Thursday, August 22, 2013

You Already Suck




In my writing classes, on occasion, a student will not bring in an assignment because they didn’t like what they wrote. “It sucked.” It’s a lame excuse. It’s a class. You’re there to hopefully move from “suck” to “not suck.” If students brought in awesome scenes every week, I would not have a job. There’s also the consideration that, as a writer, you aren’t ever fully aware of what you wrote. You’re too close to it and need the outside perspective of fresh ears and eyes to help you distinguish the good from the not-so-good. Quite often, what a student thinks is brilliant, isn’t, and what they didn’t even regard as being an insightful, hilarious moment, is.

I know a thing or two about sucking. I have written pieces that have sucked the energy out of the room. I have written sketches that make people want to stand up and stretch afterward to try to work out the charley horse my words inflicted on their souls. As a teacher, I have witnessed scenes that make me want to hit people in the head with a stick. Yes. You will write things that suck. Pure and simple. You will also write things that make people squeal with delight and wish they had your fancy writer brains. And while you are writing you will almost always think you suck. You can’t help it. It’s an automatic human defense mechanism kicking in to help you avoid danger. Your mind is wrong, of course. Eating the large wheels of cheese of sharing poor writing will not kill you. And, more often than not, the horrible thing you wrote will help lead you to the next awesome thing you will write.

You are a conduit to many wonderful and humorous ideas. You’re only job is to keep that channel open so you can process those ideas into marvelous scripts. In order to do that, you also have to be willing to deal with the crap that floats through that system as well. Never let “It sucked” jam up the conduit.

When I hear someone say, “It sucked” they are really expressing the fear that they suck. They shouldn’t be writing. They are in the wrong place. If I don’t present the evidence of sucking, then maybe people won’t catch on that I actually do suck. This will get you nowhere. You won’t be able to wait until you don’t suck to write the good stuff. The only way out is through. Write. Write anyway. You already suck.  Embrace it and give up hope of not sucking. Fretting about it only keeps you from writing freely. Give it up. You suck. Now write.

This clip from HBO’s amazing mini-series Band of Brothers explains it better than I just did, because, well, I suck.



Tuesday, August 20, 2013

More Quimby's Fun Coming Up





Quimby’s Bookstore

1854 West North Avenue
Chicago IL 60622
773/342-0910
www.quimbys.com


Joe Janes and Friends Present Staged Readings From
Seven Deadly Plays at Quimby’s

In Joe Janes’s new book Seven Deadly Plays (Lulu Press, inc), he assembles seven plays he wrote that are set in dangerous places in and around Chicago. All the plays were written in one week and then presented at Strawdog Theatre in the summer of 2012. The locations include a speedboat on Lake Michigan, an urban farm in Englewood, the abandoned Damen Silos, a haunted cemetery, a fun house, up in a big tree and Lower Wacker. The approach was similar to how many 24-Hour projects are constructed. Directors and casts were predetermined. Janes visited each site and then wrote a play that day which was submitted to the director and actors the following morning. The first group had six days to prep their play. The last group had the day of opening night to get ready.  The result was a dynamic mix of comedy and drama in some very unusual settings.

"silly, bizarre, violent, and provocative...the pieces showcase Janes's willingness to take risks of all kinds." - Chicago Reader on 50 Plays

Joe Janes is an Emmy award winning writer and former stand-up who teaches comedy writing at The Second City and Columbia College. He has written for Jellyvision's "You Don't Know Jack" and SNL's "Weekend Update." He has written three books: 365 Sketches, 50 Plays and Seven Deadly Plays. His full-length plays include Metaluna and the Science of the Mind Revue, A Hard Day's Journey Into Night and Always Never. He writes regularly for WNEP Theatre and Robot vs Dinosaur. He has been a director for Second City for over ten years including directing the national touring company and Second City main stages in Las Vegas and Detroit.

For more info: joejanes.blogspot.com or e-mail joejanes1065@gmail.com


Saturday, September 21st, 7pm – Free Event
Quimby’s Bookstore  Chicago, IL quimbys.com






Monday, August 19, 2013

Game. Stop.



Last Friday was a little fundraiser for the next installment of Seven Deadly Plays in the basement of The Abbey Pub.  Everyone did such a fine job. The storytellers rocked, Blood Oath delivered some damn fine improv comedy, Cassie and her crew capped the evening nicely with a staged reading. Elisa provided some amazing ticket giveaways for Abbey Pub shows and Don Hall and I devised some fun ways for people to win those tickets. Instead of a raffle, we decided to have people compete in short improv games. Everyone who played won something. Good times.

In honor of the event, I wrote a short play for the space we were in similar to how the Seven Deadly Plays were written. On Thursday afternoon, I met with director Michael Carnow and we checked out the place. There were coats on a long rack along one wall, which is also the area we were going to use to perform. They asked if they should move the coats and we excitedly said "No!" The coats were left behind by people who forget them and never came back for them. Some of them have been there since winter. If you read the play below, you'll find out what Michael and I discovered amongst the coats.

Below is the piece I wrote for Carnow and his crew. I started writing it at 5:45pm Thursday, taught a class, finished it up at home, went to bed, got up and polished it some more and sent it off to everyone at 8:15am Friday.

I worked with them last year on the Damen Silos piece which, if you haven't seen it, is quite serious and a little gut wrenching. I was determined to deliver a comedy to them with some fun stuff for them to do as an alternative.

And here it is...


"Game Stop"
Written by Joe Janes
8/16/13

Cast:
Barbra (Rebecca Loesser)
J.J. (Chris Waldron)
Moose (Erika Geller)
Dave Kitsberg (audience member)

(Lights up on J.J. working the coat check at The Bottom Bar. Moose, a woman, is behind the bar.)

J.J.
Welcome to The Bottom. I’m J.J.. I’ll take your coat and at the end of the night, you’ll throw me a buck or two if you’re not a jerk. People come here to sand off the edges of the day, meet someone, and put some new edges on the night. Sometimes they fall in love. Not the fireworks and harp strings kind of love. More like the screeching tires and breaking dishes kind. Moose behind the bar will keep the evening’s gears greased for you. How are you doing tonight, Moose?

MOOSE
Rent is due, I ate a gyro too fast and my panties keep riding up my crack.

J.J.
That’s Moose.

MOOSE
And my cat died.

J.J.
Sorry to hear about Mr. Fucker.

MOOSE
Drowned himself in his own water bowl.

J.J.
Your cat committed suicide?

MOOSE
Yep. Mr. Fucker cashed in his own chips and I don’t know why. I hate it when they don’t leave a note.

J.J.
This is The Bottom. During the slow times, I like to go through your pockets. I don’t steal nothing. I’m just a curious creature. (J.J. reaches into the pocket of a coat and takes a nametag out.) Hmmm... Lookie here. (He puts it on someone in the audience.) For all intents and purposes, from now and for the next ten minutes, you shall be known as Dave Kitsberg, GameStop store manager. (J.J. returns to his station at the coat check.) Not sure I’d want to be in your shoes, tonight. (Barbra enters and with very little energy and enthusiasm hands him her coat and sighs.) Sheesh, Barbra. Looks like you should have stayed in bed.

BARBRA
I tried, J.J.. It just reminds me of him too much. It smells like him. I need to drag my bed out to the alley on trash day.

J.J.
Or you could do laundry.

BARBRA
That's not an option. Some day. Some day I’ll do laundry. (She sniffs her blouse.) Right now, I just need to forget.

J.J.
You picked a bad night.

(She looks at him quizzically. He indicates with his head that Dave Kitsberg is sitting not far from there. She looks with a mix of hurt and disgust.)

BARBRA (to J.J.)
Who's the harlot?

J.J.
I don't know. Ain't never seen her before. Don't go doing anything stupid.

BARBRA
Thirty-three years too late for that advice, J.J..

J.J.
Then don't do anything stupid while sober. Go see Moose.

BARBRA
Maybe I will.

(Barbra walks over to the bar while giving the evil eye to Dave Kitsberg and his date. Moose is behind the bar cleaning glasses.)

MOOSE
Hey, Barbra.

BARBRA
Is he looking at me?

MOOSE
Is who looking at you?

BARBRA
Dave Kitsberg. The store manager at GameStop.

MOOSE
Yeah. He's looking at you.

BARBRA
Does he look forlorn?

MOOSE
Does he look what?

BARBRA
Does he look like he’s eating a pork chop but wishes he had ordered the prime rib that just walked by?

MOOSE
He's kind of smirking a bit. Does forlorn look like smirking?

BARBRA
Pour me a double, Moose.

(Moose pours two shots.)

BARBRA
You could have put them in the same glass.

MOOSE
I thought double meant you wanted the same thing twice.

BARBRA
Never mind. (She does one of the shots and swings around to glare at Dave Kitsberg. She belches loudly and turns back to the bar with a flourish.)

BARBRA
I didn't mean to do that.

MOOSE
It sounded awesome.

(She picks up the other shot and walks toward Dave.)
  

BARBRA
Oh, hello, Dave Kitsberg. I didn't see you there. Is this your date? You’re quite lovely. (To Dave's date or whoever is sitting next to him. Fine if it's a guy, too.) Do things feel like they are going in slow motion to you, honey? Because that's what usually happens to me when I'm in an accident. The accident you are now in with Dave Kitsberg as your heart collides with his arrogant manhood. His big, handsome, rugged arrogant hood of man. (She does the shot.) I was going to throw this in your face, Dave Kitsberg, but even cheap booze isn't good enough for you.

(As much as she tries to suppress it, a burp still comes out. J.J. walks over with his coat.)

J.J.
Barbra, maybe you should get some air.

BARBRA
Maybe I should have gotten some air instead of stopping in to GameStop that night to trade in my Halo3. GameStop. (She laughs) Get it? Maybe you should stop the games, Dave Kitsberg. Do you remember what you said to me when I walked into your precious little store? Do you, Dave? Say it!

DAVE
.....

BARBRA
So fucking smooth. A woman doesn’t stand a chance with you, saying things like “......” while wearing your red GameStop polo shirt, your muscles rippling just beneath the cotton/poly blend. The way you walked in front of me and reached for the top shelf for my game. Presenting your butt to me. That butt! (To his date) Have you sunk your teeth into that, yet? Like bobbing for two big crisp apples on an ocean wave. You knew what you were doing the whole time. Luring me in. Setting a trap with your masculine wiles. Stop the games, Dave Kitsberg. Like the ones you played with my affection when you put your game cartridge into my XBox. He played for hours. He really knows his way around a woman’s controller. X-Y-B-B-A, X-Y-B-B-A, X-Y-B-B-A (She almost has an orgasm). And then you just tossed me aside like a used up Red Redemption and hooked up with whatever trashy shoot’em up came along.

(Moose walks over with two more shots and hands one to Barbra.)


J.J.
What are you doing?

MOOSE
This is getting good.

MOOSE
L’chaim.

(Barbra does one of the shots, burps, and Moose does the other.)

J.J.
Look, Dave. It's none of my business. I'm just a lowly coat checker. But I see you in here with a different beautiful girl on your arm every night of the week.

MOOSE
Of course you do, he’s the manager of a GameStop.

BARBRA
Every night?

J.J.
Every night.

MOOSE
Wait. You work coat check every night? Seven nights a week?

J.J.
Yes.

MOOSE
Your life sucks.

J.J.
I know. My point is, Dave Kitsberg, that when you and Barbra got together, I thought, maybe, just maybe. Maybe she'd be the one that would make you want to fall in love and settle down. She's a good woman. She deserves the best. That's why whenever she checks her coat with me, I put it near the front on a wooden hanger. I make sure it has room to breathe and isn't crowded by some over perfumed mink or some tobacco stinking overcoat.

BARBRA
You do that for me?

(He nods.)

MOOSE
I give you free drinks.

BARBRA
I don’t pay for my drinks?

MOOSE
I've never seen you pay and I don't push it. It's okay. I like the light you get in your eyes when you're tipsy.

BARBRA
That's so nice.

MOOSE
One time you were so drunk, I had to hold your hair for you while you ralphed in the urinal.

BARBRA
I don't remember that.

J.J.
I do. I wiped the vomit off your scarf and put you in a cab.

BARBRA
What do you know? I guess, I never saw the people who really care about me. Hear that, Dave Kitsberg? There are people who really care about me. I don’t need you. I never needed you. I'm sorry I interrupted. You and your harlot have a lovely evening. (To the harlot) If he tells you he can get you five free games a week, he's a liar.

J.J.
Do you want your jacket?

REBECAA
No, I do not. Please put it somewhere where it won’t smell like Dave Kitsberg or (sniffs Dave’s date) plums and toothpaste. Moose, start pouring.

MOOSE
I’ll get right on that.

(Moose gets behind the bar and pours another shot. Barbra follows.)

BARBRA
I don’t need a man like Dave Kitsberg tracking mud through my life. I have friends, right here. Moose and J.J.. I’m going to drink until I puke. Then J.J. is going to take me home and if I’m too drunk to make love to, just lie to me and tell me you did. Okay?

J.J.
We’ll not do it all night long.

BARBRA
Okay, then.  

J.J.
Well, Dave Kitsberg. Looks like she’s moving on. How do you do it, man? How do you have all these women and some men fawning all over you? What’s your secret?

DAVE
...

J.J.
I think I know what she’s going through. I find myself loving and hating you, too. (He heads back to his station and carefully hangs up Barbra’s coat.) This is The Bottom. Where people come to forget and make new memories that they will also try to forget.

BARBRA (Holds up glass.)
Fuck Dave Kitsberg.

(She drinks and belches. Blackout.)

Thursday, August 8, 2013


Click HERE for more info!

3 Days. 3 Plays. An Intense Writing Intensive


Get Off On Your Ass And Write!

3 Plays. 3 Days.
@ Gorilla Tango Theatre Chicago[Bucktown]
1919 N. Milwaukee Ave.
Chicago, IL 60647
3 Plays. 3 Days. - an intense writing intensive with Joe Janes. In three days, participants will learn how to write improvisationally, ultimately generating three ten-minute plays. Each student will have one of their plays performed in a staged reading on the third day by some of Chicago's finest actors. Some writing experience is recommended. Class size is limited to 7. PLEASE NOTE: Class runs Friday 9/6 from 4-7 pm; Saturday 9/7 from 12 - 6 pm; Sunday 9/8 from 12-6 pm followed by a public reading at 7 pm ($5 tickets for friends and family may be purchased via gorillatango.com). Joe Janes is an Emmy award winning writer who teaches comedy writing at The Second City and Columbia College. He has written for Jellyvision's "You Don't Know Jack" and SNL's "Weekend Update." He has written three books: 365 Sketches, 50 Plays and Seven Deadly Plays. His full-length plays include Metaluna and the Science of the Mind Revue, A Hard Day's Journey Into Night and Always Never. He writes regularly for WNEP Theatre and Robot vs Dinosaur.

Monday, August 5, 2013

3 Days. 3 Plays.


"3 Days. 3 Plays. An Intense Writing Intensive with Joe Janes"

Get off your ass and write. A lot. My workshop will be September 6, 7 and 8. You will write three ten-minute plays. The weekend will be capped off Sunday night with a staged reading featuring some of Chicago's finest actors under my direction. $200. Only a few slots left.

For more information or to sign-up, go to...

http://www.gorillatango.com/cgi-bin/public/gttv2.cgi?location_number=2&class_id=90