written by Toksvig
CANCELLED!
We're not gathering on August 4th after all, since there didn't seem to be enough demand for this, and we are all about giving writers the support they want.
However! We are rethinking how to make this event work for you, so give us a shout about that if you have any thoughts.
Have a look at this blog post on why it’s okay to share your ideas, and this YouTube video on having lots of ideas.
Twitter #ideaslab
Tuesday, 2 July 2013
Why it’s okay to share your ideas for shows
written by Toksvig
Under English law, you cannot copyright an idea, and there’s a reason for that.
If ideas were limited under copyright, we would still be using the very first knife and fork ever conceived. Made of dinosaur bone.
Actually, to truly understand why it’s important that ideas should be free, we need to look at the concept of ‘the artist’s voice’.
Here’s an idea for a show: a story based on a fairy tale.
They’re popular stories. It’s a great place to go for solid narrative. But let’s be more specific: a story based on Cinderella. Or even more specific: a story from the point of view of the Fairy Godmother type character.
How about this: a story from the point of view of the Fairy Godmother if she were a man in his seventies who lives in a house-share in London.
That’s pretty specific. Here’s mine:
“The Fairy Godmother lives in a retirement home for Olde Magickals, with the last two generations of Tooth Fairy and the no longer quite so wicked Witch of the West. As pets, they keep a couple of aging werewolves with no teeth left. They decide to go out on one last Magickal fling which goes horribly wrong.”
And here are some great responses I got from my storytelling friends. Who got wonderfully carried away:
“Fairy godmother feels put-upon, unappreciated, tired, old and dreams of escape - Cinderella provides that escape.”
“A dance musical where the ghost of Rudolf Nureyev returns to a squat in Clapton, somehow still with access to his millions, and reinvents the dance world with random acts of kindness.”
“The Fairy Godmother plans to open a factory in a small, struggling village that promises the women of the town the makeover they've always wanted - but she dies before her idea can come to fruition , leaving the plan to her would-be successor and her adopted son, a nuclear-active orphan.”
“Cinderella's wicked stepmother Kelly-Anne had stolen Austin's memories once she found him in bed with her new husband. (It's the back story, you can fill in how the fairy godmother ended up in a house share in London.)”
"He's actually been the the fairy godmother of the prince's family for ages, has recently become concerned about inbreeding with all of the available princesses, so he's going a different direction for the happily ever after this time."
"Gerald sighed, easing out of his wig and stilettos after the third christening this week."
"The fairy godmother desperately wants to be the godfather, so by night, dons a sharp suit and sticks cotton wool in his gums then buys cannoli. Lots of cannoli. And tells Cinderella she should buy a hotel in Vegas."
"The fairy godmother shares the 14 floor apartment with the bitter and resenting ghosts of all the wishes that went wrong. Each have a musically complicated story to tell with particular emphasis on the aesthetics of failure."
"The Fairy Godmother knows his time is coming when his magic will fade and his body will die. He's looking for a way to explain himself to posterity so sits down to write the story of Cinderella: we are soon unsure if the story is really his own memory or just a fantasy he's spinning to protect himself from remembering who he really is."
"The Fairy Godmother has withdrawn from the wish granting business because he feels he has been contributing to the endless cycle of consumerism driven by media-inflamed wanting and wishing; he has broken his wand and follows a meditative practice of non-attachment. But he discovers that he has unwittingly caused the death of hope - the universe slides toward its end in lukewarm entropy because there are no wishes to push anyone forward. He realizes he must take up his wand once more and start putting girls in pretty dresses and glass shoes, or the advancement of humankind and all of creation will cease."
The existence of the artist’s voice means that no two stories will ever be told in the same way.
It’s the reason Shakespeare’s plays have endured: they’ve been reinterpreted by thousands of unique artists.
So the first reason why it’s okay to share your idea for a show is this: no-one else could possibly write the same show you would write.
In the 1999-2000 season on Broadway, two different adaptations of Joseph Moncure March’s poem The Wild Party were produced simultaneously, one on- and one off-Broadway.
Adapted by Michael John LaChiusa and Andrew Lippa respectively, the shows differ in style, plot, character, book and score to a great extent.
As shows, they are only rivals to one another in the eyes of musical theatre aficionados who are forced to choose their favourite, in the same way that any pair of musicals with some common element might be compared: Funny Girl and Hello Dolly for being Barbra Streisand vehicles, or Oklahoma! and Carousel for being Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals.
When I was commissioned to write a musical about Horatio Nelson, I realised that I knew absolutely nothing about what it might be like to be a late 18th century naval war hero. I went to a bookshop and stared at a shelf of twenty books on Nelson, and to this day it fascinates me that if every storyteller in the world, in any media or genre, were to be limited to writing stories inspired only by something in the life of Horatio Nelson, we would still never want for source material.
The potential for every world is in every story, and the potential for every story is in every world.
So there really is no way that anyone can actually steal your idea for a show. They might be inspired by something you say, but they will immediately form it into their own show, through their own creative approach.
Obviously, there are going to be moments that feel like an appropriate exception. If you happen to know that the rights for a high-profile property like, say, Harry Potter have just become available, and you’re thinking of applying for it, I would understand if you felt it prudent to keep that information to yourself.
(Although you know, the same thing about creative voice does still apply: if your creative voice is what J K Rowling wants for the stage adaptation, nothing and no-one can take that opportunity away from you. Likewise, if your creative voice is not the one she wants, then nothing and no-one can get you that opportunity.)
Not only is it okay to share your ideas for shows, there are some really fantastic benefits to sharing your ideas for shows.
For a start, it’s a much more comfortable conversation to have. People can engage with you if you tell them what you’re working on, and that’s incredibly useful in terms of exploring and developing your idea.
If you keep it all to yourself for months and years until you’ve written a draft you’re happy to share, you might find that there are some major structural issues you just didn’t notice – it happens to the best of us – and you might have saved yourself a lot of work just by having a ten minute conversation with someone over a pint.
Talking things out loud is the first step towards detaching yourself from them sufficiently to be able to consider them. It’s not a permanent detachment. You can always step back inside when you’re ready.
More than allowing you to hear your own creative voice, conversations about your ideas for shows allows other people to hear your creative voice. That’s a great way to start building new collaborative relationships, with writers, composers, producers, directors, designers, anyone.
It’s sort of a ‘soft pitch’. Instead of presenting a specific show to someone, which may already have gone quite a way down the road of development in your head, you’re simply opening up a dialogue about the kinds of things you like to write, the stories you’re drawn to telling, the styles and approaches you take creatively.
Those kinds of discussions can often lead to a mutual respect between creatives, and may well lead to a much more organic chat about possible projects you might pursue together, which you can then start developing together from scratch.
Talking about your ideas can not only help you develop them, but also be a great advertisement for you as a creative artist.
And finally, just in case you’re still a little bit worried about the ownership of your ideas...
Talking about them identifies them as your ideas. Even in this less than chivalrous day and age, it takes balls to steal ideas once someone has proclaimed them as their own in front of a group of their peers.
So instead of worrying about losing control of your ideas, set them free a little, let them roam around, see if they make friends. They’ll probably come back to you a little happier, a little wiser, and maybe bearing unexpected gifts…
*Big thanks to all the people who sketched out a story for this!
Under English law, you cannot copyright an idea, and there’s a reason for that.
If ideas were limited under copyright, we would still be using the very first knife and fork ever conceived. Made of dinosaur bone.
Actually, to truly understand why it’s important that ideas should be free, we need to look at the concept of ‘the artist’s voice’.
Here’s an idea for a show: a story based on a fairy tale.
They’re popular stories. It’s a great place to go for solid narrative. But let’s be more specific: a story based on Cinderella. Or even more specific: a story from the point of view of the Fairy Godmother type character.
How about this: a story from the point of view of the Fairy Godmother if she were a man in his seventies who lives in a house-share in London.
That’s pretty specific. Here’s mine:
“The Fairy Godmother lives in a retirement home for Olde Magickals, with the last two generations of Tooth Fairy and the no longer quite so wicked Witch of the West. As pets, they keep a couple of aging werewolves with no teeth left. They decide to go out on one last Magickal fling which goes horribly wrong.”
And here are some great responses I got from my storytelling friends. Who got wonderfully carried away:
“Fairy godmother feels put-upon, unappreciated, tired, old and dreams of escape - Cinderella provides that escape.”
“A dance musical where the ghost of Rudolf Nureyev returns to a squat in Clapton, somehow still with access to his millions, and reinvents the dance world with random acts of kindness.”
“The Fairy Godmother plans to open a factory in a small, struggling village that promises the women of the town the makeover they've always wanted - but she dies before her idea can come to fruition , leaving the plan to her would-be successor and her adopted son, a nuclear-active orphan.”
“Cinderella's wicked stepmother Kelly-Anne had stolen Austin's memories once she found him in bed with her new husband. (It's the back story, you can fill in how the fairy godmother ended up in a house share in London.)”
"He's actually been the the fairy godmother of the prince's family for ages, has recently become concerned about inbreeding with all of the available princesses, so he's going a different direction for the happily ever after this time."
"Gerald sighed, easing out of his wig and stilettos after the third christening this week."
"The fairy godmother desperately wants to be the godfather, so by night, dons a sharp suit and sticks cotton wool in his gums then buys cannoli. Lots of cannoli. And tells Cinderella she should buy a hotel in Vegas."
"The fairy godmother shares the 14 floor apartment with the bitter and resenting ghosts of all the wishes that went wrong. Each have a musically complicated story to tell with particular emphasis on the aesthetics of failure."
"The Fairy Godmother knows his time is coming when his magic will fade and his body will die. He's looking for a way to explain himself to posterity so sits down to write the story of Cinderella: we are soon unsure if the story is really his own memory or just a fantasy he's spinning to protect himself from remembering who he really is."
"The Fairy Godmother has withdrawn from the wish granting business because he feels he has been contributing to the endless cycle of consumerism driven by media-inflamed wanting and wishing; he has broken his wand and follows a meditative practice of non-attachment. But he discovers that he has unwittingly caused the death of hope - the universe slides toward its end in lukewarm entropy because there are no wishes to push anyone forward. He realizes he must take up his wand once more and start putting girls in pretty dresses and glass shoes, or the advancement of humankind and all of creation will cease."
The existence of the artist’s voice means that no two stories will ever be told in the same way.
It’s the reason Shakespeare’s plays have endured: they’ve been reinterpreted by thousands of unique artists.
So the first reason why it’s okay to share your idea for a show is this: no-one else could possibly write the same show you would write.
In the 1999-2000 season on Broadway, two different adaptations of Joseph Moncure March’s poem The Wild Party were produced simultaneously, one on- and one off-Broadway.
Adapted by Michael John LaChiusa and Andrew Lippa respectively, the shows differ in style, plot, character, book and score to a great extent.
As shows, they are only rivals to one another in the eyes of musical theatre aficionados who are forced to choose their favourite, in the same way that any pair of musicals with some common element might be compared: Funny Girl and Hello Dolly for being Barbra Streisand vehicles, or Oklahoma! and Carousel for being Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals.
When I was commissioned to write a musical about Horatio Nelson, I realised that I knew absolutely nothing about what it might be like to be a late 18th century naval war hero. I went to a bookshop and stared at a shelf of twenty books on Nelson, and to this day it fascinates me that if every storyteller in the world, in any media or genre, were to be limited to writing stories inspired only by something in the life of Horatio Nelson, we would still never want for source material.
The potential for every world is in every story, and the potential for every story is in every world.
So there really is no way that anyone can actually steal your idea for a show. They might be inspired by something you say, but they will immediately form it into their own show, through their own creative approach.
Obviously, there are going to be moments that feel like an appropriate exception. If you happen to know that the rights for a high-profile property like, say, Harry Potter have just become available, and you’re thinking of applying for it, I would understand if you felt it prudent to keep that information to yourself.
(Although you know, the same thing about creative voice does still apply: if your creative voice is what J K Rowling wants for the stage adaptation, nothing and no-one can take that opportunity away from you. Likewise, if your creative voice is not the one she wants, then nothing and no-one can get you that opportunity.)
Not only is it okay to share your ideas for shows, there are some really fantastic benefits to sharing your ideas for shows.
For a start, it’s a much more comfortable conversation to have. People can engage with you if you tell them what you’re working on, and that’s incredibly useful in terms of exploring and developing your idea.
If you keep it all to yourself for months and years until you’ve written a draft you’re happy to share, you might find that there are some major structural issues you just didn’t notice – it happens to the best of us – and you might have saved yourself a lot of work just by having a ten minute conversation with someone over a pint.
Talking things out loud is the first step towards detaching yourself from them sufficiently to be able to consider them. It’s not a permanent detachment. You can always step back inside when you’re ready.
More than allowing you to hear your own creative voice, conversations about your ideas for shows allows other people to hear your creative voice. That’s a great way to start building new collaborative relationships, with writers, composers, producers, directors, designers, anyone.
It’s sort of a ‘soft pitch’. Instead of presenting a specific show to someone, which may already have gone quite a way down the road of development in your head, you’re simply opening up a dialogue about the kinds of things you like to write, the stories you’re drawn to telling, the styles and approaches you take creatively.
Those kinds of discussions can often lead to a mutual respect between creatives, and may well lead to a much more organic chat about possible projects you might pursue together, which you can then start developing together from scratch.
Talking about your ideas can not only help you develop them, but also be a great advertisement for you as a creative artist.
And finally, just in case you’re still a little bit worried about the ownership of your ideas...
Talking about them identifies them as your ideas. Even in this less than chivalrous day and age, it takes balls to steal ideas once someone has proclaimed them as their own in front of a group of their peers.
So instead of worrying about losing control of your ideas, set them free a little, let them roam around, see if they make friends. They’ll probably come back to you a little happier, a little wiser, and maybe bearing unexpected gifts…
*Big thanks to all the people who sketched out a story for this!
Monday, 17 June 2013
Treatments
written by Toksvig
Somebody asked me about writing treatments the other day, so here is my experience with that.
There are no rules.
(This is always true in musical theatre, but bears repeating often.)
A 'treatment' might be:
- a PITCH, which might be an A4 page describing the show. It might not even outline the story, just give a basic feel of what the show is about, and some other details that are useful for a producer to know when considering a project. (More of this below.) A pitch doesn't usually involve any money.
- an OUTLINE, which might be an actual outline of the story, from start to finish. Plot, characters, main journeys, subplot. This can also contain other useful info. This might involve some payment for the writer/s, because there is work in preparing an outline.
- a TREATMENT, which might be a couple of scenes and a couple of songs. This definitely involves payment for the writer/s. (See below for more info.)
If you're not sure what someone is looking for, just ask them. If you get an ambiguous answer, here are some helpful hints.
Do they want to know if the show might fit their venue / remit?
That useful info about your show could include:
- the size and type of venue you have in mind
- the kind of audience, and audience engagement, you're aiming at
- the style of show
- the size, and type, of cast
- the size, and type, of orchestra
- any special or noteworthy requirements
Being specific helps them know straight away if it might be logistically right: "This is a small-scale, one-act musical for 3 actor-musicians, with minimal set requirements, aimed at young audiences."
That stuff is the most important info you can give them, right up front, because it allows them to say yes or no immediately. It doesn't matter whether the show is any good. If you're offering a three-act opera for a cast of hundreds to a fringe theatre, they're very likely to say no without even looking at the material.
If you're making the approach, the first thing to do is actually not send anything. Just get in touch, and find out:
- if they welcome unsolicited material
- to whom you should send it
- what you should send
You can, and probably should, offer to send a one-page pitch. A pitch is a great way to open a dialogue with a producer. It won't take them long to scan one page of info, and it should give them all the stuff they need to know in order to decide whether or not to ask for more.
Don't start by sending a full script, links to all the songs online, and instructions on how best to listen to a new show - "It's best if you listen to the songs as you go through the script..."
You're talking to seasoned professionals. Perhaps best not to tell them how to do their job.
If invited, you can send something else. Ask what they'd like, and think about what info they're looking for.
Do they want to know more about what kind of show this is?
They might ask for an outline, just a couple of pages, which tells more about the show, if there are specific things they need to know more about. Like how much audience interaction there is, for example: "The show opens with the characters encouraging the audience to sing Happy Birthday to the main character..."
Do they want to know what your writing style might be?
They might like to see a sample of other work you've done: a scene from something similar, or a song.
Do they want to see some of this actual show?
If they ask you to write a proper treatment of the show in question, then you have to do some actual writing, and you should be paid for doing actual writing.
Either the Writers Guild of Great Britain, or the Musicians Union, whichever you belong to, can advise you about that.
(You have joined, yes?)
There are no rules about what constitutes a treatment, but you want to deliver something that gives them enough of an idea of the show, without being asked to write half an act.
In my experience: two scenes, at least one of which has a song in, plus another song, is adequate to demonstrate your style, and the style of the show. The songs should show different styles that you're using in the show, eg: an up-tempo and a ballad.
Does it need to be a professional recording?
No. You're showing your work to people who know how to tell from a very basic recording. Just make sure the recording is clear, lyrics audible, singing on pitch. It can be you at a piano, recorded on your phone, as long as it's clear.
In summary...
- Ask if you can send something, and whom to send it to.
- Ask them what they want you to send.
- Also ask them what info they're looking for, from that stuff. This will help you know what to send, and what not to send.
- Send the minimum amount of stuff for them to look at. Minimum. MINIMUM.
- If you're being asked to do some actual writing, you should get paid for that. Speak to your union.
It bears repeating that there are no rules. This is just in my experience. When in doubt:
1. Ask
2. Send the minimum
And a final question to ask yourself: are you trying to get this show put on, or are you trying to make work as a writer?
Pitches are fast. It's one page, and you can send lots of them to lots of people in a very short space of time. You'll get a faster, more accurate response from a pitch, and it offers you the opportunity to start a relationship.
Because that's what you are: a writer. You're not a marketing executive trying to sell a one-show product. You're a writer, looking for people to collaborate with.
You're not pitching a product to someone. You're pitching a person to someone. That one show you initially talk about may not be the thing you end up making with that producer, so start by just saying hello.
Somebody asked me about writing treatments the other day, so here is my experience with that.
There are no rules.
(This is always true in musical theatre, but bears repeating often.)
A 'treatment' might be:
- a PITCH, which might be an A4 page describing the show. It might not even outline the story, just give a basic feel of what the show is about, and some other details that are useful for a producer to know when considering a project. (More of this below.) A pitch doesn't usually involve any money.
- an OUTLINE, which might be an actual outline of the story, from start to finish. Plot, characters, main journeys, subplot. This can also contain other useful info. This might involve some payment for the writer/s, because there is work in preparing an outline.
- a TREATMENT, which might be a couple of scenes and a couple of songs. This definitely involves payment for the writer/s. (See below for more info.)
If you're not sure what someone is looking for, just ask them. If you get an ambiguous answer, here are some helpful hints.
Do they want to know if the show might fit their venue / remit?
That useful info about your show could include:
- the size and type of venue you have in mind
- the kind of audience, and audience engagement, you're aiming at
- the style of show
- the size, and type, of cast
- the size, and type, of orchestra
- any special or noteworthy requirements
Being specific helps them know straight away if it might be logistically right: "This is a small-scale, one-act musical for 3 actor-musicians, with minimal set requirements, aimed at young audiences."
That stuff is the most important info you can give them, right up front, because it allows them to say yes or no immediately. It doesn't matter whether the show is any good. If you're offering a three-act opera for a cast of hundreds to a fringe theatre, they're very likely to say no without even looking at the material.
If you're making the approach, the first thing to do is actually not send anything. Just get in touch, and find out:
- if they welcome unsolicited material
- to whom you should send it
- what you should send
You can, and probably should, offer to send a one-page pitch. A pitch is a great way to open a dialogue with a producer. It won't take them long to scan one page of info, and it should give them all the stuff they need to know in order to decide whether or not to ask for more.
Don't start by sending a full script, links to all the songs online, and instructions on how best to listen to a new show - "It's best if you listen to the songs as you go through the script..."
You're talking to seasoned professionals. Perhaps best not to tell them how to do their job.
If invited, you can send something else. Ask what they'd like, and think about what info they're looking for.
Do they want to know more about what kind of show this is?
They might ask for an outline, just a couple of pages, which tells more about the show, if there are specific things they need to know more about. Like how much audience interaction there is, for example: "The show opens with the characters encouraging the audience to sing Happy Birthday to the main character..."
Do they want to know what your writing style might be?
They might like to see a sample of other work you've done: a scene from something similar, or a song.
Do they want to see some of this actual show?
If they ask you to write a proper treatment of the show in question, then you have to do some actual writing, and you should be paid for doing actual writing.
Either the Writers Guild of Great Britain, or the Musicians Union, whichever you belong to, can advise you about that.
(You have joined, yes?)
There are no rules about what constitutes a treatment, but you want to deliver something that gives them enough of an idea of the show, without being asked to write half an act.
In my experience: two scenes, at least one of which has a song in, plus another song, is adequate to demonstrate your style, and the style of the show. The songs should show different styles that you're using in the show, eg: an up-tempo and a ballad.
Does it need to be a professional recording?
No. You're showing your work to people who know how to tell from a very basic recording. Just make sure the recording is clear, lyrics audible, singing on pitch. It can be you at a piano, recorded on your phone, as long as it's clear.
In summary...
- Ask if you can send something, and whom to send it to.
- Ask them what they want you to send.
- Also ask them what info they're looking for, from that stuff. This will help you know what to send, and what not to send.
- Send the minimum amount of stuff for them to look at. Minimum. MINIMUM.
- If you're being asked to do some actual writing, you should get paid for that. Speak to your union.
It bears repeating that there are no rules. This is just in my experience. When in doubt:
1. Ask
2. Send the minimum
And a final question to ask yourself: are you trying to get this show put on, or are you trying to make work as a writer?
Pitches are fast. It's one page, and you can send lots of them to lots of people in a very short space of time. You'll get a faster, more accurate response from a pitch, and it offers you the opportunity to start a relationship.
Because that's what you are: a writer. You're not a marketing executive trying to sell a one-show product. You're a writer, looking for people to collaborate with.
You're not pitching a product to someone. You're pitching a person to someone. That one show you initially talk about may not be the thing you end up making with that producer, so start by just saying hello.
Thursday, 6 June 2013
Who is 'we'?
written by Toksvig
We're about to send out a proper newsletter, all pretty and MailChimp'd.
In it, there's a lot of reference to 'we'. So, here's who 'we' is.
The Copenhagen Interpretation consists of Jenifer Toksvig (who makes stuff, often out of words or wool) and a core group of creatives that includes performers, producers and composers who all have multiple disciplines. There's more about the core group here.
It's not really a partnership, or anything official like that. It's just a group of people who like to work together whenever we can. Most things that Jen does fall under the Copenhagen umbrella, and everyone else joins in when they fancy it.
So 'we' often just means Jen, who is currently running The Larder, which we've recently realised is a sort of 'activism' hub for writers and composers of musicals. And independent producers. And probably everyone, actually. Everyone who makes new musicals and feels that they need some, er, active. - ism.
'We' also means Jen and anyone she's collaborating with on a project: the unions, support groups, or co-creators, or people who tag along because Jen persisted until they did.
And sometimes, 'we' means all of us. All writers, all composers, musical-makers, supporters. So if we seem to be referring to all of us, and we seem to speak out of turn, let us know.
We're always looking for new ways to support and nurture new musicals, particularly in ways that encourage diversity of the form itself. If you have thoughts about that, come and say hello on Twitter @AnotherNibble - and keep an eye out for guest Twitter hosts.
Our emailed newsletters will be predominantly Larder stuff, but occasionally they'll contain performance projects that The Copenhagen Interpretation are doing. We are a theatre company who is doing some active -ism, rather than vice versa.
(We're also not lawyers or legal experts. So don't actually take our word for anything.)
('Activism' feels really political, as a word. 'Active -ism' feels altogether more approachable. As a thing.
Which it isn't.
Paragraph breaks within parentheses are awesome.)
We're about to send out a proper newsletter, all pretty and MailChimp'd.
In it, there's a lot of reference to 'we'. So, here's who 'we' is.
The Copenhagen Interpretation consists of Jenifer Toksvig (who makes stuff, often out of words or wool) and a core group of creatives that includes performers, producers and composers who all have multiple disciplines. There's more about the core group here.
It's not really a partnership, or anything official like that. It's just a group of people who like to work together whenever we can. Most things that Jen does fall under the Copenhagen umbrella, and everyone else joins in when they fancy it.
So 'we' often just means Jen, who is currently running The Larder, which we've recently realised is a sort of 'activism' hub for writers and composers of musicals. And independent producers. And probably everyone, actually. Everyone who makes new musicals and feels that they need some, er, active. - ism.
'We' also means Jen and anyone she's collaborating with on a project: the unions, support groups, or co-creators, or people who tag along because Jen persisted until they did.
And sometimes, 'we' means all of us. All writers, all composers, musical-makers, supporters. So if we seem to be referring to all of us, and we seem to speak out of turn, let us know.
We're always looking for new ways to support and nurture new musicals, particularly in ways that encourage diversity of the form itself. If you have thoughts about that, come and say hello on Twitter @AnotherNibble - and keep an eye out for guest Twitter hosts.
Our emailed newsletters will be predominantly Larder stuff, but occasionally they'll contain performance projects that The Copenhagen Interpretation are doing. We are a theatre company who is doing some active -ism, rather than vice versa.
(We're also not lawyers or legal experts. So don't actually take our word for anything.)
('Activism' feels really political, as a word. 'Active -ism' feels altogether more approachable. As a thing.
Which it isn't.
Paragraph breaks within parentheses are awesome.)
Tuesday, 4 June 2013
I Am British Theatre - a response
written by Toksvig
This post is a response to Fin Kennedy's blog post here:
I am British Theatre
I think the video project is a great idea.
I think this problem is massively widespread, and affects us in ways we don't often think about.
I write musicals, and every time a cab driver asks me what I do for a living, the conversation goes like this:
"I write musicals."
"Do you?! Anything I'd have heard of? Got anything on in London?"
The implication being that everyone who writes musicals must either have something massive on in the West End or, if not, be aiming for that.
I often hear myself saying "Yes, I really do. It's a ridiculous way to make a living" as if I somehow need to apologise for the fact that I do not have anything on in London, and I have not written anything with global renown.
For me, this is about some major misconceptions.
1. The misconception that the public has about who we are and what we do.
As in Fin's blog, and as in every conversation I've had with cab drivers, hairdressers, new neighbours, people at parties: the focus is invariably on the commercial paths of theatre - and this is especially true and especially inhibitive in the world of musical theatre.
"Two Act American Book Musicals for Proscenium Arch Fourth Wall Presentation" - catalogues, revivals and new work alike - is the most dominant path, and it has a commercial goal, the continuing perpetuation of which we, as an industry, must admit some responsibly for.
Yes, people must be paid. No, this should not be the only creative path upon which they are able to be paid.
2. The misconception about what we do: that it is somehow only entertainment, and therefore only to be judged as creatively successful if it achieves a broadly visible commercial success in an entertainment forum.
Most of my work has been for young people. I get emails from schools thanking me for my work, and telling me how much of a difference it has made to the kids who performed it. How much difference to their self-confidence, their collaboration and communication skills, the nurturing of their imagination, and more.
Theatre is not just entertainment.
It is a collective experience, and we have so few of those left.
It is an accessible way to communicate about vital issues.
It is an opener of dialogue, for each and every audience member, who will take their experience away with them and start conversations about it.
All of these things, and more, need to illustrated in order for people to notice them. Alongside the wonderful and vital subjectivity in our experience of theatre, wouldn't it also be great for us to have some objective awareness of the process? Audience and maker alike. Then we could start to use it as a social tool, which we are clearly not doing as well as we could right now, precisely because of these misconceptions.
3. The misconception for us as creative artists, that our success should be measured that way precisely because that is the popular conception of how it should be measured.
It is terrifying how many conversations I have with writers where I suggest that the show they're describing might be amazing in community theatre, and they react as if that would somehow be 'settling'.
There are massive opportunities to develop your writing craft in this country, and they all lie in youth and community theatre projects, yet of all the hundreds of writers I have ever said that to, only a handful pursued that option. Because it is seen as some kind of 'lesser' writing. Or different writing.
(It's not different. And in many cases, it's much, much greater.)
The longer we continue with this social attitude towards theatre, the more writers will succumb to the commercial path in order to pay bills - and who can blame them? - and the more our desire and our *ability* to take risks will atrophy.
It is not our fault, and all that, etc. The government, the recession, etc. None of those things will change. We need to make some change happen. And we can. We're very creative :-)
4. The misconception of many opportunity-makers within the theatre industry that the opportunities we need are ones which will take our work down that commercial path.
And by 'opportunity-makers', I mean all those of us, from producers to writers, who have the ability and the drive to push our own work forwards, to keep learning more about this stuff we do, and to co-nurture not only our own community and industry, but the broader social engagement with, and valuation of, theatre.
I mean me.
I mean you.
I mean us.
I am absolutely on board with your videos, Fin. I will support the project, engage with it, help you make it happen.
I suggest that we might find some support from within the world of film, where it's possible that everyone finds it hard to take risks in a culture of Hollywood Hits. If that's true, how about a collaboration that serves all of us? How about we all work on something collectively?
There is the potential for funding in this, from the Arts Council. Maybe from some kind of film fund? Maybe this isn't a kickstart: instead of asking for each other's money, maybe we ask for in-kind support, make it with a collective of co-creators, see if we can get some funding for the stuff that has to cost money.
We could co-create it in open space, gather a big group of volunteers together, let people come and go as much as they feel they can commit to it, with a few people committing to holding the space open?
Please do engage on Fin's blog if you want to comment or get involved, so he can keep track of responses.
This post is a response to Fin Kennedy's blog post here:
I am British Theatre
I think the video project is a great idea.
I think this problem is massively widespread, and affects us in ways we don't often think about.
I write musicals, and every time a cab driver asks me what I do for a living, the conversation goes like this:
"I write musicals."
"Do you?! Anything I'd have heard of? Got anything on in London?"
The implication being that everyone who writes musicals must either have something massive on in the West End or, if not, be aiming for that.
I often hear myself saying "Yes, I really do. It's a ridiculous way to make a living" as if I somehow need to apologise for the fact that I do not have anything on in London, and I have not written anything with global renown.
For me, this is about some major misconceptions.
1. The misconception that the public has about who we are and what we do.
As in Fin's blog, and as in every conversation I've had with cab drivers, hairdressers, new neighbours, people at parties: the focus is invariably on the commercial paths of theatre - and this is especially true and especially inhibitive in the world of musical theatre.
"Two Act American Book Musicals for Proscenium Arch Fourth Wall Presentation" - catalogues, revivals and new work alike - is the most dominant path, and it has a commercial goal, the continuing perpetuation of which we, as an industry, must admit some responsibly for.
Yes, people must be paid. No, this should not be the only creative path upon which they are able to be paid.
2. The misconception about what we do: that it is somehow only entertainment, and therefore only to be judged as creatively successful if it achieves a broadly visible commercial success in an entertainment forum.
Most of my work has been for young people. I get emails from schools thanking me for my work, and telling me how much of a difference it has made to the kids who performed it. How much difference to their self-confidence, their collaboration and communication skills, the nurturing of their imagination, and more.
Theatre is not just entertainment.
It is a collective experience, and we have so few of those left.
It is an accessible way to communicate about vital issues.
It is an opener of dialogue, for each and every audience member, who will take their experience away with them and start conversations about it.
All of these things, and more, need to illustrated in order for people to notice them. Alongside the wonderful and vital subjectivity in our experience of theatre, wouldn't it also be great for us to have some objective awareness of the process? Audience and maker alike. Then we could start to use it as a social tool, which we are clearly not doing as well as we could right now, precisely because of these misconceptions.
3. The misconception for us as creative artists, that our success should be measured that way precisely because that is the popular conception of how it should be measured.
It is terrifying how many conversations I have with writers where I suggest that the show they're describing might be amazing in community theatre, and they react as if that would somehow be 'settling'.
There are massive opportunities to develop your writing craft in this country, and they all lie in youth and community theatre projects, yet of all the hundreds of writers I have ever said that to, only a handful pursued that option. Because it is seen as some kind of 'lesser' writing. Or different writing.
(It's not different. And in many cases, it's much, much greater.)
The longer we continue with this social attitude towards theatre, the more writers will succumb to the commercial path in order to pay bills - and who can blame them? - and the more our desire and our *ability* to take risks will atrophy.
It is not our fault, and all that, etc. The government, the recession, etc. None of those things will change. We need to make some change happen. And we can. We're very creative :-)
4. The misconception of many opportunity-makers within the theatre industry that the opportunities we need are ones which will take our work down that commercial path.
And by 'opportunity-makers', I mean all those of us, from producers to writers, who have the ability and the drive to push our own work forwards, to keep learning more about this stuff we do, and to co-nurture not only our own community and industry, but the broader social engagement with, and valuation of, theatre.
I mean me.
I mean you.
I mean us.
I am absolutely on board with your videos, Fin. I will support the project, engage with it, help you make it happen.
I suggest that we might find some support from within the world of film, where it's possible that everyone finds it hard to take risks in a culture of Hollywood Hits. If that's true, how about a collaboration that serves all of us? How about we all work on something collectively?
There is the potential for funding in this, from the Arts Council. Maybe from some kind of film fund? Maybe this isn't a kickstart: instead of asking for each other's money, maybe we ask for in-kind support, make it with a collective of co-creators, see if we can get some funding for the stuff that has to cost money.
We could co-create it in open space, gather a big group of volunteers together, let people come and go as much as they feel they can commit to it, with a few people committing to holding the space open?
Please do engage on Fin's blog if you want to comment or get involved, so he can keep track of responses.
Tuesday, 28 May 2013
Creative Counselling
written by Toksvig
One-on-one sessions with writer / maker Jenifer Toksvig, for makers of new musicals: writers, composers, indie producers, experienced or aspiring.
For clarity and development of career, process, project, story, character, song moment.
Especially useful in early development stages.
Central London, face to face.
More about The Copenhagen Interpretation: www.thecopenhageninterpretation.co.uk or @AnotherNibble
More about Jen at www.acompletelossforwords.com
Email writers(at)acompletelossforwords(dot)com for more info
One-on-one sessions with writer / maker Jenifer Toksvig, for makers of new musicals: writers, composers, indie producers, experienced or aspiring.
For clarity and development of career, process, project, story, character, song moment.
Especially useful in early development stages.
Central London, face to face.
More about The Copenhagen Interpretation: www.thecopenhageninterpretation.co.uk or @AnotherNibble
More about Jen at www.acompletelossforwords.com
Email writers(at)acompletelossforwords(dot)com for more info
Friday, 24 May 2013
London Gathering for Independent Producers
written by Toksvig
As part of a continuing mission to be less lonely and eat more cake, The Copenhagen Interpretation have decided it would be fun to have a gathering of…
Independent Producers of New Musicals!
(Which we’re hashtagging #IndieProds on our Twitter feed @AnotherNibble)
It's happening on
Sunday June 30th at 4pm (teatime)
at a lovely place in Covent Garden. It might go on for a few hours, I guess.
In order to come along, there are three things you must do:
indieprods (at) acompletelossforwords.com
*Cake is optional. But recommended.
As part of a continuing mission to be less lonely and eat more cake, The Copenhagen Interpretation have decided it would be fun to have a gathering of…
Independent Producers of New Musicals!
(Which we’re hashtagging #IndieProds on our Twitter feed @AnotherNibble)
It's happening on
Sunday June 30th at 4pm (teatime)
at a lovely place in Covent Garden. It might go on for a few hours, I guess.
In order to come along, there are three things you must do:
- Be available and willing
- Email your name and, if you like, a very brief bit about you / your company. Which I will email out beforehand, to make introductions faster on the day.
- Bring cake*
indieprods (at) acompletelossforwords.com
*Cake is optional. But recommended.
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