Emily Dickinson called her Amherst home “The Homestead.” I lovingly call my apartment in St. Louis the same thing (although I definitely get out more than Dickinson). This monthly newsletter is my attempt to work through what it feels like to put down roots as a writer in my own Homestead.
Writing three plays at once (an experiment)
I’ve found myself in a *scheduling moment* where I am, indeed, working on three plays at once. This is an experiment, something I’ve never tried in my writing practice, and it’s teaching me a great deal about how much creativity a mind can hold from month-to-month.
I wouldn’t be the first writer to say I believe we have a limited amount of creative energy in a single day. It’s a theory I’m convinced of, though I can’t prove it. For myself, my mind has about 5 hours of truly generative creative energy in a day, but only if the rest of the day is balanced (I’m such a baby). To write three plays at once—two of which are for correctional facilities with collaboration from inside/outside artists, and one is a full original—means I’m guarding that energy like a sentinel.
This kind of writing project juggling is something I’ve never done before. In graduate school, I certainly wrote multiple papers at once, but those felt…different. Those were methodical, similarly structured, and, if I ran out of things to say, I just had to go back to the literature. There was always a “strategy” for finishing an academic essay. It’s a little different with play writing.
There are a few things I’m learning from this busy playwriting season, and I wanted to share them here.
Ask for help. Last weekend, I brought my notebook to the bar (still sober, but I’m nonetheless a friend of the bar—shoutout to Greenfinch Theatre and Dive!) and sat with a few friends who were willing to help me brainstorm some character archetypes for one of the projects. The play is titled Gatsby of a Thousand Faces, a sort-of “response” to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. We were trying to come up with different “Gatsby” archetypes so that I could use them as characters in the play. It was a relief to have others help me with the generative aspects of building out a character list, which is sometimes the hardest part.
My notebook is always with me. I’m usually a daily notebook-carrier, but I’ve been doing it more this past month, trying to take advantage of any moment where I might have space to sketch out a scene or brainstorm an idea. I attended several STL Fringe shows this year, bringing my notebook along so that I could even make notes of ideas while sitting in the audience. I was shocked at how helpful this was—there’s relief in knowing that my faulty brain doesn’t have to hold everything.
Remembering that perfection is not for playwriting. Storytelling, character, and good jokes are more important than perfection. I’m not going for perfect; the goal is impact and interestingness. One of the things I love the most about this medium is that it defies perfectionism. Plays are generally better when they are a little scrappy and pock-marked. It’s good to always keep this truth close to my heart.
Deadlines for two of the plays are next month! The third play will be finished around mid-winter. Plate is full, but so is my writer’s heart. I’m proud to be doing the work.
Vows of Stability
I’ve lived in my St. Louis apartment (aka, The Homestead) for more than five years now. This number feels significant, like I’ve finally turned a corner in my relationship with the city. When I moved here, got divorced, and then found myself living alone for the first time in my life, something shifted. I went into nesting mode, newly attached to the thought of not only living here, but staying here.
My friend, the arts critic Calvin Wilson, passed away a few days ago. He used to always ask me when I was moving on to New York or Chicago, as if St. Louis were just a stop. This comment came from a place of encouragement, and it reflected some of Calvin’s own restlessness—he was anxious for the world to be better and for St. Louis arts to reach its potential. He and I used to get together occasionally for coffee. He’d tell me his opinions about what plays he’d seen recently, equally grumbling and raving, his mind clearly hungry for something to be the best it could possibly be. And I’d sit there and listen, challenging him when I felt the need but mostly listening and having a coffee. I’ll miss those visits.
He was always surprised when I said I’d put down my roots in St. Louis. I’ve surprised myself, too, with that decision. The world is large; there are so many places to call home. Why stay here? (Well, why not?)
One of my favorite aspects of religious vocations of many nuns and monks are their “Vows of Stability”—the vow to live in one place and one community for the long haul. Some take it so far as to never leave the enclosure of their monastery. For me, a Vow of Stability means seeing what gifts arise in making a real home somewhere.
One gift? Noticing when certain flowers return.
This is a bush that regrows behind my apartment every year. I’ve gotten to the point where I know it’s coming, so I carefully weed-eat around it so it has room to grow into a natural mound. I never clip its vines because I’ve learned they are delicate enough to shrivel and melt away when the cold comes. It’s called Clematis virginiana, or “Devil’s Darning Needle.” It has other names, too—like Love Vine or Virgin’s Bower. I like the sound of Devil’s Darning Needle, though. It’s descriptive and invites curiosity (after all, what is the devil darning? his socks?).
What strikes me is that it took me five years to learn its name(s). I observed it and encouraged it, but I never took the time to identify it. It takes time to see things, to learn their true names. This is one of the gifts of stability: finally remembering your manners and making an introduction.
What I’m Reading this Month…
Beverly Buchanan: Marsh Ruins by Amelia Groom. My new obsession is environmental art that’s meant to decay alongside the landscape. I learned about the artist Beverly Buchanan from this New York Times article. Modern art made of concrete is my new personality.
Work: How to Find Joy and Meaning in Each Hour of the Day by Thich Nhat Hanh. I picked this up from the library in the midst of a book haul on Buddhism. This book is good for me. When I’m working, I am a goblin. I would prefer to be a Buddha.
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. I’m pretty sure I included this book in my last Letters from the Homestead, but it’s the kind of text you read over a whole year. In reading it, I’ve found I’m most interested in the entries in the second half of the book (after she finishes college). Yes, they are darker, but they’re wiser, too.
The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume III (1939-1944). I started reading the diaries of Anaïs Nin during the pandemic. They are scattered, poetic, obscure—everything you would expect from a mid-century artist who cut out all of her romantic escapades from her journals in order to highlight her work as a writer. I never get tired of these diaries.
How I Made Money this Month $$$
I believe freelance artists should be more upfront about how they support themselves financially, rather than maintaining the illusion that they are fully supported by their art (they usually aren’t). This is me attempting to live out that principle. So, here are all the ways I brought in money to the Homestead for the month of August.
Teaching artist work for Prison Performing Arts. Teaching a weekly writing workshop and gearing up to teach Spoken Word regularly in some new facilities.
Compiling/editing an anthology for PPA. It’s been fun to put on my editorial hat and collect/arrange short pieces for a printed anthology. These anthologies will be available by mid-September.
Playing piano for a local Catholic middle school’s chapel service. I’m learning to play a lot of gospel tunes!
Facilitating online graduate literature courses. Every day I’m grading, grading, grading.
Faulty airbag factory reimbursement check! Thanks to Dad for figuring this out for me! ❤️
Paid Substack subscriptions. Thank you to all of my paid subscribers. It means the world to me that you make a financial contribution to my work. I know I’ve been slow on sending out my Secret Letters. I’m grateful for your support nonetheless, even when I’m in a busy season.
This month, the Homestead was a cat sanctuary.
And it was pretty great. My parents left their two elderly cats with me while they ventured out on a wild and glorious road trip to Canada. The kitties went home towards the end of this month, and I miss them.
How and ever, Midge is very happy to be an only child once more.
Tonight starts a new month. Autumn is coming. 🍂
Yours ever & etc., etc.,
Courtney, Mistress of the Homestead, and Noble Midge the Cat 🐈⬛