My Thoughts on the Show "Girls"

I have been watching episodes of Girls, a series airing on HBO about 20-something girls in New York. It's edgy and raw, but the second season has been annoying me a bit - actually, a lot. In the first season, it was easy to think that all these sweet, privileged, middle-class white kids were a little lost and needed some time to adjust both to New York and to adult life. But, at this point, it simply appears that they're self-involved, whiny and tediously self-destructive.
Anything good happens to them? They discount the experience as trivial.
Screwed up people enter their lives? They welcome them with open arms.

The main character, Hannah, is a would-be writer. You'd think that she'd be able to reflect on her life through her writing, and yet, she demonstrates very little self-awareness. The world devours her without her taking any responsibility, having any control or the least bit of clairvoyance.  What makes it irritating is that, I, as the viewer, am convinced that she could be happy, that she could succeed, if she stopped being so annoyingly self-conscious for one second. Because, really, Hannah is not a victim. She could stop the bullshit in her life, if she chose to (but then, there would be no show).

I do wonder, as a 20-something myself... are these people supposed to be my peers? I'll fully admit that I'm privileged and that there are many things that I take for granted. But watching these people abandon themselves in deceit is disturbing. Does the show imply that all these characters will "turn out okay" by the time they're 30? Strangely, I don't think that being a dramatic egotist in your 20s bodes well for the rest of your life. We've got to stop collectively treating this decade as a giant self-destructive/ let-me-be-an-asshole time frame where people can feel legitimate in being selfish. Although I fully support experimentation and making mistakes, it seems like these characters believe it's their duty to do all these screwed-up actions, just to feel like they're living an alternative lifestyle. But there's nothing revolutionary about snorting cocaine or having sex with a bunch of men, for that matter. And is it really necessary to do these things to feel like you have valuable life experience?

Maybe I'm getting older and - I don't know... more sour? bitter? Not "hip" anymore? But I don't have a lot of patience for those girls' antics, not because of my moral beliefs over something specific (the casual sex, for instance, doesn't offend me) but because of the utter lack of generosity between the characters. Ok, so you're "learning how to live" and that's fine. But where's your sense of solidarity? You're all in this together and you're all hurting. It might be beneficial - just throwing an idea out there - for all of you to help each other out! 
I'm aware that I'm yelling at characters from a sitcom. And this sitcom is possibly trying to say something more profound by depicting the behavior of these said characters. But I'm still at the annoyed stage, where I throw my pillow at the screen and I yell profanities because most of these kids on that show are being so silly and stupid, and it hurts to watch.

So Girls is getting a reaction from me. I'm the show's target audience and I'm hooked. But I'm also really frustrated. I don't like seeing my generation portrayed that way, but I know that some of it is true. But I also know that there are so many people my age doing very interesting, truly innovative, fulfilling things. They're often insecure, uncertain, they make mistakes but they're trying to go beyond the cliché and lay the foundation for their lives.
Maybe these girls (and guys) are, too. I'll have to keep on watching, finish season 2 and tell you what I think about season 3...

Writing more and being less complacent

I need to start writing again. I've felt the urge for a while, but, of course, I've been fighting it. Why do we (read - I) tend to fight off things that are good for us?

It's been a summer full of changes and heavy lifting. The beginning of the school year bodes well, with exciting prospects and renewed energy. Just as long as I keep my anxiety levels in check... just as long as I act on the things I wish to do... which brings me back to writing.

It calms me down. It gets me to think without stressing out. It makes me feel like time has a consistency. When I write, I never feel like I'm wasting my time.

At this point, it may not even be about writing anything relevant. It may simply be about renewing with the practice. After all, I can't expect to write astonishingly well when I've been  neglecting the art.

I went rollerblading a few days ago, and I was surprised by two things: I was happy to find that I still knew how to roll, but I had lost my elegant stride and I didn't know how to stop neatly at crosswalks anymore. It had been 10 years since I hadn't rollerbladed - loss of elegance and clumsiness to be expected.

I'll take it one step at a time. I'll try to re-engage with my creative side. I need to do it now - before I forget that I even ever had the desire to create things. Before I let myself be convinced by society at large that working to make a living is really only what matters. Before life gets away from me and becomes something I don't recognize as my own.

These aren't very cheery thoughts, and I'm not even saying that I'm close to forgetting who I am. But there is always the risk of complacency:  feeling a bit too comfortable in a life where creative expectations are low. That's one of the challenges when you end up working in a different field - time and energy are split, so there's more to balance.

I've recently started sharing ideas for theatre projects with a friend and colleague. It's such a pleasure to jam on projects and create proposals. It's also nice to work with someone else instead of being alone thinking about an idea. It doesn't harm that we both enjoy each other's company.

In order to collaborate well together, we needed time to know each other. I needed to get settled and figure myself out in Paris. So there is something to be said about taking one's time, too. But there's a difference between taking one's time and stopping altogether to think creatively. Although, sometimes, those two things look very much the same.  So I'll watch out, I'll be vigilent. And if I stray, I hope that there will be some people out there to keep me on the right track by suggesting new ideas and collaborations.

Life is a gift

If our lives are gifts to begin with, however, in some sense they are not "ours" even when we become adults. Or perhaps they are, but only until such time as we find a way to bestow them. The belief that life is a gift carries with it the corollary feeling that the gift should not be hoarded. As we mature, and particularly as we come into the isolation of being "on our own", we begin to feel the desire to give ourselves away - in love, in marriage, to our work, to the gods, to politics, to our children. And adolescence is marked by that restless, erotic, disturbing inquisition: Is this person, this nation, this work, worthy of the life I have to give?

 Lewis Hyde, The Gift: Creativity and the Artist in the Modern World, p.126

Every time I open Lewis Hyde's book and read a few pages, a few chapters, I let out a sigh of relief. He gets it. He articulates what so many of us feel: that life is a gift. He explains what a gift is: something that grows by the mere act of being shared. He reminds us that  the gift transaction is different from the market exchange, and that both ways of interacting are just as real and just as worthy.

 But, given the state of our society and the values that shape it, we as artists and inventors and researchers and lovers... we don't always find our place in this world, because the very idea of the Gift is neglected, cast to the periphery. And with it, a whole array of artwork, ideas, theories and feelings are left aside and dubbed "unnecessary" because they don't appear profitable in the merchant's sense. 

So we need to be reminded of our own power and ability to give. Not out of charity, not out of duty - those aren't postures that are conducive to giving; those are obligations laced with guilt, to justify the fact that we take so much from the world and from others, and to aleviate the discomfort that comes with such a realization. 

No - the gift is not calculated in any way, although it can be conscious. It's a smile. It's the expression of a feeling, it's a form of letting go. We have no idea what a smile does to the person who witnesses it, who receives it. And yet, we know that it has its own kind of power, that it is evocative and that the simple act of smiling might set something in motion. 

Because life is finite and uncertain, we may sometimes feel the need to cling to the life we have. But there's also what Hyde talks about: " the [...] feeling that the gift should not be hoarded". By letting go, by sharing our talents and our humanity with the rest of the world, we are enriched. In that typical gift-giving way, our life doesn't loose its value because it is spent. Rather, it augments in values, in strenght and in scope. 

I feel like my "life is a gift and that the gift shouldn't be hoarded". I'm convinced of the truth of those statements. But I'm also petrified of doing the wrong thing, of opening myself up to the wrong people, of loosing myself, of being vulnerable. I also listen too much to the murmur of the world and the media - what we should be doing, who's in, who's out. I'm influenced by that discourse, and it stabs at the gift; it belittles it, it casts it aside, away from the heart of who I am and how I want to act. 

I need to be reminded that rekindling the gift is not selfish and that sharing moments of happiness and joy with others is not a waste of time. I need to apply myself to my art in the same way - or more - than I apply myself to the work that makes me earn money. My art is a gift of expression that will benefit no one if it is unfinished and neglected. It needs to be let out, and who knows what it will do, who it will touch. I want to become an adult, if being an adult means being liberated enough to give away parts of ourselves because we know it's the only thing really worth doing.

Writing a play

It's been a while...

I'm working on a play. The project is at a point where I can acknowledge publicly that I'm working on it. It's still incredibly fragile, tiny, not nearly fully-fledged... it's nothing. I've "worked on plays" before, and... they haven't always worked out. But this project is a bit more than an idea. It's starting to be an actual outline. I'm being good, and I'm concentrating on structure.
I'm trying to ask - and answer - the following questions systematically, for each scene :

Where?
With whom?
What happens?
What do we learn about the characters?
How does this advance the plot?

These, to me, are tedious questions. Because I'd always rather write dialogue. If I have a vague idea of characters, I can make them talk to each other for hours. But does this advance the plot? Non, Madame. Pas du tout.
So, for the time being, I'm refraining from making my characters talk. But I'm talking to myself A LOT. If someone ever finds my recorder - say it falls in the street - he/she will think I'm incredibly self-involved or will understand that I'm the type of writer who can't help thinking out loud before writing. That person will also hear many singing/guitar recording sessions. But that's another story.

I'm embracing this "I talk into a recorder in order to write more effectively" side of me now. There are times when I don't even try to type something when I feel like I'm going to block. Instead, I press the "record" button and I talk. I then type out what I've said, then I highlight, and then, eventually, I write dialogue. It's strange, because this method has helped me to tap into deeper emotions. That's when I know I'm a theatre gal at heart - the spoken word just seems to resonate in a special way.

Lajos Egri wrote a playwriting handbook called The Art of Dramatic Writing. I've had the book for nearly ten years, and I had started reading it way back when. At first, I rejected everything about it. I disagreed with everything. It seemed so outdated, such a traditional approach. Egri uses words like "premise" and "conflict" and "pivotal characters". At that time, I was starting to read Beckett, and other very modern plays. Those playwrights had all walked away from realist conventions. Many artists didn't even believe that conflict was necessary to write a good play anymore.

I've come back to Egri ; out of curiosity, at first. Then, I started consulting the handbook because I realized that I needed to learn how to write a play, and that's what Egri helps you to do.
I hope that I'll walk away from tradition at some point, that I'll find new dramatic forms... but first, I need to write at least one gosh-darn, full-lenght, play! I need to learn how to make characters live in a theatrical world. They need to be tri-dimensional, and they need to pursue their own personal goals and step on each other's toes in the process.

It sounds obvious, but in order to think clearly about the overall structure of the play, I need to take a step back, and sit with the audience, look at the stage, and ask the simplest of questions : "what do I see ?" and "what next?".

Little by little, I'm shedding the excuses and putting in the work. We'll see if it pays off this time.
Any ideas, tips, strategies on writing are welcome ; feel free to leave a comment, or send me a message. Does structure come easy for other playwrights and writers?

Poor Robert

This is a monologue I wrote a while back. I had completely forgotten about it, but I enjoyed re-reading it! It reminded me of a couple of things: how bad I am at finishing projects, and how the play Six Characters in search of an author is a direct inspiration for this piece.  

Robert :

            It just occurred to me that I could start talking. Even if I didn't have much to say, maybe I could come up with something. A lot of people seem to do that. But the thing is, I’m a character. I’m supposed to know what I’m saying. Or, at least, my assigned playwright is supposed to know. Ha! Well. Let me just tell you something about her: she has no idea what she’s doing. No idea whatsoever. She quite often leaves me speechless for days, weeks, months! When she does let me speak, she doesn't grace me with much depth of personality. When I try to argue – and it’s not so easy for me to do, since I only have a limited vocabulary of my very own – she says something about “the capriciousness of inspiration”. She says that it’s not her fault, that she didn't have a lot of time lately, very busy, etc, etc. My translation: she’s just plain lazy.

            So, today, I said, that’s it. I’m fed up being dissatisfied as a character. I decided to fight for my rights, and to be granted the honor of characterization. My playwright couldn't believe it when she started manically writing without even having to think. But don’t believe for even one instant that this is anything of your doing, pretty girl! No, no, no. It’s all me. I’m using you, to my advantage. I’m forcing you to tell my story. And, be warned: I will never listen when you will tell me – and I know you will – that it has all been written before. I know it has, but what can you do? We still should be able to express ourselves, however clumsily it may be. And we perhaps always do end up saying the same things, over and over again, because we are ultimately all the same. Perhaps. But how is it fair that the ancient Greeks got to say whatever they wanted because it had never been said before, whereas we twenty-first century people have to take into consideration the past thousand and thousand years of civilization?

            But wait a minute… I could… be an ancient Greek character! And I could start at the beginning. That is a very seductive idea. Very seductive indeed. Now, the question is, where to begin? Am I a character who witnessed the construction of Athens, or Sparta? Am I a friend of Homer? His accompanist as he sings the tales of the Odyssey and the Iliad?

 (pause)

            The problem being that I have no idea what I’m talking about. Do you have any idea, Miss Playwright? Of course she doesn't  I’m afraid that if I ask her to do some extensive research on Ancient Greece, I will never in a thousand moons become a real, fleshy character. Since I have to work with what I have – that is, a pretty flimsy writer – I’ll stick with being a twenty-first century character.

            Now that we have established that, I must embark on the gender issue. Ah, gender! Is it really that important? I could be a roaming spirit with no particular sex affiliation, now could I? Or just avoid choosing by being a hermaphrodite. Yes, but I have a feeling that wouldn't simplify things at all. I better decide now. I’ll just be a man. A talkative man named… Robert. Or a gossipy woman named Martha? No, no. Definitely not Martha. Madeline, maybe, but not Martha. Madeline?! What the hell am I thinking? I’m Robert. That’s it. I feel and talk like a Robert. Who wouldn't think of me that way? I perspire Robertness, I sweat Robertness!

- Hi, I’m Robert. Nice to meet you.

- Nice to meet you too, Robert! So, tell me a little bit about yourself…

Damn it. I don’t know anything about myself! My name’s Robert, isn’t that enough for you? You need more information? What, are you the FBI or something? Wait. My Playwright is saying that I’m starting to sound like Woody Allen, and that’s not good. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Woody Allen, but he’s definitely not me. And I need to construct myself, not use shortcuts provided by previous characters. Thanks, P., I appreciate it. My name is Robert, and I’m not Woody Allen. We've established that much. Good. We’re on the right track! Just keep on going. Don’t stop! No, P., don’t even dare think to let your grip off that pen. Don’t even entertain the  idea! 

Damn it. She stopped writing again. P! P! P! I need you! I need you to write me!

Writing from the past

One of the fun side effects of living at home is that I find lots of old treasures in my room. Many of those treasures are pieces of writing from a long time ago. I've already re-read my junio-high and high school journals a few times, and I am always entertained when I read them. Having a glimpse of my mentality of the time is funny and strange. I feel close to the girl in the journal, but I don't always feel like she's me. She probably isn't anymore! 

I've recently stumbled on more recent writing, from 3 or 4 years ago, when I was living in Paris for my masters. It wasn't a very easy time. Actually, it sucked a lot. I had periods of deep procrastination when trying to write my dissertation ; my self-esteem was in the pits... But reading the prose that accompanies that period is very revealing. The writing is raw and articulate. I was figuring things out while also being in pain. At the time, I remember thinking that I was writing uttter crap, like everything else. But it may be my best writing yet. I'm not going to share it on here, because it's just a bit too personal to be public, but I hope that I'll be able to use some of those passages in fiction, to tap into a character's struggle in making decisions and carrying on living. 

These days, there are highs and lows in my everyday life, but I feel mentally and spiritually stable. Sure, I don't have steady employment right now, but give me time, and I'll sort myself out. I'm very thankful that I feel calm and a lot more self-assured than before. Paris feels like a whole new city, this time around. Yes, it can still be a little closed off, but it's also beautiful and I'm willing to live here and give it a fair shot. 

I'm well aware that I gained confidence living in the States and being surrounded by people who challenged me and believed in my creative voice. The support I got in the States has allowed me to come back to France renewed, and feeling less French than before. That's actually the best thing that could have happened to me. Because, by not feeling completely French, I have the distance I need to navigate the culture: I'm not oppressed by it, therefore I can observe it with curiosity and delight. There's something liberating about that. 

Le vrac

De nouveau à la case départ. Après une série éprouvante d'entretiens avec un théâtre parisien pour un boulot/formation d'intervenante en milieu scolaire, je décide de ne pas poursuivre cette piste. Ils ont eu l'élégance de me laisser réfléchir, et de me laisser décider si ce travail était vraiment fait pour moi.

• Un week-end à Lyon très revigorant avec une amie qui m'a aidé à considérer d'autres options.
• Un rendez-vous à Pôle Emploi la semaine prochaine. J'avoue, officiellement, que j'ai besoin d'un coup de pouce pour trouver du travail.

Mais j'ai quand même des idées... ce projet de faire de la traduction se concrétise. Et cette fois-ci, ce ne serait pas une traduction de temps en temps en dillettante, mais plutôt me donner les moyens d'y arriver. J'ai rédigé mon CV de traductrice et j'ai plus d'experience que je ne le pensais initialement. Il faudra trouver et fidéliser des clients, et ce ne sera pas chose facile. Mais j'ai déjà de très précieux contacts et quelqu'un, en particulier, qui m'a toujours confié ses documents de recherche. Je crois que je peux construire quelquechose. Grande solitude quand on veut créer quelquechose à partir de rien, mais de la trépidation aussi.

Et le théâtre? Ah, oui. Il paraît un peu oublié. A vrai dire, j'ai besoin de me souvenir pourquoi je l'aime. J'ai besoin de redevenir étonnée et émue par le doux pouvoir des mots et des corps sur scène. Je dois me donner le temps et l'espace d'y voir un peu plus clair. Et je dois avoir une occupation autre - à la fois alimentaire et motivante. Sinon, gare au "burn out" ou - pire - à la servitude, qui consiste à aider les autres à s'affirmer tout en se reniant soi-même.

• Mais hier, je suis allée courir sur les bords de Seine, et j'ai vu des colverts se laver les plumes. Je ne sais pas exactement pourquoi, mais ça m'a donné du courage.