Category: Random crap

As I set out to direct another play, my mind has been drawn to the concept of reimagining and re-envisioning previous works. I’ve long felt that the main problem with a lot of older works is not in the original source material but in the cruft that they’ve had piled on top of them over years or even decades: stuff left over from previous interpretations that people nowadays feel must be part of every subsequent version, even though they were part of a particular adapter’s vision and not the original creator’s.

My taste for reinterpreting and reimagining works occasionally makes me want to tackle works that were previously considered “unstageable;” that were considered too vast or too complex to be brought to fruition on the live stage. Most of the time I can’t do it, but sometimes I’m blessed with a Eureka moment that makes the impossible seem ridiculously easy, and will make me regret that most likely I will never be able to see my vision through.

That’s what happened this time, and since I will probably never get to put it forth live on stage I’ve decided to share that vision here.

I have figured out how to pull off a successful stage adaptation of The Catcher in the Rye.”

The Unadaptable Holden

J.D. Salinger was famously put off from adaptations of his work because of one disastrous move by Samuel Goldwyn. Goldwyn bought the rights to one of Salinger’s Nine Stories, specifically Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut, which he made into a film called My Foolish Heart. Other than a simple framing device, nothing of Salinger’s story remained in the film. Feeling very much slighted and protective of his creations, Salinger basically turned his back on any further adaptations. Especially when the first person to approach his agents about adapting Catcher was none other than Sam Goldwyn. It could be said that the disaster of My Foolish Heart led directly to the creation of Holden and his hatred of all things “phoney,” including Hollywood movies.

One serious attempt was made at bringing Holden to the stage. Elia Kazan began work on a version and approached Salinger, who rejected it out of hand. He would later say that he didn’t think the story could successfully be adapted to the stage or film and rejected every offer that came his way while leaving it open to his heirs whether or not to ever offer the rights.

My opinions of Catcher are well-known, but most of what I think makes it a worn-out piece of written literature today would actually make it well suited to the stage. A properly written stage adaptation could tame the beast, solve most of the problems that have made the book less impressive today than when it was first published, and sweep aside a lot of the interpreting and “changed-my-lifeism” and antihero worship that has grown up around the book. Basically, take the story back to Salinger’s original material.

Taming the Beast

One thing that has made people think that Catcher is unstageable is the sheer scope of the book. It starts in rural Pennsylvania at a boarding school and then takes in about half of Manhattan. You obviously can’t pull all of this off on the modern stage unless you had a lot of tech behind you, which would limit the number of places where the play could be performed. The most likely place for this play to be produced (once it had finished its first professional productions and amateur rights became available) would be high schools and colleges, where the source material is well known and still revered, and community theaters looking for a big name title to produce.

The answer to this problem is surprisingly simple. And as with any good reimagining, it’s solved by going back to the source material.

Salinger said one of his major objections to bringing Catcher to the screen is that he thought that having Holden’s narration as voice-over or put into dialogue wouldn’t work. Fine. So we don’t do that. Instead, we put on stage what Salinger did on the page.

Holden is sitting (or occasionally standing) there telling us a story.

Holden would be on stage all the time. He would narrate the entire work as he tells us the story of what has happened to him over the past several days. From time to time we would drift into scenes with dialogue and other actors, and as each of these vignettes ends (or he feels the need to expound on something), Holden would literally step out of the scene, face the audience, and start telling his story again until the time came for him to drift back into the action.

And where would we set these vignettes? Despite the scope of the story, all of the real character development for Holden (and thus all the important action) takes place in one of three rooms. Specifically, three bedrooms.

A Play in Three Bedrooms

Each act of the stage adaptation of Catcher would take place in a different bedroom. This would allow small scale productions to simply redress the set at each intermission with different bedclothes, wall hangings, etc., while large scale productions could rotate a different set into place for each of the acts. The play is set in December of 1951, and is done as a period piece with appropriate costumes and props.

Act One opens with Holden sitting in his dorm room at Pencey Prep, which is where he starts telling us his story. He has just found out that he has been expelled and brings us up to speed on recent events. The scene with Mr. Spencer could be moved here, or shown with different lighting on the same plane as Holden. The bulk of the act would be his conversations with Stradlater and Ackley and the fight that ensues. At the end, Holden leaves for Manhattan. Curtain.

Act Two would be set in Holden’s hotel room. His experiences with the tourist women could either be cut or (if needed for timing purposes) told in flashback with different lighting. The first scene with Sunny, the prostitute, would come next. After she leaves, Holden would call Sally Hayes from the phone in his room and leave to see Romeo and Juliet with her. They would come back to the hotel room slightly tipsy, and that would be when Holden invites her to run away with him and she rebuffs him. Shortly after she leaves there is a knock on the door. Holden, hoping it’s her, finds Sunny and her pimp Maurice, who beats Holden up again and robs him. Curtain.

Act Three is entirely set in Phoebe’s bedroom, late that night when Holden’s parents are asleep. There is a model of the Central Park carousel on one of her shelves. The two have their long conversation, with Holden telling her some of the parts that are show in the book (like the ducks in Central Park) that we would have to have take place offstage. We would jettison the part with Mr. Antolini, and concentrate on his relationship with Phoebe for the entire act. At the end, she talks him into not leaving, and he agrees to accompany her to the zoo.

Phoebe exits and Holden takes down the model of the carousel, telling us about how he enjoyed watching Phoebe ride it in the rain. He brings us up to date on getting sick and going to the hospital in California, and how he will be attending a new school that September. He then says he doesn’t want to tell us any more because it makes him think of how much he misses all those people in his life: Ackley, Stradlater, and especially Phoebe, who he will always remember riding that carousel. He spins the model as the curtain falls.

Simplicity

The advantages of this approach are obvious. The three rooms not only provide for easy staging but also bring a thematic link to the three acts, something the novel notoriously lacks in structure. The parts of the story that are best left to internal monologue are presented through storytelling. The inconsequential portions are disposed of. The nonsense about Jane Gallagher (except for one aborted phone call from the hotel room) is left in Act One where it belongs. Holden is no longer ineffectual and do-nothing; he drives the story. Best of all, it preserves the main structure of the novel by having it be about Holden telling us a story.

This version of The Catcher in the Rye will never be produced. Salinger’s estate has shown no interest in authorizing any adaptations and even if they were interested I would never have the money to option the rights let alone produce a show. But this little exercise should show that with enough time, courage, and faith in the material, it can be possible to adapt almost anything to the stage.

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I originally wrote this essay for a now-defunct blog. I’ve updated it with new links and information and am reposting it here.

Most people in their late 30’s and early 40’s learned “say-zee” as their first real acronym. For that, we have the TV show ZOOM to thank. ZOOM was designed as a highly interactive program, something almost unheard of in 1972, and encouraged kids to write to the show with their stories and ideas. Everyone who wrote was told to include a SASE. “What’s a ’say-zee?’” “It stands for Self-Addressed Stamped Envelope.”

(And thanks to the program being produced in Boston, I also have that show to thank for my pronouncing that word ON-vel-ope while most people here in South Jersey pronounce it EN-vel-ope.)

The SASE is a must for a would-be writer. It’s the most reliable way for a prospective agent, editor, or publisher to get in touch with you. There are some people who will use your SASE to say “yes” or “maybe,” so don’t think that they’re always negative when they show up in your mailbox.

Back when I was a kid, I had to write my SASE’s by hand. By the time I got to college, I started using pre-printed labels. But when I finally got truly serious about trying to make it as a writer, I needed my SASE’s mass produced. Once again, the wonders of modern technology.

Here’s how to produce a SASE in Microsoft Word (2007 and 2010). Other programs will use similar techniques.

1. Click on the “Mailings” tab at the top of the window.
2. Pick “Envelope.” It’s the left-most icon in the ribbon.
3. Type your address in both the “return address” and “delivery address” fields.
4. If you have Stamps.com internet postage installed, make sure that the “add electronic postage” box is not checked. More on this later.
5. Save your file. You’ll need it later when you run out of printed SASE’s.

A few notes on addressing:

• Make sure your SASE’s are clear and easy to read. I like to use “Arial Narrow” 12 point for my return addresses and “Arial Black” 14 point for my “To” addresses. Easy to read, easy to scan.
• If your software lets you include “POSTNET” or “Intelligent Mail” barcodes (like Wordperfect does), then use them, at least for now. They’re easier for the post office’s scanners to read than most written ZIP codes and speed up the automation. The Post Office started phasing out POSTNET in 2011 for the new Intelligent Mail Barcode, but POSTNET is still used..
• Always use your ZIP+4 code. If you don’t know your ZIP+4, then look it up.

Now we come to the most important part of the self-addressed stamped envelope: the stamp. While you could use any old stamp, or even the “netstamps” spit out by stamps.com (but not the postmarked ones printed right on an envelope!), your best bet is the little wonder called the “Forever” stamp.

Not only can “Forever” stamps save you money in the long run if you buy buttloads of them right before a postage rate increase, their magical staying power serves a more important purpose. One thing to remember is that you have no guarantee how long it’s going to take for an agent, editor, or publisher to respond to you. My personal record at the moment is eleven months, but longer waits are not unheard of. Rate increases come with horribly little warning. There is a fair chance that between the time your prospective agent gets your SASE and when they get around to mailing it back to you, the rate will have gone up.

What happens when your SASE sits in a slushpile while the rates change is as variable as everything else in this game. Some agents will be nice and stick an extra 1 or 2 cent stamp on it and send it out. Some will just send it to you, running the risk of it arriving postage due. Some will just throw it out. Never leave it up to chance. By using a “forever” stamp you ensure that no matter when it gets dropped in the outgoing post, it will have sufficient postage on it. Pick up a pack of “forevers” at your post office or, if you’re agoraphobic, buy them online.

This brings up another point: if the agent asks for a partial with your query, don’t bother sending oversized SASE’s with sufficient postage to cover sending the partial back to you. It’s easier for the agent to just send communication in a normal #10 than to repack everything for you. You’ll also spend more in return postage than it will cost you in paper and toner to just run off another copy. Rejection letters rarely run more than one page, anyhow, so one stamp on a #10 is sufficient; if the agent really needs to tell you more than they can in a single page letter, they’ll probably contact you anyhow.

Another great thing is that SASE’s printed this way are wonderfully lightweight things. My handy postage scale here tells me that my standard SASE weighs less than one tenth of an ounce. If you’re sending out snail mail queries without partials (like most queries are supposed to be), then a single sheet of paper and a SASE will still weigh less than one ounce, sufficient for a single 46 cent (or whatever the current rate is) stamp. Just fold your SASE in thirds as you fold your query, put them both in an envelope with a single stamp on it, and you’re good to go.

Last but by no means least, every snail mail query and every piece of requested material (partial or full) should have a SASE in it. The easier you make an agent’s life, the happier they are.

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First, please don’t say “fuck” so often. It kind of loses its impact that way.
– Andy Borman, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Columbine

It’s been a dilemma in Young Adult literature for decades: to ‘fuck’ or not to ‘fuck.’

No, not whether or not to have sex scenes. That’s an even thornier debate and one that cannot be done justice in a blog entry. What I’m talking about is the debate over the use of “foul language” in Young Adult literature with an emphasis on the word “fuck.”

No “bad words!” Bad thoughts! Bad intentions! And words.
– George Carlin

“Fuck” is probably a thorny word because of its many different connotations. It’s always been considered vulgar. It’s extremely aggressive; “fuck you!” can actually be seen as wishing rape upon someone. And probably worst of all in the eyes of parents, “to fuck” literally means to have sex.

The dilemma over the word in YA is rooted in two facts that some people don’t want to accept. Teenagers say ‘fuck,’ and teenagers do fuck.

In A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Columbine, I used the word “fuck” (and varaitions on it like “fucked” and “fucker”) 55 times. One out of every 914 words in the book was a variation of “fuck.” This might seem excessive to some people, and it probably is, but there were reasons for it. First off, I wrote Columbine for adults, not “young” adults. It only got classified as YA because of the industry’s need to ghettoize anything with protagonists under 25 as “for kids.” Second, my narrator and his friends are angry, bitter boys and their anger manifested itself in their word use.

Perhaps in overreaction, I took a different tack in Go To Hell. In the entire book, the f word is only used three times, in very specific context. Two of them are from one of the book’s primary antagonists, who is a very unsavory character and uses the word in unsavory circumstances. When my hero, Ryan, turns around and uses it, it’s meant to show that he’s sinking to the bad guy’s level. Plus, he’s despondent and angry and less likely to censor himself at that point.

When the time came to write Sidekick,I made a vow to myself. I was going to watch my characters’ language. Since the story is set in, essentially, a comic-book universe modeled after the old DC multiverse under the Comics Code Authority a plethora of “fucks” would have seemed out of place. I still used the “s” word because I wanted my kids to sound somewhat authentic (one of my favorite lines is still “because she’s all supernatural and shit”) but limited the number of its appearances. One of my critique partners actually said they thought Bobby was too much of a goody-goody because he didn’t use profanity that often!

Still, Sidekick found a publisher where Go To Hell and Columbine had to be self-published for Kindle, so the lesson is not entirely lost on me.

834,620 x 375,002 = who really gives a fuck
– Will Grayson #2, Will Grayson Will Grayson

One major issue in the question of whether or not to use the word “fuck” has to come down to whether it fits the character and the plot. A great example is Will Grayson Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan. In Green’s chapters, the straight Will Grayson and his friends use the F word, but sparingly. Some of the places where another character would be called a “fucker” instead use the running gag of “bitchsquealer.” (I won’t ruin the running gag for you by explaining it here, but the more it gets used, the funnier it becomes). In Levithan’s chapters, however, the gay Will Grayson uses it constantly to the point of almost being annoying. But it’s appropriate for Will #2. The anger and resentment he feels, augmented by his clinical depression, are better expressed with vulgar and aggressive language. It feels right, and draws a distinction between the two Wills.

Another one is to what effect is the word used? Is there a purpose to it? In Will Grayson Will Grayson it defines the difference between the two characters, so even if some of it is gratuitous it is there for a reason. Another great example is Dale Peck’s Sprout, where the lack of profanity and teases at the seven deadly words becomes a running gag. It keeps up until Sprout finally uses the F word at exactly the wrong moment and in the wrong circumstances. I really don’t want to go into too much detail over the use of the word because I think everyone should read the book and the use of the word is key to the climax. Suffice it to say that I think it was the most effective use of “fuck” in literature and no other word would ever do.

But while I was sitting down, I saw something that drove me crazy. Somebody’d written “Fuck you” on the wall. It drove me damn near crazy. I thought how Phoebe and all the other little kids would see it, and how they’d wonder what the hell it meant, and then finally some dirty kid would tell them – all cockeyed, naturally – what it meant, and how they’d all think about it and maybe even worry about it for a couple of days.

– Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye

One of my major problems with The Catcher in the Rye (as I once expounded upon at length elsewhere) is how the book’s use of language makes it archaic. Part of that is probably due to the fact that in respectable books back then the word just was not used. The same case can be made for Robert Cormier’s outstanding The Chocolate War, the book that (along with Judy Blume) really defined the genre of Young Adult as it was coming into being. Cormier’s kids can sound like goody-goodies to today’s readers because of a relative lack of profanity, but his bad guys are some of the most disgusting people in the literary universe. The book is full of violence, sex, and bad intentions, and yet it can come across as overly santized to today’s kids.

If characters in YA don’t act like “real” teenagers do today, they’re going to come across as fake and unbelievable. It’s the same thing with the way characters sound. When adults aren’t listening (and sometimes when they are), kids use profanity. They hear it from others all the time so it feels natural to them. And the “forbidden fruit” aspects of those words make them even more appealing. When a teenager tells his friend to “fuck off,” there’s a thrill of using a word he is “not supposed to” use. It’s a tiny little form of rebellion, and rebellion is the entire underpinning of adolescence. To avoid the word entirely is unnatural.

“Did I just write that? So much for this book ending up in a high school library.”
– Sprout Bradford, Sprout

I think that some of the resistance to the use of the word “fuck” in YA has come from the fear that it will lead to the book being “banned” from schools. But let’s face it, what high school kid actually uses a high school library for anything other than schoolwork? They know that the stuff they find there is going to be Sanitized For Your Protection™. If they want to read something for pleasure they are going to (a) buy the book, (b) borrow the book from a friend who read it, (c) go to the “real” municipal or county library, or increasingly (d) download a PDF or audiobook of it through Bittorrent. At the YA level (compared to the Middle-Grade or younger levels) the school library isn’t really the factor it once was.

In the end, it comes down to the story, the characters, and the way the words are used. If “fuck” is thrown around gratuitously it loses its effectiveness and becomes a distraction. If a character is perfectly straight laced (and nowadays that would have to either be a supporting character or central to the plot) it seems unnatural and would be inappropriate. But if one of your teen characters occasionally drops the F-bomb at appropriate points and uses it in the proper context, it can probably help a certain number of your readers identify with the kids they are reading about.

So if you think it’s right for you, go ahead and “fuck” your readers.

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