Life Just Changed Forever

The Great Pride March of Marvelous New York City is moving down Fifth Avenue. (That's not its official name, just mine.) And nothing could be more fortuitous. Because of one Supreme Court decision, just days ago, every person in America can marry and receive all the benefits, and responsibilities, that legally come with doing so. (Not to mention, with that other decision, they can be insured.) Before this week, many elected officials were still spouting bile about the "sanctity" of marriage between a man and a woman, using this hate speech to rouse fundamentalist conservatives to vote for them. Of course, none of them seem to mention divorce, which seems to "de-sanctify" it to me! Or claim Marriage Equality will lead to people wedding their pets. Seeing some of these morons, I'd say we already have that. Well, now they can rant and rave all they want. It's fucking done! How to celebrate where you are? Love each other.

A Beginning and an Ending

Finally, all the checking, the seemingly endless paperwork, the final "approved" bank transactions have led to the completion of the Kickstarter campaign. The money has come through. And I have had another myriad, powerful series of emotional responses: this entire endeavor has been rife with them. I started the process a year ago, before my novel was completed--well, to my satisfaction anyway. I researched and researched and researched until I felt I had gained enough knowledge to put together a workable campaign and see it through to the end.  I enlisted help from friends and family. And I continued to work on my novel while I worked on everything else. As the time grew nearer, my anxiety grew stronger. I began to have manic episodes more frequently. I even changed the beginning and ending dates twice. Mostly from fear that I was not prepared. Then I took the plunge... Six weeks of frustration and worry and thankfulness and joy were the results. It's done!

This entire process has been humbling, marvelous, and personal. I've felt a little numb lately. So much work brought so much gain. How many beautiful people gave so I could finish this dream of mine! I will never be able to show them my full gratitude, because that would be impossible. But my budget is set, my post-campaign started, the long wait for publication begun. And they have ensured all of it.

As celebration, my husband Jav and I went to see the final performance of a Broadway musical, The Visit, that proved to be historic in many ways. (We bought very inexpensive seats in the balcony, lest you think we spent Kickstarter funds.) Happily, it began the final journey for a work decades in the making. Producers are already interested in creating productions around the world. So said one of the producers from the stage after the performance. It made history in two more important ways: it was the final work of the great musical writing team of John Kander (music) and Fred Ebb (lyrics.) Ebb died in 2004. never seeing his work make it to Broadway. The team worked on it for over a decade. Kander is 88. The book was written by the famed playwright Terence McNally, aged 76. But perhaps most auspicious of all, this was the farewell to Broadway of the great musical star, Chita Rivera. At 82, she was still starring in a show, singing (and dancing!) for all but a few minutes of the 95 minute  musical. Eight shows a week. She had created the role of Anita in West Side Story. That was in 1957. She has rarely been off stage since. To many of us, she is an icon of a system fading fast away. She was a stage star, not someone popular from another medium that gained enough fame to make it to Broadway. She worked with most of the great composers and lyricists. This was her fourth Kander and Ebb work, including the role of Velma Kelly in the original production of Chicago. She won Tony awards for two of them. This was the third time I saw her perform live. Delightful though the first two were, neither quite prepared me for this glorious swan song: of her close friends, of her last score, and her final Broadway performance. Many of us (including Chita) couldn't stop tears from coming. This is what all lovers of theater so rarely see. How could any of us not be moved? Shocking though it may seem, her voice is still recognizable as the young performer singing "America" and "A Boy Like That." Here she is in her final number from The Visit. She is performing with the ghost of her younger self. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypYmkev9Sfg Perhaps she'll go to London, if it moves there. But probably not. She went out at the top of her game. I was honored to witness it. In the audience were John Kander and Terrance McNally. Equally fitting, two actors were making their Broadway debuts. The torch was passed. Jav and I waited by the stage door for an autograph from her, something we rarely do. She signed our program, a picture of her backstage during the run of West Side Story. She posed for a picture with me. This is one of the great things about living in New York. Sometimes you meet royalty.

A Man Named Jimmy

This is a story I've added to other places online.  But for anyone who hasn't read it, this is a tale of friendship and inspiration and the writing of a book:

Jimmy was one of the first people I met in New York. He loved all things theater; he loved meeting new people; he loved hearing stories, and telling stories; he loved to laugh. He had been a dancer, actor, director, and admired others who do those well. I adored him instantly. His body was confined to a wheelchair, due to a stroke, but nothing else about him could be described as confined.

Being a playwright, I hatched a plan to write something he could act; surely he just needed the right part. I tried to find a good idea for a play, but I couldn’t come up with any. Then I thought about a screenplay. I was sure I could find room in a movie for all kinds of characters. And I did. Something I knew he could play. I could see his face and hear his voice when I wrote “his” dialogue. I even named him after a character in Jimmy’s favorite musical: Stephen Sondheim’s Follies. I wrote on it for about two and a half years. Along the way, I lost touch with him, as sometimes happens in life, but I kept to my writing, waiting to surprise him with my “gift”. Even if the movie never made it past the writing stage, he would know that there was a juicy part in the world, and I had written it for him. I finally finished it, and went about looking to reconnect. To my utter sadness, he had died while I was working on it. He fell asleep and never woke up. I put the screenplay away, hurting too much to polish it.

Then I had an idea. I could use the basic outline, and some of the characters, and write a novel. The character would be there as my testament to him. I worked for three and a half years, and Irish Guilt is the result. Whenever I wrote about “Jimmy’s” character, I again thought of his face and his voice, and I think the dialogue for him is stronger because of it. He’s one of my favorites in the book! I like to think that as long as this book is around, Jimmy is still around, too. The words on the dedication page will read, “In memory of Jimmy Rilley, my friend.” Because I am proud to say he was.

Half Way

Half  way.  The worst place to be, in almost any situation, certainly the most vulnerable to doubt and worry.  Half way through my novel, I felt overwhelmed and stopped writing for a time.  Now I'm half way through the month, and I feel a bit overwhelmed again.  My mind feels cloudy.  So much work has gone into this that the two previous weeks have felt like two months!  So much to do, write, say about the same issue.  How many ways can you focus on a different aspect of the process before you run out of ideas?  I suddenly feel my age.  (I'd like to think the "inner me" is about 35.)  Of course, the generosity of so many people has propelled me this far.  I couldn't be more grateful.  I would have thrown in the towel, or strangled someone with it, had these good people not come to my aid.  But I'm stuck in the middle of the seesaw, trying not to allow one end to fall to the ground.  I'll need to get off of it sometime, but today, I'm just lucky I can balance it.  Balance.  Tomorrow, I move toward the finale of this work. That's tomorrow, no longer half way.

Gone But Still With Us

I just discovered one of my classical music idols has died last month.  Andrew Porter was a music critic, the best of my lifetime, most famously for The New Yorker magazine.  But he was so much more.  He wrote English singing translations for dozens of operas, including his universally praised version of the complete Ring Cycle of Wagner.  This was recorded in the late 70's, and is still available as I write. He staged operas, he lectured, he wrote much about music, he was on the board of musical organizations.  But he will forever be an important figure in opera because he found all the original material from the premiere version of Verdi's Don Carlos, thought to be lost.  He recreated it from orchestral parts and chorus books, and his reconstruction is now the official published version, and the one used when the original is performed, which is happening more and more.  This scholarship will outlive us all.  That is as close to immortality as a critic/theorist/researcher can get.

I got to know the music of many modern composers through his enthusiastic writing in some books of reviews collected from his 20 years at The New Yorker.  (I have reread them all, many times.) I sought out many names and recordings from his opinions.  I didn't agree with everything he said, but I agreed with much of it, and I have tried to follow his practice of giving something two (or more) listens before I make up my mind about it.  (But sometimes, something is so shitty, a second listen isn't necessary.)  But no one was free from his critical eye.  Observations of poor performances, even by singers and performers he thought were among the best in the world, were printed, often to the scorn of fans,  Lesser works were called such.  Failures--by good and bad alike--admitted as such.  And he should know.  He rarely heard (major) pieces without studying the score first, and/or listening to a series of performances, not just one.  Opera was his true love, but he never stopped listening to anything and everything, forever curious, forever understanding the importance of the new through his knowledge of the old.  He wrote often and well.  His prose is clear, his adjectives precise.  Most of all, he seemed to be forgiving when a performer, composer, or piece had disappointed him.  He tried to hear everything with understanding, without prejudice, or the closest to that I ever read.  He wanted things to be wonderful, and found that much of it was. What better epitaph could there be?

This Seemed So Much Easier In My Mind

Trying to work a month-long fundraiser is no skip down easy lane.  Every day: new posts, new sales pitches, new thank-you's--just new everything. It's a long haul, so new strategies have to be constantly created, explored, implemented, or tossed away.  Not that I'm complaining.  Already, the response has been generous and kind.  That's the part that surprises me the most. People are so happy to see you fulfill your dream.  Not a penny seems to have come from someone who felt obligated to pitch in.  I feel very fortunate in that.  I still have many more pennies to collect, but we're on the way.

The other side of the equation is the shock from some people that I am being so open about my bi-polar disorder.  People rarely talk about something so potentially off-putting.  They don't feel comfortable knowing someone has issues leaving an apartment.  Or that medication will be necessary for life.  Those are "facts" few want to hear about someone they care about.  Mental disorders scare people. They can't be seen concretely, like a broken leg, or a cancerous growth, or even kidney failure.  Cancer and kidney failure are far more dangerous than bi-polar disorder, but the world knows about them.  We've seen TV programs, read articles, seen movies, known relatives, have been diagnosed.  When a TV program like Homeland stars a character with bi-polar disorder--named Carrie Mathison and played by Claire Danes--suddenly viewers start judging if the behavior shone is "realistic", as if all people with it act the same.  These are people without bi-polar disorder, mind you. Go on Netflix, for instance, and read how many viewers complained that Carrie's behavior was too far from "reality" for someone in her position.  But they have missed the point.  People like her exist in all professions.  I can attest to her behavior swings.  I can attest to the schizoid nature of your brain, where it can be working on something extremely complex, while making your body go through all kinds of hell.  I think Danes has done a great job of showing a well-rounded person with a life-altering mental disorder.  And the writing has reflected this quite well, especially given the nature of the program.  But at least that's just a character on TV.  No one you actually know.  People like me are too real for some people.  Those kind of facts are "too much information."  Yes, things are getting better.  More is being shown on all forms of programming.  More books are out.  CBS gave a "CBS cares" segment to bi-polar disorder.  But the man who spends the majority of his time inside a one bedroom apartment is better ignored.  This Kickstarter campaign has turned the light on me.  I'm lucky that the majority of people are so happy about what I've accomplished and hope to accomplish still.  The fact that others are bothered is a whole different kind of light.

Off to the Kickstarter Races

After a year's planning, gathering information, making videos, making contacts, and a billion other irritating things, my Kickstarter campaign to fund the publication of my novel is finally up and running.  I even have my first pledge!  Check here to read all about it: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/914886440/irish-guilt-a-novel-of-mystery-and-thrills
Thanks!  And may the luck of the Irish be with you!