Dramatist Magazine Q&A: "The Craft" with Audrey Cefaly
audreycefaly.substack.com
Reprint from From The Dramatist, January, 2020
I thought it would be fun to revisit this Q&A from 3 years ago. I stand by it.
Once you have an idea, how do you proceed? Do you take notes? Do you outline? Do you plunge right in?
Outlines, no. Notes, yes. When I “plunge” right in (which happens a lot), I think of it more like an impulse than an “idea.” David Ball's Backwards and Forwards taught me how to loosen my grip on story. I imagine a theatrically provocative gesture (“something’s on fire” in my play Fin & Euba; “a woman gets pushed out of a boat” in The Gulf) and then I write backwards -- literally backwards -- from there. I move in an uninterrupted sequence, action by action, in reverse, until the “rise” bottoms out. This technique is a good way to eliminate narrative intentionality at a time when what we really need is an open mind. "If you set out to write a poem about two dogs fucking, and you write a poem about two dogs fucking, then you’ve written a poem about two dogs fucking." - Gerald Stern
Do you have a routine? A regular time when you write?
Hahahahaha!!! What’s the expression? “All the work at the last minute while crying.”I told a friend once, “I've done everything but write the damn thing… phone calls, research, lotta daydreaming on my coffee run.” He said, “So it sounds like you got a lot of writing done.” And that was the day I realized… I'm always writing.
When you begin a first draft, do you write straight through? Do you write in order? What’s your process?
A new play needs to breathe. Crockpot mode adds a depth of flavor I can't get otherwise. I usually write the "rise" first, followed by the coda and then the opening--characters at the wheel.
Once you’re at work, are there other art forms you go to for continued inspiration?
People.
What aspect of the craft is most difficult for you?
Starting.
What do you do when you get stuck?
Look for the nearest exit. And yes, there's a good chance it's behind you. I’m only half joking. Look at your body of work and ask yourself, “What am I trying to impart here?” Love? Compassion? A vocabulary? Now ask yourself, “Why?” If you’re to have a meaningful dialogue with the world -- to create anything lasting – you must do the hard work of love. So, the “why“ of your work must outrank everything: lazy writing, snark, arrogance, erudition, and yes, even hashtags. When you get “stuck,” it may be that you’ve lost the breadcrumb trail. Go back to the part of the story where it starts feeling bad… in other words, not of you, and make a better choice.
Do you have any thoughts or advice about exposition and/or dialogue?
Use less.
How much do you think about the audience while writing?
When people come to see my plays, I want them to leave feeling better. This desire informs the subject, the content, and the construction of my stories. I use hypnotic elements, silence, tension, and texture to express the Other… the Divine. If I sit down to watch a play and it doesn't feel like church, I get the hell outta there.
How extensively do you rewrite, and is that mostly before or during rehearsal?
Look, it's well documented: years from now scholars of my early work will be poring over my manuscripts and I'll still be sitting here editing Act I. It’s my pathology. I’m promiscuous with cuts; nothing is sacrosanct. The play is more important than my feelings.
What’s the most important craft advice you have given or received?
It was from George Saunders on the topic of deeper truth in the the delightful little film “On Story” (Mason and Klein). "Revision is 'love in progress'... active love." In other words, when we love someone, we observe, we listen. "We attempt to intuit their true expansiveness. Ask Frank, 'is there anything about you, Frank, that I'm not noticing? Can you tell me anything about you that would make me love you better?’ The sentence says YES."
Dramatist Magazine Q&A: "The Craft" with Audrey Cefaly
Dramatist Magazine Q&A: "The Craft" with Audrey Cefaly
Dramatist Magazine Q&A: "The Craft" with Audrey Cefaly
Reprint from From The Dramatist, January, 2020
I thought it would be fun to revisit this Q&A from 3 years ago. I stand by it.
Once you have an idea, how do you proceed? Do you take notes? Do you outline? Do you plunge right in?
Outlines, no. Notes, yes. When I “plunge” right in (which happens a lot), I think of it more like an impulse than an “idea.” David Ball's Backwards and Forwards taught me how to loosen my grip on story. I imagine a theatrically provocative gesture (“something’s on fire” in my play Fin & Euba; “a woman gets pushed out of a boat” in The Gulf) and then I write backwards -- literally backwards -- from there. I move in an uninterrupted sequence, action by action, in reverse, until the “rise” bottoms out. This technique is a good way to eliminate narrative intentionality at a time when what we really need is an open mind. "If you set out to write a poem about two dogs fucking, and you write a poem about two dogs fucking, then you’ve written a poem about two dogs fucking." - Gerald Stern
Do you have a routine? A regular time when you write?
Hahahahaha!!! What’s the expression? “All the work at the last minute while crying.” I told a friend once, “I've done everything but write the damn thing… phone calls, research, lotta daydreaming on my coffee run.” He said, “So it sounds like you got a lot of writing done.” And that was the day I realized… I'm always writing.
When you begin a first draft, do you write straight through? Do you write in order? What’s your process?
A new play needs to breathe. Crockpot mode adds a depth of flavor I can't get otherwise. I usually write the "rise" first, followed by the coda and then the opening--characters at the wheel.
Once you’re at work, are there other art forms you go to for continued inspiration?
People.
What aspect of the craft is most difficult for you?
Starting.
What do you do when you get stuck?
Look for the nearest exit. And yes, there's a good chance it's behind you. I’m only half joking. Look at your body of work and ask yourself, “What am I trying to impart here?” Love? Compassion? A vocabulary? Now ask yourself, “Why?” If you’re to have a meaningful dialogue with the world -- to create anything lasting – you must do the hard work of love. So, the “why“ of your work must outrank everything: lazy writing, snark, arrogance, erudition, and yes, even hashtags. When you get “stuck,” it may be that you’ve lost the breadcrumb trail. Go back to the part of the story where it starts feeling bad… in other words, not of you, and make a better choice.
Do you have any thoughts or advice about exposition and/or dialogue?
Use less.
How much do you think about the audience while writing?
When people come to see my plays, I want them to leave feeling better. This desire informs the subject, the content, and the construction of my stories. I use hypnotic elements, silence, tension, and texture to express the Other… the Divine. If I sit down to watch a play and it doesn't feel like church, I get the hell outta there.
How extensively do you rewrite, and is that mostly before or during rehearsal?
Look, it's well documented: years from now scholars of my early work will be poring over my manuscripts and I'll still be sitting here editing Act I. It’s my pathology. I’m promiscuous with cuts; nothing is sacrosanct. The play is more important than my feelings.
What’s the most important craft advice you have given or received?
It was from George Saunders on the topic of deeper truth in the the delightful little film “On Story” (Mason and Klein). "Revision is 'love in progress'... active love." In other words, when we love someone, we observe, we listen. "We attempt to intuit their true expansiveness. Ask Frank, 'is there anything about you, Frank, that I'm not noticing? Can you tell me anything about you that would make me love you better?’ The sentence says YES."