Tantrum

When I come against an obstacle I find that there’s a pattern of steps I follow to find resolution. Shamefully, the most important of these seems to be one where I behave badly. I throw a fit. Once that phase is over, however, I accept my fate with aplomb and move forward. It’s necessary, however, for me to resist, like antibodies fighting a virus, in order to emerge stronger and healthier on the other side.

I performed an embarrassing, new mom tantrum a few weeks after Lennon was born. We were struggling with breastfeeding and he wasn’t gaining the recommended amount of weight. I was nursing for what seemed like every second of the day and yet it had little affect. The diagnosis was that my milk supply was low and I would need to start using a breast milk pump if breastfeeding was to continue. To increase my supply, I was meant to pump milk from my breasts several times a day for about ten minutes a session. This would provide extra milk for Lennon and fool my body into producing more milk to meet the increased, albeit manufactured, demand. I was already thoroughly exhausted and the idea of nursing this other, mechanical baby in addition to my newborn brought me to tears. This exhaustion was compounded by the new, overwhelming responsibility of trying to provide my baby with the healthiest and highest quality of everything. I was beholden to go forward with whatever it would take to make breastfeeding work even though every molecule of my sleep deprived self wanted to scream, “This is not what I signed up for! I want a refund!” I nearly said those exact words to my very patient midwife, asking her,

“Do nursing mothers just never leave the house? Do they never leave the couch? Do they live their lives as nursing machines? How in the hell do they do this?”

What I wanted and naively expected to hear from her were cushioned words allowing me to give up, saying that it wasn’t all that important to breast feed, and that no one would ever expect anyone to go through anything approaching such burdensome nonsense. Instead, she calmly answered, “We just do it.”

Right.

The next day, I rented a breast milk pump and began the process of increasing my supply and feeding my baby so he would gain the weight he needed. I really fought against the difficulty of it all, though. I fought until I didn’t recognize what I was fighting against. I fought until I looked foolish—until there was nothing left to do but the hard thing itself and be happy about it.

Last week I wrote about how I had buoyed myself up from having suffered the rejection of not being awarded the DAAD scholarship. Tragically, I failed to take my own advice. The next day I discovered that the wound was deeper than three days time and a pep talk could heal. I sat in the kitchen and explained to Nicholas all the reasons why not getting the DAAD scholarship meant that I should not pursue a PhD:

Firstly, I’m not a real academic. I attended a conference last May with other Performance Studies PhDs and discovered that I was way out of my league. They all seemed so well read in Performance theory where I’m primarily a practitioner, still learning how to slog through academic language. What business have I writing a dissertation? Twice now my project has not been awarded funding. Maybe this is a sign. Also, wouldn’t it just be so much easier, nice-n-tidy, and generally more leisurely to go back to the familiar ground of teaching theatre in a K-8th grade environment? I could leave behind the uncomfortable, knee-deep discussions of Performance theory and elevator-pitch explanations of my dissertation. Teaching grade school would also be a more Lennon-gentle route, being able to maintain clear, daytime hours with a family friendly vacation schedule. But the most penultimate reason to throw in the towel, I explained, was that I had tried to call my advisor that day and her secretary said she was very busy and would not be able to meet with me for a while. She’d be happy to send me some other funding opportunities via email, but a one-on-one would not be possible right now. I knew I was on my own with my research, that’s how PhDs are done in Germany, but at this moment I really needed my advisor—a woman of great importance in the Performance Studies world—to bolster my confidence. She hadn’t the time. Bad timing, woman of great importance. Having presented my case, I asked my husband how I could ever overcome such incredible odds? How could I continue with this PhD scheme and its difficult trajectory? The path of least resistance was surely a more sensible route. Certainly there are many who would agree with me that I just don’t have what it takes to be an academic. Nicholas listened and then said, “You can do it, Schatz.”

Fine.

I opened a book of performance theory, grabbed my highlighter, and began reading. I bought a ticket for a play by a company I’d wanted to investigate. I started to do it. Later that day, I visited the little bowl on my desk filled with fifty curled strips of paper. On each strip is one of Nancy Sathre-Vogel’s ‘50 Lessons I Wish I had Learned Earlier.’ If you’ve read more than one of my posts, you may have noted my passion for lists. About a month ago, I had printed out Ms. Sathre-Vogel’s list, cut each item from the page, and placed them in a bowl on my desk to pull from if I needed guidance. The Tao of My Desk, if you will. I glanced at the snow-white curls on top and decided to sink my hand deep to collect my fortune. The lesson I fished that day said:

47. If it were easy everyone would do it.

#1: You admire a character for trying more than for their successes.

There are two things that always bring the sad: Rejection and The Oscars. Rejection comes knocking any old time and often. Oscar night is mercifully only once a year. Imagine my dismay when they both came the same week.

Working in the theater over the years, I’ve made the disappointing discovery that I’m not a star. I’m not the most gifted person in the talent pool, but that’s not the reason I’m not a star. I could work harder at honing my chops. What makes me not a star is that I care more about the artistic vision than the artist. When you are a star, other people worry about the big picture so you can concentrate your efforts on character, a practice that left me wanting more as a performer. It was a troubling transition to make at first, having spent the first half of my life only being concerned with me on the stage. I had to quiet my ego a bit in order to make the work that was really important to me. Since then, the ‘why’ of what I do is so much clearer and the process more fulfilling.

However:

The Oscars always awakens that childhood voice that whispers with glitter and sparkle, “Be a star!” Nothing makes stardom look so good as award ceremonies, partly because you don’t have to see the behind the scenes work that got them to the Hollywood and Highland Center in the first place. When the awardees talk about how much they’ve sacrificed for their craft, the sentiment is a little dulled by the luster of their Lanvin. All I can see on Oscar night is the glory. No matter how I remind myself that such ends wouldn’t justify the means it’d take for me to get there, I’m still starry eyed—then flooded with ‘what-ifs’ and ‘if-onlys.’ Living in a different time zone, I read about the results after the fact. I watched Meryl’s and Octavia’s acceptance speeches online. I spent the whole day in a dull, aching funk: a precursory taste of what I had coming.

That Friday, I received an email stating that I was not awarded the Deutscher Akademischer Austausch Dienst (DAAD) Scholarship to pursue my PhD research. My PhD program in Germany is cost-free so the scholarship would only be used toward living expenses. I’m in the fortunate position of not needing to quit a job in order to pursue a PhD and the funds would instead be used for enhancing my academic pursuits in the way of books and travel and theatre tickets. Hence, I wasn’t so attached to receiving this money. The PhD can still happen elegantly without it. Also, my research topic has been rejected before and by the much more prestigious Fulbright Grant. Folks are just not terribly anxious to fund a project about German Expressionism and avant-garde theatre, opting instead to give their money to more obviously life altering research. I was prepared to not get this one.

However:

What I could only realize after I’d been rejected was that I’d silently viewed being awarded this scholarship as bonafide validation of my work. The DAAD scholarship is not quite the Performance Studies equivalent of an Oscar, but it would’ve made me feel like a star. My husband tried fruitlessly to cheer me by saying that I’d won the LACF Scholarship (Lennon August Cole Farrell,) making me yearn for a stiff drink. But each day is new and as ill timed as my husband’s attempt, thinking of it now warms me. As far as the Oscars are concerned, listening to Woody Guthrie over a deep pot of coffee reminded me that there is nobility in being scrappy. How full of grace to be a working class hero—a righteous and worthy path.

I don’t want to give the impression that these conundrums have been resolved here, but when I came across the list below, my wounds received some salve. It’s a list of guidelines for how to create appealing stories from Pixar story artist, Emma Coats and it did, in fact, show me how to make my own story appealing—to myself. If I can gaze upon my journey as one extended piece of poetry, disappointments begin to look more like catapults than walls. Of course life is messier than a manicured Pixar storyline and doesn’t always provide a sensible ending, but I never enjoyed spoon-fed, tidy drama anyway.

"Pixar Story Rules (one version)

Pixar story artist Emma Coats has tweeted a series of “story basics” over the past month and a half — guidelines that she learned from her more senior colleagues on how to create appealing stories:

#1: You admire a character for trying more than for their successes.

#2: You gotta keep in mind what’s interesting to you as an audience, not what’s fun to do as a writer. They can be v. different.

#3: Trying for theme is important, but you won’t see what the story is actually about till you’re at the end of it. Now rewrite.

#4: Once upon a time there was ___. Every day, ___. One day ___. Because of that, ___. Because of that, ___. Until finally ___.

#5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You’ll feel like you’re losing valuable stuff but it sets you free.

#6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal?

#7: Come up with your ending before you figure out your middle. Seriously. Endings are hard, get yours working up front.

#8: Finish your story, let go even if it’s not perfect. In an ideal world you have both, but move on. Do better next time.

#9: When you’re stuck, make a list of what WOULDN’T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up.

#10: Pull apart the stories you like. What you like in them is a part of you; you’ve got to recognize it before you can use it.

#11: Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you’ll never share it with anyone.

#12: Discount the 1st thing that comes to mind. And the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th – get the obvious out of the way. Surprise yourself.

#13: Give your characters opinions. Passive/malleable might seem likable to you as you write, but it’s poison to the audience.

#14: Why must you tell THIS story? What’s the belief burning within you that your story feeds off of? That’s the heart of it.

#15: If you were your character, in this situation, how would you feel? Honesty lends credibility to unbelievable situations.

#16: What are the stakes? Give us reason to root for the character. What happens if they don’t succeed? Stack the odds against.

#17: No work is ever wasted. If it’s not working, let go and move on - it’ll come back around to be useful later.

#18: You have to know yourself: the difference between doing your best & fussing. Story is testing, not refining.

#19: Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating.

#20: Exercise: take the building blocks of a movie you dislike. How d’you rearrange them into what you DO like?

#21: You gotta identify with your situation/characters, can’t just write ‘cool’. What would make YOU act that way?

#22: What’s the essence of your story? Most economical telling of it? If you know that, you can build out from there."

Photo credit found here.
Emma Coats's list source found here.