Showing posts with label virtual learning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label virtual learning. Show all posts

Tuesday, 10 March 2015

A Virtual Update

So you know that whole virtual learning course I was taking?   With 3 veterinarian events that require house arrest for a certain Doodle, surprising things are happening there.

First off, I’ve spent a lot of time writing in my head.  Many writers do this anyway, but early in the process, I usually need to write things down, have a tangible hard copy to work on.  Being deprived of that seems to bypass my cognitive brain. 

As a result and against my will, my antagonist staged a coup ousting my protagonist and became my main character, bringing a complexity, if not a depth, I hadn’t anticipated to a (third) catalyst character.  

The other consequence of Doodle duty is that my reading assignment is getting done in 2-3 minute intervals.  Thus, passages that I would’ve sped through –­ I’m so smart, I already know all of this – now have my extended attention. 

For instance, I’d just finished reading about outdoor vs indoor scenes when it came time to abandon all hope & cross the threshold into We Do Not Race Maniacally Thru The House Until The Stitches Come Out, i.e. a fortuitous attempt to reduce MY physical world by containing the pup.

My WIP associated with the course, Night Vigil, deals with how our childhood shapes our limitations in adulthood, as seen in the death watch of an abusive man by his wife and son.  Reading about outdoor/indoor gave me the idea of reaching past the stage into possibilities for both son & mother that wait for them after the man’s death.  There are already musical off-stage voices, but I now look for how to extend both the mother and son by being heard off stage , looking out windows, opening doors, as they try to escape where life has restricted them at the moment.

Then props.  I’d written in the father’s violin as shortcut to a lot of his history.  Obviously a prop to look at, especially one connected with a character who keeps his family in its particular status.  What more work could it do besides telling us the father is a musician?  And so the violin becomes an animate thing to the son and his sibs when they were children, and is still a way of knowing if their father were home by its presence or absence. 

Also, like many abusers, this father is charming.  In other words, Voice is a significant aspect.  The violin’s song.  The father’s song.  The choice of melody played,  in this case, one that’s initially playful but has minor tones in it, suggesting something darker even though pizzicatto.  Lastly, holding the violin, aligns any character with the father.

These are more than, Far Out, Man, devices.  Signifying the violin and being aware of the expansion or compression of space both give another tool when developing the plot.  I get stuck, I ask myself where all the characters are, where should they be, and of course, where’s the blasted violin?

As alluded to above, there were two characters whom I always wonder – are they needed?  They were in a first scene at the son’s house, one as the mother’s foil and the other as the son’s ally.  But were they needed for the rest of the play and if not, why introduce them at all? 

But a Doodle Nurse moment collided with a reading section on how silent observers could change what would be a sombre moment into a comedic one.  I’ve had this lifelong fascination with witnessing for people during anonymous but significant life events.  It made sense that the witnessing of any intense moments in a play could change the quality of those moments, and in other directions besides comedic. 

I then wrote an argument between mother and son that digresses through a momentary crumble in the mother’s cognition, but ends in a loving moment.  Quite a complicated emotional nosedive, but having it witnessed, allowed me to stop the action and give the audience time to assimilate what happened.  I did this by having the son and his ally exit, leaving the mother and her foil alone in an awkward silence, followed by an exchange between the two women that furthers understanding of the mother.

So this play that started as static  –  a mother and son changing their relationship by sitting a death watch  – gets energised via trying to keep a frenetic but recuperating puppy from being energised in my own life. 

Beyond all that I’ve learned about writing plays, I think I’ll slow down my technical reading in future, let things simmer more.  My only complaint is no 3D people to discuss this with!  

Saturday, 14 February 2015

Virtually Delayed

So there’s me, popping up my head after my writing winter of discontent.  It wasn’t writer’s block.  It was writer doesn’t give a fuck, heels dragged through my last draft of the novel about characters and themes I loved, absolutely loved.  And I didn’t give a fuck.  Emotively, I did.  Cognitively, I didn’t.

Once the novel was done and sent away to be slaughtered, deadlines for two plays waited my attention.  One play, an old friend who needed cosmetic surgery.  The other, only an idea.  Deadlines don’t understand winters of discontent.  I needed a kick in the ass, so decided to take a writing course.  Bit of structure, the fizz that comes from being around other writers, copacetic.

We have universities to the left of us, universities to the right, here I am, spoiled for choice of where to go.  On the home front, various things are being juggled (none of which understand winters of discontent, either, needless to say), so I opted for an online course.

This is a pretty funny idea because  2015 was going to be the Year of the Real.  Besides that, I’m not terribly visual.  In fact, I probably have a visual processing delay.  (When it’s going to arrive, is anyone’s guess.)  Which means that my photographer son and resident hooligan spent a lot of his childhood amusing himself by playing visual tricks on me.  Why I thought learning visually without the very necessary 3D contact with my classmates would work . . . well I wasn’t thinking, was I?  But I am nothing if not a slow learner, non-attendant of the obvious.  Off the money goes and I wait to be inspired to greatness.

It didn’t occur to me that I was in trouble when feedback for my first submission honed in on my use of accents in the dialogue.  (What accents?  thinks me.)  Some feel it courageous I’ve attempted accents.  Some, that I shouldn’t be taking on airs, using accents without a DRAMATIC REASON.  Oh, and did I know that certain (low brow) Dubliners might use the word ‘feck’ but certainly never ‘wee’.  That’s Northern Irish.

Oh.  The ‘accent’ is my husband’s speech pattern.  Oh.  Okay.  Light bulb moment.  They don’t know I’m not British.  Telling them once, doesn’t make much difference.  Telling them three times does.  And this isn’t a reflection on them.  It’s a reflection on virtual learning.  In a 3D classroom, they’d hear my voice week after week.  Online, I’m letters on a screen.  They aren’t here to get to know me.  They’re here to learn scriptwriting.

I did, however, understand immediately the difficulty from most of the course examples being culturally embedded.  (I may be slow, but I've been an ex-pat for a while now.)  We read this script, watch that film, my classmates are in stitches or deeply moved and I’m all WTF?????  Without the cultural context, my learning skimmed across the top, no  conversations where the Brits explained things to me about their home grown drama, heard my reflections as an outsider.  

My visual son says he doesn’t think creative coursework can be taught virtually.  Indeed, it would take a lot of online chatting for this group of dispersed learners to become a real writing group.  To be honest, there hasn’t been a week yet when everyone gets in the written assignment for the rest of us to give feedback on.  If life intrudes too emphatically for them to get their work done, they most likely don’t have time to chat either. 

It’s not been a total loss.  We’re covering ground that I’ve not covered before and my two plays show the results of this.  But it’s feckin hard work.  (Yes, I’m low brow.  No, I’m not from Dublin.)  If I’m lucky, I may get a small paragraph of feedback from one or two of my classmates, an equal offering from my tutor.  There’s no discussion.  There’s no listening to discussions of the other plays.  There’s me.  Squiggles on a screen.  And waiting.  Waiting for their assignments.  Waiting for feedback.  Some of which never come, followed by more waiting.

So never again, unless I’m too frail to venture forth and annoy the Brits.  Hats off to those of you who can learn virtually, but for this anachronistic speaker of crass dialects, 3D is where I stay.