I posted a while back about my doomed efforts to rush through a bunch of lyrics for this show to meet a prize deadline. And while it was almost certainly for the best that this didn't happen, it did at least finally get me working on the songs for the show. I've actually written six of them now (well, actually five and a half — the opening number, which is fairly complicated, is only about half complete).
This was an incredibly hard thing for me to get started on. Partly because of circumstances generally: my work situation, the lack of time, the fact that the work situation has made me so awfully miserable that I couldn't even bring myself to think about writing. But part of it was that I just feel so strongly about this show. I want it to be "perfect," which of course isn't possible, nothing is ever really perfect. But the book turned out to be so solid; I was so happy with it, and so pleased with how relatively painless the process was. Not that I didn’t agonize over it a little, I did. But that was mostly in the thinking and planning phase, not so much in the writing phase. I don't remember if I've mentioned this before, but I'm writing this show using a musical theater book-writing technique I've developed over many years, and which I actually hope to start teaching next year. I wanted to use this show to sort of "beta test" that method, and I have been very pleasantly surprised by how well it's worked. In fact, the only thing in the very first draft of the show that really didn't work was the one thing that didn't conform to the "template" I'd devised. Once I went back and re-wrote the scene following the "rules," it all worked about eighty-five percent better.
So, I was obviously very determined, when writing the score, to adhere very closely to the rules I'd set out for myself (and anyone else who cared to use them). And one of those was that, in writing a new show, one must never, ever, ever go into a project thinking — before any writing has taken place — "well, I know I want there to be a song about such-and-such." Basically, the idea is that you never, ever write any song until after the book is completely finished, and even then you never even contemplate writing a syllable's worth of lyric that isn't absolutely necessary and doesn't make perfect sense in the moment. That seems absurdly obvious, but it's probably in the top five stupid mistakes every writer makes when writing a musical, and one that causes untold frustration and agony when they wind up spending months trying to find a way to re-write an entire scene — or an entire show! — to accommodate one ill-placed song, simply because that song is "so good! We cant cut it, it's the best thing in the whole show!" or worse, simply because it's too much work to write a new, more suitable one.
Well, I'd gotten to the top of the second scene in the first act, which is the scene where Allison first mentions Paul's crusade to her lecherous boss. And it felt like the boss should have a song there. It felt like the "right place" for a song. But there didn't seem to be any logical reason for the boss to be singing. His whole through-line in the scene is, he's encouraging Allison to be more assertive in the way she pitches her story idea, and I thought he might have a song about that (the hook "Sell Me!" came to mind), but the truth of the matter is, he doesn't give a stump about her story, or her career at the magazine or, frankly, her. He just wants in her pants. He wouldn't actually sing a song about that, because it would be grotesequely inappropriate. But he wouldn't waste his breath on a song about how she can present her story more persuasively, because he doesn't give enough of a rat's hat.
So, one night about two weeks ago, I was lying in bed, half-asleep, when it suddenly hit me: Of course Barry isn't singing about the story. He's singing about getting Allison into bed — he's just couching it in "pitching the story" terms. He's using his "advice" on how to get her story into print as a means to communicate his interest in her nether regions.
So I jumped out of bed and scrawled a couple of quick notes, and the next day, while I was out run-walking on Shore Road, the song literally wrote itself in about twenty minutes, and I have to tell you, it was the most fun I've had writing anything in I can't even tell you how long. The ideas, the rhymes, the rhythms, the wordplay, all just kept coming at me unbidden. I felt like I've always thought Cole Porter must have felt when he was writing "You're The Top" — just giddy with the fun of it, and never wanting it to stop. Sitting there at the piano thinking, "oh, come on, there's gotta be another — aha! Roxie usher! That'll work!" scrawl, scrawl, scrawl.
So anyway, here's the song that proved the easiest one of the bunch to write so far, probably because it was the one that I never planned to write (and almost didn’t write) to begin with:
You’ve gotta sell me —
Sell me!
It’s not enough to tell me
You have to overwhelm me
With the soundness of your case
So make a play for my attention
And then hold it once it’s got
If you don’t grab it first time out
You may not get another shot
So go on pitch me
Pitch me!
Your goal is to bewitch me
Show how this will enrich me,
Make my world a better place
You’ve got a lot of competition
Try to rise above the mob
And if it doesn’t leave me wanting more
You haven’t done your job
I only want to help you
If you’d give me half a chance
Those other guys won’t give
A kid like you a second glance
They see a pretty girl
And they’ve got one thing on their mind
But I can see the raw potential
They can never hope to find
So come on, schmooze me
Schmooze me!
But quick, before you lose me
I’m asking you to use me —
Let me help you win this race!
Because I’ve been around the track before
A couple hundred times
So if you learn from my experience
Would that be such a crime?
Yeah honey, woo me
Woo me!
Wind up and pitch it to me
Your best ideas don’t do me
Any good out there in space
‘Cause an idea is like a woman
Playing coy will often fail
And if you want to close the deal
You have to open up the veil
And baby, flaunt it!
Flaunt it!
You gotta make me want it
If I’m not feeling haunted
Hours later by the trace
Of your alluring proposition
Like a perfume in the night
And if it doesn’t drive me crazy
Then you didn’t do it right
Remember I’m your reader
If I buy it, so will they
Convince me that you’ve got
A vital message to convey
I don’t have to agree with you
I only have to care
So be eminently reas’nable
Be eloquent, be fair —
And then you hit ‘em!
Hit ‘em!
Divide ‘em up and split ‘em
This rag is the epitome
Of pressure under grace
You know, a couple million people
Look to us for what to think
And if they won’t write angry letters
Then it isn’t worth the ink
So come on, sell me!
Sell me!
Your message should compel me
Or else you might as well be
Running endlessly in place
You’re on a straight line to the finish
Bring it home before we’re old
You gotta sell me, sell me, sell me!
Sell me, sell me, sell me!
Sell me, sell me, sell me, sell me, sell me —
Until I’m sold!
Monday, November 2, 2009
But Enough About Me -- How Do YOU Like My Dress?
I couldn't help but notice that between October 5 and today (November 2), the profile views on this blog have gone up from 100 to 120, which means that at least a few people have actually looked at this thing in the past month, which is sort of awesome.
Would it be intrusive to ask anyone stopping by to just drop a hello in the comments? I'm really rather curious to know if anyone's actually out there, or if it's just one lone internet stalker who keeps coming back over and over.
Come on, I'm nice! And ever so happy you're here, assuming you are.
Would it be intrusive to ask anyone stopping by to just drop a hello in the comments? I'm really rather curious to know if anyone's actually out there, or if it's just one lone internet stalker who keeps coming back over and over.
Come on, I'm nice! And ever so happy you're here, assuming you are.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Just In Case You Were Wondering
It occurs to me that at this point, there's really no point in maintaining the deep dark secrecy of this blog, and that who knows --- someone might actually read it some day. So, for anyone who's interested, I thought I'd post an outline of the show's story. Et voila:
The play begins in Pennsylvania Station in the summer of 1962. Former architect Paul Silver is distributing leaflets protesting the building’s imminent destruction, and meets Allison Abbott, an ambitious but naïve copy editor for Skyline magazine. Allison is politely indifferent to Paul’s station-saving manifesto, but when he learns she works for a magazine, he becomes so aggressive in attempting to recruit her to the cause that she gives in just to get rid of him, and says she will “try” to come to a meeting that night, to learn more about the preservation efforts.
Allison arrives at work, where she pitches Paul’s story to her boss, Barry, who is grudgingly receptive until Paul barges in, having tracked Allison to her office. Paul insists that Barry “considering” the story isn’t enough, and in fact antagonizes him so badly that Barry leaves in a huff. Allison berates Paul for his lack of tact, but he points out that he doesn’t have time for tact. He points out that Allison isn’t doing him a favor by championing the story — if it runs and has its intended effect, it could make Allison’s career. Allison realizes that this is true, and agrees to join Paul and his fellow protesters at their meeting.
That evening, Allison meets her fiancé, Henry, who is also an architect. Henry has received exciting news about his job as well, but insists that Allison tell hers first. She tells him she is developing a story that could be good not just for her career, but also for the city. Before she can offer details, they are joined by Rory, a mutual friend and an associate in Henry’s architectural firm. When Allison tells them that her story might help to prevent the demolition of Penn Station, Henry reveals his news: he and Rory have been appointed to their firm’s Madison Square Garden team, and will be involved in building the thing that will replace Penn Station after it’s been torn down.
Allison decides that she can’t work on the story if it will conflict with her relationship with Henry, but realizes she should break the news to Paul in person. When she describes her encounter with Paul earlier that day, Henry and Rory are noticeably stunned. Henry explains that Paul is a former colleague of theirs, and “sort of the reason Rory and I split up.” Allison now wonders if she should skip the meeting, but Rory wants to confront Paul about the damage he did years before. Neither Henry or Allison relishes the idea, but Rory is adamant, and they go to meet the protestors.
Allison, Henry and Rory arrive at the protestors’ meeting place, where Paul welcomes them all without so much as batting an eyelash, subverting Rory’s outrage. He introduces them to his friends David and Ann, a married couple who also committed to the preservation.
Allison explains that she thinks it would be inappropriate for her to write in favor of preserving Penn Station, given that her fiancé’s career is now tied to the success of the new Madison Square Garden building. Paul is shocked that she would give up on an important story simply because it would make things uncomfortable with her fiancé. He asks if their relationship is so shaky it can’t stand even the smallest disagreement, which infuriates Henry but makes Allison realize that Paul is right. She decides to go forward with the story as planned. Henry agrees, and Rory grudgingly admits that, career issues aside, she hates the idea of being even partly responsible for the loss of the station, and secretly hopes Paul succeeds.
A few days later, Allison is awaiting news of her story proposal. Again, Paul shows up uninvited, and Allison tells him that things have been strained between her and Henry since the meeting, and she blames him. Paul rejects this and tells her that conflict is healthy in a relationship. Allison scoffs, wondering if this is what he tells his wife. Paul tells her that his wife is dead, and Allison, embarrassed, backs down.
Barry is annoyed to discover Paul in Allison’s office again, but tells her things look good for her story. Barry, who has been openly hitting on Allison all along, then invites her to dinner, ostensibly to “talk shop.” Allison deflects him, saying that since it’s Paul’s story, the three of them should go together. Barry tells her he’ll have his girl get back to her, and leaves. Paul is awestruck at how effectively Allison has rejected Barry’s advances. Allison is offended that Paul thinks Barry has any inappropriate ideas about her, but quickly drops the matter, delighted that her story is going to run, and that she is going to “change everything.” She impulsively hugs Paul who, startled by her outburst, admits that she might do just that.
The second act opens on a celebration at the protestors’ meeting place. They have received word of Allison’s story for Skyline, and there is more good news in the NY Times: the Action Group for Better Architecture in New York, a new and more organized protest group, has planned a demonstration for the next day. AGBANY is also larger and higher-profile than Paul’s group, and their glamour makes them more newsworthy. It upsets him that they are getting more attention, but he is glad to have the publicity, and encourages his members to meet him at the demonstration.
All are in high spirits until one of the protestors asks why they don’t simply join AGBANY themselves. This splits the group into those who are themselves professionals, and see only the advantages of greater numbers, and the “ordinary” New Yorkers, who are afraid they would be dismissed and ignored by the more sophisticated group.
Paul is able to restore order — just barely — in an uncharacteristically thoughtful way. He is surprised by his success, but also shaken by how easily things nearly fell apart. He goes to speak with the dissenters, and Allison is approached by Ann, who is as surprised as Allison that Paul handled the argument so smoothly, particularly because she knows he secretly agrees with the others. She tells Allison that saving the station is the only thing Paul has cared about since his wife died, and that it’s killing him that AGBANY has taken up the fight so successfully.
Henry arrives to take Allison home, and she tells him about the demonstration. Henry is surprised to find that she now talks as if she were one of the protestors. Allison points out that Penn Station really is a beautiful and historic building, so would it be the worst thing in the world if she were to be part of saving it? Henry reminds her that much of their future rests on the new Garden being built. He senses that with Allison so directly under Paul’s influence — as Rory once was — he is about to see history repeat itself. Allison is insulted by the implication and Henry demurs, but when Allison goes to get her coat, Henry asks Paul exactly what his intentions are. Paul denies any interest in Allison, but Henry says that Paul always has some interest. At a minimum, he thinks he’s shaping Allison’s world view; teaching her some great lesson about life, but that all she’ll learn from Paul is and cynicism and regret —that’s all anyone ever learns from him. Allison returns and she and Henry exit, leaving Paul to realize that what Henry has said is true.
Several days later, Allison, Rory and Ann are in Allison’s office, stuffing envelopes for a mailing. Rory reads from a NY Times article on the protest, which she now wishes she had attended. Allison says she wishes Rory had attended too, so Allison wouldn’t be the only one Henry is upset with. She says she suspects Henry is jealous of Paul, which is of course ridiculous. The others humor her, although Allison’s infatuation with Paul is palpable.
Allison dismisses their mocking, asking how Rory felt when Henry accused her of being involved with Paul. Rory, astonished by Allison’s obtuseness, points out that she actually was sleeping with Paul; that Paul had cheated on his wife on any number of occasions in the past. Allison, devastated, cannot believe that anyone who cares so much about doing something good could possibly be a bad person, but Rory assures her that Paul isn’t a bad person: he’s an amazing, wonderful person — which is how he gets away with being such a son-of-a-bitch.
Paul arrives, bringing dinner for the women, and asks Rory why she wasn’t at the rally. She tells him it’s because she was avoiding him, and he tells her that if this fight, which he knows she supports, is won or lost without her, because she was avoiding him, she has no one to blame but herself. Angry and confused, Rory leaves with Ann, and Allison offers to show them out. Paul is alone in Allison’s office when Barry comes looking for her.
Barry takes the opportunity to address Paul privately, telling him that he’s not making it easy on either Allison or himself by constantly coming between Barry and his attractive young “protégé.” Paul scoffs at this, but Barry points out that in fact, he can either help Allison advance in her career … or not. Paul expresses his disgust, which Barry quickly dismisses: Paul’s own reputation as a womanizer has preceded him. Finally, in desperation, Paul appeals to Barry’s better nature. There are hundreds of pretty girls, Paul’s cause is just, and if Barry can help him save Penn Station, he’ll be on the side of the angels. Paul badgers Barry on this point until he must finally admit there really isn’t any way the story can run in the magazine until it’s too late to make a difference. Barry has been stringing Allison along for his own reasons. Paul is devastated, and almost on the point of throwing a punch at Barry when Allison returns.
Barry leaves, and Allison asks if he has told Paul any more about the story. Paul avoids the question, and instead tells her he’s re-thinking the idea of their group joining forces with AGBANY. This raises Allison’s suspicions, but Paul says it’s time he stopped being afraid of running into colleagues from his former career. Allison doesn’t believe he’s ever been afraid of any such thing, which forces Paul to tell her how his career ended. On the night his wife died, he was with Rory. It was Henry who came to break the news to him about his wife, and who discovered the two of them together. The grief, the pain he caused both Henry and Rory, and the public humiliation of the gossip that followed drove him to abandon his job and his friends.
Allison is shattered, but so moved by what Paul has been through, and how it has damaged him, that it only intensifies her feelings for him. Paul, meanwhile, is incredulous that anyone could be so willing to overlook his faults, and finds himself closer to reciprocating those feelings. The two discover their mutual attraction, but Paul, realizing he must be honest with Allison, tells her what Barry has said about her story. She is disappointed, but both agree that the only hope now is to join with the more influential group, and do what they can to save the station.
Paul’s group joins AGBANY, but quickly learns that the larger group has had no better luck in actually stopping the demolition. At an AGBANY meeting, the protestors learn that their one major coup — an in-person meeting with the mayor — has failed. Although the mayor promises to establish a commission to avoid the loss of other major landmarks in the future, Penn Station itself is doomed. Paul makes a last pitch to convince the AGBANY leadership to try again, but finally concedes that the battle is over. He tells his followers that Grand Central is in the same danger now that Penn Station was a year ago, and they must continue fighting, but Allison is dismayed by what she sees as his giving up. Rather than try to make her see reason, Paul simply walks out, leaving Henry to console Allison over her fallen idol.
Rory tracks Paul down and tells him he must make things right with Allison. Paul says it’s better if Allison no longer sees him as invincible, but Rory insists that he owes her an explanation. She reminds him that when his wife died, he abandoned Rory without a word, never giving her the chance to help him deal with his loss. She begs him not to do the same to Allison, but he thinks Allison will be happier in the long run remembering him exactly as she knew him, up to and including the disappointment he brought her.
Months pass. Rory visits Allison early on the morning the demolition is to begin and learns that Allison has been completely focused on her wedding plans and has had no contact with Paul or any of the protestors. Rory tells Allison that Paul will be at the station when the demolition starts, to be witness to it, and convinces Allison to go and be there with him. As Allison is leaving to meet Paul, Henry arrives at her apartment. When she tells him where she is going, he is hurt and confused, finally demanding to know what he can expect of Allison’s friendship with Paul in the future. Allison can’t answer, and abruptly leaves for the station.
Allison finds Paul and tells him how helpless she feels, knowing that all of their work was for nothing. Paul tells her it wasn’t for nothing — people are angry and upset over the demolition, and won’t allow something like it to happen so easily the next time. Their fight has forced people to listen, and to think. Allison tells him she doesn’t know what to do about Henry, who doesn’t want her to see Paul anymore. He tells her that what she has to do is go and get married, and live her life, and worry about him later. She says she’s not even sure if Henry still wants to marry her, but Paul sees that Henry is in fact right there, having followed Allison to the station. Henry tells Paul how sorry he is about the loss of the building, and admits that it was, in fact, very beautiful.
Henry and Allison linger for a moment longer in the station, then leave together, and Paul is left alone as the jackhammers start.
The play begins in Pennsylvania Station in the summer of 1962. Former architect Paul Silver is distributing leaflets protesting the building’s imminent destruction, and meets Allison Abbott, an ambitious but naïve copy editor for Skyline magazine. Allison is politely indifferent to Paul’s station-saving manifesto, but when he learns she works for a magazine, he becomes so aggressive in attempting to recruit her to the cause that she gives in just to get rid of him, and says she will “try” to come to a meeting that night, to learn more about the preservation efforts.
Allison arrives at work, where she pitches Paul’s story to her boss, Barry, who is grudgingly receptive until Paul barges in, having tracked Allison to her office. Paul insists that Barry “considering” the story isn’t enough, and in fact antagonizes him so badly that Barry leaves in a huff. Allison berates Paul for his lack of tact, but he points out that he doesn’t have time for tact. He points out that Allison isn’t doing him a favor by championing the story — if it runs and has its intended effect, it could make Allison’s career. Allison realizes that this is true, and agrees to join Paul and his fellow protesters at their meeting.
That evening, Allison meets her fiancé, Henry, who is also an architect. Henry has received exciting news about his job as well, but insists that Allison tell hers first. She tells him she is developing a story that could be good not just for her career, but also for the city. Before she can offer details, they are joined by Rory, a mutual friend and an associate in Henry’s architectural firm. When Allison tells them that her story might help to prevent the demolition of Penn Station, Henry reveals his news: he and Rory have been appointed to their firm’s Madison Square Garden team, and will be involved in building the thing that will replace Penn Station after it’s been torn down.
Allison decides that she can’t work on the story if it will conflict with her relationship with Henry, but realizes she should break the news to Paul in person. When she describes her encounter with Paul earlier that day, Henry and Rory are noticeably stunned. Henry explains that Paul is a former colleague of theirs, and “sort of the reason Rory and I split up.” Allison now wonders if she should skip the meeting, but Rory wants to confront Paul about the damage he did years before. Neither Henry or Allison relishes the idea, but Rory is adamant, and they go to meet the protestors.
Allison, Henry and Rory arrive at the protestors’ meeting place, where Paul welcomes them all without so much as batting an eyelash, subverting Rory’s outrage. He introduces them to his friends David and Ann, a married couple who also committed to the preservation.
Allison explains that she thinks it would be inappropriate for her to write in favor of preserving Penn Station, given that her fiancé’s career is now tied to the success of the new Madison Square Garden building. Paul is shocked that she would give up on an important story simply because it would make things uncomfortable with her fiancé. He asks if their relationship is so shaky it can’t stand even the smallest disagreement, which infuriates Henry but makes Allison realize that Paul is right. She decides to go forward with the story as planned. Henry agrees, and Rory grudgingly admits that, career issues aside, she hates the idea of being even partly responsible for the loss of the station, and secretly hopes Paul succeeds.
A few days later, Allison is awaiting news of her story proposal. Again, Paul shows up uninvited, and Allison tells him that things have been strained between her and Henry since the meeting, and she blames him. Paul rejects this and tells her that conflict is healthy in a relationship. Allison scoffs, wondering if this is what he tells his wife. Paul tells her that his wife is dead, and Allison, embarrassed, backs down.
Barry is annoyed to discover Paul in Allison’s office again, but tells her things look good for her story. Barry, who has been openly hitting on Allison all along, then invites her to dinner, ostensibly to “talk shop.” Allison deflects him, saying that since it’s Paul’s story, the three of them should go together. Barry tells her he’ll have his girl get back to her, and leaves. Paul is awestruck at how effectively Allison has rejected Barry’s advances. Allison is offended that Paul thinks Barry has any inappropriate ideas about her, but quickly drops the matter, delighted that her story is going to run, and that she is going to “change everything.” She impulsively hugs Paul who, startled by her outburst, admits that she might do just that.
The second act opens on a celebration at the protestors’ meeting place. They have received word of Allison’s story for Skyline, and there is more good news in the NY Times: the Action Group for Better Architecture in New York, a new and more organized protest group, has planned a demonstration for the next day. AGBANY is also larger and higher-profile than Paul’s group, and their glamour makes them more newsworthy. It upsets him that they are getting more attention, but he is glad to have the publicity, and encourages his members to meet him at the demonstration.
All are in high spirits until one of the protestors asks why they don’t simply join AGBANY themselves. This splits the group into those who are themselves professionals, and see only the advantages of greater numbers, and the “ordinary” New Yorkers, who are afraid they would be dismissed and ignored by the more sophisticated group.
Paul is able to restore order — just barely — in an uncharacteristically thoughtful way. He is surprised by his success, but also shaken by how easily things nearly fell apart. He goes to speak with the dissenters, and Allison is approached by Ann, who is as surprised as Allison that Paul handled the argument so smoothly, particularly because she knows he secretly agrees with the others. She tells Allison that saving the station is the only thing Paul has cared about since his wife died, and that it’s killing him that AGBANY has taken up the fight so successfully.
Henry arrives to take Allison home, and she tells him about the demonstration. Henry is surprised to find that she now talks as if she were one of the protestors. Allison points out that Penn Station really is a beautiful and historic building, so would it be the worst thing in the world if she were to be part of saving it? Henry reminds her that much of their future rests on the new Garden being built. He senses that with Allison so directly under Paul’s influence — as Rory once was — he is about to see history repeat itself. Allison is insulted by the implication and Henry demurs, but when Allison goes to get her coat, Henry asks Paul exactly what his intentions are. Paul denies any interest in Allison, but Henry says that Paul always has some interest. At a minimum, he thinks he’s shaping Allison’s world view; teaching her some great lesson about life, but that all she’ll learn from Paul is and cynicism and regret —that’s all anyone ever learns from him. Allison returns and she and Henry exit, leaving Paul to realize that what Henry has said is true.
Several days later, Allison, Rory and Ann are in Allison’s office, stuffing envelopes for a mailing. Rory reads from a NY Times article on the protest, which she now wishes she had attended. Allison says she wishes Rory had attended too, so Allison wouldn’t be the only one Henry is upset with. She says she suspects Henry is jealous of Paul, which is of course ridiculous. The others humor her, although Allison’s infatuation with Paul is palpable.
Allison dismisses their mocking, asking how Rory felt when Henry accused her of being involved with Paul. Rory, astonished by Allison’s obtuseness, points out that she actually was sleeping with Paul; that Paul had cheated on his wife on any number of occasions in the past. Allison, devastated, cannot believe that anyone who cares so much about doing something good could possibly be a bad person, but Rory assures her that Paul isn’t a bad person: he’s an amazing, wonderful person — which is how he gets away with being such a son-of-a-bitch.
Paul arrives, bringing dinner for the women, and asks Rory why she wasn’t at the rally. She tells him it’s because she was avoiding him, and he tells her that if this fight, which he knows she supports, is won or lost without her, because she was avoiding him, she has no one to blame but herself. Angry and confused, Rory leaves with Ann, and Allison offers to show them out. Paul is alone in Allison’s office when Barry comes looking for her.
Barry takes the opportunity to address Paul privately, telling him that he’s not making it easy on either Allison or himself by constantly coming between Barry and his attractive young “protégé.” Paul scoffs at this, but Barry points out that in fact, he can either help Allison advance in her career … or not. Paul expresses his disgust, which Barry quickly dismisses: Paul’s own reputation as a womanizer has preceded him. Finally, in desperation, Paul appeals to Barry’s better nature. There are hundreds of pretty girls, Paul’s cause is just, and if Barry can help him save Penn Station, he’ll be on the side of the angels. Paul badgers Barry on this point until he must finally admit there really isn’t any way the story can run in the magazine until it’s too late to make a difference. Barry has been stringing Allison along for his own reasons. Paul is devastated, and almost on the point of throwing a punch at Barry when Allison returns.
Barry leaves, and Allison asks if he has told Paul any more about the story. Paul avoids the question, and instead tells her he’s re-thinking the idea of their group joining forces with AGBANY. This raises Allison’s suspicions, but Paul says it’s time he stopped being afraid of running into colleagues from his former career. Allison doesn’t believe he’s ever been afraid of any such thing, which forces Paul to tell her how his career ended. On the night his wife died, he was with Rory. It was Henry who came to break the news to him about his wife, and who discovered the two of them together. The grief, the pain he caused both Henry and Rory, and the public humiliation of the gossip that followed drove him to abandon his job and his friends.
Allison is shattered, but so moved by what Paul has been through, and how it has damaged him, that it only intensifies her feelings for him. Paul, meanwhile, is incredulous that anyone could be so willing to overlook his faults, and finds himself closer to reciprocating those feelings. The two discover their mutual attraction, but Paul, realizing he must be honest with Allison, tells her what Barry has said about her story. She is disappointed, but both agree that the only hope now is to join with the more influential group, and do what they can to save the station.
Paul’s group joins AGBANY, but quickly learns that the larger group has had no better luck in actually stopping the demolition. At an AGBANY meeting, the protestors learn that their one major coup — an in-person meeting with the mayor — has failed. Although the mayor promises to establish a commission to avoid the loss of other major landmarks in the future, Penn Station itself is doomed. Paul makes a last pitch to convince the AGBANY leadership to try again, but finally concedes that the battle is over. He tells his followers that Grand Central is in the same danger now that Penn Station was a year ago, and they must continue fighting, but Allison is dismayed by what she sees as his giving up. Rather than try to make her see reason, Paul simply walks out, leaving Henry to console Allison over her fallen idol.
Rory tracks Paul down and tells him he must make things right with Allison. Paul says it’s better if Allison no longer sees him as invincible, but Rory insists that he owes her an explanation. She reminds him that when his wife died, he abandoned Rory without a word, never giving her the chance to help him deal with his loss. She begs him not to do the same to Allison, but he thinks Allison will be happier in the long run remembering him exactly as she knew him, up to and including the disappointment he brought her.
Months pass. Rory visits Allison early on the morning the demolition is to begin and learns that Allison has been completely focused on her wedding plans and has had no contact with Paul or any of the protestors. Rory tells Allison that Paul will be at the station when the demolition starts, to be witness to it, and convinces Allison to go and be there with him. As Allison is leaving to meet Paul, Henry arrives at her apartment. When she tells him where she is going, he is hurt and confused, finally demanding to know what he can expect of Allison’s friendship with Paul in the future. Allison can’t answer, and abruptly leaves for the station.
Allison finds Paul and tells him how helpless she feels, knowing that all of their work was for nothing. Paul tells her it wasn’t for nothing — people are angry and upset over the demolition, and won’t allow something like it to happen so easily the next time. Their fight has forced people to listen, and to think. Allison tells him she doesn’t know what to do about Henry, who doesn’t want her to see Paul anymore. He tells her that what she has to do is go and get married, and live her life, and worry about him later. She says she’s not even sure if Henry still wants to marry her, but Paul sees that Henry is in fact right there, having followed Allison to the station. Henry tells Paul how sorry he is about the loss of the building, and admits that it was, in fact, very beautiful.
Henry and Allison linger for a moment longer in the station, then leave together, and Paul is left alone as the jackhammers start.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Horoscopes, the Kleban, Life Lessons
I’m sitting here right now in a kind of startled state of self-reproach. It’s a long story, but it’s kind of a life lesson in listening to your gut, so here goes. First, a little back story: Back in the early to mid-90s, I was enjoying the single most wonderful period of happiness, creativity, productivity and just flat out joy of my entire life before or since. My then-collaborator and I were working on a project we were both crazy in love with, and every week, without fail, we would go out on Tuesday and pick up a copy of the NYPress, a paper neither of us really appreciated the political POV of, but which was an early adopter of David Sedaris and which, every week, featured the Rob Brezhny horoscope.
We used to live in weekly anticipation of that horoscope. Not in a cow-eyed, gullible way so much as in the way in which some people look forward to their first cup of coffee or their first cigarette, or their morning shower or their morning run. It was how we started our week, and it used to amaze and charm and excite us how often Rob’s predictions were right in tune with where we actually were, the obstacles we were facing, the successes we were having. It was a little weekly ritual and when we were in doubt about what course to take, we would listen to Rob. If Rob said, “this is a time to sit back and meditate on challenges, rather than trying to meet them directly,” we wouldn’t even try to fix that creaky scene in the second act until he said, “this is your moment to tackle those problems!” If we’d been in the same time zone, we would have set our watches by Rob’s horoscopes.
My thing with horoscopes is, I think they can be a fun little boost; the advice contained in them is general and so typically optimistic and common sensible that they rarely say anything you didn’t already sort of know intuitively, so I think they can kind of cut through a lot of the mental plaque and help get you to the heart of the matter. You may know perfectly well, deep down inside, where you’re soft, like a woman, that it’s time to quit the job that’s been making you miserable for a year. You’re smart and have skills and you’d probably be okay, and besides, you’re miserable. But sometimes you just stay in denial about it until the day your horoscope says: “April brings a signal from the universe to cut the ties that bind. Leap, and assume the universe will catch you!” And that’s when you know. That’s how you know. And that’s why I like horoscopes. That’s why, in a sense, I might almost say I “believe” in them.
So, recently I happened to start reading my monthly horoscope again, and I couldn’t help take note of the fact that the astrologer I was reading kept emphasizing this amazing, miraculous, joyful productive, several-year long cycle I was entering, and that I hadn’t seen a phase like this since, well, the early-to-mid nineties. And in fact, that is very true. And for the second week of September, she was all about the huge amount of work I would be tackling, which I sort of blew off, because in fact I really didn’t have much work scheduled for that period at all.Then, a couple of weeks ago, I heard that co-worker of mine had been awarded an NEA grant. And I mean, I like this woman, she’s a lovely person and for all I know very talented, but of course my first thought was. “How did so-and-so wind up with an NEA grant?” And of course the answer came back loud and clear: “Well, for starters, I’m guessing she probably APPLIED for one.” Then, on the Saturday before Labor Day, as I was lying in bed half-awake, I had one of those very clear, not-quite-awake moments of “there are all kinds of big money awards out there for musical theater. You need to fill out some applications.” And I knew I had a notebook somewhere that had all the deadline dates written in it, but it was packed away with some old papers.
Or at least, it had been packed away with some old papers until a couple of days before, when just coincidentally I had been looking for something else and left the notebook right on my bedroom dresser. So I checked the list, and of course all of the deadlines had past, except for one. But that was the big one: the Kleban award, which is a $100,000 cash award. Actually, two: one for lyricists and one for librettists. And I recently finished what I believe to be a very good musical theater libretto, for the show that is the subject of this blog. So. The only problem was, the only deadline information I had was “September.” So if was September 1, then I was screwed, since it was already the 5th, but if it was the 30th, then there was every chance I could pull this off. Naturally, I couldn’t get to a computer to check until Sunday afternoon, and when I did it turned out that the deadline was September 15. Oh, and even for a libretto submission, you still had to show all the lyrics. They didn’t need music, but they did to see lyrics.
And I thought to myself, I thought: hmmm. I wonder if there’s some way I could fudge this. It wouldn’t be easy, but I had seven days. Could I write ten to fifteen musical theater lyrics in that amount of time? It would obviously be extremely difficult, and it was a long-shot at best, but, I thought, how could I not at least try? And I decided I would be positive, extremely positive. I would just assume it could be done. I would simply not entertain any thought that it could not be done, because believe it or not, that almost always works for me.
Except that it wasn’t really ten days, because I was traveling most of the day on Monday, and Tuesday through Friday were work days. But I worked where I could find time, and I was actually not doing as badly as you might think, until at 10:30 on Saturday night, the document in which I had been working simply winked out of existence, never to be seen or heard from again. And at that point I was terribly resolute and thought, well, okay. It was probably never meant to be, and it might not have been the best thing to submit a rush job, and hell, as I said elsewhere. It’s not like I still won’t want the hundred grand next year. So I decided not to kill myself over it and just calmly admitted defeat.
Then, today, I happened to be directed to Rob’s website by someone else’s facebook post, and this was my horoscope for last week:
“If you build it, they will probably come. If you just pretend to build it, they may come anyway, and end up sticking around because of your charming attunement to life's deeper rhythms. If, as you build it or pretend to build it, you act manic or send out mixed messages, they may be intrigued and attracted, but they definitely won't come. So my advice, Pisces, is to suppress your mood swings as you at least start pretending to build the thing in earnest.”
And I am here to tell you, if I had seen that sucker a week ago? There is no power on earth that would have prevented me from completing and submitting that script. There’s a story about some turn lady swimmer, I want to say Annette Kellerman, but anyway, she was one of the first people to attempt to swim the English Channel, and she swam it on a very foggy day, and in the end, she didn’t make it. But what’s weird is, she gave up just a few hundred feet from the shore. She said later, if only she had known; if it hadn’t been so foggy, if she had been able to see the shore, there’s no doubt in her mind she would have made it. I believe her.This wasn’t some big catastrophe or anything. The submission year for everything is pretty much over now, and next year is coming up bleeding fast. I’ll have a much better chance at those awards then, and in the meantime, I did some good work and overcame a big hurdle in even starting to work on the score of this show at all (which I’ve been kind of nervous about doing). So it’s all good. But I feel like maybe the Universe was trying to tell me something. I think I need to start listening to my gut again. It’s almost always right, and it was probably right this time. I just let reality get in my way. If I had believed at the outset, however superstitiously, that this was Meant To Be, I would have found a way to make it happen.
Next time I’ll try to remember that.
We used to live in weekly anticipation of that horoscope. Not in a cow-eyed, gullible way so much as in the way in which some people look forward to their first cup of coffee or their first cigarette, or their morning shower or their morning run. It was how we started our week, and it used to amaze and charm and excite us how often Rob’s predictions were right in tune with where we actually were, the obstacles we were facing, the successes we were having. It was a little weekly ritual and when we were in doubt about what course to take, we would listen to Rob. If Rob said, “this is a time to sit back and meditate on challenges, rather than trying to meet them directly,” we wouldn’t even try to fix that creaky scene in the second act until he said, “this is your moment to tackle those problems!” If we’d been in the same time zone, we would have set our watches by Rob’s horoscopes.
My thing with horoscopes is, I think they can be a fun little boost; the advice contained in them is general and so typically optimistic and common sensible that they rarely say anything you didn’t already sort of know intuitively, so I think they can kind of cut through a lot of the mental plaque and help get you to the heart of the matter. You may know perfectly well, deep down inside, where you’re soft, like a woman, that it’s time to quit the job that’s been making you miserable for a year. You’re smart and have skills and you’d probably be okay, and besides, you’re miserable. But sometimes you just stay in denial about it until the day your horoscope says: “April brings a signal from the universe to cut the ties that bind. Leap, and assume the universe will catch you!” And that’s when you know. That’s how you know. And that’s why I like horoscopes. That’s why, in a sense, I might almost say I “believe” in them.
So, recently I happened to start reading my monthly horoscope again, and I couldn’t help take note of the fact that the astrologer I was reading kept emphasizing this amazing, miraculous, joyful productive, several-year long cycle I was entering, and that I hadn’t seen a phase like this since, well, the early-to-mid nineties. And in fact, that is very true. And for the second week of September, she was all about the huge amount of work I would be tackling, which I sort of blew off, because in fact I really didn’t have much work scheduled for that period at all.Then, a couple of weeks ago, I heard that co-worker of mine had been awarded an NEA grant. And I mean, I like this woman, she’s a lovely person and for all I know very talented, but of course my first thought was. “How did so-and-so wind up with an NEA grant?” And of course the answer came back loud and clear: “Well, for starters, I’m guessing she probably APPLIED for one.” Then, on the Saturday before Labor Day, as I was lying in bed half-awake, I had one of those very clear, not-quite-awake moments of “there are all kinds of big money awards out there for musical theater. You need to fill out some applications.” And I knew I had a notebook somewhere that had all the deadline dates written in it, but it was packed away with some old papers.
Or at least, it had been packed away with some old papers until a couple of days before, when just coincidentally I had been looking for something else and left the notebook right on my bedroom dresser. So I checked the list, and of course all of the deadlines had past, except for one. But that was the big one: the Kleban award, which is a $100,000 cash award. Actually, two: one for lyricists and one for librettists. And I recently finished what I believe to be a very good musical theater libretto, for the show that is the subject of this blog. So. The only problem was, the only deadline information I had was “September.” So if was September 1, then I was screwed, since it was already the 5th, but if it was the 30th, then there was every chance I could pull this off. Naturally, I couldn’t get to a computer to check until Sunday afternoon, and when I did it turned out that the deadline was September 15. Oh, and even for a libretto submission, you still had to show all the lyrics. They didn’t need music, but they did to see lyrics.
And I thought to myself, I thought: hmmm. I wonder if there’s some way I could fudge this. It wouldn’t be easy, but I had seven days. Could I write ten to fifteen musical theater lyrics in that amount of time? It would obviously be extremely difficult, and it was a long-shot at best, but, I thought, how could I not at least try? And I decided I would be positive, extremely positive. I would just assume it could be done. I would simply not entertain any thought that it could not be done, because believe it or not, that almost always works for me.
Except that it wasn’t really ten days, because I was traveling most of the day on Monday, and Tuesday through Friday were work days. But I worked where I could find time, and I was actually not doing as badly as you might think, until at 10:30 on Saturday night, the document in which I had been working simply winked out of existence, never to be seen or heard from again. And at that point I was terribly resolute and thought, well, okay. It was probably never meant to be, and it might not have been the best thing to submit a rush job, and hell, as I said elsewhere. It’s not like I still won’t want the hundred grand next year. So I decided not to kill myself over it and just calmly admitted defeat.
Then, today, I happened to be directed to Rob’s website by someone else’s facebook post, and this was my horoscope for last week:
“If you build it, they will probably come. If you just pretend to build it, they may come anyway, and end up sticking around because of your charming attunement to life's deeper rhythms. If, as you build it or pretend to build it, you act manic or send out mixed messages, they may be intrigued and attracted, but they definitely won't come. So my advice, Pisces, is to suppress your mood swings as you at least start pretending to build the thing in earnest.”
And I am here to tell you, if I had seen that sucker a week ago? There is no power on earth that would have prevented me from completing and submitting that script. There’s a story about some turn lady swimmer, I want to say Annette Kellerman, but anyway, she was one of the first people to attempt to swim the English Channel, and she swam it on a very foggy day, and in the end, she didn’t make it. But what’s weird is, she gave up just a few hundred feet from the shore. She said later, if only she had known; if it hadn’t been so foggy, if she had been able to see the shore, there’s no doubt in her mind she would have made it. I believe her.This wasn’t some big catastrophe or anything. The submission year for everything is pretty much over now, and next year is coming up bleeding fast. I’ll have a much better chance at those awards then, and in the meantime, I did some good work and overcame a big hurdle in even starting to work on the score of this show at all (which I’ve been kind of nervous about doing). So it’s all good. But I feel like maybe the Universe was trying to tell me something. I think I need to start listening to my gut again. It’s almost always right, and it was probably right this time. I just let reality get in my way. If I had believed at the outset, however superstitiously, that this was Meant To Be, I would have found a way to make it happen.
Next time I’ll try to remember that.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Curse You, Mad Men!
Much as I love this series, and much as I would have been thrilled if this had happened a year ago, when things were cranking on my script, I was totally freaked out this past Sunday night by the sudden reference to the demolition of Penn Station. Anyone who actually reads this blog (both of you) has probably already figured out that that was the super top-secret subject of the show under discussion here, but unfortunately, just as things were starting to take off this past winter, all hell broke loose in my daily work life and everything personal (e.g., this project) had to be put on hold for a while.
Then a couple of other shows took precedence due to submission deadlines for the Fringe, for a writers group I've applied to at the Public, etc. etc.
So. Here I am just barely getting started on the show again, and what happens but Matthew Weiner goes ahead and suddenly re-introduces this subject matter into the pop-cultural zeitgeist. I can't help but think that somewhere out there are at least fifty people going, "hmm. Penn Station, eh? That sounds like a really dramatic story. I should write about that."
I had thought that danger was past, because my understanding of the Mad Men timeline was that each new season would begin two years after the end of the previous, so: 1960, 1962, 1964, and so on. The demolition began in October of '63, and I assumed we would pick up some months later when Season 3 began. Hah! And again I say: Hah!!
So, to the extent possible, I want people to know that a Penn Station Musical currently exists, and that they should probably not even bother to write one, thanks so much. Toward that end, I will be taking various steps over the next few days to make sure that anyone Googling the phrase "Penn Station musical" will be led here, and then hopefully led to some other, potentially greener creative pastures.
Seriously, folks. I've been working on this thing for nearly two years. It's seventy percent done. I have such a head start on you it's not even worth it, really. I love you, I want the best for you. Don't go and get your heart broken like I did (see my earlier post on the subject of getting gazumped on a story idea).
More on this when it's not nearly an hour past time for me to go home and I'm not completely besieged by other things.
Meanwhile, Penn Station Musical! Penn Station Musical! Penn Station Musical! Penn Station Musical! Penn Station Musical!
That's it for now.
Toodles.
Then a couple of other shows took precedence due to submission deadlines for the Fringe, for a writers group I've applied to at the Public, etc. etc.
So. Here I am just barely getting started on the show again, and what happens but Matthew Weiner goes ahead and suddenly re-introduces this subject matter into the pop-cultural zeitgeist. I can't help but think that somewhere out there are at least fifty people going, "hmm. Penn Station, eh? That sounds like a really dramatic story. I should write about that."
I had thought that danger was past, because my understanding of the Mad Men timeline was that each new season would begin two years after the end of the previous, so: 1960, 1962, 1964, and so on. The demolition began in October of '63, and I assumed we would pick up some months later when Season 3 began. Hah! And again I say: Hah!!
So, to the extent possible, I want people to know that a Penn Station Musical currently exists, and that they should probably not even bother to write one, thanks so much. Toward that end, I will be taking various steps over the next few days to make sure that anyone Googling the phrase "Penn Station musical" will be led here, and then hopefully led to some other, potentially greener creative pastures.
Seriously, folks. I've been working on this thing for nearly two years. It's seventy percent done. I have such a head start on you it's not even worth it, really. I love you, I want the best for you. Don't go and get your heart broken like I did (see my earlier post on the subject of getting gazumped on a story idea).
More on this when it's not nearly an hour past time for me to go home and I'm not completely besieged by other things.
Meanwhile, Penn Station Musical! Penn Station Musical! Penn Station Musical! Penn Station Musical! Penn Station Musical!
That's it for now.
Toodles.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
