If you look at any of the pictures taken from the first day of rehearsals of EDGEWISE, you will see a wide-eyed, almost hypnotized version of me. This is because, on that day, I was hanging out in that middle zone between terror and sheer elation.

First of all, I’m not sure I can explain how cool it is to see a model of your set for the first time. I think that will never get old for me. It’s like I’ve been playing make believe alone in my room, and someone comes along saying, “Oh hey cool, can I play? And, oh yeah, I built you this doll house.” Andromache made my life that day.

Trip Cullman is the master of all things, and especially cutting a play down to the heart of what it should be. Before rehearsals even started we shaved almost ten pages off the play, and during the first ten days of rehearsals when I was in the room, another five or so pages got whittled away. At first, cutting was terrifying, but now it’s accompanied by this amazing free feeling. This is mostly due to the fact that I trust Trip immensely and know that he is making the play better every time he suggests a cut. I know now that if I am resistant to a cut suggestion, it usually means it’s going to be the best cut I’ve ever made.

These actors are ridiculous. They are so talented it’s crazy.

I’m anxious to get back to New York and see what they’ve done while I’ve been away. All in all, I’ll have missed about ten rehearsals. I have a feeling that things will be unrecognizable when I return.

I suppose that all young theater folk grow up forcing plays on other children who live in their neighborhood.  At least I did.  I wrote various plays, and sometimes musicals, that I would force other children (cousins, neighbors, kids I babysat) to star in.  I got especially angry with children who took a really long time to learn their music (“I don’t really understand why it’s hard for you to just repeat this melody back to me.  No, it isn’t changing every time I sing it!”).

The first play I wrote as a teenager was called TALK OF PLEASANT THINGS and I directed it at my high school, much to the detriment of my willingness and enthusiasm to show my face at reunions.  It was about, among other things, AIDS, alcoholism, and abandonment.

When I got to college, I wrote a play with parts for twelve actors.  Eight of these parts had about six lines apiece.  This is when I got my first lesson in “unproducability.” Rolin Jones, a phenomenal writer who mentored me through the process of writing this play, mentioned the possibility of one or two actors playing multiple roles.  I was like, “What?” and he was like, “Yeah.”

And so eight parts became two.  And the play got a lot stronger and better because of it (not that anyone will ever get to read it, see it, or even touch it).

Somehow, though, I’ve forgotten that lesson in writing this new play.  I find myself with nine characters and counting.  I’m hoping there will come a time somewhere down the line where I can whittle some of these people away, but it’s hard to write about a family without including everybody.

At least I’ve lightened up a little when picking subjects to write about.

Back to writing DEAD CHILDREN now.

My first blog post as the 2010 Playwriting Fellow and here it is.

A quick introduction perhaps?  My name is Eliza Clark, I’m a huge fan of Page 73 and I feel so incredibly lucky to be working with them this year on my play, Dead Children.   I was a member of Interstate 73 last year and every meeting felt like one step closer to being a working playwright.  In fact, I’m pretty sure one of the “notes” I gave Tommy Smith after a reading of one of his plays was, “This play is so awesome I feel like you just gave me a lesson in how to be a good writer.”  I’m not bragging about my ability to give constructive notes, but I am really good at expressing how much I love fellow writers.  This company gives me an immense amount of hope about the future of theater, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery.

I’m currently living in Los Angeles, writing for a new TV show that is going to be airing on AMC starting August 1^st.  The show is called Rubicon and it’s a conspiracy thriller in the style of those great seventies movies like Three Days of the Condor.  I’m currently in the midst of writing the first draft of Act One of Dead Children and simultaneously working on the first draft of Episode Seven of the show.

I’ve never actually written two things simultaneously, and I’ve never ever written for television, so this process has been illuminating to say the least.  For me, the process of writing involves a lot of self-loathing, procrastination, and sadness, followed eventually by fulfillment, elation, and treats (including but not limited to cupcakes).  I’m currently experiencing some of the restless sadness that comes with beginning a new play – I’m still getting to know these characters, and I’m letting them breathe and talk a little too much.  The pages I do have favor certain characters more than others (those I have a better handle on), so much so that the play has a bit of a limp.  I have a feeling that the first draft might be eight hundred pages before I whittle it down to a slim ninety.

Perhaps playwrights should never blog.  I promise to try not to use this blog as a veiled message to those who will be reading my early pages to go easy on me.  Though, if they choose to see it that way, I won’t be disappointed.  Next Tuesday will be the first time that Asher and Liz see pages of Dead Children, and I hope they will be able to see the early kernels of a play amongst the wreckage of my broad strokes ideas.  I’m starting to see a play in here somewhere, which is encouraging.  Even more encouraging is the deadline I’m working toward, and the people on the other side of the country who keep me tethered to the theater while I’m swimming through television’s waters.