Things for Aspiring Christian Playwrights and Screenwriters to Think On

In addition to being an actress, I'm also an aspiring screenwriter/playwright, and I've often mulled over the quandaries we Christian writers face. A while back, I asked my devout actor/screenwriter friend about choosing characters around which to center our stories. For example, are we believers justified in writing about persons (say, historical figures) who led lives of sin, but repented at the end? Should we automatically rule out subjects because their lives were less than exemplary if they were eventually redeemed? I want to write things which will delight my audiences while teaching subtle lessons as well, and my friend's advice was so excellent that I decided to share it with my fellow Christian writers out there; it ties in with what he told me about playing less-than-moral  characters. 

1. - The question you must ask is: "What is the reason for telling the story?" If you're glamorizing the character's bad deeds and tacking on the lesson at the end half-heartedly, that's not okay. Characters can and should have flaws because no one was perfect (except Jesus, of course, and his Mother Mary), and besides, perfect characters aren't very relatable or interesting to audiences. However, you don't want to make your audiences fall in love with characters who are ultimately evil - as my friend so aptly put it, "you have to remember that audiences are most vulnerable in a dark theater." You have to guide their emotions in a manner which will lead them to the truth, not to evil. Is your end goal to do that, or to show evil (as something to be avoided), or to inspire caution? All of these are fine intentions; to conclude, the best tales are those which sink deep into your mind and heart, causing you to ruminate over them, and which ultimately draw you to truth.

2. - When it comes to determining if certain historical characters or classic books are worthy subjects  (especially if the persons are very flawed but you do have a duty to tell the tale truthfully),
the key point to consider is: does it ultimately lead people to God? If so, it's worth telling. Cautionary tales are good, for example, and it's just fine to simply entertain people; a deep theme isn't required. As long as the story doesn't offend God, you're good.

3. - Things which offend God (which we ought to steer clear of): sin that can't be faked (e.g., profanity, nudity) versus those that can (murder, stealing, etc.). If you portray the virtue as good and  the sin (either simulated or implied) as evil, you're okay.

And there you have it, my friends. Pick up yours pens and create true beauty - my prayers go with you.

Image: Straying Thoughts by Edmund Blair Leighton (1913)

Advice for Christian Actors and Actresses

Here's a little wisdom which a devoutly Christian actor/screenwriter friend shared with me about playing evil characters (because the baddies are necessary, otherwise there would be no one with whom to contrast the virtuous hero). These are two important requirements for playing unsavory persons.

1. - The characters' evil deeds aren't glorified, but portrayed truthfully as sinful (an example of this is the cautionary tale).

2. - If the sin in question is something which can be simulated/implied (e.g., lying, murder), you're okay. Things which can't be faked (like taking the Lord's name in vain, using curse words, or appearing naked) should be avoided. To which I add: the audience isn't stupid - they understand implied actions, and it's much more powerful to hint at something and let them fill in the blanks rather than fling it all in their faces, which insults their intelligence. Besides, if you ever want to leave the acting business, get married, and settle down, do you really want to have to explain your immoral acting choices to your kids? If you truly want to serve as an example of a devout follower of Christ and as a virtuous person overall, take care to avoid those roles now, and you'll save yourself embarrassment then. And even if you say, "it's not me, it's the character," ultimately you're the one doing the action, and thus you're responsible. Walk in the way of truth; the best thing to do if you're confused about a role is to pray, and talk it over with firm Christians you trust. Faith and good counsel will see you through.

The stage is set, the cameras are rolling, and you're on - light up the stage and screen with the radiance of God's love!

Image: Edwin Booth (actor and brother to John Wilkes Booth) as Iago in Othello by Thomas Hicks (circa 1864)

True Beauty

One morning several weeks ago, I was reading Magnificat (a daily Mass devotional), and in the Year of Mercy issue I found a wonderful passage which I thought my fellow creative souls would enjoy. It's by the Christian singer Audrey Assad.

Artists are deep - sea divers in search of a pearl to enjoy and display: whether or not an artist recognizes the ocean as the divine mercy of God does not change the fact that it is so. The mercy of God in art is apparent in the fact that our work may be imperfect or lazy or even bad - and yet there is something mystical in all art, because those who make it are looking beyond what is visible to communicate something invisible. 
It is an immutable reality that we live in a state of yearning. Art reflects that perhaps most poignantly, because the very act of creating it is a search: and in listening, we search to encounter ourselves, and perhaps there we may encounter God and his divine mercy. 

I love this - it warms my heart. It reminds me of a quote from Dostoyevsky's The Idiot which Pope John Paul II used in his Letter to Artists: "Beauty will save the world." When we artists search for beauty to refashion, we inevitably find the Source of True Beauty. We serve a God who cherishes us, who's our closest friend - may we always remember that, and may we continually fix our eyes upon His kind face, full of eternal affection for His children, to whom He says, "You are precious in my eyes and honored, and I love you" (Isaiah 43:4). May we revel in His lavish love and be perpetually joyful emissaries of His burning passion for the world in all our works of art.

Image: Madonna and Child with Lamb by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1893)

Lydia Bennet's Elopement

According to the supposed chronology for Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice which sets the tale in 1811, Lydia Bennet eloped with the villainous Wickham on August 1st, at midnight (by this time the next morning Colonel and Mrs. Forster would have discovered her flight and his letter to the Bennets would be on its way). My current work-in-progress tells her tale; I've had a liking for this saucy young lady since I first saw the BBC miseries adaptation the summer I was twelve. Lydia's ebullience captivated me, and I've often wondered how her life with Wickham turned out, so I've decided to put pen to paper (rather, fingers to computer keyboard) and discover the truth of what really was going on in her flighty head. To commemorate the occasion of her elopement, here's an excerpt from my untitled story (I've set the first several chapters in 1796 - since I suppose P&P to be set in the late 18th century, when Austen first drafted it - and they describe how Lydia fell for Wickham and married him; the rest tells her fate, which I shan't unfold now). By this point, she's interpreted his flirtations as indications of love for her and it all comes to a head on a pleasant day in Brighton. Note: the coral necklace mentioned is one which Wickham has bought for her, and she's purchased a three-volume copy of Fielding's Tom Jones because he recommended it.

The next day (a sunny first of August), Harriet and Lydia returned from a morning sea bathing excursion to find the Colonel, Denny (with a pretty young lady named Miss Bailey), and Wickham awaiting them for a stroll about town. The three couples fell into step behind one another; the Colonel naturally took precedence, Denny and his companion followed, and Lydia and Wickham brought up the rear.

Wickham began, “You have been sea bathing, I take it?”

“Aye.”

“I would say the salt air heightens your loveliness, but such a thing is impossible - you are perfection itself.”

“Thank you,” she replied, blushing prettily. “It was delicious indeed.”

“Have you enjoyed your time here?”

“Oh, yes - who can ever be tired of Brighton?”

“I agree, it is a fine place, but unfortunately I must leave.”

Startled, she gasped. “What? When? Why?”

“Tonight, at twelve; my finances are such that I think it prudent to depart town in order to arrange them.”

He can’t leave me - I adore him! “Take me with you!” she blurted out. “I shall be miserable else.”

He stopped, paused, then said in a tender tone, “Do you care for me?”

“Aye - over the past weeks I have fallen in love with you.”

“Then come along, dearest; there is no other lady in Brighton whose society pleases me more than yours.”

“You . . . love me?”

“Yes.”

Her spirits fluttered wildly, and she leaned in, yearning to kiss him right there on the street, but he stopped her, glancing at the couples ahead (who were too deep in their own conversations to observe them).

Gently, he restrained her. “No, Lydia, not here - no one must know. Wait till tonight.”

She smiled at his use of her Christian name.

“Very well, George. Where shall we be married?”

He seemed concerned for a moment, then answered, “Gretna Green. Don’t pack much - you won’t require a change of clothes, but bring a book or two to while away the journey.”

“I'll bring Tom Jones with me; it's been great fun.”

“Excellent. I have no doubt our marriage will be as happy as that of Tom and Sophia.”

“Indeed!” she laughed.

She excused herself from attending a ball at the Old Ship Inn with the Forsters, complaining of a “sudden violent head ache,” and at a quarter past eleven, she was ready, having stuffed the four books and her journal in her snow-colored silk reticule embroidered with small yellow and red flowers. She’d then donned her white striped dimity gown, the coral necklace, of course, a new rose-coloured satin spencer, a straw hat trimmed with rose-coloured ribbons, and her sturdy boots (it was sure to be muddy in Scotland). Now, she decided, I ought to leave Harriet a letter to tell her where I’m bound - she will surely be delighted for me!

She giggled at the thought, then, snatching a piece of paper from the desk nearby, she picked up the quill and began to scribble hastily, chuckling all the while.

My dear Harriet,

You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater when I write to them and sign my name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing.

The pen shook with her mirth; she tightened her grip. “I had better tell her to apologise to Pratt,” she remarked to herself.

Pray make my excuses to Pratt, for not keeping my engagement and dancing with him to night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure.

“And then about my clothes, and that slit I got in my gown the other night at that assembly when poor Chamberlayne trod on the hem (he was tipsy, I’m sure) -”

I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are packed up. Good bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.

Your affectionate friend,

Lydia Bennet

No sooner had she crossed the t of her surname than she heard a carriage stop at the door. Her heart raced as she dropped the pen, caught up her reticule, and dashed downstairs, out the door, and into her beloved’s arms, squealing, “My angel!”

She thought she’d surely swoon when his lips met hers. Once they’d had done, she sighed. “I can’t wait to be your wife, George. Let us go!”

He smiled. “Of course, darling.”

After helping her into the chaise, he seated himself next to her and called to the driver, “Make haste!” As the carriage lurched into motion, George pulled her close and she shut her eyes, nestling herself under his arm to dream of Scotch anvils for wedding bells.

Image: A screencap from the 1995 miniseries, with Julia Sawalha as Lydia. Source: cap-that.com

Fabulous News!!!

My third book, Ladies of the Stage: Classical Monologues for Girls, has hit the virtual shelves of Amazon this very day. From notable moments in history, great literature, and timeless plays, I've culled a collection of solo speeches for auditions and performances. If you know a young lady who has aspirations to the stage or screen, this is for her.  Buy it now! :)

Ladies of the Stage: Classical Monologues for Girls

A Bit of Wilde for the Weekend

Just for fun,  I thought I'd share one one of my favorite poems by Oscar Wilde (it's called Serenade, it was written in 1881 and it's included in A Book of Beauty for Girls).
By the way, I found this version on bartleby.com (they have loads of poetry).

Helen of Troy by the English
Pre-Raphaelite painter Evelyn De Morgan - 1898.

                             

THE western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark Ægean sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,	5
The watchman sleeps within the town,
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O Lady mine come down, come down!
She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover’s vows she hath no care,	10
And little good a man can tell
Of one so cruel and so fair.
True love is but a woman’s toy,
They never know the lover’s pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy	15
Must love in vain, must love in vain.
O noble pilot tell me true
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?	20
Good sailor come and tell me now
Is that my Lady’s lily hand?
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
Or is it but the silver sand?
No! no! ’tis not the tangled dew,	25
’Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
It is my own dear Lady true
With golden hair and lily hand!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,	30
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!
The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,	35
O Lady mine away! away!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
O loved as only loves a boy!
O loved for ever evermore!

A Most Auspicious Day!

Today is the great William Shakespeare's 400th birthday, and my 21st. In celebration of the Bard's natal day,  I'm posting a few of my favorite quotes!

Sonnet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments, love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come,
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

(So beautiful.)

Sonnet 146
Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth,
My sinful earth these rebel powers array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms inheritors of this excess
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then soul live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more,
So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And death once dead, there's no more dying then.

(I memorized this in fifth grade - good memories.) 

Juliet's Soliloquy from Act 3, Scene 2 
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. 

(This is one of my favorite audition pieces - though I consider Romeo and Juliet to be a pair of lustful teens, I don't dislike their lovely speeches, especially this one; the analogies are exquisite).

Kate's Final Soliloquy from Act 5, Scene 2 of The Taming of the Shrew
Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband's foot:
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready; may it do him ease.

(I dislike misogynistic interpretations of this show - this speech does not advocate spineless submission! Kate has learned that love means supporting the other and seeking their good, out of love. That's my belief of what the Bard was trying to express - he was not a cynical woman-hater.)

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
- The Countess in All's Well That Ends Well
(I try to live by this.)

Happy Birthday, Will!! Long may you continue to delight us!!! :)