Karon Sue Semones' Blog

9/18/2007 1:29:49 PM

Square One

I've been off setting up the new theater. I'm getting ready to start on a new Drama The Secret Place of Thunder. It's about a development board who votes on projects and plays God in people's lives and dreams. In Biblical terms it's the place God speaks from.

I've only written comedy and a few adaptations. Even though I'm an "old" lady I'm still learning my craft and wanted to work my way through the styles of playwriting. Each project I've done has helped me see my strengths and weaknesses. I hope I'll get the chance to work on a sitcom idea at some point. It is wonderful to have an actual company to write for who will be partners in creation of new work. My old theater company had amazing actors who were always game at something new to play with.

I've avoided drama overall as I like making people laugh and feel that's more healing. After 9/11 I felt we shouldn't be letting every dark thought come out of our heads or muses. At Columbia, I was encouraged to get in touch with my "dark" side... methinks I didn't have one at the time, but life has been darker within the last decade of my life so I think I'm ready. Some times life introduces you to characters you wish you had NEVER met. Those who seem to have best intentions but turn out to be vampires who impose their soul-stealing talent imitating your life or there are those moments of grief that you truly will never get over. Loss of friends and babies who now haunt and shadow your once bright and shiny muse.

But if you don't want to clutter your world with bad people to learn about life watch a reality show or two... people that you would never invite into your home or life but maybe watching from a distance of personal meltdowns and revelations you can fill a page or two of quirky characters. As writers, we want to know all about people but don't bother us with the "real" people. Everyone we meet is a character with a role to play in our lives.

I hope they will take you far in life and that you meet kindness and good sense along the way... ahh fiction.

12/7/2006 11:07:44 AM

Rejection Letters

The grinches of the mailbox. We wish they didn't matter. We wish they'd get lost in the mail. We wish we could punch the editor who dared deny us our due. We line them up. We kill the messenger by tossing them or crunching or tearing to pieces their tiny souless printings. We curse the world. We withdraw to our tiny studios and pout. We whine. We complain that Dumb and Dumber got made. We feel as if our invitation was lost to the best party ever. We cling to teddy bears and call our mommies. We want to burn all our pencils and swear never to write again. "Promethus," we cry to God or whoever listens to writers,"how do we have this cursed addiction to words and continue losing our literary livers?"

We are not celebrity writers. We don't have elves who search out our words. Just quiet moments stringing up words within the insanity of the everyday trying our best to be storytellers pure and true. It's heartrendering for some stranger to "judge" your work with a form letter or read what agents "want" before a word is put to paper. And NO matter how successful you are or become each and every project has a new set of problems and even the best get these bruises of the soul.

For me, I lay the letter aside. I look in the Writer's Market to prepare the next submission. I also look to the story itself and make sure the next version is tighter and lighter in form. And I don't give UP. Those of you who share this core of who we truly are never will.

10/29/2006 9:43:35 AM

Path Making

The Process

What is a writer? A fly on the wall? A spy? A person obsessed with words? A story junkie? Just as a museum is filled with visions of artists there are all types of us. One may wish to be a spokesman or detective to describe society. There are a lot of wonderful journalists in this time in history who bring the world to our front porch. Another may wish to see their characters come alive on stage and others may sit down and create a page turning novel or give birth to a poem that makes the world weep.

We're an odd bunch over all. We live with our imaginary "friends" and often zone out trying to find the right word or phrase that will make you keep reading. In a perfect world we wouldn't compete for publication. We'd bring story after story to the public for an endless feast. But alas. There is money to be made or else. A story too sweet or without a cause might not even make it to an agent's desk. There are whole protests going on in the form of self publishing to bypass this stifling log jam. Whole budgets are going to celebrity "authors" while new work is being stuffed into desk drawers and cardboard boxes. Most publishers won't take on new work because most of the public doesn't want to shell out 24.00 for a hard copy of an unknown author.

So is it impossible? Nah. We have to move forward in our turtle shells and rewrite and work for that glorious letter of approval. Learn the process and keep your faith up. Study your Writer's Markets and Agent listings. READ, READ, and then read some more. There may not ever be a Pulitzer in your future but there will always be people looking to read a good story. SO get offline and get to work!!!

12/27/2005 10:22:22 AM

Trail- Lights

There are pathways in writing characters. Sometimes, the lighted path is so easy and the chatter loud and clear. And other days it seems the stumbling and scarring words are a jumbled hum where you can't make out a single sentence. Every ending of a project is filled with joy to have made it through a forest of ideas and conversations that never were. There's a sense of final sadness too that the characters have had their say. This is their forever story. If you wish to find them again you must turn pages or show who they are for eternity in words and actions on stage.

My first novel is almost complete. I have a few more chapters to write and then I will layer in details and rewrites to make the vision clear. These imaginary sisters who have joined themselves to my life have been welcome company in a year long battle of physical healing. They've distracted me from the everpresent pain and have joined forces to encourage me to try a different medium to express who they are. Even though some of the characters will appear in the second of the Talebearers series it will be a world recreated from loss and gain of who they are to be.

In theaters they have Playwrights Alleys where we can pace until we hear that first reaction to our work on opening night. Those first night jitters, that first laugh, that absolute stillness where patrons are afraid to breathe, or that flutter of tissues from pocketbooks or husbands hankies that fly like flags of surrender to the art of storytelling.

To have a final goodbye to characters who fill worlds not quite real and yet hold place before the curtain is drawn back is thrilling and sad. Like beloved toys tucked on shelves or in attic boxes, we know they remain a part of our memories and offer comfort when we think back to the hours we spent in creating them. Questioning them. Prodding them. Begging them to speak. To have a say. To invite their opinions and dreams. They are not us but rather reflect who we are when mirrors aren't focused on our lives. Those maskless creatures who say what we're afraid to and show the world as it is not as how our imaginations would like it to be.

My characters are packing their bags ready to leave. Leave hopefully to other book shelves and hopefully be chosen to be in the roles of favorite characters. Their coming out won't be for months yet but they'll be backstage waiting for their cue. And I'll be listening again for their word in due season. That creative season all writers hope and pray for... tell me a story and they will.

10/1/2005 8:36:52 PM

Waiting Rooms

I know they're there.

Characters waiting their turns. Sitting patiently while I finish one project before beginning the next. Hands folded they sometimes turn up in impatient dreams pencils in hand wanting me to pay attention to them. I know their names and faces and I'm familiar with their lives. They are like my children. I know what the next book will be and the one after that. I know what my next play will be and I know the sitcom I'm going to work on. But I have to keep their characters at bay with everyday chores or their chatter becomes overwhelming. I'm convinced that someday they'll name this form of creative insanity but I hope to God they never find the cure.

It's a process I've had as a child. I truly don't know how to think any differently or imagine how other people don't have this quirk. Those that outline or sit for months without a thread of conversation in their brains, my only fear is that I won't get them all out of my head before I die and there will be characters crawling out of my ashes mad I didn't get them fully made. So I put them on hold. Distract them with trinkets and lines of dialogue I'll give to them someday. Someday? They want appointments. Sure fire opening nights and book parties. And even then I feel guilty to stand and tell their stories. Their stories they tell almost as automatic writing. I'm asked often where or how did you come up with that idea... and I fumble for answers. I am. This is what I've always done. It's how I've always been. I don't know. I just do.

This great love of words is who we are not the hunks of metal we collect or golden headed statues or even paper honors we tack to our walls. I know I'd do it even if no audience showed up or if a publisher passed me by. I honestly don't know how to stop.

7/13/2005 8:37:49 PM

Superstitions

Writer's talismans

I really try not to have too many rituals in relation to my writing. I will admit to a studio filled with framed pictures and dolls of all my favorite authors. I will admit to props that represent my characters to help keep me in contact with who they are. For example, when I worked on "Almost Home" I had a Civil War mourning brooch on my desk or when I worked on "Grave Concerns" I had a pleurant perched up in front of me. (These sorrowful hooded monks who always mourn with their heads bowed, often seen in French graveyards helped keep me focused on the play's mood).

Currently it's an Edwardian print of a woman stretched out over a soldier's sword, her face turned away in grief and a crumpled letter obviously with bad news. I love these type of prints that are like painted short stories and are often stunningly sorrowful. I have this representing my character Hattie who loses her husband to World War II. I think she would have had this print in her bedroom to represent the loss she felt everyday of her life but knew she couldn't continue to mourn endlessly.

So much of Appalachian culture is symbolic; like the stopping of clocks at death to honor the loss but the reality of the crops still having to be gathered. A lock of hair, a favorite Bible, linens and photos kept the person "alive" a bit longer and honored them as the ever present "great cloud of witnesses."

I will also admit to liking instrumental music in the background and a candle or two. But I don't wait for such perfect days to otherwise interfere or restrict me from the task at hand. I've written in the middle of NYC subway cars, the Staten Island Ferry, a back staircase at Columbia and in Washington Square park with Chinese New Year's Dragons dancing in the background. Right now I'm enjoying having a private backyard after leading an urban life for 15 years. To sit out in the early morning and write is sheer heaven! I always want my muse to pack her bag and come along with whatever adventure presents itself in my life.

You can find a lot of examples of what writers do to coax the muse to appear. For instance, Colette wrote under a blue light on lavender paper surrounded by her beloved cats. The list is endless as to what you can come up with to create a creativity zone for yourself. There's really no right or wrong to it.

7/6/2005 10:15:16 PM

Through lines:

The Novel:Abiding Shadows

I don't think I could have written this book in my 20's. These characters represent the many phases of a woman's life. Not what the magazines tell us we should be and do but reflect the longing disappointments we all must face. In the fifties (age not times) the word never crops up. We may never win Tonys, or never marry our favorite rock stars, or have all the children we want or have that CEO job, or get to all the places we dreamed of etc; but instead we find ourselves with other gifts that include good friends, health, and the love of one person who makes us glad to get up every morning. Sometimes we even discover that all the things we longed for and wished for didn't really matter at all.

So much of life is learned by now. To know that charm is a tarnishment of the soul, "that a man may smile and smile and yet a villian be", that bank accounts don't account for much, that every person carries bruises and bumps from life that sometimes make them downright mean. That friends and family marry wrong and terribly right. You find you've survived life thousands of times and are still awed by it's sudden horrors and beauties.

These women (in the Talebearers series) are formed by singular days in their lives. Love affairs, brutalities, and a wish for a higher purpose in life haunt their very souls. Each believing each that somehow their connections with God will lift their feet from that clay and they will be favored with lasting love or a hear a call from God Himself.

I've never based my fiction or playwriting on anyone "real". It's lazy to change a name and pretend that somehow you've "created" a fictional character. Nothing wrong with borrowing attributes of people we know and love (or hate) but I like that I've never met these characters before. It's a mob of imaginary friends who come for a visit and stay on to tell you their tales. I have great horror of nonfiction because I'd rather change the endings... I would have made a terrible reporter!

I do however have to admit to a sense of guilt at taking bows for my characters or reading their lives outloud. I've always felt as if I were only a recording secretary for their words and I feel honored that they hang around to become "real". I wish and hope they become as real to you as the process goes on. I'm sure I'll insert a page or two along the way, but you won't find me blah, blahhing here much. Too busy trying to get this finished so I can go on to the next project.

My plan is to get this book finished by the end of the year and submit it to the NYC agent who is kind and brave enough to even take the time to read it. SO many angels have appeared along this stretch of road to keep me on the path. Thanks for walking along.

6/19/2005 8:54:37 AM

BACKSTAGE

The new theater:

The walls are up in the new space and as I "see" the new theater taking form and life, I can't help but look back to the beautiful chapel theater we had before and all of the actors and people who came to make their home with us there. I am so grateful for the hearts and hands who have helped us along the way and I look forward to the new souls that will fill our lives and stage with new visions.

I was worried that the Playhouse wouldn't "feel" the same but the spirit of the old theater seems to have packed her bag along with the ten tractor trailers stuffed with sets and costumes. There is that same sweet feeling when you stand in the center of the room as in the old place, but there will always be shadows of past performances as we honor her memories.

We're already working on an Art Deco' decor throughout the space done in blacks and bronzy golds. Lots of Erte' type murals and big comfortable chairs will welcome our new patrons and friends. Our St. Rita (saint of impossible causes) stands guard in our costume shop as she always has and Mr. and Mrs. Higgs (our lifesize puppets who always play the dead bodies) await their new roles. Old sets donated from City Opera in NYC and the Muppets clutter the backstage. Walking through, one might find Wolfe's angel standing with hand lifted or an 1890 overstuffed couch ready for yet another show. There's 23,000 square feet and I still don't know if that's going to be enough space after everything is unpacked. It's like owning your own department store of bizarre items. It's a Wonderland and Oz shop combined.

I had a year off from producing and teaching to really regroup and heal from serious surgery in Jan., but look forward to finishing my novel and getting The Star City Playhouse up and running. I am SO happy to be home (thanks Mr. Bragg) and look forward to hooking back up with old friends and making some new ones!