The Writings of Mary Lewys

From my Theatre and Communications Bachelor of Arts degree from my alma mater (where you can find embarrassing pictures of me hanging on the walls of its theatre still), I learned a few things that stuck with me over the years:

1. I am not actress. When pressed into a part because some director is desperate, I am adequate at best. If it’s a good part, I enjoy the work, but I find greater joy backstage. In fact, I loved designing and hanging lights.
2. I never wanted to even attempt at doing theater for a living. It’s a hard, hard life. A former roommate is an actor in NYC and I think him a god (and the best actor I ever met).
3. Group art is hard; very, very, very hard. The director has to convey his vision not only to his actors (and telling them outright does not guarantee the desired performance), but to the set designer, costume designer, props master, etc., etc., while still allowing them to be creative artists in their own right. Imagine herding cats and then imagine herding cats each into their own little tunnel and having the cat come out the other side. Everyone wants their input. Balancing to create something wonderful is a whole lot harder than anyone can imagine (that hasn’t tried to do it).
4. I learned the importance of catharsis, which is one of the main reasons Theatre and all its bastard children have survived as an art form for so long.

From the ancient Greek (that I am not going to look up and try to go in depth in explanation), catharsis means “purification” or “cleansing” (or something close to that). In relationship to Theatre, it refers to that emotional climax that causes overwhelming feelings, whether it’s joy, sorrow, pity, laughter, etc., in the audience after witnessing a performance. These overwhelming feelings baptize the audience in sensations of renewal and revitalization. I believe these renewed and restored emotions come with the presence of mind in the audience member that they did not actually have to live through to experience. They share it with the characters on the stage. You know, that “boy, I’m glad it didn’t really happen to me” feeling of relief that comes after having just missed that train wreck while driving your car. Certainly, you sympathize with those who were caught in the train wreck and hope he/she survives (provided you have a soul and are not a sociopath), but you are glad it didn’t happen to you.

Theater provides that without anyone actually getting hurt by a train.

While I do not believe the Greeks were the first to commercially market theatre, I do believe they were one of the first to document it. I like the idea that they not only had coliseums built to hold large audiences for performances, but smaller ones sprinkled throughout the city (as seen in Rome). Rich and poor alike could see performances, experience catharsis together and then break off into their own socio-economic groups to talk about it. Of course, I love the idea that the town crier’s messages had corporate sponsorship (e.g., commercials), as seen in Rome.

However, theater has become more and more invasive into our lives. We have televisions in our home, on our cell phones, and on our music players. We have hundreds of channels running thousands of stories (real and make-believe) twenty-four hours a day. Youtube.com and Hulu.com offer access to thousands of television shows and movies any time we want. Somewhere in that rush of technology and our love of theater (and don’t get me started on this side rant I have saved up in my head about what people really worship), the audience has lost the Catharsis. Whereas in earlier times, Mr. Audience Member would attend a performance of a two hour play and then spend the rest of his week dealing with his real life (e.g., the goats need tending or Aunt Martha is coughing up blood or Little Mary has gone missing or the Cooper’s barn burned down and we need to help them build another or Uncle Frank absconded with the family fortune and the downstairs maid), today’s Mr. Audience Member spends eight hours (maybe more, maybe less) at the job and then spends three to four hours in front of the television, phone, computer, etc. in stories. And if we want to be honest, Mr. Audience Member probably watches movies or television at work on the computer.

Some people with more time on their hands spend more times in stories than living real life. There is no break from the constant emotional climax with the stressful, grounding real life drama of “what’s this lump that sprung up over night?” Some people live their lives through stories which open a whole realm of problems. Stories end in neat packages that tend to follow story-telling rules and always reach an ending. As far as I can tell so far with my life, Life is rarely as such. Wouldn’t it be nice if all of Life’s problems could be resolved in the thirty minutes time limit allotted for sit-coms (and as funny? Even the worst sit-com would whip the shit out of real life problems)?

All that I just wrote sprang forth from my mouth after I finished watching the five episodes of this season’s Torchwood. I rambled on and on and on to my poor, poor, Hubby while we put fresh sheets on the bed, put laundry away, and readied ourselves for nightly slumber (and yes, I can hear what you’re thinking: he’s a saint. I agree). If you haven’t seen the episodes, please stop reading now. I mean it. I will talk about details of the show that will spoil it for you – and I highly recommend watching it without being spoiled. It is worth it.

Read more…

But at the end of the day, debate the story all I may want, I am grateful for the catharsis. I am cleansed. I was able to walk down some roads that I hope to never walk down (oh, and I already know that most elected officials are total douche bags).

Now go. Spread the message of catharsis. Enlighten your fellow man.

I do not need to know my genre to write well. Hell, give me a basic plot: boy meets girl and boy looses girl due to a character flaw he obsesses about hiding. I could write that story for any genre. Genre means rules to meet the reader’s expectations. Romance to Sci-Fi to Fantasy, all those genres have constructs to define them in clear terms. Speculative and Fiction tend to blur.

What I am focusing on is writing well. Grammar, sentence structure, and words are the essentials to writing well (I almost put down “good writing”). Once I have a stronger grip, I’ll be able to build and form stories. Working out characters, settings, times, introductions, actions, climax, and resolutions will give me the keys to publishing in print.

Genre comes from my agent or editor; it may even come from the publisher. I don’t know. I haven’t made it that far. First, I have to interest someone in publishing my work. The only way to do that is to write well.

Besides, how can I ever be objectionable enough to judge my work? I have a hard enough time sifting through to clean it up. Shifting headspace to focus harder taxes my poor, cracked brain; dyslexia is hard enough. I can’t expend extra energy to dissect bookstore category for my work. And why would I do that when I haven’t even found someone who’s willing to publish me?

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Unless otherwise expressly stated, this original material of whatever nature created by Mary Lewys is licensend under a Creative Commons License.

Remember that episode of Dexter’s Laboratory where he and his sister DeeDee run through the house stamping their names on everything in the house in an attempt to out vie each other? It’s quite the humorous episode, but all of Dexter’s Labs are funny.

But based on that episode, I want two stamps: one that reads “reality” and one that reads “fantasy” – preferably in all caps with a thick font. People seem confused about the difference between the two. I’d like to help out.

I always like to help.

If someone refers to himself as Fernando and leaves a rather over-the-top message in your sweetie’s LiveJournal, especially on sweetie’s birthday, it’s stamped with “fantasy.” While the best wishes may be real, anyone who calls themselves Fernando without being named Fernando is being funny. Fernando in and of itself is a funny name that lends itself readily to a humorous fantasy.

The person waiting on you, who’s been on their feet for six hours straight, carrying a bucket load of personal issues on their shoulders, is real. Look at them, smile and say thank you for a job done. It doesn’t have to be well-done. This person is real and needs your attention.

If an IM window pops up from someone you don’t know and the sender claims to want to be your friend (e.g., “I’m only looking for a friend.”), assume that’s fantasy. That person’s only interested in one thing and it’s not your friendship. It’s the contents of your pants and it’s totally in the cyber adult fantasy way. This will not lead to a life long friendship that will lead to true love.

That mother walking along side the road with her two kids, her car down the way, needs help. Be late to work for once, pull over and help her get gas for her car so she can get her kids to school on time. You don’t have to buy her gas or breakfast, but you do need to get her on her way. She’s real. The good deed you do for her will be remembered by her children.

If the face of the President appears on your television, magazine cover, newspaper or newsblog, it’s officially okay to assume he’s living in his own fantasy world.

Any face that appears on any magazine cover, photo shoot and/or movie still is fantasy. Yes, those are real people in the picture, but nine and a half out of ten have been Photoshopped and airbrushed beyond reality. They are now fantasy – and that’s all right. It’s why we buy that stuff, but don’t believe for two seconds that you could ever look like that. Too many lives wasted in the pursuit of a cropped, cut, blurred and smoothed unrealistic image.

Next time you’re stuck waiting in line, make small talk to the person waiting next to you. It doesn’t matter what you talk about – the weather, the cover of a nearby magazine cover, something silly you saw that morning, the funny thing your dog did last night. Anything fun will leave a real, lasting impression with that person. Maybe they’ll pass that smile along.

The results Match.com and Dr. Phil offer are not real. It doesn’t matter how many testimonials they offer; we never get the full, long term story on those couples.

Leaving someone a kind note in email or on the web is real. Take two minutes out of your busy day to do it. Really, what else are you going to do with those two minutes? Pick your nose (remember to smile)?

Everyone fats. Everyone goes to the bathroom. Everyone burps, gurgles, toots and hiccups. It’s reality. Let’s all stop pretending that it’s fantasy and outside the norm.

Anything hyped by local news is fantasy. There may be reality in there, but the sensationalism has pushed it over into the fantasy realm.

Prince Charming and Madonna Whore are fantasy too. He and she are not coming. Get out of your tower or off your bar stool, storm out of the castle or bar and go meet a nice person who doesn’t make you crazy. I highly recommend geeks. It may seem that they confuse reality and fantasy, but really, they have a pretty firm grasp on it.

Boy, this is sure tiring. The lines sure blur and pointing out the differences can prove difficult. Don’t believe the surface or what’s offered first – look for more or the real truth. Fantasy works in movies, television and bondage scenarios played out in the bedroom. While the “I love you” screamed around the ballgag may be real, it’s still a fantasy playing out in ropemarks and lube.

Have I made mention that I’d like these stamps to be placed on brass knuckles? Faster stamping, you see.

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Unless otherwise expressly stated, this original material of whatever nature created by Mary Lewys is licensend under a Creative Commons License.

A bit of spam splattered on the windshield of my life that just rubbed me the wrong way: “Rules To Live By” from the Anthony Robbins organization (allegedly). Boy, wouldn’t life be great if all our problems where solved by little quips and witty sayings?

MLewys’ Rules To Live A Happier Life

One: Cheerfully give people more than they expect, but lube up first because most will fuck you over good. You’ll be glad you greased up first.

Two: If you like to fuck around, don’t get married. There’s no rule or law that says you must. Look at your potential spouse: if you can’t picture waking up happily next to that person when you’re sixty, don’t marry that person. It’ll save divorce costs later on. And if you can’t tell your potential spouse the most stupid thing you’ve ever done, then don’t marry that person. You’re not mature enough to make a relationship work.

Three: Remember when you were a kid and couldn’t wait to grow up so you could do whatever you wanted? Boy, were you a stupid kid. Being an adult means you have plenty you don’t like to do. Suck it up, pay those bills, support your kids and do the best at your job you can. Relish those moments when you do get to eat ice cream for breakfast and sleep late – you’ll appreciate them MORE when you take care of your shit first.

Four: There are three little words that will be taken at face value instantly. Use them wisely. Don’t whip them out when someone has shown you something new in the sack or fucked you just in that right way. Don’t pull them out of your handbag when you should be reaching for the mace. “I love you” can never be taken back no matter how many lawyers you get.

Five: Quit being a fucking pansy. Wuss. Say it. Look’em in the eye and say, “I’m sorry.” They’ll probably want to fuck you afterwards, if not buy you a drink first.

Six: Remember that time you went with your dad to buy a new car? There’s a reason he test drove it. Test drive your future potential mate in more ways than one – live together a year before getting married. I promise your parents will get over it when you wear white.

Seven: Love at first sight only exists when buying a car, jewelry and shoes. Love at first sight with humans and pets mean you’re superficial – not that it’s a bad thing. Just know that the pretty pack is only a pretty pack and doesn’t make for a lifetime companion. That shit only works in fairytales and movies.

Eight: You know, I really can’t fuck with “Never laugh at anyone’s dream.” Unless, of course, that dream is to be a stand up comedian.

Nine: Love deeply and passionately, blah, blah, blah. Listen. Love and Hate come from the same emotion: passion. If you’re going to open yourself up, do it knowing that there may be bitter destruction at the end. Love affairs that end never end well; I don’t care what Lifetime Special you watched or what your best friend’s cousin’s sister’s girlfriend told you. Life is not for the tame. Drive fast. Take risks.

Ten: Okay, listen. Ever since the first man punched another man in the face, we’ve been trying to come up with rules to fight fair. But the truth of the matter: there is no fair fighting. You bring, at least, brass knuckles and go for the throat and the eyes. Don’t fuck around. End it quick and finally, but be prepared for the wounds, loss of limbs and potential death. That’s why it’s always better to debate, discuss and deliberate. Argue, sure; raise your voice if necessary. But it’s much safer and a lot less messy.

Eleven: Look but don’t judge by anyone’s relatives. Know that your potential mate will grow and age physically much like the gender parent, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be them. Frankly, pray that you got the black sheep of the family.

Twelve: There’s been a study lately that those who make snap decisions based on first instincts are right more times more often than those who spend time analyzing the situation. So, fuck it. Go with your gut but don’t be a dick when talking about it.

Thirteen: When someone asks you a question you don’t want to answer, say you’d rather not answer it. Don’t try to be clever – that’s too much like lying. Unless you’re really good at it, you only come off looking like an asshole.

Fourteen: Everything involves taking risks. Get used to it. And don’t think that if you risk, that makes you or anything else great. It just makes you better than the cowards that won’t.

Fifteen: Do we really need to say “bless you” when someone sneezes? Does anyone believe the spirit is expelled from the body only to be snorfled back in during a sneeze? Come on. Cover your mouth when you do it and stop expecting blessings for a bodily function. An angel looking like Matt Damon won’t threaten to blow your head off with a shiny gun if you don’t say it.

Sixteen: When you lose, accept that you’re going to be upset about it. Don’t try to be all noble and stoic about it – most people don’t manage that well. They become bitter when people don’t notice them being noble and stoic. Tantrums ensue. Just pick yourself back up and try not to repeat the same mistakes.

Seventeen: Remember the three P’s: people are stupid, a person can and will make your day from time to time and please try to be a person that makes someone’s day and don’t stab the stupid people.

Eighteen: From time to time, your friends are going to annoy you. There’s some trait or some belief they have that will drive your ass right up a wall and back down again. Don’t let that blind you to all the wonderful shit they do. Understand that they are human and that you probably do the same thing to them.

Nineteen: Mistakes will be made. By you. By your parents. By your lover. By your best friends. Accept it now and get over it. And the person that tries to correct their mistakes is the person you want to be your friend. Be that person, or a close duplicate.

Twenty: Smile when picking your nose. Everyone does it.

Twenty-one: If you can’t spend a weekend alone at home by yourself, you have issues. Sort them out, because no one’s going to like you if you don’t like yourself. And don’t give me that humble bullshit about not liking yourself. You know whether or not you can sit and be quiet in your own head without looking for a knife to slit your wrists afterwards.

There you go. Good luck with that. Wipe your face, wear clean underwear and remember to look both ways before crossing the street.

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Unless otherwise expressly stated, this original material of whatever nature created by Mary Lewys is licensend under a Creative Commons License.

One of the main reasons I like the movie In & Out, besides the kiss between Kevin Kline and Tom Selleck, is this subtle message that coming out of the closet is okay and a good thing. We all live in one type of closet or another for fear that our freak flag will scare off the locals. There’s not much worse than showing your true colors and having people run, screaming. It ranks right up there with having a limb lopped off in a freak iPod accident (don’t ask).

After the wedding doesn’t happen (I hope I didn’t spoil it for anyone; it’s not like this movie hasn’t been out for nine years or anything), the older women of the community sit in the reception hall quite depressed. Not because Howard’s gay, but because there was no wedding (*gasp* The Horror!). In their flowered dresses and Sunday-best hats, each supports Howard’s mother (played beautifully by Debbie Reynolds) about her son coming out at the most crucial part of the ceremony.

One even ponders what the big deal is – why they can’t all be honest about whatever secrets they’re keeping. She proceeds to stand and confess that she made “treats” for the reception from a recipe that wasn’t hers.

“I’ll say it. Right out loud. I hated The Bridges of Madison County,” another confesses.

“My husband has three tentacles!” Breaking through the freak flag closeted barrier, the most dowdy of the bunch shouts her confession over the crowd. “It’s disgusting.”

At which point, everyone laughs because that’s damn funny.

What was it that they were all afraid of? Judgment. Condemnation. Separation. Loneliness. It’s better to go along and belong than be you and by yourself, right?

The toothpaste and underarm deodorant commercials would have you think so. So would a lot of other people. It’s easy to herd people in the direction you want if they’re in a group. But let’s not fly the conspiracy freak flag yet.

Or is it Egocentricism that causes us to believe we’re the only one? We’re the only person who picks their teeth with piece of thick paper or cardboard. We’re the only ones who dig our underwear out of our ass crack at the most embarrassing moment. We’re the only one who was the outsider in high school or reads comics or secretly has a crush on Jay Leno or likes to sing to the music while driving.

Are we truly afraid to step out of the closest, where it’s safe, secure, quiet and singular, only to be lost in the crowd? The idea that each person is unique and special as a snowflake gets drilled into our brain as infants. And yet, by our teen years, we all long to just blend in and not stand out, please, oh God, please don’t let her see me with this big zit on my face.

By why should that zit matter? Plenty of teenagers and adults have them. Yet, that teen will stay silent, sit still and go thankfully unnoticed because of a commonplace skin disorder.

Why?

I learned last night that the first season of Chappelle’s Show is the best selling Televisions Show on DVD of all time. It’s number one. And Brokeback Mountain has got to be the most talked about and joked about movie in a long, long time.

Hello? The freak flags are a flying and no one seems to care!

So how is it public perception of the general public seems to go that freaks are not welcome? That it would be better for everyone if they would simply stay in the closet?

I don’t know. But I want a poll. A private, individual poll of people living in America of what they think of “freakish” behavior (anything that deviates from the standard Britney Spears, white upper middle class, SUV riding, pearly white teeth, doesn’t stink, dresses at Old Navy type person). That’s what I want.

Separate from the herd and I bet more people would come out of the closet, waving their own freak flag.

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Unless otherwise expressly stated, this original material of whatever nature created by Mary Lewys is licensend under a Creative Commons License.

Okay, class, today’s lesson will be about how to talk. No, no, we’re not going to cover subject and verbs or how to craft a well-thought out argument. We’re going to touch on something far more simple that can be used in daily conversation that will make you’re life simpler.

That’s right. You heard me. Life simpler.

Got your attention, didn’t I?

Ready for it?

Tell me how these make you feel:

You weren’t listening.
You never pay attention
What’s wrong with you?
You should be ashamed of yourself.
You’re wrong.
You can’t do that.
Why don’t you do better?
You’re crazy.

If you heard anyone of those sentences (directed at you or not), what would you do? Sneer? Frown? Get defensive? Stop listening?

Shake it off. Here comes step two. Listen to these:

I need you to listen and pay attention.
I don’t understand what you’re doing.
I think that’s wrong.
I don’t want you to do that.
I believe you can do better.

And how did those make you feel? Less aggressively likely to beat the speaker? More likely to sympathize?

I understand that some tend to think that a speaker who starts a great many sentences with “I” are vain, selfish, self-centered jerk-offs (that probably molest children on the side when they’re not busy kicking them). That’s utter crap. Sentences that start with “I” or “I” statements give information without being threatening. If you have to communicate a problem to someone, “I” statements can do that without accusation. Anyone involved in an intervention know this.

This practice needs to spread out into normal, mainstream life. Office politics would be less dramatic if “I” statements ruled the conference room. Grocery lines would be a much more pleasant place to stand. Banking would go easier. Doctor’s office would run smoother between staff and patients.

Of course, “I” statements require some personal disclosure. Deal. If you’re so worried about what someone’s going to think about you, then maybe you should invest more time in improving yourself. Don’t tune into Access Hollywood and sew couch cushions to match your new curtains. Pick up a book – and not something from the romance isle in Wal-Mart. If you can’t be bothered to read classics, tune into Oprah and read her damn book of the month.

There are channels called History, A&E, Discovery, Bravo and Innovation if reading isn’t your think.

And don’t be a jerk. “I think you’re a bitch” isn’t any better than “You’re a bitch.” Do try to remember that there are things like tact and diplomacy. Those are not dirty words; I don’t care how many times our current presidential administration claims to use them.

So, class, your homework? Use “I” statements at the most crucial times of your life. Practice by using them during non-crucial moments.

I know you can do it.

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Unless otherwise expressly stated, this original material of whatever nature created by Mary Lewys is licensend under a Creative Commons License.

Whoever said you weren’t going to die today lied. They lied. If you’ve been running on the assumption that you weren’t going to die today because no one told you either way, let me point out that you’ve been running on a falsehood.

You’re going to die. Probably not today and maybe not tomorrow, but you will die. Your time is limited. Age creeps through your body like blood, breaking down every cell and system.

Or you can kick the bucket from a number of scenarios that you have no control over. Sure, you stand on the curb to avoid that speeding bus, but the aneurism hits you without warning. It could be as slow as cancer or fast as a heart attack. You could be reading a book and walk into a sniper’s line of fire. Fast asleep, your home could catch on fire and you never wake up due to smoke inhalation. You could slip getting out of the shower, cracking your skull open.

I hope your bathroom’s tiled. Brain is so hard to get out of the carpet.

On a pulley, a piano slips in its rope restraints to crash down on you. Oh, she forgot to take her meds, that’s why she crashed into your car on the freeway. Maybe swallowing that ham sandwich before you finished chewing wasn’t a good idea. You’d think everyone knew how to do the Heimlich maneuver nowadays. Slipping and falling down the stairs sure makes a lot of noise, covering up the snap of your spine.

It’s a simple procedure. That’s what the doctor said. Why didn’t you wake up?

Product tampering, e coli infection, serial killer, road rage, leukemia, friendly fire, cocaine overdose, struck by lightning, AIDS, lost at sea, alcohol poisoning, slit throat, cleaning supply cocktail, race riot, collide with a train, stroke, beaten with a blunt object, autoerotic asphyxiation, explosion, slipping on banana peel – hell, it could be the salmon mousse.

Scary thought, isn’t it? Today will be your last day. What would you do with it if you knew for sure that at the end, you would die? Think about it. What would you do if you only had a month? Six months? A year?

Here’s a simple question: why aren’t you doing that with your life now?

It’s all too short and goes all too fast. Please. Don’t be stupid and end up with nothing but regret on your deathbed.

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Unless otherwise expressly stated, this original material of whatever nature created by Mary Lewys is licensend under a Creative Commons License.

Remember playing Telephone as a kid? No, not those stupid tin cans with strings – or the poor man’s version of Styrofoam cups with buttons and yard – but the game often done in a classroom setting. The teacher would get the class to sit in a circle before she explained the rules. She would whisper something to the child next to her so no one else could hear. That child was to tell the kid on the other side what was heard and so on. Down the line, the secret would be passed until the last received it. Then the lucky boy or girl would repeat out loud what they heard.

Remember playing that? I bet gales of laughter happened after the last kid said what they heard because a) it was completely nonsensical, b) it wasn’t what you heard and, c) it wasn’t what the teacher said at all.

Teacher: Farmer Brown sold his cow for fifty beans.
Last Kid: My pen licks ants for knicker seams.

This is one of those fun learning experiences where kids learn without learning. The lesson taken away from the whispering circle was you can’t always trust what you hear.

Sound familiar?

Some adults need a refresher course in this day and age of webblogs, myspace and user comments. This is the information age with gossip and hearsay swirling around our heads in cyberspace. It’s hard to know what’s true and what isn’t, as one ridiculous story proves true and another sound tale false. And while the snake oil salesmen have only changed their traveling wagons for a web site to sell their cures, its getting bad when local news reports a misrepresentation two days after it’s been clarified on the web.

Seriously. President Bush may have signed into law the Violence Against Women and Department of Justice Reauthorization Act. In that act, there is buried a clause that references posting annoying Web messages or sending annoying e-mail messages without disclosing your true identity. No one will deny that. However, by cutting this malignant passage from the healthy body to hold up as proof that the body needs to be put to death is extreme.

Sure, it’s sensational television. It might help the stations ratings for a day. Licking ants for knicker seams would do the same thing. Doesn’t mean it’s correct or news.

Check it out. Steer off the favored porn site for three clicks to find out if that story is better than it sounds or if someone’s pulling legs. Sure, the online casino will miss your money for the five minutes it takes to scout out a reliable webblog or hoax site to give you the straight poop. Yes, Farmer Brown’s cow was only worth fifty beans. Can you imagine that? And no, the word “annoy” only appears once in the Act and it’s always been there as part of the 1934 telephone-annoyance statute. An update was needed to include new technology, so Internet communications devices now fall under the scope of the law. It’s no more useful in stopping annoying, anonymous posters than it was in stopping telemarketers from calling during dinner.