Prayers to Broken Stone...

"Infinite Black Suitcase" hits the bookshelves!

2012-01-21T12:42:00.000-08:00

The mail lady delivered the best package today! My author's copies of "Infinite Black Suitcase" have arrived from Samuel French. What a wonderful feeling, to hold a book in your hand and think, "I wrote this."

Copies of "Infinite Black Suitcase" and "Song of Extinction" (published in 2010) are available for purchase from the Samuel French bookstores or website, or from Amazon. I hope you'll buy one today!

The Car Plays race into Costa Mesa and San Diego!

2012-01-17T14:08:00.000-08:00

I love starting the new year with a couple of new productions!

In January and February, Moving Arts -- my home theater company in Los Angeles -- is reprising what has become its signature event, The Car Plays. After successful participation in last year's Radar Festival, we've been invited to participate in two more Southern California festivals -- the Off-Center Festival at the Segerstrom Performing Arts Center in Costa Mesa, and the Without Walls Festival at La Jolla Playhouse in San Diego. I'm proud to have a play in each production.

The Car Plays roll into Segerstrom Center for the 2012 Off-Center Festival.

The Car Plays are a unique event. When you buy a ticket, you have just purchased one row of five cars -- and there is a ten-minute story in each car. There are usually three rows all together -- fifteen short plays. Ushers escort you from one car to the next when each play is done. Paul Stein brought the concept to Moving Arts, and continues to be the artistic director and producer of the event, along with producers Steve Lozier, Kim Glann and Cece Tio. You need great producers -- a really great team of everybody, really -- to make this event work. It requires precision, clock-work timing, and a lot of heart and hard work from all the writers, directors, actors and ushers to bring you the most intimate theater experience you'll ever find.

"Car Plays is a brilliant and inventive concept, a kaleidoscope of situations that draw snapshot portraits from life, with soulful acting and cinematic details that's so close to home and physically intimate that it blurs the distinctions between theater and life."

-L.A. Weekly

Now playing in the Off-Center Festival at the Segerstrom Center

Bohemian. Like You.
Written by EM Lewis
Directed by Darin Anthony
Featuring Peter James Smith, Daria Balling and Warren Davis

Richie has known Melody and Don forever. But he didn't know they did this...

The cast of "Bohemian. Like You." Warren Davis, Daria Balling and Peter James Smith heat up the front seat!

This car is our stage. "Bohemian. Like You." Written by EM Lewis and directed by Darin Anthony.

More Information: Segerstrom Center "The Car Plays" site

Press: LA Stage Times (article by Don Shirley)

Coming soon to the Without Walls (WoW!) Festival at the La Jolla Playhouse

Reveille

Written by EM Lewis

Directed by Sam Woodhouse

Featuring (TBA)

Leonard's only son has signed up for the military. He leaves for boot camp this morning.

More Information: La Jolla Playhouse "The Car Plays" site

Press: U~T San Diego

Looking back at 2011; looking forward to 2012!

2012-01-01T15:53:00.000-08:00

It's a nice tradition to take note of accomplishments at the end of the year, and make goals for the year ahead! So on this first day of January, 2012, I'd like to do just that.

In 2010, I took a great leap into uncertainty when I quit my steady, reliable day job doing tech support at USC (which I'd held for nine years) to accept a year-long playwriting fellowship for the 2010-2011 academic year. I was excited to be able to write full-time, and to live within a train ride of New York City for a while.

"Song of Extinction" promo poster for the Guthrie production.

The timing was good. "Song of Extinction" had done rather well, so 2011 became part follow-up on that success and part working on new projects, in good combination. In February and March, 2011, "Song of Extinction" was produced at the Guthrie, in their Dowling black box theater, by Theater Latte Da. It felt really lovely to have a production at a theater with so much history. They brought me out for 24 very chilly hours in Minneapolis, so I got to see what they did with the play; I was very pleased! Peter Rothstein did a wonderful job directing the play, and I loved seeing how they brought my little story to life. This year also marked the first high school production of "Song," at Harmony High School in Florida.

"Song of Extinction" at the Guthrie, produced by Theater Latte Da.

I joined a playwriting workshop this year in Trenton, which has been lots of fun, and a weekly playwright/actor "workout" in New York City, where playwrights bring pages and the actors bring them to life. I miss my old Los Angeles playwriting group, but it's great to be meeting some new folks to work with. I do better when I have places to bring my pages on a regular basis.

I wrote a short play called "The War Museum" which was read in Flux Theater's "New World Iliads" show (supporting their mainstage production of Ellen McLaughlin's "Ajax in Iraq"). That was fun! I also had two readings of "Magellanica" at the Lark, both directed by my friend and fellow playwright David Hilder. I'd like to continue to try to get to know New York theaters, and hopefully work with more of them in the new year.

"Strong Voice" premiered in Halcyon Theater's 2011 Alcyone Festival.

Questions of faith in "Strong Voice," directed by Margo Gray.

"Strong Voice," which I wrote for Halcyon Theater's Alcyone Festival in Chicago, had its premiere. Ultimately, I felt like it was ready for a workshop production and some more rewriting, more than the festival production it received, but I was glad to have had the chance to try my hand at an adaptation for the first time. It wasn't really an adaptation proper... but Halcyon had challenged five women writers, myself included, to either adapt or riff upon the themes of a woman playwright from 1850 or earlier. I selected Hrosvitha of Gandersheim -- a woman who lived in a convent in the Dark Ages, and wrote some odd and interesting little plays and poems about Christian women who had their faith challenged. My play was about a woman whose faith is challenged by the events of 9/11, and a murder investigation in her community which she and her neighbors are caught up in. I hope to revisit the play at some point in the next few years, to see what it wants to become in its next iteration.

"Drop-Off Day" premiered in Moving Arts "The Car Plays" in the Radar Festival in Los Angeles.

My short play "Drop-Off Day" -- about a woman who is dropping her daughter off at the dorm, as her daughter leaves home for the first time to attend college -- was included in Moving Arts' "The Car Plays," which joined other fun and exciting productions from Los Angeles and around the world at this year's Radar Festival. Moving Arts has been my Los Angeles theater home since I started writing plays, so it was great to have another project with them. The Car Plays has been one of their most successful events. (Short plays, produced inside actual cars, to an audience of two at a time!) The Car Plays will be playing at two festivals in 2012, and I'm pleased to have a play in each -- "Bohemian. Like You." in the Off Center Festival at Segerstrom Center for the Arts in Costa Mesa, CA in January 2012and "Reveille" in the Without Walls Festival at San Diego Rep in La Jolla, CA in February 2012.

My wonderful actors and director for the SlamBOSTON production of "Partners."

Speaking of short plays, "Partners" was back at SlamBOSTON again, at Another Country Productions, and made the finals. It's a comedy about a lesbian cop who brings her rednecked cop partner home to meet her life partner. That play is headed to St. Louis next, for an appearance at Uppity Women Productions' "Briefs" Festival in February 2012. Some ten minute plays just keep on giving!

I had two opportunities this year to mentor kids who were writing plays -- one with the Blank Theater's Young Playwrights Festival in Los Angeles, CA and one in Passage Theater's State Street Project in Trenton, NJ. I love helping kids work on their plays! I'm pleased that 2012 will bring a new chance to do so in an even more involved way: I'm going to be the Playwright-in-Residence at SPARC's New Voices for the Theater high school playwriting residency in Virginia in summer 2012. A big thanks to my colleague Babs Lindsay for connecting me with this opportunity.

Ellen at Giverny.

The year has brought with it extraordinary opportunities for travel. Over the summer, I made my first trip abroad and got the very first stamp in my little passport! Through a friend of a theater friend, I was given the opportunity to stay in a flat in the middle of Paris for three weeks, with the only cost being the care of two cute French cats and the plane ticket. It was an amazing trip! Paris is so beautiful! I walked everywhere, saw bridges and museums and monuments and gardens galore, and am absolutely sure that a play will come out of it at some point.

In the fall, I took three theater trips in quick succession.

Here are the four winning playwrights from ANPF 2011, along with artistic director Doug Rowe and me. This photo, taken by Elizabeth von Radics, was featured in American Theater Magazine.

I was host playwright for the Ashland New Plays Festival again, in Oregon (great fun!). I love Ashland so much! We had a very strong line up of challenging plays this year, and the readers did an extraordinary job in bringing them to life. As always, I was able to sneak in a few shows at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, and a quick trip to the farm while I was in my home state.

Our bold gang of theater makers, sitting out on the front porch in Independence, Kansas, after a wonderful week of hard work, good eats, and lots of fun. Peter Ellenstein, who made it all happen, at the top, representing the Inge Center for the Arts. Director Stephen Brackett and his playwright, Ken Urban. Chuma Gault, Ben Corbett, and yours truly. Heather Alicia Simms, Mark Pinter, Mina Kim, and my director, Laura Savia.

I flew from there to Independence, Kansas, where I stayed for two and a half weeks at a writing residency in William Inge's childhood home (along with my colleague Ken Urban). I worked on and had a reading of "Magellanica" (parts one and two), and taught some playwriting classes at the local high schools and community college. It was a wonderful experience, and I got some good writing done on the play. I felt like William Inge's ghost was encouraging me along.

"Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" was a finalist for the HotCity Greenhouse Festival in 2011, and will have its world premiere with them in St. Louis in September 2012.

HotCity Greenhouse Festival 2011 playwrights: Christopher Wall (Shake and Be Saved), EM Lewis (Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday), and Gino Dilorio (Release Point).

I flew from Independence to St. Louis, Missouri -- changing gears to work on "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" -- a comedy about a woman who decides to leave her life behind to become a commercial fisher in Alaska, but whose family refuses to let her go. This was really the first play I ever wrote, and I've been hoping to figure out a way to revisit, rework and fix it up. The play was a finalist in HotCity Theater's Greenhouse Festival, and they brought me and two other playwrights -- Gino Dilorio and Christopher Wall -- out for a week of work on our plays. I felt really good about the rewrites I was able to do with the help and support of my director, dramaturg and cast. The reading went great! And HotCity has selected "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" to have its world premiere on their stage in September 2012. I'm absolutely delighted! It's nice to have another full-length play finding its first staging to look forward to.

"Infinite Black Suitcase" is now available for purchase from Samuel French!

The year was capped by Samuel French's publication of my first produced play, "Infinite Black Suitcase." It's now available for purchase from their website, and I hope you'll buy a copy! It's also available from Amazon.com. Only $8.95! According to the website, "it's the story of one day in a small Oregon town and three families who are trying, in the most loving and human ways, to deal with death and dying." I feel like I first became a playwright when this play was put up by Moving Arts in a workshop production at the Los Angeles Theater Center in 2005. It had its premiere when it was produced by TheSpyAnts in 2007. I'm so glad that it is moving forward into a new life in publication!

My fellowship ended in May of this year, but by living somewhat frugally and eating lots of homemade soup, I've been able to extend my happily jobless full-time writing for a bit longer. It took me a little while to get into the rhythm, but now I'm really starting to get some good work done. So I guess one of my main goals for 2012 is going to be to try to figure out a way to continue to live simply and happily while writing full-time, if I can swing it. I would also like to finish the two full-length plays I'm working on now -- "If I Did This" (a sort of murder-mystery/psychological thriller) and "Magellanica" (my epic Antarctica play). In February, I'm going to be workshopping "If I Did This" at Passage Theater in Trenton, NJ. I'm hoping to have a reading of a bigger chunk (if not a completed draft) of "Magellanica" this spring.

In France, amongst the flowers. May the coming year be as full of joyful adventures as the last one was!

A big thank you to all the theater companies, directors, dramaturgs, playwrights, actors, tech folks and other theater people who I was lucky enough to work with in 2011. May 2012 bring peace, prosperity and great projects to your lives!

"Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" in HotCity Theater's Greenhouse Festival in St. Louis!

2011-11-21T17:08:00.000-08:00

HotCity Theater's 6th Annual Greenhouse New Play Festival.

The third stop in my Fall 2011 theater festival triple-header was the HotCity Theater Festival. My play "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" was a finalist in their annual Greenhouse Festival, and they brought me out for a week of working on my play, culminating in a reading.

It was great to be back in St. Louis, and seeing all the nice folks at HotCity again. My play "Song of Extinction" had been a finalist back in 2008, and I'd attended then and really liked the people and the plays they'd chosen. When I saw their call for submissions, I scrambled to find something to send, because I knew they were good people -- and the kind of theater folks I want to work with. Lo and behold, they picked my play to be a finalist again!

"Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" is my very first play. Earlier than "Infinite Black Suitcase," even, which was my first produced play. I wrote "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" in the playwriting class that changed my life. I took it after I'd finished my graduate program at USC. I'd worked out in the world for a year or two, then returned to work on staff at USC -- and one of the benefits of working at the university was the opportunity to take classes. I chose to take a class back in my old writing program. The playwriting class happened to have a seat open. I took it! And I've written almost nothing but plays since. It was divided between a two-week intensive with the sweet and wonderful Paul Zindel ("The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-In-The-Moon Marigolds") and the rest of the semester with Lee Wochner, who became a real mentor to me as I struggled to become a playwright. The assignment was to write a one-act play. "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" was the play that poured out of me.

A poster for "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday." Writing plays is hard. Writing *about* your plays is even harder...

"Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" is a comedy about a woman who decides to leave her life behind to become a commercial fisherwoman in Alaska, and about her family, who has decided that they will do absolutely anything to keep her from going.

HotCity had created posters with playwright's notes on them for each of the three finalist plays -- "Release Point," "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday," and "Shake and Be Saved!" -- and displayed them in the lobby, so audience members could see what they were getting into.

Three plays were selected for the 2011 HotCity Greenhouse Festival. My compatriots were Gino Dilorio, whose offering was an uncompromising two-hander called "Release Point," and Christopher Wall, who had written a fierce farce called "Shake and Be Saved." I liked both of their plays very much.

Me and the guys. Playwrights Christopher Wall, EM Lewis and Gino Dilorio. They are fantastic writers, and I was lucky to be at the HotCity Greenhouse Festival in such good company!

HotCity brought in a dramaturg to work with all three of us on our scripts -- the incomparable Liz Engelman. We each had our own director and set of actors. We had alternating rehearsal and writing days throughout the week, which gave us time to work on our scripts.

I was very pleased to have this chance to work on "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday." Being such an early play, I didn't have a lot of craft when I wrote it. I didn't like the ending. And there were some clunky bits that I'd been itching to get my hands on. This was the perfect opportunity to go back in and really make this play into what it wanted to be... what I thought it could be. Because in spite of its faults, I've always had a soft spot for it. It's a family play. It's a comedy! It's a brother/sister play. And it's got a lot of my heart in it.

The view from my room at the Ignacio Hotel -- a very nice establishment, across from St. Louis University, and right down from the theater.

What is a visit to St. Louis without a stop for barbecue??? Christopher, Gino and I walked over to Pappy's for lunch one day, for what was both a great lunch and an amusing experience.

My lunch at Pappy's. Pulled pork sandwich with Sweet Baby Jane BBQ sauce, sweet potato fries, and deep fried corn on the cob. Yes, you heard me right!

Actors hole punch their new pages and insert them into their scripts. Lots of rewrites!

My team was outstanding. My director was Annamaria Pileggi, who teaches at Washington University. She had brought together the funniest, most wonderful actors to be my cast. They even assigned me a "Playwright's Assistant" to print up my pages for me and help with logistical issues and read stage directions -- the sweet and very responsible young Sarah Wagener. I wrote like a mad woman all week, and by the time Saturday night -- the night of our reading -- rolled around, we were ready! I thought we were ready...

And we were! Lots of fun, lots of laughs... just a beautiful night. Standing room only. Several friends in attendance, including Hannah Joyce-Hoven, who had been in my reading two weeks earlier at the Inge Center, and happened to be in town to see her sister. I was walking on air.

The cast of our HotCity Greenhouse Festival reading of "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" included:

Julie Layton as Lynn Hallaby
Antonio Rodriguez as Kelly Hallaby
Lavonne Byers as Margie Hallaby
John Contini as Hudson Hallaby
Michael Kastelein as Gary White
Eric White as Ray Arendt

I'm pleased to report that HotCity has selected "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" to produce in 2012! The play will have its world premiere in September. I am absolutely delighted, and can't wait to return to St. Louis!

HotCity Theater in St. Louis, MO will be producing the world premiere of "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" by EM Lewis in September 2012.

A Residency at the Inge House with Magellanica

2011-11-12T13:36:00.000-08:00

Fall 2011 Inge Residency! Top: Program Director Peter Ellenstein. Next row: Director Stephen Brackett and his playwright, Ken Urban, actors Chuma Gault and Ben Corbett, and playwright EM Lewis. Bottom row: actors Heather Alicia Simms, Mark Pinter and Mina Kim, and my director, Laura Savia.

From October 27 through November 12, 2011, I was able to spend some wonderfully focused time working on my play "Magellanica: A New and Accurate Map of the World" in Independence, Kansas. I was the lucky recipient of a residency in William Inge's childhood home, thanks to the William Inge Center of the Arts.

I met Inge Center director Peter Ellenstein several years ago, when we were both attending the Humana Festival in Louisville, Kentucky. I was receiving the Steinberg Award for "Song of Extinction," and he requested a copy. He liked it! And ever since, we've been communicating back and forth, trying to find a good time for me to come out to Kansas and do a residency.

The timing we finally decided upon couldn't have been better. I'd been having some trouble finding my way into part 2 of the epic play that "Magellanica" is proving itself to be. The prospect of working in depth with a director and a bunch of actors on the play for a focused week sounded like just the thing. And I'd never been to Kansas! I love seeing new places and meeting new people.

I flew directly from Oregon, where I'd been the Host Playwright for the Ashland New Plays Festival, to Tulsa, Oklahoma -- the nearest airport to little Independence, Kansas. Peter picked me up, and we drove the ninety minutes back to the small town where William Inge grew up.

I was the first to arrive; Peter allowed me to come early and stay on after our workshop week, in order to smooth my travel arrangements -- going from ANPF to Inge to HotCity in St. Louis, without having to schlep back to New Jersey between. Being the first to arrive meant I got to pick my room. I knew instantly which one I wanted: the first one I saw. It was at "the dark at the top of the stairs" -- with windows on three sides, looking down on the back yard and neighboring houses. I loved it!

The beautiful Inge House in Independence, Kansas. What a place for a residency!

The sign by the front door. Historic house.

Pulitzer Prize winning playwright William Inge. He wrote Picnic, Come Back Little Sheba, Bus Stop, The Dark at the Top of the Stairs and Splendor in the Grass. Many of his plays and films were set in small towns in the mid-west like the one he grew up in.

William Inge's childhood home is just beautiful -- graciously sized, with a big porch and a nice yard. I stayed there with my director, Laura Savia, who flew in from New York, and the other resident playwright, Ken Urban, who flew in from Boston (where he teaches at Harvard). The other director, Stephen Brackett, and the out-of-town actors -- Mina Kim, Chuma Gault and Mark Pinter, all stayed over at Peter's house, two blocks away. The rest of our casts were made up of local actors -- and by local, I mean actors from Independence Community College, where the Inge Center is housed, actors from the community of Independence, and actors from as far away as Tulsa.

On the first day of our workshop week together, we had table readings of both plays with everyone in attendance. The two casts would be working separately through the rest of the week, but it was nice to begin things as a single, cohesive group. Ken's play "The Correspondent" is a tight, three-character play about a man who is haunted by his past. My play, "Magellanica: A New and Accurate Map of the World" is a sprawling Antarctic adventure story, about a group of scientists wintering over at the South Pole station in 1985.

Ellen and Laura by the Verdigris River. (Photo by Chuma Gault.)

The Verdigris River.

Fourth and Locust -- our street corner in Independence. All the leaves were golden, and we had beautiful crisp fall days while we were there.

Through the week, we alternated rehearsal days and writing days. Several of our trusty group liked to cook, and we ended up sharing meals more often than not. Is there anything more bonding for a group than breaking bread together? And washing dishes together afterwards? We worked hard, but there was time between for walks to the reservoir with Laura and Chuma, drinks with some visiting theater artists from Canada, a visit to the local "Neewollah" festival (Halloween spelled backwards), and a stop at the local library to hear one of my actors, Gary, talk about his experiences as a Peace Corps worker in Fiji.

Laura and I took a day trip out to the Laura Ingalls Wilder historic site. Such fun! We both read and loved all the books when we were kids. (Laura had to, since her name is Laura, after all...)

We gather around the table. Stephen, David, Heather, Mina and Mark at one of our big family-style dinners.

The writing challenge I was facing with my play was how to begin part two of a play that I believe is going to have five parts in all, and cover eight and a half months in the lives of my eight characters. It was a time-traveling problem, really. I couldn't cover every moment of every day in those eight and a half months, while my characters were locked in at the South Pole during the winter season. And I wanted to write the play in such a way that I could reach outside that time and place when I needed to -- back to the Antarctic explorers like Scott and Amundsen and Shackleton and Byrd, and forward to the questions of climate change that are a major focal point of polar science today. I needed a pliable structure that would allow me to do everything I needed to do, and how I began part two was going to tell the audience -- and me -- how I was going to do that.

There is nothing like some good table work with a smart director and cast. And it was fun to have my director, Laura, staying there in the house. Several times, I printed out pages and took them into her room, sitting on the end of her bed while she read them. Or she'd make tea for us, while I was working on rewrites. Actors came in and out. Sometimes they brought libations. It was a friendly, fruitful week. By then end of it, I'd figured my way into part two, posited a new structure for part two, and answered my structural questions about the play as a whole.

My desk, in my room at the Inge House. I loved my room so much! It has windows on three sides, and was full of light and inspiration.

Script.

The reading went very well. I was so proud of my cast! The discussion after was lively. We had a pair of little girls in the audience who asked wonderful questions... and one of them showed me the tooth she had lost during the reading when I talked with her afterwards! Everyone wanted to know what happened next... which was great feedback to receive, and great encouragement for me to keep writing.

It was awfully quiet in Independence after everyone else left. But I was happy to have some extra writing days before i left for my next gig in St. Louis. And I was able to make myself useful, teaching playwriting workshops at Independence High School, Labette County High School and Independence Community College. I also visited the William Inge collection at the college, where many of Inge's books, paper and memorabilia are housed.

Many thanks to the Inge Center's Peter Ellenstein, Hannah Joyce Hoven and Bruce Petersen for all their help during my residency, to my director, Laura Savia, for her excellent direction and dramaturgy, and to my splendid cast:

Chuma Gault as Captain Adam Burrell
David A. Lawrence as Freddie de la Rosa
Hannah Joyce Hoven as Dr. Morgan Halstead (USA)
Mark Pinter as Dr. Vadik Chapayev (USSR)
Mina Kim as Dr. May Zhou (USA)
Ben Corbett as Dr. William Huffington (Great Britain)
Peter Ellenstein as Dr. Lars Brotten (Norway)
Gary Mitchell as Dr. Todor Kozlek (Bulgaria)
Heather Alicia Simms - stage directions

Magellanica reading at the Inge Center. From left to right: Heather, Peter, Gary, Hannah, Chuma, David, Mina, Peter and Ben. Directing: Laura Savia.

I hope I'm able to return to Independence some time, and share the rest of the story with them!

Oo e Jim Morrison, sil vous plait?

2011-08-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

At 5:30pm, the guards at Pere Lachaise Cemetery ring hand bells to chase out the living.

The bells of Pere Lachaise. They ring them when it's time to go.

I love that they ring actual bells. Something automated wouldn't fit in at all, and a loudspeaker recording would be horrible. They've probably rung those same exact bells for hundreds of years. And there's no reason to change anything. You can hear the bell all through the cemetery, and its meaning transcends language. The sun is going down. It's time to go.

Map of Pere Lachaise.

I am drinking a beer at a small restaurant right outside the gates, now. I'm sitting inside, but all the doors are open to the evening breeze. Time to scribble. Time to drink. Time to try to make sense of what I've seen today.

I've enjoyed my afternoon with the Paris dead. I should have left more time, though. The place is huge, and fascinating. Packed full of graves, which tumble in historical abandon down the hillsides. One hundred and ten acres, in the 20th Arrondissement, and more than two hundred years old. Still in use, though their rules are strict and there's a waiting list to get in...

A tumble of graves at Pere Lachaise.

I first heard about Pere Lachaise because Jim Morrison died in Paris and was buried here. I was born the year he died. I love his music. I love his reckless musical abandon. Perhaps those of us who are control freaks are always attracted to those who run free, just like those who are lost and adrift yearn for anchors.

I braved the Metro for this trip, and it was amazingly easy, despite my lack of French language skills. I've taken public transit in a bunch of cities, and it really isn't any different here. Public transit is made to be simple, so the maximum number of people can figure it out. You just need to pay attention, read all the signs as best you can, and leave yourself time to be lost for a while. (A small aside: at Princeton U., they don't put the names of the buildings on the buildings they are clearly aiming in the opposite direction.)

The streets and boulevards of Pere Lachaise are named, just like in any other city.

I started at the top of Pere Lachaise, generally working my way toward the main entrance. The benefit of this strategy is that I was mostly moving downhill. The downside is, I never did get a map. I made do with the one in my guidebook, which helped me hit some of the highlights, although it could have been a little more specific.

Crypts and trees, all in a row.

Oscar Wilde resides near the northern entrance, so I visited him first. And I wasn't the only one! His tomb is large, impressive, slightly tacky and covered with lipstick kisses... and I think he'd like that.

"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious."

-Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere's Fan, 1892, Act I

This cemetery is a peaceful place to wander. Everything is so old and strange and full of ghosts. A clock somewhere chimes five o'clock before I know it, and I haven't found Jim Morrison yet.

Who was she, I wonder?

Guarding the doors. But is he keeping someone out, or keeping someone in?

Where is Buffy when you need her?

Edith Piaf's grave.

Aux Morts. Monument to the dead.

Auschwitz Memorial at Pere Lachaise.

Ravensbruck Memorial at Pere Lachaise.

Angel.

I stumbled upon Edith Piaf, and the communist wall, and sad, stark reminders of those lost in World War II -- soldiers and resistance fighters and people in the death camps. So much history. So many dead.

But where was Jim?

Angels guard the door.

Cul de sac.

Mourner.

A grand house for the dead.

Flower.

Ghosts.

I stared at my map a bit, and wandered a bit -- up this street and across that alleyway and down that way -- and then finally asked someone. "Escuse... oo e Jim Morrison, sil vous plait?" I asked a young man who was sitting on a curb nearby. Because I thought I was close. I really did.

"Right there," he said. And I glanced between two stones, where he was pointing, and sure enough, a bunch of people were queued up.

"Merci!"

Jim Morrison's grave at Pere Lachaise. Someone has been toasting him.

Some young punks were sitting beside Jim Morrison's grave, appropriately enough. Smoking cigarettes, drinking and trying to look tough, but not quite succeeding, like Ralph Macchio in "The Outsiders." Several of us older punks skipped the cigarettes, and settled for taking pictures. And taking a moment.

Jim Morrison.

Is here.

Yet another talented young person I wish hadn't done themselves in with drugs and alcohol.

Ce la vie. Perhaps that's the price of reckless abandon.

I found Chopin, too, before the bell began to ring -- a white rose and notes from young musicians decorating his stone. One of the notes was written on the back of a Metro ticket.

Chopin's grave.

Letters to Chopin in a dozen languages. Some with music.

And what would I say to the dead, if I were to write them a letter?

Come on, baby, light my fire?

I <3 Jim Morrison.

Want to see more? Go here for a virtual tour of Pere Lachaise.

Paris, Day 18 - At the Pompidou

2011-08-10T13:25:00.000-07:00

The Pompidou -- Modern and Contemporary Art Museum of Paris.

I am drinking a glass of pale pink wine at a small cafe on Rue Sainte-Martin, right across from the Pompidou, where I have spent the afternoon looking at modern and contemporary art.

"She's very bitter, because she hasn't got a bloke," I overhear an Englishman explaining to his French footballer mate over a beer. More than half the people on the patio, here, are smoking. The Japanese couple is trying to interpret the menu, but it's entirely up to them -- the waiter threw his hands up at me, too. Not feeling the customer-love today. The young Japanese man is wearing a fetching French hat. He and his girlfriend decide on hamburgers. Everything is very multi-culti at this cafe, from the clientele to the menu. As I eat my dinner, a German girl -- maybe thirteen, but made up to look older -- takes her own picture with the family camera. The three middle-eastern men -- maybe a father and his two sons -- pack up their souvenir shop next door, working with a pleasant efficiency that suggests they've done this together a thousand times. T-shirts, sparkly Eiffel Tower toys, Paris bags and scarves with I Paris all over them.

Three street artists draw likenesses of tourists, who sit patiently, waiting to see what they look like. I have never, ever wanted to do that. Either I already know what I look like, or I don't want to. But it's fun watching them do other people, glamming it up and covering their shortcomings and exaggerating their best features to just the right degree.

Madame has a lot of mirrors in her flat. Multiple mirrors in every room (except the kitchen). And a large picture of Freud on the wall of her study. (She is a psychoanalyst.) Perhaps all these things, and all the things I've seen today, and all the things I've seen this trip, have got me thinking about the act of seeing itself.

When Christopher Isherwood was in Europe, it was the 1920's, and he had a ringside seat as permissive, decadent Berlin became a frightening, Fascist Hitler Germany. He wrote a book about what he saw that was adapted into the wonderful musical "Cabaret." "Cabaret" is a great name for the musical version of the story, but the name of his book is really striking. It's called, "I Am A Camera."

Everyone is clicking cameras all the time here, myself included. But I've tried to give myself that little speech about balance. "Don't just take a picture of it. LOOK at it. SEE it. And then decide whether or not to take a picture." It's no help to have a picture to remember something by if you never really saw it in the first place.

The modern and contemporary art of France is all housed in the appropriately odd and modern Pompidou building, which was built to house it in 1977. The guts of the building -- the plumbing and ductwork and stairs and elevators -- have been relegated to the outside, leaving the rooms inside for the contemplation of art. It's not what you'd call a pretty building. But the more I think about it, the more appropriate it seems to the collection it contains. And having all the walkways on the exterior maximizes the views -- which are really spectacular.

Going up to the Galleries in the Pompidou, via the outside escalator. They did remind me, a bit, of hamster runs, I have to say.

Gallery entrance.

Looking out at the Eiffel Tower from the Pompidou.

Reflecting pool at the Pompidou.

Top level -- restaurant and the big vents, which you can see for kilometers in each direction.

Looking through a sculpture out over the city, toward Sacre Coeur.

Sunset, through the scaffolding.

VOUS ETES ICI -- YOU ARE HERE.

Inside, the Pompidou has many floors to explore. After buying my ticket in the downstairs lobby, looking at the map of the building and asking advice from the moderately bilingual ticket seller, I decided to start at the top and work my way down.

The very top of the Pompidou has a restaurant and viewing area. Below that is the Modern Art -- from 1905 to 1945, then 1946-1960. Below that is Contemporary Art -- from 1961 to the Present. Below that is traveling exhibits, and interactive exhibits for children, and other things, I'm sure. But as I thought, I was busy enough with the Modern and Contemporary Art floors that I didn't get any further.

1905-1945

Early days. Matisse... the Dadaists... and a great photo exhibit by Brassai. I want to get a book of his photos, now.

I'm pretty sure this says, "You are here."

Matisse.

Another Matisse. I rather liked this fellow.

Dada period.

But what does it mean???

Brassai.

I really loved these photographs by Brassai -- all scenes from the city at night, and the people who wandered that particular landscape. Beautiful use of light and shadow.

1945-1960
Moving right along, the other half of the fifth floor covered 1945 to 1960 -- a time I find particularly interesting, as it includes the early work of Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg, whose stuff I like for reasons it is difficult to explain. But how does anybody explain what art they like? Certain things are aesthetically pleasing, like Michelangelo's David, and a great majority of people might say they like that. But beyond that, why do certain pieces of art and certain artists speak to us? I like Van Gogh, because everything looks terribly strange but absolutely right to me in his paintings, and he uses lots of paint. I like Rodin's sculptures, because of their physicality. But as we move into contemporary and modern times, artists are often playing with ideas as well as aesthetics. Do I like the artist's ideas as well as the art they produce? I'm also very susceptible to story. I'm a storyteller, after all. So sometimes I'll be pulled into an artist's work because of the story of how they came to create it. With Johns and Rauschenberg, it's all three... plus I want to write a play about them some day.

Now you are here.

Jasper Johns.

A poor picture of one of Johns' number paintings -- #5, in fact. (I hate it when they put paintings behind glass.)

Robert Rauschenberg.

A big Rauschenberg installation, with multiple pieces, sound, movement, water -- the works. It wasn't quite as cool as the one with the dead goat and the tire, but it was cool enough.

1961-Present
Moving down to the fourth floor, I found things to be even stranger. But I'm sometimes quite fond of strange...

Shadow Ellen and the Kandinsky.

Six Lizes. 1963. Andy Warhol. A whole wonderful wall of her, silkscreened.

Rauschenberg Redux. His signature on a big silkscreen.

Detail from a huge silkscreen called Hoarfrost. Robert Rauschenberg, 1974. As with his combines, which are assemblages of found objects, sometimes with painting included, this has a variety of different source materials. My mind always makes stories out of his pieces. I want to write some short plays named after some of his art pieces.

Ellen in the art.

The piece below, by Rineke Dijkstra, was my very favorite of the day. It's called, "I See a Woman Crying (Weeping Woman), Tate Liverpool, 2009-2010."

You go into a small dark room. There is a bench, where you can sit down. Projected on the wall in front of you are a bunch of school children who have visited the Tate Art Museum in Liverpool, and are responding -- out loud and as a group -- to a piece of art there.

What they say is subtitled, which is good, because they have rather thick Liverpool accents and talk over one another sometimes. The camera (or how the film has been edited) captures different views: sometimes the whole group, sometimes a close-up on a single child's face.

They have clearly been asked some sort of open-ended question, like, "what do you think is happening in this painting?" The painting they're looking at and talking about is Picasso's "Weeping Woman" -- a portrait of Dora Maar, anguished and in tears, painted in 1937.

The kids have all kinds of ideas about what she's feeling, and what might have happened in her life to make her unhappy. Some are wacky and some are funny and some are probably right on. They free-associate, and sometimes build on each others ideas. And it goes on for a good bit.

At some point, you realize that you are sitting where the painting is, because they really are looking at you, perspective-wise. And the whole experience, as you sit there in the darkness, begins to feel very present tense. When was this piece of art made? In 1937, when Picasso painted his weeping woman, or in 2009, when Dijkstra filmed and edited this installation, or right now, with you?

I keep thinking about this one. It was delightful to watch. But there are also ideas inherent in it that have captured my imagination in a lasting way.

I guess art is like pornography. You'll know it when you see it.

"It looks like she has just seen a ghost or something."

New Acquisition -- and my very favorite thing that I saw at the Pompidou.

Video, maybe... - View from the Batobus

2011-08-09T16:11:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to imbed a bit of video from the waterfront yesterday. Let's see if Blogger will be helpful...

This is from Tuesday. I'm on the Batobus near Notre-Dame Cathedral, on the Seine in Paris.

Paris, Days 15-17 (continued) - Jardin des Plantes and a Beautiful Storm

2011-08-09T15:40:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I patted myself on the back for buying the five day Batobus ticket. Because what I felt like doing was riding up and down the river for a while. And maybe strolling in a park. And it allowed me to do both, with ease!

I walked down to the Batobus stop on the far side of Notre Dame, wading happily through the throngs of tourists and occasional accordion player and clown and violinist.

I flashed my boat pass, and jumped on, and watched the city go by on our way to the Jardin des Plantes, which has to be my favorite park yet.

The Jardin des Plantes is more of a botanical garden, which isn't to say it's not pretty. It's beautifully laid out, and full of flowers. But there are names on things, and a certain inclusiveness and scientific order. The park also contains their Natural History Museum, a small Menagerie (zoo), greenhouses and some sort of zoological building. I didn't go inside of the buildings, though. I just wanted to wander amongst the flowers.

Jardin des Plantes.

A rather disturbing statue of a man, who has killed a cub and tried to kill a bear being mauled by the bear. It appears to be by the dog park... I can't think why. Bear killing and mauling -- dog park? No clue.

A little French vineyard. This is for my guys at Hanson Vineyards!

A French garden house. This one's for Mom! Their door isn't nearly as pretty as your door...

Lovely flowers, all in rows and carefully trellised.

Yellow flower.

Things I came upon during my wander:

a folly, in the middle of a labyrinth
a bee hotel
an old-fashioned merry-go-round with the cutest animals ever
a rainbow

I've been glad to have my travel umbrella at several junctures this trip. It hasn't been cold at all -- the temperature has been a splendid 70-something throughout.

When I was in the folly, it began to pour. Children ducked into the bushes, parents began to holler for their children, and I meandered my way down through the labyrinth and through the rest of the park, happily taking pictures of rainbows and flowers and children on merry-go-rounds.

Lovely tree, with arms outstretched.

The bee hotel!

The folly on the hill.

Path framed with climbing roses.

Building of Things Botanical and Geological.

I really liked this fellow. He's contemplating an egg.

You can walk through the flowers, or you can walk through the trees.

Red flower.

This is the cutest merry-go-round I've ever seen -- and I've seen the double-decker one in Danbury. There were animals that went up and down for the bigger kids, like the gazelles, or just a sedentary pelican, just the right size for this little fellow.

Round and round they go!

When I was done wandering the park, I climbed back aboard the boat, with the intention of just sitting there and taking a full circuit. I was so glad I did! Because the sky lowered into a glorious dark glower as we went along, and then it poured, and then there was another rainbow, right over the river, a double!

The bridge (and the bridge reflected in the side of the boat).

Eagle bridge and Eiffel Tower.

Sky glowering over Eagle bridge.

Getting darker.

Dark wars with light.

Stormy sky and wake of boat, framed by bridge. Eiffel Tower far left.

Extraordinary clouds.

The fancy bridge, with stormy sky above it.

It begins to rain.

Harder, now.

Pouring.

Storm over long bridge.

Really coming down.

It has to bode well, right? Don't rainbows always bode well? I'm taking it as a good sign.

Rainbow over the Seine.

Rainbow with birds.

It's a double!

Paris, Days 15-17 - Batobus and the Eiffel Tower

2011-08-09T14:30:00.000-07:00

I have slowly, but surely, returned to having adventures in Paris after my bout with the flu.

I couldn't help but think of Wallace Shawn's play "The Fever" while I was sick. Like most of Shawn's plays I've seen, it lulls you in, then smacks you around a bit, then leaves you all unsettled, with large questions about your place in the universe. (I *do* love theater!) "The Fever" is about a man who has gotten sick while in a small room in a foreign country. It's a one-person show, about all the things on his fevered brain.

Luckily, my brain is fevered no more. I went on a cleaning spree of the flat today. Does anyone else do that, when they're over being sick? I have cleaned the cat boxes and the bathroom, washed clothes, washed dishes, straightened up and organized. I'm feeling much better!

Yesterday and the day before, I ventured out. On Sunday afternoon, I moseyed out the door with the vague plan of maybe going down to the river. Seeing how far I got.

A fresh crepe with Nutella, bought from a little crepe shop on Rue Sainte Denis, went a long way to reviving me. Wow, was it good! I think we ought to replace all the McDonalds in America with little crepe shops. It really is a better junk food!

I was hit on while eating my crepe on the way to the river. Ben, who works on Zee Internets, wanted to buy me a drink and practice his English with me. We had a lovely flirt for a block and a half in two languages. Are French men just more flirtatious than American men? (Do I just look like an easy mark?) He's the third fellow to hit on me, actually. Maybe they just know that if you see a woman walking the streets of Paris, she probably has romantic notions in her head. There's also a splendid sense of drama with French men -- the grief in parting! oh, the wrench of the heart! you're not really going? the gesture of desolation! It does a girl's heart good, whether it turns into "Before Sunrise" or not.

I wandered down to the Batobus stop by the river, while beginning to concoct a plan. I really didn't feel one hundred percent, it was after five, the museums were mostly closed, and I didn't want to walk too much. I remembered my friend Peter saying that there was never a time when there wasn't a line at the Eiffel Tower. And I thought -- standing in line! That's something I can do! And if I took the boat to get there, even better. I love boats!

I'd been eyeing the Batobus since I arrived. It's basically a get on/get off whenever you'd like bus shuttle that goes up and down the Seine, stopping at eight or ten scenic spots. Much of what a person wants to do in Paris seems to be within walking distance of the river -- so it's pretty practical. And... it's pretty! Who doesn't want to ride in a boat up and down the river?

I bought a ticket. They wisely charge a good bit for one day, but only a little more for two days, and only a little more than that for five. So I bought five days worth of Batobus. The young fellow I bought it from looked as young, innocent and blonde as one of the boys in "The Sound of Music," and exhorted me not to lose my ticket. (Knock on wood, so far so good. Although I did almost wash it with my blue jeans today.)

I listened to a street fiddler and waited in line. The boats come every seventeen minutes during the high season, more or less. I climbed on the next one, and let it ferry me down to the Eiffel Tower in high style.

The Batobus approaches!

Hop on! Hop off!

Approaching the Eiffel Tower.

It's pretty tall, when you get up close...

The lines at the tower were almost as impressive as the tower itself, but I'd brought my notebook with me, and alternately scribbled and people-watched. There were lines at each of the four legs of the tower -- one for groups, one for walkers who were only going to the second floor, and two for those of us who were taking elevators, and going all the way up to the top.

Once I'd gotten inside, the first thing that amused me was the little man on the double-decker angled elevator. It looks like a real person until you do your double-take -- and realize that the conductor is built onto the low side, and smiles at everyone, eternally. The young woman inside -- the real conductor -- was a little more dour, as she encouraged us to get closer together, and closer together than that.

Under Eiffel.

Framed sky.

One quarter of the line I was standing at the back of...

Double-decker Angle Elevator!

The little conductor fellow!

Packing 'em in.

We zoomed up to the second floor. And really, the views were probably impressive enough from there. But I happily waited in the next line for the next elevator that would take me all the way to the top.

The views from up there were fantastic. I took the opportunity to call my folks and say hello, and to call my aunt and uncle to say hello. Because Uncle Harold's friend had given me the idea, and because... how cool is that, to talk with your much loved family from the top of the Eiffel Tower? It was really nice to hear their voices.

Stuff that makes it go.

City and sky, from the first viewing platform.

River, city, sky. The sky here makes me wish I painted.

"X" marks the spot.

View from the top!

Going down again. One big foot (and lots of little people).

Girders at dusk.

I took the elevator part way down (after waiting in line!), then walked a bit, then waited in another line and took another elevator the rest of the way down.

It was beginning to get dark. The bad thing about this was that I'd missed the last boat back, but the good thing was that while I walked back to the flat along the river, through the occasional sputter of rain, I got to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle. Once an hour, they let it sparkle for five minutes -- and though I couldn't really catch it with my camera, it was just fantastic to see. The German family who was walking back along the same route I was thought so, too. We all leaned over the railing and oohed and ahhed, and then walked home, umbrellas jaunty on our shoulders.

The Eiffel Tower at dusk, from the other side of the river, walking home.

Unsuccessfully captured, cool sparkling.

(Continued in Paris, Days 15-17, Part II!)

Paris, Day 13 -- A little story about the Mona Lisa

2011-08-06T13:13:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm still getting over this cold. Feeling a little better this evening! But I've been laying low. In the absence of new adventures, I'll share an interesting article about something that happened almost exactly one hundred years ago: the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre!

Her theft, her recovery, and the subsequent notoriety are all discussed in this article. Enjoy! (And thank you to Carolyn P. for sharing it!)

Paris, Day 12 -- Random thoughts on a rainy Paris evening

2011-08-05T13:25:00.000-07:00

I have caught a little cold. Don't you hate it when that happens on a trip? I ventured down to the Pharmacy with my carefully Google-translated query on my phone, and displayed it for the pharmacist. He looked kindly upon me and my fractured French, and set me up with some cold medicine.

Now I'm sequestered with Pepito and Bout de Zan in the flat, listening to the rain and with firm plans to go to bed early and wake up well and ready for more adventures in the morning. I decided that I'd give you a few random thoughts on Paris, to tide you over, Dear Readers.

It's fascinating how each culture has its preferred distance that people stand away from each other. I think France's is closer than the United States'. I'm curious to see what Britain's is (I have my suspicions). And the two young Korean women who I met in line at Sainte-Chapelle the other day threw their arms right around me when I agreed to have my picture taken with them.
Man-purses are acceptable here, and French men tend to dress well enough in general that they don't look at all odd.
I've never used the word "cosmopolitan" to describe anyone before, but it came to mind while watching the French men come and go. They really do dress well. The only people I know back home who I might describe as cosmopolitan are Gay Talese (his father was a tailor), the character of Patrick Jane on "The Mentalist," and certain handsome gay men of my acquaintance. You know who you are...
I love cities with rivers running through them.
I think of Jim, Dan and Erica, who are taking turns taking care of my cat back home, as Team Paris. I love and appreciate Team Paris. This trip wouldn't have been possible without them.
I wonder how people managed to travel without all the cool technology we have now. They must have carried little French/English dictionaries in one pocket, and their maps in the other.
I loved the movie "Ratatouille." If you haven't seen it, you should.
Not knowing the language of a place, and walking around in it, must be a little bit like being deaf. Words wash right over you. It's a strange feeling.

And a little bit of story:

It was a dark and stormy night in Paris. The playwright leaned out her window, through the geraniums and fuchsias, and let the water wash away her fever. The neighbor's dog barked at the thunder, the pickpockets and prostitutes ducked into doorways, handsome young men in artfully tailored clothes lit each others' cigarettes. "You can see the whole city from here," she thought. She closed the window, and poured another glass of wine, and began to write.

Bonne nuit, mes amis!

Paris, Days 10-11 - The Louvre!

2011-08-04T17:19:00.000-07:00

Well, it's happened. I've fallen behind on my blogging. But it isn't for lack of adventures! Yesterday, I spent the evening with Eliza at the Louvre. Today, I've been working on some necessary playwriting business -- a submission package that needs to get out, and an e-mail interview that is due. It was kind of a rainy day, and I seem to have caught a bit of a summer cold, so staying in the flat with the French cats, eating baguette and Camembert cheese and scribbling seemed like a good plan. I will venture out again tomorrow.

One of the things I did today was update my list of Paris "things to do" and "things I've done" -- which will help me prioritize the time I have left. Twelve more days! And I have more than twelve more things on my to-do list! Oh, the wonderful challenges of the Parisian traveler...

So... to recount yesterday's adventures!

Eliza and I were going to meet at 6pm at the north end of the Jardin du Palais Royale -- which itself is on the north end of the vast complex of buildings that make up the Louvre. Our plan was to go to a little Japanese udon shop that a friend of hers had introduced her to on a previous trip to Paris, then take advantage of the fact that the Louvre has evening hours on Wednesday and Friday nights -- staying open until 9:30pm.

I took off a couple hours early, though I guessed it to be a half hour's walk, at most. I wanted to give myself time to window shop and get lost and ask directions and find my way again and then sit in the garden and people watch for a while. And lo and behold... I had time to do all of those things!

A statue of Moliere I ran into while I was lost. They have these things just sitting around here in Paris!

The fountain in the Jardin des Palais Royale. It is the perfect temperature for putting your feet in on a nice warm afternoon.

Statue, flowers and benches in the garden.

Eliza strolled up at exactly six o'clock, and we headed for the restaurant, which was just down the street. It was so much fun! A little hole in the wall. The window seat was taken, so we sat at a bar that faced the kitchen -- which was really a better place to sit, because we could watch the fellows cook up everyones' meals. The menu was written in Japanese characters, phonetically translated Japanese characters, and French. Eliza kindly translated the French bits. I ordered a beef rice bowl and a beer, and she had udon noodles, served on a little bamboo mat with other dishes of things that she was supposed to alternately sprinkle from and dip things into. (They were out of the sweet tofu that she'd had there before, so she was being adventurous.) It was a nice, filling meal, which fortified us for our time in the Louvre.

My beef and rice bowl (with an egg on top), and a beer.

Eliza's cool udon noodle dish.

Eliza checks the map, as we try to find our way to the Louvre.

We had the happy surprise, when we reached the Louvre, that tickets were only ten euro. We figured it was because we were there in the evening, for the special evening hours. The line wasn't that long, and soon we found ourselves descending through the great glass pyramid, into the Louvre.

We grabbed a map, and decided on your basic "Mona Lisa first, then top-down" strategy. It felt like there was more art there than you could see in a lifetime -- and at any given moment, they are only displaying a small fraction of all they own. We grabbed a map, and started our search for Mona.

Despite there being a whole bunch of signs, it took us a bit to find her. I just can't explain how vast the place is. Five floors, and each with room after room of art.

The Mona Lisa. She was surrounded by her adoring fans, but I elbowed some of them out of the way to get this shot of the lady. Cool to see her in person -- but the protective glass and fencing put too much distance between us. I like to see the art a little closer up.

I liked this gal much better. Winged Victory of Samothrace! She dates from the 2nd Century BC.

An El Greco, I do believe.

Magnificent ceilings. This used to be a palace, and it looks like it! Eliza said it's nothing compared to the ceilings at the Palace of Versailles...

Venus de Milo. Very pretty!

A doorway in the Louvre.

A sphinx guards the Egyptian antiquities.

The medieval portions of the Louvre are still visible down on the lowest floor. Again, one thing was built on another.

Ellen at the Louvre!

It was a dark and stormy night over the Louvre.

Eliza and the crazy Medieval painting. Very handy to have a medievalist with you when touring the Medieval portion of the Louvre!

A pretty Netherlandish angel.

Upstairs; downstairs. Going up the escalator after our time at the Louvre.

Home at the flat with the cats. Don't be fooled. They are not as innocent as they look!

We saw many wonderful things, and I hope to go back again this Sunday -- which is the first Sunday of the month, when many museums are free. I'm sure a lot of other folks will have the same idea. But I'd love another crack at the place.

Must sleep now. Tomorrow, I have to pick from my list which wonderful new thing to go and see. And, perhaps, to use Google Translate to figure out the French word for "Dayquil..."

Paris, Day 9 -- Distance, or Ellen & Eliza's Excellent Adventure in Giverny

2011-08-02T16:32:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that I've barely scratched the surface of things to see in Paris, my friend Eliza and I went on a little adventure out of town yesterday. Our destination was Giverny, to see the gardens which Monet once declared to be his "greatest masterpiece." He lived and gardened and painted in Giverny from 1883 to 1926.

Eliza came over at 9am, and met little Pepito and Bout de Zan while I finished my coffee and gathered my things. Then she helped me buy a "carnet" of ten tickets for the subway and/or bus, and we left Reamur/Sebastopol Station on the first leg of our journey, headed toward Paris' St. Lazare Station.

Eliza on the train at St. Lazare! We walked all the way to the front, and snagged window seats facing each other.

St. Lazare Station.

Looking out the window as the terrain changes from city to small town to countryside.

The queue in Vernon -- waiting to board the bus. Which was standing room only! Eliza and I got the next to the last seats, but they kept packing people on until it was full. Lucky the ride was only ten minutes or so...

At St. Lazare, we bought one-way tickets for the train to Giverny, which was leaving from gate 22. We could have bought round-trip tickets, but much like on Amtrak, we would have had to indicate a specific return time, and we weren't sure how long it was going to take us to reach the gardens, or how long we'd want to wander. The woman who sold us the tickets validated them for us. Eliza explained that this is a very important step when you are buying train tickets in France. Buying them isn't enough. You also have to validate them, using the "composter" machine. "Composter" does not mean composting! Instead, it marks the ticket with the day and time. Apparently, you can get into trouble with the conductor if your ticket isn't composted, if he checks it on the train...

The 45-minute ride from Paris to Vernon (in Normandy) went by in a flash, which proves that it's always better to travel with friends. Eliza and I chatted all the way, as city buildings gave way to green, verdant rural landscapes. Lots of people got off the train with us, and we followed along as most of them queued up on the sidewalk outside the train station, all of us headed for Giverny. A four euro bus ticket (round-trip) took us through the quaint little village of Vernon, over the river, through the woods, and into the tinier village of Giverny, where Monet's house and gardens are tucked neatly against the hillside.

We found a little cafe to lunch at before entering the gardens. The day was perfect -- bright and warm. We sat outside and ate our sandwich and salad, respectively, and tried to wave off the yellow-jackets that swarmed around my Coca Cola and Eliza's plum tart.

Coca Cola. Glass bottle.

(Coca Cola is very popular here. You'll see people drinking it regularly at cafes in the afternoon. It is served in glass bottles, which makes me remember and wish for the times when soda pop was sold in glass bottles in the U.S. We didn't drink pop very often when I was growing up, but I remember there was either a machine that sold it or a refrigerator filled with pop down at the fire hall, where my Dad was a volunteer fireman for years and years... once in a while, if we were down there, we would have one. I think it was RC Cola there, though, not Coca Cola. And Dr. Pepper, and Orange Crush, and 7-Up, all in glass bottles that seemed much colder than the plastic ones we have today.)

We bought tickets for both Monet's gardens and the Musee des Impressionismes down the street -- a small museum of impressionist paintings.

The gardens are absolutely lovely. There were a lot of people there, but it wasn't so many that you couldn't breathe. (We did have to time our pictures carefully, though, so as not to have too many other people in them.)

The little green bridges and the pond with blooming pink and yellow waterlilies really does look just like Monet's paintings. In addition to the pond, a fast-moving stream runs along the edge of the property. Formal flower gardens are interspersed with less formal paths, and little bamboo railings keep visitors from trampling things too much. A few gardeners were clipping and digging, paying all the visitors no mind. It's hard to tell if the wheelbarrows were carefully placed for our photographs or about to have weeds plunked down in them. Some of the fruit trees had been espaliered into a natural fence, while others leaned their heavy branches down, weighted with apples and pears.

We wandered for an hour, at least. Maybe two. It was just so nice to be there. The air was fresh and we kept taking pictures of bright zinnias and geraniums and Canterbury bells and snapdragons and hollyhocks.

A wide path in the garden.

Purple.

Pears.

Blooming flowers over the meandering stream.

Waterlilies and weeping willows.

The house, tucked against the hill.

The house is pretty, too. Each room is a different color, which is appropriate for a painter, I suppose. The big room on the end, where Monet painted and displayed his paintings, had enormous windows on two sides, letting the light in. The upstairs windows looked out on the gardens. Every room was filled with Monet's original collection of Japanese prints. Photographs allowed us to see what the place looked like when Monet was there, and it wasn't so very different. There's a tiny little sewing room upstairs, and an enormous kitchen downstairs, replete with copper kettles and a huge stove.

Ellen and Eliza on the bridge.

The bend in the river.

Sky over Giverny.

Glorious hollyhocks.

Monet's house.

Wheelbarrow on the path.

We stopped for a cold drink before heading for the Musee des Impressionismes.

The museum is the private collection of an American couple who were great fans of the Impressionists. Their collection includes several Monets, Degas, Renoirs, a Gaugin or two, some pieces by Toulouse Lautrec, and a handful of others. It isn't a large collection, but after seeing the blazes of pink and purple flowers in Monet's garden, it was nice to have a place to think about what he and his colleagues did with what they saw.

Eliza and I talked about a number of things as we walked along, including color, and distance. Distance is what I've been thinking about today, as I look back on yesterday's adventure.

It's hard to see something when you're too close to it. Hold a nectarine an inch from your face, and your eyes will cross in a red and yellow blur. Hold it out a bit, and you can begin to understand what it is.

Seeing impressionist paintings (any paintings) in person is tremendously different from seeing them in a print on the wall of a pale blue bathroom or on a discount calendar. Some of this has to do with real always being better than facsimile, but I think distance is a factor as well. Instinctively, in the museum, I stepped back from each painting. Forward, to see the rise of paint on canvas, because I love the rough edges and texture of it, but then back, to see the picture. And each painting had an optimal distance -- that point at which the colors began to bleed into each other, where the individual brushstrokes disappeared into whole stories of color and light. Boats pushing through stormy seas, beautiful young women laughing together in their opera box, dancers warming up at the barre...

And maybe this is the great gift of being a traveler. This idea of distance. I didn't buy anything at the gift shops to take home as a souvenir. But I feel like this whole trip is allowing me to take a step back from my life, and thus see it more clearly.

The last year has been full of tremendous changes. Quitting my job, moving across the country, writing full-time, meeting new people, trying to find my way into a new writing community, and wondering what comes next, now that my wonderful fellowship year has come to a close.

This trip couldn't have come at a better time, really. I'm going to try to take in all the lessons it offers. History lessons, French lessons, art lessons, and maybe... just maybe... a small insight into what to do with the rest of my life.

We'll see.

Distance.

Adventures in Giverny.

There and Back Again.

I nibble my nectarine, and drink my thick, dark French coffee, and try to be ready for where this trip is trying to take me.

Canterbury Bells, which remind me of my grandma's garden.

Ellen on the Bridge to Somewhere. (Thank you to Eliza, for sharing her pictures!)

Paris, Day 8 -- Ellen and Eliza's Excellent Adventure in Giverny

2011-08-01T14:42:00.000-07:00

Ellen and Eliza's Adventures in Giverny.

How many tickets does it take to get to Giverny?

Monet's Garden at Giverny.

Ellen on the bridge at Giverny.

Eliza in front of Monet's house.

Beautiful pink hollyhocks!

Pink striped zinnia.

Snapdragons!

Here are some of the pictures from Ellen and Eliza's Excellent Adventure to Monet's Garden in Giverny! It was such a wonderful day that I'm going to have to sleep now, and blog properly in the morning. Come back for a recap! But know that it was well worth the train ride out Giverny to see the waterlilies and other flowers that inspired some of Monet's loveliest workl

Paris, Day 7 -- Ave Maria at Sainte-Chapelle

2011-07-31T15:27:00.000-07:00

Today is Sunday, so I decided to have a quiet day of reading and writing. I do want to get some writing done while I'm here! I drank coffee, and made myself a sandwich of baguette, meat, chevre cheese and hard-boiled egg, and ate it with green olives and some of the lovely orange melon I bought at the market yesterday. I wrote... I did another load of laundry... I watered the flowers in Madame's window boxes. She has beautiful blooming geraniums in all her windows, except one (where the pigeons apparently do their business above, and she's given up).

By the time evening came round, I was ready to stretch my legs a bit. And I suddenly remembered that I'd seen a sign, when I toured the beautiful Sainte-Chapelle Chapel on Ile de la Cite, announcing some sort of Sunday concert series. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, including churches with websites and Google Translate, I was able to figure out the details. There was, indeed, a concert tonight, and it started at 7pm!

I threw on a dress and a scarf, and headed down there.

Sainte-Chapelle.

Apostle, keeping an eye on things.

The Rose Window. For the concert, we entered through the big red doors beneath -- the way the king would have.

The angels in the details.

Folding chairs had been set up in the chapel. Beautiful golden light was streaming through the astoundingly tall stained glass windows. The chapel was consecrated in 1248 (can you believe it? 1248) to house King Louis the IX's collection of relics. Each window illustrates stories from the Old and New Testaments of the Bible, as well as the discovery of the relics and how Louis transported them to France. Blues and reds dominate, but there's yellow and green and brown and clear glass as well. The Rose Window in the back, on the western side of the chapel, was lit up like a starburst. The long narrow pillars between the windows are painted in muted blues and reds, and decorated with little golden castles and ivy and fleur de lis. Statues of the twelve apostles gaze down at the people congregated below.

The program for the evening was, appropriately, "Masterpieces of Sacred Music." The Paris Classik ensemble is in residence at the Sainte-Chapelle, and gives more than a hundred concerts a year there. The string quartet was joined by mezzo Ghislaine Roux -- who looked very much like Mercedes Ruhl, and sang like an angel. Tonight's songs were "Ave Maria & Agnus Dei" by Schubert, Bach, Gounod, Mozart, Bizet and others. The string quartet and single singer were the perfect size group for the chapel, which is tall, but not terrible large. They filled the place with music. It was a gorgeous way to spend an evening.

Stay tuned... tomorrow is Ellen and Eliza's Excellent Adventure Out of Town! On a train! With flowers! I'm charging up my camera battery as we speak...

Paris, Day 6 -- Ellen vs. the Arthur Martin Electrolux Washing Machine

2011-07-30T17:11:00.000-07:00

If you're going to be somewhere for three weeks, you're going to need to figure out how to wash your clothes.

After grocery shopping at the Monoprix, I took a lovely walkabout this afternoon -- a left at the Seine, along the river to the Jardin des Plantes, then up the Saint Martin Canal a bit and back the other side of the Seine. Everyone was out at the Paris Plage -- the temporary "seaside" that the city creates each summer on the banks of the Seine. It had seemed like a weird notion when I read about it, but it's really quite wonderful. There's sand, and lounge chairs, and water features, and games and activities for kids, and beer and wine for sale to the grown-ups. It's Saturday, and gorgeous out, so people were there in droves. Music played, boats sailed by, people danced. It really is kind of magic here.

Dancing lessons draw a crowd.

Jardin des Plantes. Another big park. But it was closing just as I arrived, so I'm going to have to go back another day. There's a zoo here. I saw an ostrich through the fence!

St. Martin Canal. Where the small boats dock, apparently.

When you find yourself at the Paris Plage on the Seine at sunset... buy yourself a beer and watch the water for a while. I recommend it. Is beer higher octane here, though? My cup packed a punch...

I came back via Rue Saint Martin, and ordered a pita sort of thing from a little Lebanese place. They had a window open to the street, and a curved metal grill, like the top of a globe, upon which they were cooking up pitas, then filling them with good things. I'd tell you what I ordered if I knew. But it was tasty!

But when I got home, I did have to finish my chores. So I opened up the somewhat mysterious Arthur Martin Electrolux washing machine that sits in the kitchen, between the sink and the stove. Madame had demonstrated how to use it. Open the top. Open the metal clothes bin inside. Set it to number 7. Then after that runs its course, set it to the little squiggly thing, and let that run its course. (I believe, because of the terrible noise it made and how it shook, that the little squiggly thing means squeeze out the water and drain.)

The Machine.

Inside the Machine.

Pepito wonders if I am going to be able to make it go.

The secret compartment. Press the silver button to release the inner doors. But watch your fingers...

Dry fast, towels! I have socks to wash tomorrow...

There is no dryer, so now the towels and extra sheets are draped all over the bathroom and kitchen to dry. If I do another load tomorrow, I'll be able to decorate the back of the rest of the chairs in the house with socks and undies....

Paris, Day 5 -- Paris Greeters and Crepes with Eliza

2011-07-29T20:37:00.000-07:00

A short post this evening, because it has been another full day of revelry, tourism and good food here in Paris! And I just was able to finish loading the pictures from yesterday into yesterday's post, after a few technical difficulties.

Today, after a little housekeeping here at the flat, I had a tour of the Latin Quarter with a Paris Greeter by the name of Mehmet.

I read about the Paris Greeter program when I was doing research for my trip, and it sounded wonderful. It is entirely staffed with volunteers, and its purpose is to allow Parisians to share a little part of the city (and their love for it) with people who come here to visit. It is more "someone showing you around their neighborhood" than it is a formal tour. Which sounded great to me!

You sign up on their website, and let them know (preferably at least two weeks in advance) which days you might like to take a tour, which language you'd like the tour given in, and if you have any special needs (like perhaps someone in the group who doesn't do well with a lot of stairs). They pair you up with a greeter, who e-mails you, offers a tour in a specific area at a specific date and time, and asks if you would like to take that walk.

I received an e-mail from Mehmet, who asked if I would like to tour the Latin Quarter -- historically the student section of the city, just north of the "iles." I said that sounded fantastic! We agreed to meet late this afternoon at Saint Sulplice Metro Station.

I got a little bit turned around, and was a few minutes late, but thankfully Mehmet waited for me. Then he proceeded to take me on a lovely tour of the Latin Quarter -- during which we had a lovely conversation. I think that's the best thing about the program. I can look up facts in my guidebook -- but having a chat with someone who lives in the city and love the city is something else entirely! As we visited Saint Sulplice and Saint Germaine churches, strolled past the Sorbonne and other major universities, spotted Les Deux Maggots (famous hangout of Sartre and Beauvoir and Hemingway), and stopped by the Pantheon, we chatted about everything from philosophy and religion to education and the cool time-telling gizmo in St. Germaine.

Mehmet was born in Turkey, but has lived in Paris for more than twenty years. He's an engineer, who works for a local engineering firm. He is fairly new to being a greeter, and said that he started doing it because he's traveled to several other cities, and really appreciated having guides. So he thought he might try it!

Saint Sulpice -- the second largest church in the city, after Notre Dame. Home to a fantastic organ, designed by multiple architects in a variety of designs, referenced in the Da Vinci Code (with errors) and containing a gnomon, a line on the floor which the sun hits from through a certain window, marking the longest and shortest days of the year.

The Saint Sulpice organ.

The gnomon. Taking this picture, the window through which the light comes is behind me. You can see that the line runs all the way up the far wall. It was completed in 1743, and is a really impressive sundial doohickey.

Les Deux Magots. Must go back and have a drink there.

My Paris Greeter guide, Mehmet, in front of Saint Germaine church.

A little street in the Latin Quarter. That is the oldest restaurant in Paris!

Ellen at the Pantheon! "Aux grands hommes la patrie reconnaissante." (To the great men, the grateful homeland.) Great men (and a few women) of France are interred here. Must come back and see inside (and upstairs!).

After my tour, I met Eliza for dinner and more conversation. She goes to Princeton, but is here doing research for her dissertation on things medieval and french. It was lovely to see a familiar face! We had a very nice talk, catching up a bit over a wonderful dinner of crepes and cider. (Apparently cider -- hard and slightly dry -- is just the thing to have with your crepes). I started with a crepe filled with blue cheese, bacon, creme freshe and lardons, and then we both had dessert crepes with caramel sauce, almonds and vanilla ice cream. Oh, the decadence!!

Eliza, with fantastic dessert crepes!

French sweets. The shop smelled like some sort of chocolate heaven.

Paris, Day 4 -- Finances, Flaneurs and Ferris Wheels

2011-07-28T16:44:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in a cafe in Paris, drinking a glass of red wine and writing.

There's another checkmark on my life's to-do list.

I'm back on Rue Saint Martin, at the Grizzli Cafe. Its logo is two little bears.

I slept in today. A lot. Yesterday was such a big day. But I'm finding it difficult to pace myself. So many wonderful things, so close together! Like a berry patch. I am grazing on Paris, and it's all so sweet...

So I decided, when I finally woke up, that I would just use the cash machine and take a walk. Using the cash machine was something I had to gear myself up for. And then how much trouble could I get into on a walk?

One good reason to travel is that it makes you think about things -- be aware -- in a way we often aren't in our daily lives. Like using the cash machine.

My haphazard research into France had told me that I could use my debit/credit card at ATMs (as long as I had my pin number), but likely not when I was out and about at stores and restaurants. In France, they use cards that have an extra "chip and pin" security system built in. I got cash from the ATM when I first arrived, at the airport, but couldn't buy a train ticket with my card -- that machine wouldn't take it.

So today I needed to get cash again. (My plan is to use cash, except that I'd really like to try the "Velibe" bicycle rentals which they have everywhere and which both locals and tourists use all the time, but which require a chip and pin card for deposit.)

It is a little scary to put your card into a machine in a foreign country. (Uncle Harold told me he also felt some trepidation doing it, when he and Aunt Lori went to Calais a few years ago.) What if the machine doesn't spit it back out again? That's the worst thought. It could happen when I'm in New York, or anywhere -- but it's a scarier prospect when you don't speak the language and you're farther from home. What if the machine doesn't give you any money? What if someone robs me while I'm trying to use the machine?

But after all of that build-up, it was fine, and easy. I now had a clutch of Euros in my pocket, and was ready for adventure.

So! Now it is almost ten o'clock at night, and I have just finished a lovely glass of wine and a great meal, and am awaiting dessert. (It's a good think I used the money machine. This is a splendid splurge of a meal.) What have I been up to all afternoon?

Well, I took my walk!

Tony had suggested I might enjoy the Tuileries area, if I was looking for a nice place to walk. And that area was definitely on my list of places to go. It's going toward the Eiffel Tower from where I'm staying, in a generally westerly direction. I saw on the map that if I went down Sebastopol a bit, then walked west on the Rue de Rivoli, I'd run right into the gardens. I could walk there a while, then come back along the river afterwards, in a nice long circle.

I love to walk, and Paris is such a beautiful city to walk in! There are gardens everywhere, and places to sit, and fountains, and so many things to see.

I watched Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" just before I left on my trip (because it was playing right there in Princeton, and how could I not?). That movie surprised me by starting with an eight minute long (or so) photo montage of Paris. No people -- we hadn't met anyone yet. Just the city. For a long time. Beginning the film that way slowed us down, as viewers. Indicated that place was important in this story, and we were going to take our time exploring it. And then the rest of the film was a sweet little love letter to writers, past and present. Very fun.

I've also been reading a book by Edmund White, a writer who lives and teaches in Princeton now, but lived in Paris for sixteen years. The book is called "The Flaneur" -- which is the French word for "that aimless stroller who loses himself in the crowd, who has no destination and goes wherever caprice or curiosity directs his or her steps." Mr. White is a grand raconteur, who can speak as easily about Colette's literary works as he can about Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir's writing schedule, Josephine Baker's affair with Georges Simenon and where to buy a scarf.

So I was a flaneur today, in the Tuileries gardens. And I took a ride on a ferris wheel. Because I'm one of those people who will never turn down a chance to ride on a ferris wheel. Here are a few pictures from my wander.

Perrault's Colonnade -- the entryway to the Louvre complex and gardens.

Ellen in the Cour Alexander. (Photo by a couple nice Spanish guys.)

IM Pei's pyramid entrance to the Louvre in Cour Alexander.

My ferris wheel!

The Eiffel Tower and stormy, brilliant sky from the ferris wheel.

The Tuileries, from the ferris wheel.

Rooftops of the city from the ferris wheel.

The whole Louvre complex and gardens from the ferris wheel.

People on the next ride over, from the ferris wheel.

Kids with push boats. There was a push boat minder, an older man who had a cart full of boats and sticks for handing out.

Ellen at the Arc de Triomphe!

Killing the minotaur. The whole garden is full of statuary, mostly with Greek mythos
as its inspiration, but also biblical stories and French history. The Good Samaritan is there,
and Cain, sorrowful.

It's hard to look dignified when you have a pigeon on your head.

The Luxor Obelisk. It is 75 feet high, weighs more than 250 metric tons, is 3,300 years old, and once marked the entrance to the Luxor Temple in Egypt. It was given to France by the Khedive of Egypt, then transported there in 1833. The hieroglyphics that decorate its sides exalt Pharaoh Ramses II.

The Grand Palais. Built for the Universal Exhibition of 1900 in the Beaux Arts style.

The Petit Palais. Built for the Universal Exhibition of 1900 in the Beaux Arts style.
Across the street from the Grand Palais.

Pont Alexandre III. They have really, truly impressive bridges here.
I thought Portland had nice bridges, but these are spectacular.

The violinist under the bridge. I could have listened to him for hours. I think he must have escaped from some wonderful symphony orchestra somewhere. A violinist on the lam.

Walking back by the river. There were lots of people who had brought a bottle of wine and a picnic down to the water's edge, and were eating their dinner in the long hours between sunset and darkness. Public drinking doesn't seem to be discouraged here!

Paris, Day 3 -- The Door Was Open, So I Went In - Crypt Archeologique, Sainte Chapelle and Shakespeare & Co.

2011-07-27T13:56:00.000-07:00

27 July 2011

Things I forgot to tell you yesterday:

I saw a man with a Campbells Soup can tatooed on his calf. Warhol devotee, or soup lover? What is art anyway?
The friendly older blond woman who is often out on the street near the apartment building is a lady of the evening. But she works days. I guess if you've been at it long enough, you can set your own hours.
I stumbled onto the Pompidou Center (for modern art) on my way back from tapas. Apparently, it's just around the corner...

Now it is afternoon. I have been in touch with E. -- a student of all things medieval and French at Princeton University -- who will be in the city for the next few weeks. I am looking forward to meeting up with her when she has recovered from her travels.

I ate a wonderful lemon and sugar crepe when I arrived on the island, served paper. I got lemon sugar all down the front of my purse and slacks, but it was worth it. (Most of the sugar brushed off, after it dried.)

After the crepes came the crypts. Specifically, the Crypte Archeologique.

The crypt is a room full of stone, and it smells of damp earth and rock. To reach it, you descend a set of stairs, cut into the square in front of Notre-Dame. You can see the foundations of the city -- as one city was built on top of another, and on top of another, over thousands of years.

It is good to be reminded that many of the places I've learned about in history classes weren't necessarily different places; sometimes, they were the same place at a different time (and under new management). I can see the maps of Europe overlaying each other in my mind...

My two favorite things about the crypt: a little Roman soldier, and a hand-written "Do not touch" sign on an excavated pillar.

My little Roman soldier.

After the crypt, I needed coffee, and decided to have it on the other side of the bridge -- my first visit to the Left Bank. And what do I immediately stumble into but the celebrated Shakespeare and Company bookstore! I felt an electric shiver run through me, a flush of joy and recognition.

I went to a little cafe across the street for my coffee before venturing into the bookstore. I sat outside and wrote... and watched tourists surge down the sidewalk in waves from their tour busses, Notre-Dame across the way, a nice French couple beside me (though we had too "apu" (little) of a common language to really converse), and the very pretty Parc Lagrange in front of me.

All right. Coffee finished. Now: books! Could Saint Chapelle possibly be as beautiful a sight?

Hours later.

I have had many adventures, planned and unplanned, and am now sitting in a little restaurant around the corner from the apartment, eating a nice big bowl of Pho soup -- which is just as warm and comforting on a rainy French evening as it is on a rainy American one -- or on a Vietnamese one, where it comes from, I imagine.

Shakespeare and Company was everything I love in a bookstore. Packed with books, floor to ceiling, but relatively well-organized. Unapologetically keen on certain authors. Small shrines to favorite writers tucked into odd corners. Places to sit and read. Narrow passages that require careful navigation between browsers and make turning each corner a happy surprise.

Theres a piano upstairs, kind of tucked into a bookcase, and a young Japanese man sat down to play a bit (and was fantastic). There's a typewriter up there, too, and little signs encourage anyone who feels inspired to sit down and write.

I browsed happily for a bit, then walked out into the rainy afternoon. (If you've seen "Midnight in Paris," be assured that I'm the sort of girl who likes to walk in the rain. I am an Oregonian, after all...) I meandered through the flower market, since it was on the way, then queued up for Sainte-Chapelle.

Paris apparently makes me chatty, because I was soon enjoying a lovely conversation with the two young Korean women behind me -- coworkers and friends who are spending a week here in Paris together. Pretty soon the nice couple behind them was taking our picture together, and telling us about their daughter who is living in London, and inspired them to take this tour of Paris, London, Germany and Luxembourg. They hailed from Illinois, about an hour south of Chicago.

It didn't take long for the five of us to get through security and the ticket line, and make our way inside.

Sainte-Chapelle -- "a gem of High Gothic architecture," according to the guidebook -- was built between 1242 and 1248 in accordance with the wishes of Louis IX (the future Saint Louis) to house the relics of the Passion of Christ that he had acquired. The most famous of these relics -- the crown of thorns -- was purchased for a price that far exceeded the cost of building the chapel. If you could see the chapel, you'd realize it must have been a LOT. I thought it was a gorgeous gem of a place. And then I realized I was just in the downstairs "lower chapel," where the palace staff had worshipped. The real stunner was upstairs...

The downstairs chapel.

The upstairs chapel. Walls of glass and light.

The crown of thorns into the decorative carving/painting. The relic itself was kept beneath for a long time, before being moved to the Treasury in Notre-Dame.

The Western Rose Window.

Sainte-Chapelle, from outside.

After a good look-about, I said goodbye to my Korean friends and headed back toward the apartment. Little did I know that two more sights would fling themselves into my view before I made it to dinner and home again!

I'd been passing by what I thought was a church each day, a beautiful pillared structure that stands near where Sebastopol meets the Seine. The door to the park it sits in was open, so I went in. And I found that it wasn't a church at all, but rather the Tour Saint Jacques -- a late Gothic tower, dating from 1523, that is all that's left of a church where pilgrims rendezvoused. Later, Blaise Pascal, the 17th-century mathematician, physicist, philosopher and writer, used the tower for experiments. The church part was destroyed after the Revolution. (I'm liberally quoting DK's Eyewitness Travel guide again.)

At the moment, there's an art exhibition going on there that combines new and old, technology and art and religious belief, into a fantastic amalgam.

Set around the edges of the main platform are multiple large movie screens. On each of them, a pilgrimage is playing.

Artist Gabriel Diaz calls his exhibit "The Ways of Saint James." Over the course of six years, Diaz journeyed on foot along 5,000 kilometers of the main Jacobean routes in Europe, that were used for centuries to cross the continent. He took a photograph every eleven steps. The images were then transformed into the videos that are playing on each screen -- each showing a different route. His very own pilgrimages! Which sometimes move through land that probably looks very much the same as it did hundreds of years ago. And sometimes he passes a Winnebago. They are really mesmerizing to watch. If I hadn't been hungry, I would have stayed and watched longer.

But I was hungry. So I moved on.

I was taking Rue Saint Martin again, which runs parallel to Sebastopol. It has all the little shops and restaurants, which are lovely, but I'd also read about it at the Crypt Archeological. Rue Saint Martin was an old Roman road, which was being used back when the foundations in the crypt were holding up Roman houses and baths. No wonder it's so cool!

I passed by yet another church... which I had before, but now the doors were open. So I went into this one, too! And found the strange, wonderful, eclectically decorated Church of Saint Merry. I'm no historian, but I would guess that it's probably considered the "red-headed stepchild" of Paris churches... It's named after an abbot who visited (then stayed, then died) in Paris in the 8th Century. His name was Medericus -- and according to the flyer, he was also known as "Merry" and was acclaimed Patron Saint of the Right Bank. According to the guidebook, it was built in the "flamboyant Gothic" style. It's flashy, all right! But it also seems like people use it all the time. It has a lived in look, for something so fancy. Twice a week they hold music events, and there are services on Sunday.

I do like their windows.

And their Pieta.

So! Crepes, crypts, churches, bookstores and art exhibits. And new friends made along the way. That was my pilgrimage of the day.

Where should I go tomorrow???

Paris, Day 2 -- Further Up and Further In on the Islands

2011-07-26T15:15:00.000-07:00

26 July 2011

The line to go up to the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral is as long as the cathedral itself. I am standing behind three Italians (I think they're Italian), and in front of a Russian family (I think they're Russian). All these voices! I was in front of some American teenagers, but they decided ice cream was more important than history.

This morning I slept in a bit. Traveling does take it out of a person. The gas stove and coffee maker were easier to use, from experience, so I decided to try the shower. (I had sponge-bathed the day before, but as Uncle Harold noted in an e-mail, it would be a long couple of weeks if I didn't figure out how the shower works!)

If I was staying in a hotel, I'm sure things would require less figuring out. But staying in a hotel would not be free. And there's nothing wrong with learning new skills.

"What is there to figure out about a shower?" you may be thinking. Well... there is a brass hand shower apparatus hooked by a hose to the faucet. And there is no shower curtain.

Grace and coordination have never been my best qualities, and I am quite sure that trying to use the hand shower apparatus would result in a flood of biblical proportions, with poor Pepito and Bout de Zan looking on in horror (and hoping for an ark). So I took a bath. It's a very nice bathtub for a bath -- deep and comfortable.

I can't remember the last time I took a bath. I always seem to be rushing somewhere. Fast shower. Fast get ready. But everything in Paris seems to be urging me to slow down, and be more mindful of what I'm doing and how I'm doing it.

Including this line outside the cathedral.

Which I'm still in.

So here is something that amused me when I came in the other day. I was a little embarrassed at the size of my suitcase, and I had to wait a bit for it to come through. But even trying to pack light, I couldn't manage just doing a carry-on. But then D. (who picked me up at the airport) said, "That's all you have? For three weeks? I take two of those just for a weekend!"

An interesting thing about the subway doors here, that I noticed on that same trip. They do not open automatically. You have to manually unlatch them when you want to get out at the station. I'm so glad that D. picked me up at the airport, because these are the kinds of little things that get you. It's good to be able to see someone else doing something before you need to do it yourself.

I am still in line. I have moved the length of three crepe shops. We're getting close, now! Fairly close!

The Italian people in front of me have the same (DK Eyewitness Travel) guidebook that I do, except theirs is in Italian. Funny. I show mine to them, and we are all amused. "Al mismo," I say. The same.

The stone stairs, when we reach them, have deep dips in the middle. How many years of feet have passed this way, to wear the stone down so?

I got in.

It is several hours later, now, and I am sitting in a Spanish tapas bar, where all the menus are in French, but the waiter speaks English with me. "Where are you from?" he asks. "New Jersey," I say. Which I sort of am. Most recently, at least. He has a friend who is about to go off to school in Boston.

The tapas bar is on one of the little side streets off Sebastopol, which I am finally bold enough to venture into this evening, in search of dinner and a place to sit down.

The side street is immediately more interesting than Sebastopol. Little restaurants, shops, bars, lots of people. A bakery, which I might check out tomorrow, and a little market with fresh fruit. No cars. Just people (and motorcycles).

The sangria (only 2 Euro during happy hour!) tastes good. It was dipped out of a large vat of the stuff that's sitting on the counter. On the waiter's recommendation, I am eating Plancho Manchego y Serrano. Which is basically a ham and cheese sandwich, but the meat and cheese and bread are all really good, and it's served on a fetching little bread board, and "plancho manchego y serrano" sounds much cooler than "ham and cheese sandwich." A glass of gazpacho tops off my tapas supper. (Gazpacho is basically tomato soup, except cold and spicy.)

I spent the afternoon at the top of the cathedral, then buying an ice cream cone on the Ile St. Louis, then visiting the Holocaust Deportation Memorial.

Gargoyle keeps watch. Seine and Eiffel Tower under his care.

The upper decks of the cathedral were worth the hour wait, eight euros and 387 steps. The views! The gargoyles! And the detail you can see on the cathedral itself from up there. Statues and gargoyles on the roof have been given the same loving attention to detail as the things inside.

Ellen, with gargoyles, at the top of Notre-Dame. Photo by the nice Italian lady who was in front of me in line.

Is it still called a gargoyle if it's an elephant?

I'm not sure who the green people are, but I like them. They lead up to the base of the spire, which was designed by Viollet-le-Duc.

My legs were wobbly after descending the stairs, which were all long, narrow circular staircases. (Which reminds me of another trip I took, a long time ago, with my family. We visited the Astor Column, at the northwestern tip of the Oregon coast. Dad and I walked around and around, in wider and wider circles, reading the story of Astoria that is wrapped around the outside. Then we walked up the inside, around and around. I still remember how the world spun... I had to hold onto the railing.)

So I went for ice cream. Today, not then. Both D. and my friend Peter had recommended the ice cream on the Ile St. Louis, so I crossed the bridge behind the cathedral to find it. "I think the name translated as butterfly," Peter said. "Ask for Berthillon brand," D. said. So I did. It was excellent. They had all kinds of flavors, but there's nothing wrong with vanilla...

If Ile de la Cite is for history, Ile St. Louis appears to be for shopping. I strolled along the sidewalks, peering in the windows of scarf shops and candy shops and jewelry shops and even a marionette shop. For all your marionette needs.

It was nearly six by then, so I knew that the Crypt Archeologique and the other cathedral were not going to be possible today. But the Holocaust Deportation Memorial was right there on the end of the Ile de la Cite. I passed over the bridge again, which contained a Parisian singer, an accordion player, a man with a harmonica and a marionette, and a young man singing the blues with his jazz combo.

I made my way through the plain gate, through the plain square, and found two guards at the entryway to the memorial. They made sure i was where I intended to be, checked my purse, then said that pictures were okay and flash was okay, but don't go left. So I went right.

This was the place where the Jews of France were gathered up and deported to the concentration camps and death camps by the Nazis during World War II. Two hundred thousand men, women and children.

This, too, is our history.

"Forgive, but don't forget," it says on the wall over the door. And on the other walls, the names of the camps.

I plan to visit the Crypt Archeologique and Cathedral Saint Chapelle tomorrow. And then I feel like I will have fully explored Point Zero -- the place where all distances in Paris are measured from -- the arrondissements (neighborhoods) circling out from there like the shell of a snail.

Paris, Day 1 -- Nervous Beginnings and Notre Dame

2011-07-25T15:09:00.000-07:00

25 JULY 2011

I am in Paris.

I am on another continent.

D. met me a the airport yesterday, and navigated us via train and subway to her mother's apartment, where I will be staying for the next three weeks.

You might call it a railroad flat, as all the rooms are in a row, but the outside wall curves, and the doors are in different places (and are different sizes), so I'd say it's more of a meander flat.

We had a good hour of instruction on where things are and how they work, made more interesting because a lot of things work differently here than in the U.S. And I don't speak French, and D's mum doesn't speak English. D. translated some, her mum demonstrated some, and we all waved our arms a bit. And then they left on their vacation, and here I am! An American in Paris. A broad abroad.

It was late afternoon when they left, and I didn't go out after. I was exhausted from the overnight flight, and a little intimidated by the apartment lessons and all the little Google Translator translated notes that Madame left me, taped to the walls.

In my little Parisian flat!

The kitchen.

The sitting room.

I believe this is a player piano, but haven't opened it yet...

The view out the window, through Madame's plants and along the winding, narrow walk-street.

This first morning in Paris, I set my alarm for six. I fed Pepito and Bout de Zan, and figured out how to use the gas stove and the little coffee maker.

Pepito!

Bout de Zan (named after a licorice candy).

I'm taking my time, settling. I have three weeks, so I don't need to rush, for once. But also, I'm a little scared to go outside. Will I be able to work the strange door locking mechanism? Will I be able to find my way back to the apartment? It is on a tiny walk street, off a small street, off a boulevard, and all the signs are in a language I don't speak. And my little brother inherited all the genes for navigation in our family...

I begin with a trip to the Monoprix -- both supermarket and department store. It is right around the corner.

I manage to buy bread and milk and cheese and fruit and shampoo. I'm fairly certain it's shampoo. The blond neighbor lady smiles at me, and says bon jour (and other things I don't understand). I met her yesterday, when Madame showed me where to take the garbage. It is nice to see a familiar face. I pass the door coming back, but backtrack and find it. My key fits the lock, and I make it back through the door, and my first little Parisian adventure is a success.

I've had a bit of lunch, and am now setting off to try to find the Ile de la Cite. And hopefully find my way back again after!

Even before I find the Ile de la Cite, it is a landmark for me, as I am staying in the garment district, just north of it. On the Paris map, I find the Seine, then I find the Ile de la Cite in the middle of it, then I go up from there along Sebastopol, to Reamur. That is my important corner to remember, for getting back again. It has its own Metro station, which makes it even easier to find on the map. "M" for Metro.

I write now from a little cafe on the island, where I am drinking a cappuccino and trying to find myself on the island map in my guidebook. All this cartography all of a sudden!

It's good to be out and about. Like most things (like writing!), it is easier to keep going than it is to start.

I think maybe this is the good sort of scared, the kind that makes you brave. Maybe I should call this little blog series "Alone in a Language Not My Own." Which reminds me of Walter Mosley's "Always Outnumbered, Always Outgunned" -- an entry in my "Best Title Ever" list, along with Sherman Alexie's "The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven" and Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried."

My guidebook says that there is no place older than this in Paris. And that the city is named for a Celtic tribe named the Parisii, who liked the island's defendability. That must have been before they built all the bridges...

The view from Pont Neuf.

I crossed over on the Pont Neuf, which is the oldest bridge in Paris, even though its name means "new bridge." (There is something in that which reminds me of Ozymandias.) From the bridge, I can see the temporary beach they've constructed along the Seine. They truck in sand so the city dwellers can lie out there and sun themselves, and the children can play. It sounds strange, but it's really lovely.

Charlemagne!

Now it is after six. I heard the bells of Notre Dame Cathedral ring... and promptly sat myself down at a little restaurant on the island, and ordered a beer and some dinner. What have I been doing with my afternoon? I've been here!

Notre-Dame.

Mary, flanked by angels, over a long row of saints.

Me in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral! Picture courtesy of the nice Michigan couple.

The cathedral is where I spent a good part of my afternoon. It's magnificent. I remember learning, in an art history class at Chemeketa Community College, that cathedrals were built to allow human beings to experience the glory of God, or Heaven -- as close as we could, here on earth. To inspire awe. And I have to say, Notre Dame took my breath away.

Inside the cathedral. Candles and prayers.

In the gardens behind the cathedral. This is where the flying buttresses are! Also, a rose garden...

In line, I chatted with a nice couple from Michigan. "We're sixty-six," she said. "This is our big blow out trip, and we're trying to make it count." They are tackling three cities of Europe, two weeks each. They're ready to enjoy it all, and remember it for the rest of their lives. Me, too.

Things I noticed today:

There are lots of motorcycles here, and sometimes they ride on the sidewalk.
There are lots of smokers here.
Ballet flats are in. Le mode.
When you eat, here, you are encouraged to take your time.
People really do wear a lot of scarves here, both men and women.

Poor Heloise and Abelard... were here.

The flower market!

Things I liked today:

The statue of Charlemagne, outside of Notre Dame.
The flying buttresses of the cathedral.
All the bridges to the island.
Happening on the residence of Heloise and Abelard.
Finding the flower market.
Chocolate mousse for dessert on a perfect, warm evening in Paris, eaten outside as the sun began to set.
Walking along the water, watching the people and the river.

The beach by the river.

Walking by the water.

Oh, beauty!

Lock your love, like a bicycle, to the fence on the bridge, and it will last forever...

Things I plan to do tomorrow:

Return to the island to see several things that were closed today, namely the Crypt Archeological, the upstairs part of the Cathedral, the World War II Holocaust Memorial and the Ile de Louis -- which you can reach by bridge from the Ile de la Cite.

What a lovely day!

Upcoming Theater Travel!

2011-07-21T20:01:00.000-07:00

This year is turning into one of unexpected opportunities for travel. What a way to bring my time as a Hodder Fellow to a close!

Summer 2011:

Paris, France -- Tourism, housesitting and play research are all part of my first trip abroad. And what a trip! Three weeks at the "moveable feast!" Stay tuned here for reports and pictures from the City of Light.

Oregon -- There's no place like home.

Fall 2011:

Oregon, redux -- I'll be the host playwright again this year at the Ashland New Plays Festival! This is a fantastic event, held in the city that hosts the inimitable Oregon Shakespeare Festival, but a celebration of new work all its own.

Independence, Kansas -- I'm delighted to be joining playwright Ken Urban as the two playwrights-in-residence at the William Inge Center for the Arts. We'll both be workshopping new plays. I'll be working on my Antarctic adventure story in progress, "Magellanica: A New and Accurate Map of the World."

Alcyone Anthologized!

2011-07-21T19:38:00.000-07:00

If you're interested in seeing how five contemporary women playwrights adapt or engage with the writing of five women playwrights from 1860 or earlier, I hope you'll buy yourself a copy of this anthology of plays from Halcyon Theater's 2011 Alcyone Festival. Limited edition! Special price! Click here to check it out. (Enter coupon code MYBOOK305 for 15% off the list price -- offer ends August 15!)

The Lineup:

J. Nicole Brooks' Shotgun Harriet
- inspired by Pauline Hopkins' Peculiar Sam
Jennifer Fawcett's The Invaders
- inspired by The Forest Princess by Charlotte Mary Sanford Barnes
EM Lewis's Strong Voice
- inspired by works of Hrosvitha
Coya Paz's FA$HION
- adapted from Anna Cora Mowatt's Fashion
Caridad Svich's A Little Betrayal among Friends
- freely adapted Maria de Zaya y Sotomayor's La Traicion en la Amistad

Enjoying the edges of Williamstown

2011-07-20T21:27:00.000-07:00

A talented director friend of mine, Laura Savia, is working at Williamstown this summer. While the big slots were filled by bigger playwrights than me, Laura gave me a call when she was looking for material for the apprentices to work with.

Maybe some day one of my full-lengths will be on the mainstage at Williamstown (I can only hope!). But for the moment, I am delighted to have student actors working with my words at that fabulous place, where old plays are revived, new plays are revered, and audiences receive the best of summer theater experiences.

A short play by EM Lewis in rehearsal by apprentices at the Williamstown Theater Festival.

Young actors in rehearsal.

Alcyone 2011 Blog Post, Part II

2011-06-29T13:57:00.000-07:00

The Art of Adaptation

In the last year, I've had two opportunities to practice the art of adaptation. They were my first tries, and I learned a lot as I went along. The first thing I learned was that any adaptation is a sort of marriage of two minds -- and like any marriage, though it can be extremely rewarding, it ain't easy.

ENTANGLEMENT

The first adaptation project came to me through a playwriting colleague. A book publisher was looking to add multi-media content to its offerings. A first attempt had been successful for them, so they decided to branch out -- asking four dramatic writers to create new fictional stories for the screen, using the books of four of their non-fiction writers as a starting point. Each thirty-minute film would ideally showcase the ideas of each of their writers, but be compelling stories on their own -- and able to stand together or apart, depending on how the publisher chose to market them.

I was getting ready to leave Los Angeles when this opportunity came my way. I'd received a playwriting fellowship at Princeton University that was taking me to the other side of the world -- well, to New Jersey, anyway -- to work on my new play for the 2010-2011 academic year. I'd already decided to quit my sensible day job at the end of May, in order to give myself a real-live summer vacation back on the family farm, in between. I liked the director when I met him, the project sounded like an interesting challenge, the money they were offering would pay for my moving expenses... and so I signed on. I now had a project for my summer vacation! Here's how it went:

I read the source material.
I thought about the source material.
I came up with half a dozen possible story scenarios, and then discussed them with the director and lead writer.
For the three favorites, I came up with rough outlines.
With the director, we chose one scenario to be my project.
After discussions with the director and head writers, I refined the outline, changing some key features to make sure it fulfilled the needs of the over-all project.
Upon turning in the refined outline, I was paid the first of two installments for my work on the project.
I left for Oregon -- and began to write the script.
There was angst and wrestling with the source material and some tearing out of hair. But doesn't all writing feel this way sometimes? There were also moments when it was fun and fantastic. I liked the characters I'd created.
I turned in my first draft.
I took an hour's worth of notes on the first draft over the phone, scribbling as fast as I could.
I struggled to figure out the notes, and how to implement them.
I turned in the second draft.
I took another hour's worth of notes on the second draft. But I'd clearly been writing in the right direction, despite that seeming evidence to the contrary.
I struggled to figure out the notes and implement them.
I turned in my final draft. (We were contracted for three.)
I was paid the final check for my work.

I'm very glad I did the project. It gave me the chance to work with a bunch of smart, creative, hard-working people on a type of project I'd never worked on before. I was paid -- well -- for my work. I was proud of my finished script, even if it was a different kind of pride than I have in a creation all my own. I used some skills from my graduate program at USC that I hadn't had a chance to before -- outlining the screen story with Frank Tarloff, and screenwriting classes with Ben Masselink and Jason Squire. And I got a hint of what writing for television must be like -- something that I'm interested in, like a lot of playwrights these days.

Last week, the director sent me a promo for the film. It's done, it's in the can, they're almost done editing it.

It looks gorgeous.

I hope it's good!

I'm glad I did it.

As a general rule, I’ve found that any time someone offers me the opportunity to work really hard at something I love -- I should say yes. Which brings me to the second adaptation project I said yes to this year.

STRONG VOICE

Not long after finishing my summer vacation and film adaptation project and moving east, I received an e-mail from Tony Adams, artistic director of Halcyon Theater in Chicago. He’d produced my play "Heads" in his Alcyone Festival of works by women a couple years before. And he and his associate artistic director (and wife) Jenn Adams had decided to do something extra crazy and bold for the 2011 Alcyone Festival. They were asking five women playwrights with whom they had worked before to either adapt, riff upon, or otherwise engage with the work of a woman playwright from 1870 or earlier.

I said yes.

I also said I didn't really know the work of any women playwrights from 1870 or earlier. (They weren't deterred by this -- it rather proved their point, that there was a canon there, ripe for retrieving.)

Tony suggested I give Hrosvitha a try. She was the earliest of the women playwrights whose work survives to this day. She was a Tenth Century Benedictine canoness who lived in an abbey at Gandersheim in Saxony (now Germany) and wrote odd little comic plays and serious poems about the early Christian women martyrs.

I still don't know why Tony suggested her to me. But as I read her work, and read about her, something pinged inside me.

It's hard to say what. Maybe it's that I was raised Catholic. Maybe it's that I remember reading books about the early Christian martyrs as a child (along with every other book I could get my hands on) that intrigued and disturbed me. Maybe it's that I have struggled with issues of faith and philosophy and spirituality as an adult. Or maybe it's that the notion of martyrdom seems so much more overwhelmingly complicated to me now than it did when I was a child. It's not that I don't think there aren't things worth dying for (terrified as I am of mortality). It’s that the practical application of so-called martyrdom seldom lives up to my expectations, and seems to frequently take a lot of innocent people with it.

So I ended up writing a play about 9/11.

Hrosvitha is known as (in fact, she called herself) the "strong voice" of Gandersheim. So I called my play "Strong Voice." Halcyon promised to produce it in their Chicago theater if I wrote it, so I set the story in Chicago. Halcyon's mission includes producing plays that reflect the beautiful diversity of their city, so I made my heroes an African-American woman and a Latino man -- two Chicago police detectives who are investigating the disappearance of a nun and the desecration of a mosque in the wake of 9/11.

I've always liked detective stories, since the first Sherlock Holmes stories I devoured when I was in elementary school. And what I ended up with was definitely a detective story. But it was also the story of a bunch of people re-evaluating what they believe in the wake of events that challenged everything they knew to be true.

Hrosvitha herself became a character in the play, literalizing my own struggles to come to terms with her and her work. And in some ways, it became a play about storytelling. How we tell our own story, how we frame our lives and beliefs in words, and who will have the strongest voice in the most difficult times.

It hasn't been an easy play to write. And even though it's playing now in Chicago, I'm not sure I'm done wrestling with it.

The process was helped along, though, by input from others. Much of my work as a writer is done alone in my room, muttering under my breath in all my characters' voices in a strange, solitary, noisy literary schizophrenia. But I love getting feedback. I value being part of a writing workshop. I want my course corrected when I veer and to be called on any and all bullshit, sentiment and overwriting I might allow to creep in. Encouragement doesn't hurt either.

I received good support and feedback on pieces, parts and drafts of this project from the folks in my playwriting workshop at Passage Theater in Trenton, fellow playwright Jami Brandli (who kindly gave me notes on an ugly early draft), and my smart and capable director Margo Gray. All mistakes remaining are, of course, my own.

Margo was casting the play before I'd figured out its ending. The play changed drastically during rehearsals, as I refined the characters and figured out what the play was about. (Because that's never something I know going in -- always something I figure out as I go along.) Everything about the play happened very fast, in play terms.

When I sat out in the audience on June 12, watching the first performance, I wondered at it all. Me, a dead Benedictine woman, and a bunch of blank pieces of paper. Add research and work and time. Temper with creative criticism and infuse with the talents of director, committed actors and a theater company that stands behind its promise to produce new work. And you have a play.

Both of these projects were the broadest sort of adaptations. I'd like to try my hand at a closer adaptation, perhaps of a young adult novel. I'd also like to write a spec television script -- mucking about with someone else's characters for a bit.

I'm busy working on some original plays now -- entirely in my own head again, for better and for worse. But I haven't seen the last of adaptation. It's a challenge I'd like to take on again.

Working hard at something you love is always good.

James Baldwin talks about writing...

2011-06-25T10:35:00.000-07:00

I remember seeing this clip years ago. It was in a documentary film about Baldwin that I checked out of the Salem Public Library, soon after discovering Baldwin's wonderful, complicated novels. I loved his read-out-loud beautiful prose and difficult characters. And after watching the documentary, I loved him, too. Through my most difficult times, it was nice to think of someone whose difficult times made mine pale in comparison, and who replied to them with such strength, humor and spirit.

The Pseudonym

2011-06-20T10:40:00.000-07:00

Carmela Ciuraru has a small photo-essay in the Huffington post about writers and their pseudonyms -- and the reasons behind the pseudonyms. Her tone is a little snarky for my taste, but the mini-biographies are interesting.

Perhaps the first character we invent, as writers, is ourselves.

"EM Lewis" isn't really a nom d'plume -- it's just my initials and last name. And I didn't decide to use it to hide my gender, or because I am a convicted felon (as one of Ciuraru's writers did). But I do like having my own alternate self. Somewhere between me and her and all of my characters lies the real me.

And... that's enough psychoanalysis for now.

Chayefsky's Notes on Network

2011-06-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

It's always interesting to me to look inside another writer's process of cracking a story. Seeing how lost they felt, at certain points, is reassuring. Seeing how doggedly they pursued their stories is encouraging. So I liked reading this article in the New York Times about Paddy Chayefsky's notes on "Network" that are preserved in the New York Public Library. This movie is on my "re-watch soon!" list -- now, more than ever.

Are you mad as hell?

All My Heroes Are Women This Week

2011-06-15T18:33:00.000-07:00

I like writing men. Hard to say why. Perhaps it's because their desire to take action and not talk about their feelings appeals to me, at least when I'm writing for the stage. (Maybe not. It's not like that describes all men, and no women.) Perhaps it's because I prefer not to look into my own female psyche. Or maybe it's like handedness, or sexual orientation -- we're all just built veering a certain way.

At any rate, I do veer that direction, and the character lists of my plays reflect that. "Heads" is for three men and one woman. "Song of Extinction" is for five men and one woman. "Magellanica" has two women, and six men. And I'm working on my first two-hander -- for two men.

Not equal at all.

It's not that I think I have to be egalitarian in this regard. But there's something in me -- the part that took that writing workshop with Betty Friedan, or that counts "Alien" and "Aliens" as two of the best movies ever -- that wants to be. Or at least thinks that any blind spots I see in myself ought to be rigorously rooted out. I am a writer, after all. Isn't that one of the things we're supposed to do? Along with "never be boring," "tell a smashing good story" and "use strong verbs?"

So. It's not that I've stopped working on "Magellanica," or that two-hander. But I've been keeping Women Characters at the back of my mind, along with all the other things that lurk at the edges of my brain, ready to be thrust into plays when the time is right.

(An anecdote: I don't know about other writers, but I usually write a play from inside one character, more than the others. When I was writing "Heads," I remember thinking, with regularity and insistence, "I am Harold Wolfe." He's the American engineer, who is being held hostage with British embassy worker Caroline Conway. He had a particular way of thinking about things, and dealing with his situation, and Caroline's way of thinking about things and dealing with their situation bugged the hell out of him. I was weeping and writing one of their last scenes of the play together, when I suddenly realized, "I am Caroline Conway." It was frightening, actually.)

All that being a preface to what I'm actually blogging about today: that I have three plays going up this month, and all of them feature women characters. Or in the case of one, characters that can be played by women or men in any combination, as the director wishes. I'm rather pleased about this!

Kelly Owens as Detective Constance Connolly with Jesse David Perez as Detective Mario Garza in "Strong Voice" by EM Lewis, directed by Margo Gray, in the 2011 Alcyone Festival, Chicago, IL.

STRONG VOICE
"Strong Voice" opened on Sunday in Chicago, as part of Halcyon Theater's Alcyone Festival, directed by Margo Gray. The festival is always a showcase for work by women playwrights; this year, Halcyon commissioned five of us to write new plays that either adapted or riffed upon the work of particular women playwrights from 1870 or earlier. My play riffs upon the work of Hrosvitha -- the "strong voice" of Gandersheim. It's about a pair of Chicago police detectives who are investigating the case of a missing nun and a vandalized mosque in the wake of 9/11. It explores issues of faith and violence. And the story is spearheaded by Detective Constance Connolly, who is trying to find the lost nun, and Lucy Wallingstone, who is trying to come to terms with all that she and her fiance lost in 9/11.

Porter Kelly and Vyvy Nguyen as mother and daughter in "Drop-Off Day," written by EM Lewis and directed by Michael Shutt, in Moving Arts' "The Car Plays" at the 2011 Radar Festival in Los Angeles, CA.

DROP-OFF DAY
"Drop-Off Day" opens today in the Radar Festival, in Los Angeles, produced by Moving Arts, as part of a big, fabulous event called "The Car Plays." And yes, it is exactly what the title suggests: plays performed inside cars! To an audience of two people at a time! Each play is approximately ten minutes long, and you buy a "boulevard" of five -- moving in and out of each car, guided by a car hop, as the actors perform the play over and over again. This is the fourth year that Moving Arts has produced The Car Plays, and I've been part of them since their inception. Paul Stein was our artistic director at that time, and came up with them as a project that would bring us all together -- writers, directors and actors -- and allow our "homeless" state not to stop us from performing. They're great fun. And we're all honored that we were asked to perform the show as part of the Radar Festival, alongside theater-makers from all over, and to a large audience that's gathered to participate in the TCG Festival, the Hollywood Fringe Festival and Radar, which are all happening NOW in Los Angeles. (Which is, clearly, a theater town, wouldn't you say?) "Drop-Off Day" is about a woman who has been helping her daughter move into the dorm at USC for her first day of college, but now is finding it hard to drive away. It's directed by Michael Shutt, and features Porter Kelly as the mom and Vyvy Nguyen as the daughter.

A quote from the Imperial War Museum in London. In the corridor leading to the World War I and World War II exhibits.

THE WAR MUSEUM
"The War Museum" is brand new. Since I came to the east coast, for my playwriting fellowship, I've been looking for nice folks to make theater with. And Flux Theater in New York City is one of the groups I've become acquainted with. They have a mainstage show up right now called "Ajax in Iraq." And they do something I think is rather wonderful -- asking their playwrights to write short plays that riff on the themes of their mainstage show, and then do readings of those plays each week during the run. Even though I'm new, they asked me to play -- writing a short play for their "New World Iliads," ten to fifteen minutes long, that dealt with the war in Afghanistan as if it were seen from 2,000 years in the future, much as "Ajax in Iraq" deals with soldiers today and 2,000 years ago, simultaneously. We had a piece of art we could work from in our writing as well. An exciting challenge! Especially since I was in Chicago when I got the call, getting ready to open "Strong Voice." But I took an afternoon off, found a cafe that served good coffee, and scribbled fast. "The War Museum" is for four players, in any gender configuration. **2,000 years from now. This is the moment when everything changes. Vennah's looking for Meller. Meller's looking for answers. In the War Museum.** It was read on Sunday evening, alongside plays by Mac Rogers, Isaiah Tannenbaum and Aja Houston, and directed by Jordana Williams. Because I couldn't be there, I'm not sure which of the following actors were in it: Carissa Cordes, Ken Glickfeld, Lynn Kenny, Rob Maitner, Debargo Sanyal, and Kathleen Wise. But I'm sure some of them were women...

Hot off the press: "The War Museum" goes to NYC!

2011-06-11T09:55:00.000-07:00

Since I moved to Princeton, I've been trying to get to know the theatermakers in New York City, New Jersey and Philadelphia. One group I've connected with is the fantastic Passage Theater in Trenton, NJ. Another is Flux Theater in New York City.

A few days ago, the folks at Flux asked if I'd like to write a new short play for their "ForePlay" Reading Series -- plays written by ensemble members and friends to riff upon and support the mainstage show that is now in production. Even though I'm in Chicago at the moment for the opening of "Strong Voice," I said yes. Of course I said yes! I'm so pleased to have the chance to play!

If you're in New York City on Sunday, June 12 -- I hope you'll pop over and see the readings. They should be lots of fun. I rather like my little contribution!

THE WAR MUSEUM, by EM Lewis: 2,000 years from now. This is the moment when everything changes. Vennah's looking for Meller. Meller's looking for answers. In the War Museum.

FLUX THEATER ENSEMBLE'S FOREPLAY READING SERIES: NEW WORLD ILIADS

Sunday, June 12 · 7:00pm - 9:00pm

Flamboyan Theatre at CSV Cultural & Educational Center

107 Suffolk Street

______________________

Join us on June 12 for ForePlay #2, New World Iliads: Afghanistan

Featuring four short plays by Aja Houston, EM Lewis, Mac Rogers, and Isaiah Tanenbaum

Directed by Jordana Williams

Featuring: Carissa Cordes, Ken Glickfeld, Lynn Kenny, Rob Maitner, Debargo Sanyal, and Kathleen Wise

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FREE!

Join us for the second evening of ForePlay, our exploratory play reading series where playwrights riff on the themes of our mainstage production,

New World Iliads will take place on three nights with each night treating a contemporary war from a mythic perspective. In the same way that Ajax in Iraq re-imagines a war from thousands of years ago, New World Iliads will imagine what our contemporary wars may look like from the same distance: the gods, the heroes and villains; what details will be erased by time and what will remain? How will the art inspired by today's conflicts inform the myths of tomorrow?

That art is provided by Carrier Pigeon: Illustrated Fiction and Fine Art.

How it works: Carrier Pigeon has provided us with artwork for twelve collaborating playwrights use as source material.

We are excited that this second ForePlay will be inspired by art from Kristy Caldwell, the illustrator of our Season 4 postcards!

"Drop-Off Day" in The Car Plays at the Radar Festival!

2011-06-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

California to New Jersey in the click of a mouse!

So, my *other* world premiere play that's going up in June is DROP-OFF DAY, which will be part of Moving Arts' fun and fantastic returning production of The Car Plays. Our company has been invited to stage a new set of car plays for this year's Radar Festival, an international celebration of contemporary theater.

What is a car play, you ask? A car play is a ten-minute play, set in a car. A real car. Not a theater. When you purchase your ticket, you request a certain Road or Avenue or Boulevard -- each of which has five cars in it. During the course of an hour, ten audience members, in sets of two, will move from car to car, escorted by "car hops," until they have seen all five plays in their Street. You might be seated in the back seat, or you might be in the front. You might be watching an intimate front seat, post-date seduction or sit in on a car pool gone wrong or witness a carjacking from inches away. Anything can happen in a car!

In my car, you will see Barbara (played by Porter Kelly) dropping off her daughter Soo-Min (played by Vyvy Nguyen) at USC. It's drop-off day -- and this is the beginning of Soo-Min's first year of college. She's moving into the dorm. She's about to start her freshman year. Everything is ahead of her. But it's a little tough for both mom and daughter to say goodbye...

I used Skype to "sit in" on the first rehearsal with my actors and long time friend, colleague and director Michael Shutt last week. What fun to hear the play out loud for the first time! (Well, other than me saying it out loud to myself during the writing.)

I graduated from USC's Master of Professional Writing Program, then worked at the university for nine years -- so I witnessed a lot of real drop-off days. I hope I do this one justice.

This is the fourth year that I've participated in The Car Plays. I can't stop writing them, and luckily Moving Arts continues to produce them! It is a truly amazing and intimate way to see a play. Buy your ticket now. As you might imagine -- seating is limited!

Alcyone 2011 Blog Post, Part I

2011-05-29T17:28:00.000-07:00

Halcyon Theater Company: When It Comes to Supporting Women Playwrights, Their Actions Speak Loud

There has been a lot of talk lately about the number of productions women playwrights receive, versus our male counterparts. The numbers fall out at about 20% plays by women to 80% plays by men. It's a complex problem. Perhaps you've read something about it from the 50/50 in 2020 folks, or from the Los Angeles Female Playwrights Initiative, or by reading Todd London and Ben Pesner's book "Outrageous Fortune."

What I'd like to talk with you about today is a theater company in Chicago that is taking action, producing five world premieres of brand new plays by women playwrights in June and July, 2011. Halcyon Theater's Alcyone Festival is one of the boldest correctives to the dearth of productions of women's work I've heard about, and I am absolutely delighted to be one of the lucky participating playwrights.

Halcyon is run by Artistic Director Tony Adams and his wife, Associate Artistic Director Jenn Adams. This is their fifth season of production.

I met Tony and Jenn two years ago, when they produced my play "Heads" in Alcyone 2009. I remember being shocked to see their call for plays; the theme that year was Women Writing about Terrorism. And I was! I had. I flew out to Chicago to see the festival, and was tremendously impressed with the scope of Halcyon's vision. They produced six plays in that year's festival, by playwrights from around the world. Beautiful, bold plays. By women playwrights. It was exciting and it was exhilerating and it was PRODUCTIONS.

(May I take a moment, here, to explain that having a reading is to having a production like riding a tricycle is to driving a Mustang convertible on the Los Angeles freeways. I'll let you decide which experience taught me more about driving, required more of me as a driver, and took me farther, in all the best ways.)

I've kept in touch with my Halcyon friends since then, but was surprised and delighted when they contacted me, and asked if I wanted to take part in this year's Alcyone Festival. They were doing something different -- asking five of us, with whom they had worked in previous years, to rework, adapt, sample or remix the work of a woman playwright from 1850 or before. They couldn't afford to make it a commission -- but they would commit to producing what we wrote.

I said YES. ABSOLUTELY! YES!! And so did J. Nicole Brooks, Jennifer Fawcett, Coya Paz and Caridad Svich. Wrestling with the work of Hrosvitha, Pauline Hopkins, Charlotte Mary Sanford Barnes, Anna Cora Mowatt and Maria de Zaya y Sotomayor, respectively. If you haven't heard of any of them... well, that's part of the point. We are retrieving the female playwriting canon. We are speaking with our sisters across time and space. We are standing together to tell strong new stories for the stage. It's a festival of our own.

I can't wait to get to Chicago and see what my fellow playwrights have come up with, and see my own play come to life on Halcyon's stage. This has already been such a rich and rewarding challenge, just in the writing!

I'm hoping that you'll join me. I'd like to invite you to take part in this year's Alcyone Festival. How?

If you're in Chicago, please come and see the festival! Tickets are available here.
If you produce plays, and are curious about our adventures in adaptation, ask us for a copy of our work. I'm sure all of us playwrights would be glad to talk with you about future productions of these plays that started at the Alcyone Festival. E-mail Tony for our contact information, or feel free to contact us directly.
If you want to help Halcyon Theater to produce work by women playwrights, click here to make a donation. Every cent will go to making this festival happen -- and letting women's voices be heard. You have the power to tip the scale. YOU can make a difference.

Thank you for reading! And I hope to see you in Chicago!

**Next up, in Ellen's Alcyone 2011 Blog Post, Part II: Wrestling with our Forebears -- The Art of Adaptation! followed by Part III: STRONG VOICE -- Faith, Heroes and Boldness

Kurt Vonnegut, on storytelling...

2011-05-28T15:41:00.000-07:00

A short lecture (with chalkboard scribblings!) about the shape of stories by Kurt Vonnegut can be found HERE. I found it to be fantastic. Check it out!

Supporting Young Playwrights!

2011-05-22T20:53:00.000-07:00

The last couple months have allowed me two opportunities to support young playwrights in the making, one on each coast.

The first person who supported my writing (that I can remember) was Mrs. Berrum, my fourth grade teacher, who taped my first poem to the bulletin board on her wall, and left it up there all semester. But there have been a lot of people since then... mentors Ben Masselink and Lee Wochner, and a host of other folks who have supported me, produced my plays and encouraged my crazy compulsion to become a writer. (I should include my patient and wonderful family in this category!)

So! Given the opportunity to give back is a wonderful thing.

THE STATE STREET PROJECT AT PASSAGE THEATER -- TRENTON, NJ
Last month, I spent a day with the wonderful folks at Passage Theater from Trenton, NJ and a great group of kids from Emily Fisher Charter School. Passage's "The State Street Project" employs the "playmaking" model created by the 52nd Street Project in New York. One on one mentoring results in a ten-minute play written by each and every kid. This batch of plays are going up at Passage Theater on June 4-5, 2011. Check 'em out!

THE YOUNG PLAYWRIGHTS FESTIVAL AT THE BLANK THEATER -- HOLLYWOOD, CA
This is the third year I've participated in the Young Playwrights Festival, produced by the Blank Theater in Hollywood, CA -- but it's the nineteenth year that they've done it! I love the Blank -- they've done readings of a bunch of my plays in their Living Room Series, and produced the world premiere of my play Heads. Each of the twelve winning playwrights are assigned a mentor, who helps them through one rewrite/touch-up of their plays before they go up in full, star-studded productions that run throughout the month of June. The plays are great fun -- and you get a chance to encourage some really talented young writers. Go see it!

A Little Article about Agents in "The Dramatist"

2011-05-22T19:17:00.000-07:00

The March/April 2011 issue of "The Dramatist" -- the Journal of the Dramatist Guild of America -- is all about agents. "The Agents Issue" is an appropriate moniker, as the question of whether or not you need an agent to be a successful playwright in today's world is one that comes up regularly.

From "Agent Free" in the Mar/Apr 2011 issue of The Dramatist.

Writing from the "Agent Free" perspective, dramatists who are "surviving, even thriving without an agent."

Margaret Baldwin
Evan Guilford-Blake
EM Lewis
Matthew Bennett
Jeanne Drennan
Topher Payne
Valetta Anderson

"Starting Out" offers "personal tales from established dramatists about how they first signed with an agent... or came close to."

Michael Korie
Doug Wright
Micki Grant
Susan Birkenhead
Tina Howe
Craig Carnelia

Get your copy today!

"Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" moves from Chicago to DC...

2011-03-15T13:45:00.000-07:00

A nice interview here with director Pam McKinnon and actor (and playwright) Tracy Letts about the production of Edward Albee's "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" that has moved from its Chicago home at Steppenwolf to DC's Arena Stage.

Arena is doing a big celebration of Mr. Albee's work right now, with multiple productions and readings of his work. I'm thinking I might buy myself a ticket down there for my birthday -- because what a tremendous gift of a play his "Who's" is...