Coming back to my temporary apartment in Greenwich Village last night after the play rehearsal, I passed a sports bar that was open to the street...inside everyone was watching the Celtics/Lakers game; I was able to stop and see that the good guys were ahead. I was too tired to stay up for the end of the game but in the morning there was a text message on my cell from my son: YES! it said; so I knew the Celtics had won.
Lois Lowry's Blog
Last night (Sunday) was the evening that began the workshopping-of-Gossamer-the-Play. If I can successfully move the snapshot from my cell phone to this site, you will see a group of actors sitting around a table, along with me (playwright), Stan (director) and Cecily (dramaturg). First, the entire play was read straight through, with very few interruptions (although Actors Equity requires a ten minute break every hour and twenty minutes) and then it was read a second time, (but without the stage directions being read this time) with the director stopping things now and then for (sometimes lengthy) discussion about a particular character, or the relationship between characters in a scene, how the characters were evolving, or what exactly we were trying to do, with a bit of dialogue. There was some trying things different ways, some experimentation. My role was mostly listening, and I did that with enormous interest and appreciation for the hard work everyone else was putting into it..
I spent yesterday afternoon on the island where i lived when I was 15, 16, and 17 years old... It was a very hot day- and I was going on from there to dinner and the theater - so I didn't want to have a camera dangling around my neck; but I wish I had been able to take better pictures. This is just a snapshot with my cell phone, of the house where I lived....but what you can't see is that from the windows in the back of the house, you looked out to the water of New York Harbor, and beyond it to the skyline of Manhattan, a 7-minute boat ride (one I took each morning to school) away.
I couldn't get a very good scan, unfortunate]y, of this new paperback book cover for MESSENGER; it goes with the two previous in the trilogy, in their adult versions...by which I mean intended to be in the adult, vs. the young-adult, sections of bookstores. I like these covers; the first is green, the second blue, and this third one is brownish red...(it appears much redder in this scan)... each of them with two artfully-posed hands. I think they're quite evocative.
After a week of cool rainy weather...followed by a couple of hot sunny days...the gardens have flung themselves into summer. And wouldn't you know it, I have to leave Maine Wednesday, day after tomorrow, for ten days.
My friend Nancy was here for the weekend and being an organized person, she sorted out all of my spices...threw away everything with overdue expiration dates...and alphabetized them. Is that a great friend, or what?!
I am now back in Maine...for the summer, though I have large chunks of interrupted Maine time coming up...and was pleased to see the gardens looking beautiful (thanks, Lucia, master gardener) and my new bathroom looking great (thanks, Dan and Darel, master remodelers) and my little town here starting to rev up for summer tourists. I stopped in the local bookstore, always one of my first stops, and though neither Justin nor Pam (the owners) were there, I look forward to seeing them soon. In the meantime, I bought a book on Saturday which I have just finished, (on Tuesday, despite having had company here)....and am recommending it highly: "The Blood of Flowers" by Anita Amirrezvani. Yet if someone had said to me: "Want to read a book about 17th century Persia?" I probably would have said (politely, of course): "Ah, no thanks." But I would have been wrong.
Here is Alfie, supervising the set-up of a treadmill in my studio in Maine. I have one in Cambridge but soon will move up to Maine for the summer and need to continue trudging away. My friend Kay has convinced (make that coerced) me to go with her in January to a place that I am thinking of as Torture Resort (see website: http://www.theashram.com) so I have to prepare myself. Kay doesn't need to; Kay is always prepared! As I speak she is leaving for Peru to hike the Inca Trail; and she spends time each day at the gym, or rowing on the Charles River, but only of course when she is not off trekking the tundra of northern Canada.
The childish part of me (my main component part, actually) would like to say, of Kay, "Well, nyah, nyah, she can't write a book!" but the fact is she is in the middle of writing a book right now, while she is on sabattical from her teaching chores at Harvard.
The treadmill allows me to prop up my Kindle and read while treading, and I have just finished Barbara Walters' much-publicized memoir. In it she mentions a question she sometimes asks during interviews: 'What do you think is the biggest misconception that people hold about you?' So I have been thinking about that, and mentioned it to Martin (who arrived here yesterday) over a glass of wine last night. I told him that my first response was "that I am well-organized."
Then, after a second, I said, "But I am pretty well-organized, actually," and he agreed....
Here is Darel. As I am out in the studio trying to create a new book, Darel is on the second floor of my house trying to create a new bathroom.
And he's doing a great job.
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
IN my first book about Anastasia Krupnik...and that's its title....she, at age 10, accompanies her father to a Harvard English class in which he is teaching this Wordsworth poem to his bored students. Walking home with him afterward, they talk about "the inward eye which is the bliss of solitude" and the little girl realizes that her grandmother, in a nursing home, has such an inward eye....memory....that provides company for her.
I love inserting literary references into fiction for young people. Recently, in the book "Messenger," after the death of the character Matty, I quoted the second verse of this Houseman poem, "To an Athlete Dying Young":
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.
Play rehearsals for "Gossamer" have begun in Milwaukee, and that means the playwright is back at work. Funny how you don't perceive stuff until director and actors begin working with it. Jeff Frank, the director, emailed me that the transition from Scene 1 to Scene 2 didn't work well...getting the characters from one place to the next was difficult, but what if we...? And he was right. I re-wrote Scene 1 and now, he tells me, that problem is solved.
Now I am about to deal with a number of other thoughts/suggestions from Jeff after he held a reading in front of an audience. This is the type of thing (I hope he doesn't mind my posting his quote here):
As much as I love scene 17 and the humor within (which I think is necessary in the rhythm of the piece), I do feel that it goes on too long – interrupting the build in tension for too great a time. We also lose some of the dramatic tension in the scene if we venture too far into the humorous aspect.
Of course this is the sort of collaborative work that ultimately strengthens the play and for which I'm very grateful. It's fun, actually, to trim and tighten with the help of such input.
He also mentioned the possibililty of switching scenes 14 and 16 with each other and this is something I'll look at when I have a little more time to sit and think. Today I am flying to Newport News, Virginia, in order to speak at a Holocaust Remembrance ceremony there tonight. But I'll be home tomorrow (Friday) and back at my desk....
It is actually warmer here than it was in Beverly Hills. Think I just hit a cool snap out there.
My next trip in this non-stop spring will be Newport News, Virginia, where I will speak at a Holocaust Remembrance ceremony next Thursday evening.
As for movie news, now that I have actually met with the people involved: no news. Simply a lot of discussion about things left unanswered in the book...how to answer them in the film, or how to deal with them if they are to remain unanswered. Various visions of what things look like. How big is the community? How old is The Giver? All of these things...which can be left for a book-reader to individualize...have to be firmed up for casting directors, for set designers, etc. No more "whatever you want it to be in your imagination."
It's an interesting, challenging process.
Here's a front desk at Warner Brothers:...
I was having dinner last night in the restaurant of the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills, where I have been staying for the past few days, and when the waiter offered me the dessert menu, I said no thanks. Didn't even want to read about the flans and creme caramels and decadent chocolate things. Was full. Stuffed. Had not even finished my risotto.
So he took the dessert menu away. And a few minutes later, back he came with ... THIS.
My dinner companion, screenwriter/director Bob Weide, had also turned down dessert. And so he ALSO got one of these.
"The chef got this machine," our waiter explained. "He's having fun making cotton candy."...
Some posts ago, a commenter asked how I was enjoying my KIndle. And I never got around to answering.
But the answer is: I LOVE IT.
Here's the thing: it isn't a book. It doesn't feel in your hands like a book, or smell like a book, or sit upright in your bookcase enhancing your decor and making your guests admire your literacy.
You can click on any of these photos to enlarge.
First, a photo just sent to me from the recent event at the Kennedy Library: me at the podium, introducing gorgeous Alice Hoffman, who appears to be listening attentively. Alice is now off touring for her new book, The Third Angel, and it wouldn't surprise me if we were to run into each other at an airport someplace!
Next, a stack of books waiting to be autographed at Politics and Prose, the wonderful bookstore in Washington DC. I spent the past week first in Baltimore, then Washington (where I was competing with The Pope), then Philadelphia (where Hillary and Barack were just down the street).
Spring is finally coming, I think. My lawn is dappled with scylla and I can see a robin tugging at a worm this very moment, from my office window.
I returned from Michigan Monday after watching a terrific performance on Sunday of THE GIVER, with staging very different from any of the productions I've seen in other cities. And: a female GIVER! First time I've seen that, but it worked just fine.
And yesterday I signed books and spoke briefly about "The Willoughbys" at Porter Square Books in Cambridge, where I live. A lot of school groups there so the store was packed and they were great kids: attentive, interested. Most unusual question: "What kind of tea do you like?"
Ah, Earl Grey.
And that reminds me of a recent email, with a PS: "What is your favorite ice cream flavor?" and then: PPS: "You don't have to answer that if you are lactose intolerant."...
Okay, so this is not a luscious landscape. This is the view from my Holiday Inn hotel room in Flint, Michigan, the view of the Chinese restaurant to which I walked across the parking lot for dinner last night, the HI having no restaurant of its own.
Flint is in a state of demoralizing economic decline, the auto industry here having collapsed.
But the arts here seem alive and well. Tomorrow I will speak at a nearby theater and then attend a production of THE GIVER at the smaller theater next door to that one. The arts — in the form of theaters, and library — are all in the same location; and from my quick glimpse yesterday during a tour of both theaters, they are fabulously designed and well maintained.
I have seen stage productions of THE GIVER many times in many different cities. Each of them is staged differently...it's one of the intriguing elements of theater, that a play leaves latitude for the director and set designer to create individual elements. I got a peek backstage here in Flint and can tell already that today's production will be very different; but I won't make any comments until I've actually seen what they're doing....
Since I showed you all a picture my daughter did of her cat at age 8, and because I am taking a break from work and killing a little time, here are a couple of pictures of the same daughter's current cat, Sam, done by the same daughter but many years later, in her forties.
and okay, one of her (late, much mourned) very old dachshund, Wiener
A while back I posted a photo of the painting my daughter gave me for my March 20th birthday, a painting of a San Francisco street (she lives in SF) and now here is a picture if her actually working on the painting.
And thinking about that made me remember another painting of hers...this one done when she was in fourth grade many years ago. It won a prize in a city-wide children's art show, and it has been hanging in my guest bedroom now for a long time.
It was a painting of her cat, whose name was Betsy, with a litter of kittens. If you click to enlarge it you can appreciate the very self-satisfied look on the mother cat, and the pink paw pads....