1) Anthony and Cleopatra at Theatre for a New Audience. Despite the fact that Anthony mumbled rather, and we came in late (which ruined Cleopatra's jealous fit for me, since I hadn't got my ear adjusted to the poetry yet), a wonderful production. Octavian and Anthony were played as absolute opposites: Anthony restless, mobile, fluid, physical; Octavian still, wooden, uncomfortable, cerebral. Octavian had some nervous tics and verbal quirks that, very subtly, suggested that he might be a little way along the spectrum from being entirely neurotypical. It worked beautifully. And the Cleopatra! Visibly lined, restless as a cat, sexy as all hell. I cried lots, and enjoyed every tear. What a romantic play that is. See it if you can.
2) Talking to
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vschanoes's class at Queens College. For an hour and a half, I answered thoughtful and thought-provoking questions about folklore, writing, New York, Changeling, and Asperger's. Later that afternoon, I did it again, with more emphasis on history and fairytale and writing, for a roomful of MFA students. The subtext of many of the questions was "why would a grown-up make stuff up about fairies in New York." It was instructive not to be preaching to the choir for once, and rather energizing. Although when I got home, I had to lie down.3) I'm almost there on the first draft of The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen. Two more chapters to revise, then a little back-filling on early chapters to reflect changes I made later, which I am going to have to fit into the interstices of helping Ellen's mother kasher her kitchen for Passover and visiting old friends in Texas before the Nebs. I think of E. Nesbitt writing at her kitchen table while her children played around her, of Jane Austen hiding her current novel under the blotter (or was it a book?) when called to duty by her mother or sisters, of our own Esther Friesner writing in the front room, where she could keep one eye on her kids while she typed, of C.S. Lewis dropping everything whenever Janie Moore needed him, and realize that I've got it really, really easy.
Still, I'm feeling a little pressed for time. So I'm thinking that there's not going to be a lot of posting until I've got this sucker turned in--to
sdn and my wonderful beta readers. At which point, I will celebrate mightily--and turn my attention to that short story that's clamoring at the back of my head.
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Better to ask, why not. Sheesh. The inability of people, writers even, to even want to employ their imaginations.
That said, you're right about it being a good thing to get outside of the genre now and again.
The problem is in proclaiming something one has no taste for as "stupid" or "bad" or "worthless." It's human, but it's neither kind or (ultimately) useful.
As I said, that's a whole post there, all by itself.
Ah, well. I'll get around to it.
I love the fact that you loathe Ann Tyler's writing 'almost' as much as she'd loathe yours.
I look forward to that blog.
The subtext of many of the questions was "why would a grown-up make stuff up about fairies in New York."
Oh, now that's just silly. Why wouldn't people do that?
Also re-read A & C. Because I suspect that the directors are responding to something in the text, if only that Anthony is a man who acts without always thinking things through and Octavian is a man who always thinks things through carefully before he acts. They also had both Cleopatra and Octavia heavily pregnant throughout half of the play, and toting swaddled babies around with them after enough time had passed. Even though the "babies" were all too clearly wrapped-up dolls, they did add a neat, dynastic footnote to the proceedings and a real dimension to all the speeches about A&C's offspring.
Because I suspect that the directors are responding to something in the text, if only that Anthony is a man who acts without always thinking things through and Octavian is a man who always thinks things through carefully before he acts.
That makes a lot of sense. And is also rather ironic, given how Antony in Julius Caesar only gives the impression of being a man who acts before thinking -- his funeral speech is so calculated in comparison to Brutus'.
And I like the idea of having Octavia and Cleopatra pregnant, since Shakespeare is telescoping so much time into that play and Antony ends up with three children at the end. It's nice to see where they're coming from, as it were.
The issue is that Octavian needed to explain why we, as good Romans, should turn on Antony, who's pretty liberal with the gift-giving and wine-drinking and has never minded a decent bacchanal and was Caesar's go-to man of choice. So you have to make it not his fault, and one way to do that is to say "Antony, poor sod, he just doesn't think, you know? So he was easy prey for That Egyptian Harlot and now, sadly, we have to kill him and his. If only he was smarter he could have avoided her clutches. Luckly our new Dear Leader is smart like that. Never mind his habit of having his thugs kidnap young women off the street, just ignore that. He's a smart bastard." So I suspect a very good propaganda machine working with some kernels of truth because it does fit with the open-handed, hell-raising, vomiting-in-public when he was supposed to be giving a speech because he was hungover youthful Antony.
I liked the babies too.
How would that be possible?!
Seriously, it's perfectly possible to write in the midst of chaos, if you happen to be neurologically wired in such a way that you concentrate better if you have to work at it. I myself prefer to write in cafes, the more crowded and noisy the better. I agree that one's own children have to be more distracting than strangers talking about their love lives, but the fact that she was writing to put food on the table probably helped her concentration.
The only time I had a problem was sitting next to a guy in the Village who was entertaining his friends with an account of his horrible ex-boyfriend. He had one of those piercing voices it's almost imporrible to ignore, and his stories. . . . Well, I'm just relieved the guy was his ex, that's all I have to say.