding Fathers and our own perceptions of our American history.

Did I love it? No. But the show itself, as mentioned, was a dream of mine and it was a dream experience for me when we performed at the Cape Playhouse.

James Beaman as John Adams

That said, the theatre is an interpretive art form! Great pieces can support all kinds of visions and concepts. Particularly when it comes to diversity in casting—and today we’re seeing a huge cultural movement giving artists of color, in particular, great opportunities to bring new life to the traditional repertoire.

Thanks to pioneers like Joseph Papp, the classical repertoire has, for decades, been home to actors of all races and ethnicities. As a classically trained actor, I’ve been proud to work in such diverse companies performing Shakespeare. The plays of the Bard unfold against epic tapestries of interwoven fact and fiction—his histories, in particular, play fast and loose with the truth in service to the drama. These vast plays, hundreds of years in performance and interpretation, cry out to inhabit a world as diverse and rich as our own.

From an artistic standpoint, it would be unfortunate not to acknowledge that the casting of an actor of color in a role traditionally performed by white artists, can have powerful impact on storytelling, symbolism and significance in interpretation. One of the best recent examples in the classical sphere is The Hollow Crown series from England.

This series incorporates the “Wars of the Roses” cycle of the three parts of Henry VI and Richard III. I’ve acted in the entire thrilling cycle twice myself. In The Hollow Crown, the most significant character portrayed by an actor of color is Margaret of Anjou, the French Queen of King Henry VI, referred to by Shakespeare as “the she-wolf of France.” Accomplished Black actress Sophie Okonedo portrays the character.

Sophie Okonedo as Margaret of Anjou

Margaret comes into the action of the play an outsider—in Shakespeare’s time, one commonly regarded as a villain. Okonedo’s race makes her Margaret seem foreign; we see her as the outsider/interloper she is. Now, a particular kind of person might argue that making a space in the series for one lead actor of color, and then having her play a wicked villain could be considered racist. Hm.

Well, I doubt that Ms. Okonedo would have taken on the role (a tour-de-force part, one of the best in the canon, in which she was brilliant) if she felt that the director and production intended to send a racist message. I surmise, rather, that she used the feelings of the outsider to build up in her imagination the resentments, the rage and the vengeful energy that the character of Margaret requires. Her casting was a potent choice. Was the choice “color-blind” or “color-conscious?” From a strictly historical perspective, it’s color-blind as Margaret of Anjou wasn’t Black. From an artistic standpoint, I think this choice was color-conscious in the best sense. It illuminates the play by bringing new dimensions to the character.

One of the most successful ways of enacting history in theatre, especially in the musical theatre, is the use of a framing device. For example, in SIX, the framing device is a rock concert. Each of the wives of Henry VIII steps forward to introduce herself to us and we are invited/seduced/led into a rock concert version of the world of Tudor England. Each of the wives is an icon, and the cast is racially diverse. In a way, SIX utilizes quite a classical device. It’s representational, like early Elizabethan plays in which an actor enters, and declares to the audience what character he represents.

The wives of Henry VIII in SIX

Where it gets tricky is when the audience is meant to accept the anachronistic racial identity of the actor playing an historical character without being “taken out” or distanced from the story. This is not always successful. Audiences sometimes make that imaginative leap, or suspension of disbelief. Some don’t. The live, performative experience of theatre can push these boundaries often more successfully than film. I speculate that we want to lose ourselves in a film. Especially historical films—I, at least, enjoy feeling like I’ve time traveled. As always, it’s always a matter of taste, yes? One of the best things about art.

When I first moved to New York City in the early ‘90s to pursue my acting career, I took part time work as an usher at Lincoln Center Theater, in order to see as much as I could for free. At that time, the highly touted new production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Carousel” was playing. This was the production that introduced the world to an artist who would become one of our most luminous stars: Audra McDonald.

McDonald had just graduated from Juilliard, and was cast in the supporting but featured role of Carrie Pipperidge. I saw the show, from my perch in the back of the Vivian Beaumont Theatre, twelve times and I can tell you: each and every time Ms. McDonald started to sing “Mr. Snow” the audience went utterly silent and rapt; it was as if we’d been electrified. Audra was simply radiant, and her voice was the kind of voice that changes everything—like Betty Buckley and Elaine Paige had before her.

Audra McDonald as Carrie Pipperidge

Did we notice that Ms. McDonald was Black? Sure. Was it notable, different, perhaps surprising, to see a Black actress in the role? Sure. Is that a bad thing? Did Audra play Carrie like a 1990s version of a Black woman (whatever that might have been)? No. She played Carrie as a woman in Maine in the 19th century, as the play called for. Audra’s race wasn’t a distraction; it was simply one aspect of who she was. And because the actress was Black, Carrie was Black.

I saw it as simultaneously that simple, and that meaningful. My eyes were opened to a more racially diverse imaginary world that this classic musical could now inhabit. Even if, historically, a young Black woman of that time might not have been able to live the circumstances Carrie Pipperidge lived, the director, Ms. McDonald and the production invited us to take the imaginative leap. I also must mention that the great opera singer, Shirley Verrett, played Nettie Fowler, and her rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” was for the ages.

The most magnificent example of a play being brilliantly reinterpreted for a black cast that I can think of? The Broadway revival (and subsequent film) of Horton Foote’s “The Trip to Bountiful.” The play is famous primarily for Geraldine Page’s Oscar winning performance in the feature film, in what would be her final film performance.

Vanessa Williams, Cicely Tyson & Cuba Gooding, Jr. in The Trip to Bountiful

In the Broadway revival, Cicely Tyson took on the role of Mrs. Watts, supported by Cuba Gooding, Jr. and Vanessa Williams as her son and daughter-in-law. The story of an elderly woman running away to see her country home once more before she dies translated—without a word of dialogue altered—vibrantly as a story of the Black experience. Small touches—the “Colored Waiting Room” sign at the bus depot—brought layers of meaning to the piece: what would the lives of these characters be as people of color? Brilliant.

At the end of the day, for me, and I think for good theatre in general: the play’s the thing. How do we honor the writer and their intent? How do we expand our audience’s ideas and challenge preconceptions while still preserving that which has come to be loved and cherished in our theatre repertoire and our American story? Thank goodness, we have the theatre—and brave, talented artists ready to try.

Headshot by Ryan Hunt

James Beaman has been a theatre actor for more than three decades. His many credits include Sir Robin in the First National Tour of Monty Python’s Spamalot; originating roles in new musicals Frog Kiss and The Road to Qatar! (cast album) and over twenty-five roles in Shakespeare. His eight-year career as a female impersonator took him across the country and to Europe. James is the winner of the MAC and Bistro Awards, and numerous other theatre honors.

James is the writer of The Girl in Green, a true story of murder in 19th century New York. His dramedy pilot, Wisenheimer, was the 2022 First Place Winner of the New York International Screenplay Awards. He holds a BFA from Boston University and an MFA from the Academy for Classical Acting at The George Washington University. He teaches and coaches performers of all kinds in New York City. www.jamesbeaman.com

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Why I Wrote Veil of Seduction

I’ve had a few people say to me, “Wow…did you really write this? I can’t believe you wrote this!” And somedays I wonder that myself. I wonder who that voice is, the unconscious self that spent months exploring her pain and hope and righting wrongs and flinging words out with all the passion of every lost flame and tortured soul she ever encountered. I grieved for my characters, I held onto them tightly, but after all is said and done…it’s time to let them go.

I’ve been putting this article off for awhile. Somewhat consciously, mostly unconsciously. But as the year (and my deadline) draw to a close…the pressure is on. That’s how I always felt I wrote best: under pressure. But alas, I’m already getting off topic. I’m here to tell you why I wrote my novel, Veil of Seduction. What it means to me. What inspired it and why it’s important to me. I wonder why it’s so hard for me to write about it. I suppose because its personal. Or all the things I wanted to say have already been hidden throughout the text itself.

Perhaps that’s why it’s taken me so long to write this article. In many ways, developing this story was not only about exorcizing the demons I’ve grappled with, but also understanding and coming to know the demons that are in me…that are myself.

First looks at the original cover art and the progression of creativity! All original artwork by Lock.Wolfe

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It all started with a conversation I had with my therapist. It’s hard to go into the details without giving away some spoilers but I’ll nevertheless try to be as thorough as possible. I spent a good amount of my life absorbing the energy of toxic people. I was naive, afraid of conflict and continually went out of my way to please others instead of taking care of myself. This is a pattern I was becoming more aware of and felt on the precipice of finally breaking. It was a connection I made to the many stories I had read as a young girl. Stories of bad men turned good by strong special women. I always wanted to be one of those women, and save every bad man I came across in the hopes of finding true love. But my views of romance and love were twisted, born out of abuse and domestic violence which left me trembling and raw in the aftermath of broken fantasies. I was tired. I was disillusioned. And I wanted answers to my behavior and the misunderstandings of romance, love, sex and everything in between.

When I set out on the road to healing, I knew the only constant provider of peace and reflection was my writing. So upon having one of those ‘ah ha’ moments during a particularly vigorous therapy session…I knew a story was on the horizon. One small string of words, which I cannot reveal without giving away an extremely important part of the plot, unleashed the monstrous and unyielding force inside me which was destined to write this novel. I found clarity in my subconscious and instead of acting and reacting, I began to think critically and rationally. I developed a mantra “Pause. Think. Act.” And I decided that my actions, my mistakes and the blindness that I experienced in my quest for love and connection needed to be explored. Not only to help close the bleeding wounds of my past, but also to help others avoid my mistakes and pitfalls. If not that, then at least to let my readers know that they weren’t alone and that many smart, talented and even extremely independent and successful people could fall prey to those who destroy and conquer. Alas, the fire was ignited and I was ready to burn. On this quest I also came to the very important conclusion that those who were out to incinerate the world and themselves were often the ones in the most pain, the people who needed the most help. However, my mistake had always been to sacrifice myself in order to provide that relief. Now, through the lens of a fictional world and the creation of my own characters, I was able to explore the ways in which humans sacrifice, lie, cheat, deny and even murder in order to avoid the thing that is staring them straight in the face—their fears…themselves.

I learned things about myself.

In case you need a quick synopsis :)

A lot went into this novel: inspiration, history and plenty of research. I spent hours compiling a great wealth of information on Nellie Bly, a journalist in the early 1900s who became famous after she went undercover and was institutionalized at Blackwell Asylum on the now Roosevelt Island in New York City. She pretended to be insane, was officially committed (after being examined by a doctor, judge and a police officer) and then began her investigation into the conditions of the asylum. Bly was pulled out less than two weeks later due to the horrific climate and wrote her exposé “Ten Days in a Madhouse” in which she contested that any sane person, and there were quite a few she met there, would be completely out of their mind after ten days of such horrendous and awful care. Her work and writing led to reform and further consideration of how patients were treated in state asylums.

Nellie Bly - American journalist, industrialist, inventor, and charity worker

Bly’s Exposé “Ten Days in a Mad-House”

I also spent time reading about the glorious history and ominous beauty of Newport, Rhode Island where I personally spent a significant amount of Summers in my youth. It is where Lorelei’s, our main character, journey begins. This was my starting point for diving into the dark side of the wealthy who resided there during the Gilded Age. I found plenty of research to develop, particularly in regards to the families who summered on the isolated island and the type of deboucharous parties that took place as well as the glorious architecture of homes like Seaview Terrace and the Breakers…it was nice to be able to breathe life into them and revisit them in the time periods in which they were in their grandeur, to uncover the delicious secrets and scandals that lay beneath the the glittering gold.

Seaview Terrace located in Newport Rhode, Island where the novel is set. This location plays an important role in the book!

Exploring the rich and gaudy juxtaposed and highlighted the wild gap in affluence that existed during this era, especially within mental health institutions and how care was distributed based on wealth brackets. This led me to more general concepts and necessities like economic, social and political happenings in America during the 1920s. This became an essential area of study; I felt that in order to truly understand the world I was creating, I would require a solid grasp of the issues which might affect the characters based on their locations, backgrounds and even their sense, or lack of, morality.

I don’t want to give away too much, but there was also research behind each character’s name, their backstory, where they came from and even the evolution of their beliefs. I spent hours creating a mythology to justify the twists and turns as I raced around every page wondering what lay next! As much as I prepared myself with a thorough outline, one of the many joys of writing is when you find yourself held hostage as your characters throw you for a loop and take you in a completely different direction than you originally planned. That happened with Chapter 26 (if you know you know!).

I am once again stalling as I draw closer to the core of my thoughts. It lays, very much at the heart of the story: the false delusion of the anti-hero and the through-line of narcissism that persists in villainy. The thing which I have again and again explored in my life with no resolution and constant repetition. Until now. Until this novel acted as a final confirmation to something I had suspected for quite some time. It pained me to do the dirty work of an author and break the ties that so fully bound me to my insipid belief that I could change others. That I could save those destined for destruction. The illusion has been lifted and I thought it would break me. But when I wrote the final lines of this story. I signed with relief. Things were different. I was different. And I knew someday, I, with Lorelei by my side, would be able to tell this story in the hopes that it would not change others, but allow them a new perspective on an old trope that no longer serves us as women, nor as humans.

It’s been a climb, a struggle, but I’m still here. Getting this book out was terrifying. The process was loaded with multitudes of rejection and self-doubt. Constant revisions and failures. Cries of joy and tears of rage. And I will tell you now, as I sit up much too late into the night continuing to write about this story, that it was so worth it. I love this story. If you ask me tomorrow, I might hate it. But right now, in this moment, I know writing it has changed my life. And I acknowledge that true change can only come from the self, from within.

My final thoughts. I lied to you. I have not let go of these characters. Not even close. So when you turn to page 323, don’t fret, there will be more coming your way.

Give you a hint? I couldn’t possibly. Nice try.

Write On,

E

The Small Moments: My Experience (Thus Far) With Zen Art

            In 2018 I was granted the Hemera Contemplative Fellowship for Artists and went off to the Zen Mountain Monastery for a retreat.

            I had never explored anything of the sort but was always fascinated with meditation and the Buddhist experience.

            The closest I came was probably my acting training. The foundation of the program was Suzuki, a post-modern Japanese movement technique. Basically, the method approaches text from a physical standpoint whereas Western trainings tended to start from the psychological. In Tadashi Suzuki’s seminal work The Way of Acting, he states that the exercises he created for his actors were “a means to discover a self-consciousness of the interior of the body, and the actor’s success in doing them confirms his ability to make that discovery. The actor learns to become conscious of the many layers of sensitivity within his own body.”

            Of course physicality and the traditions of Japanese performance are no strangers to one another; one simply needs to turn to Noh or Kabuki for evidence. It is said that such movements are akin to worship as physical performers call forth energy with their bodies to then ingest that vigor inwards, representing the maturation or fullness of that life energy.

            My own teacher, Maria Porter, trained with Suzuki himself in Japan and made it her artistic mission to fuse and repurpose this Eastern acting methodology with the trainings of the West.

            These vague (but related) connections were my only points of access, outside of various cultural depictions, to some aspects of Zen Buddhism, which commenced in China but later branched out to Vietnam, Korea, and Japan (of course Buddhism itself originated in India).

            Needless to say, I was intrigued to learn and delve into the Zen Buddhist lineage established by the late John Daido Loori Roshi. The monastery maintained that they were dedicated to sharing the dharma as it has been passed down, generation to generation, since the time of Shakyamuni Buddha.

            I didn’t quite know what that meant but I knew they offered something unique as part of the retreat: the opportunity to study Zen Art. I also really didn’t know what Zen Art was but figured it would somehow expand my knowledge and perspective in regard to my craft. 

            And so I went out into the peaceful woods, put away my phone for the duration of my stay, and approached the main building that at one time was a Benedictine monastery.

            I strolled through the meditation and dining halls until I found myself in the dormitory for visiting practitioners. I put my bag down not knowing what to expect. I took a deep breath. And I began my journey.

            Throughout the retreat I, along with numerous others, participated in all the customary happenings one might predict; we were woken up every morning by a gong, had vows of silence, ate healthily (and deliciously), learned meditative disciplines such as zazen, helped clean the residence, acknowledged our thoughts as we attempted to clear our minds, learned about the history and legacy of Zen Buddhism, engaged in liturgy, and inevitably did not reach enlightenment.  

            But it was the Zen Art, as I predicted, that struck me most. Zen priest Jody Hojin Kimmel, Sensei, taught the class.

            The session, at first glance, seemed quite elementary. We were painting pictures and they weren’t necessarily meant to be “good” by the standards of any certified art historian. We painted on instinct. We painted without looking. We painted without caring about the colors. We moved our brush not with a sense of purpose but with the pull of creative inertia.

            The cornerstone of the practice depended upon an artist’s willingness to feel a piece instead of planning it. I recalled instantly the acting note I would always receive in the early years of my studies: You’re in your head; get out of your head!

            And so I did my best. Little by little, I left my preconceived notions behind. I did not think what I wanted the piece to look like. I did not think about what I wanted it to say. I just painted.

            A sense memory emerged as my mind made a further connection to my old training. Theatrical performances that are in the Suzuki style often challenge audiences to recognize that the feeling a piece evokes supersedes the intellectual understanding of it. In this way, I felt a bit at home as this helped ease me into the concept of Zen Art.

            Hojin Sensei spoke of the relationships between artist and subject, artist and object, and object and audience. I found it fascinating.

            I painted one picture in particular that I deemed worthy of my attention. If you saw it, you would probably wonder which kindergartener drew it, but to me I looked at the piece and saw the universe, wonderment and possibility. I thought, in a way, it was a study of myself. Perhaps all Zen Art is. Perhaps all art is.

            I wish I still had it. Ironically I think someone mistook it for modern muck and tossed it accordingly.

            During the last night of our retreat, as we meditated in the zendō, we were told there would be a treat that not every group experienced due to scheduling. The Rōshi of the Mountains and Rivers Order, the abbot of the monastery, Geoffrey Shugen Arnold, would be seeing interested practitioners one at a time for a very brief encounter. We were given the opportunity to ask him one question, any question, and he would answer it. We quickly learned the ritual, the proper way to bow and kneel in front of him, and the conventional way to address and speak to him. We formed a seated line outside of his office and waited our turn, nervous that we were going to screw up the customs and formalities.

            His office was more like a miniature monastery. He sat in the center of the room; his body typified the characteristics one thinks of when imagining such a figure. I performed the procedure (aware that it indeed very much felt like a performance) and sat across from him. I knew what my question was going to be from the moment the opportunity presented itself. I was going to ask about Zen Art and its realistic implementation in film. After all, Zen Art seemed antithetical from a logistics point of view as a director and a crew tend to need to know what’s coming next. And so I asked.

            Shugen Roshi nodded his head and thought. He talked about balance, acknowledging the need for planning and practicality. But he stressed that I should find moments. Those small moments. Moments when I could let go and allow a course of action to unfold in the way it seemingly wanted to.

            At the time, I think I was disappointed in the answer. I nodded gracefully and thanked him.

            At the end of the retreat I felt refreshed and calmed. I walked out and headed towards my vehicle to find a dent. That’s right: my car had been hit in the Zen Mountain Monastery parking lot. Apparently, the universe balances out very quickly. I actually snickered in disbelief. The small moments. Luckily it was minor and the individual responsible gave me her name and information.

            On the drive home I wondered where the happy medium existed in film, the goldilocks zone of embracing the unplanned and accepting the spontaneous (that stretched far beyond improvisation) without jeopardizing a project.

            Two years later, during the height of a pandemic, I received an opportunity to experiment with this concept when I was hired by Teri Hansen to direct her short film Into the Water. Of all the projects I had been a part of, this one seemed to lend itself most towards the liberating practice of Zen Art.

            Into the Water was a spiritual journey about a woman who ethereally encounters her anxieties, fears, ambitions, and dreams - for when there is seemingly insurmountable hardship, there is always hope. The film’s themes include rebirth, self-examination, and the ever-blurred relationship between endings and beginnings. It was very much inspired by the Buddhist concept of Bardo.

And so, when filmmaking seemed to be at a momentary standstill, 19 ambitious artists, including a handful of Broadway actors, went to a lake house, followed all the newly created health guidelines, and made a union-approved movie.

            This was the first film I directed where I did not pen script. It was not my story. It was Teri’s and it was personal to her. She was the producer and lead. I would have normally been far more specific and stringent with what I envisioned but I found for the first time that was not truly my job; my job was to try and understand her vision and attempt, to the best of my ability, to bring it to life.

            I found my naturally less personal relationship to the material, in some sense, freeing. I just let things roll, pun very much intended.

            I started to judge the performances and sequences not through my usual lenses of discernment and continuity but instead through a connectivity of sensation. I sought out the small moments - moments of impressions and evocations. They became my cinematic chaperone, guiding me towards the truth of a scene, the truth of a character, and the truth of a moment.

            Interesting to note, Zen Art wasn’t the only inspiration I drew from for this project. I also channeled my inner Werner Herzog (I didn’t even know I had an inner Wener Herzog). I knew our schedule required us to often shoot in a single shot to save time and thusly we were going to avoid shooting for coverage.  Who better than Herzog for such an approach? The unchained freeness of flow of the camera and its relationship to the image has been a trademark of Herzog throughout his career and that technique seemed to mesh well with both what we were attempting to create and Zen Art itself. As the director himself has said, the goal is to capture “only the truly intense and the remarkable.” Perhaps the New German Cinema pioneer had been a Zen Artist all this time.

            I often think to myself – what’s next in my Zen Art journey? How can I build off that singular experience? Surely every project could benefit from a touch of that artistic independence. I constantly attempt to balance such unrestraint with self-imposed constraint. The mere thought tends to spiral me into vexation.

            At such times, I think of Shugen Roshi and the way he nodded his head and thought. I think how he spoke of balance; the need for planning and practicality. I think about what he stressed: those small moments. I think about letting go and allowing my art to unfold in whatever way it wants to.

            At such times, I am not so disappointed in his answer. Though often solitary in such recollections, I nod gracefully and thank him.

Onwards and Upwards, Always,

G