It’s an entirely different kind of flying altogether.

In which reality starts to set in.

There’s a fundamental difference in selling a novel to a publisher and a nonfiction book.  With few excpetions, when you sell a novel, it’s done. You (or your agent) present a finished manuscript to the editors for review. They read it and buy or pass.  Nonficiton books are typically pitched; you write a proposal where you outline everything you intend to do with the book.  In this instance, if the publisher says, “Yes, we want you to write this,” THEN you go write it. (That’s not to say that some nonfiction books aren’t written prior to being sent to a publisher but if you require a lot of research and travel to write the book, the proposal route can be a great way of getting the publisher to pay for that….)

I’m more comfortable with the fiction route. I’m in complete control. I’m making it all up. I don’t have to wait for something to happen or HOPE for something to happen before I can start writing. With this book, all I can do right now is some preliminary research (essential to the process) and come up with a game plan but the majority of my work won’t start until the plays start rehearsing, sometime next summer.

What makes me nervous about everything is how random it all is, how I’m totally at the mercy of chance.  Here’s something I learned about the Fringe festival AFTER I said I’d do this.  The plays that perform in the festival are chosen completely at random. Let me repeat that. Completely at random.  If you would like to perform in the Fringe festival, you have to put in an application and be ready to pay $400 and then, in February, a lottery is held and applications are drawn out of a barrel (I don’t know if they use a barrel… the point is people are picked COMPLETELY AT RANDOM).  It doesn’t matter if you’re classically trained by Uta Hagen or if you’re a complete theatre newbie or if you’re Steven Spielberg…if you want to do something at the Fringe, you have an equal chance with everyone else who submits their name.  Here’s the kicker: you don’t even have to know what you want to do. You can simply put your name on the paper and say that the show will be determined later.  There are many people who do this and then, when they get their name drawn, go, “Well, damn…now I have to come up with a show.”  Some people choose to write their own thing, others produce pre-published material.  But because the festival is non-juried, there’s no guarantee of the quality or diversity (although diversity never seems to be a problem).

This method is very appealling to Fringers.  There’s something edgy, dangerous about it. Anything can happen.  Guerilla theatre at its finest. Get chosen, quickly write a show, throw it together, and get it on stage.  The writer in me loves this.  The situation is rife with the potential for drama and conflict.  The control freak in me is clutching the sides of his head and screaming, “Are you KIDDING me with this?!”

The timeline for this project is scaring me the more I think about it.  February, the shows are selected.  There are FIVE slots that are guaranteed for the Teen Fringe (although, bear in mind, there’s nothing saying that five teen plays will be submitted….do you see where the randomness of all this has the potential to make my life very difficult?), although 18 shows were designated as Teen Fringe shows last year.  So let’s say that 10 shows end up being Teen Fringe shows as of February.  At least half of those will be writing their own material (and maybe half of those will be already written, the other half being written as soon as their name comes out of the mythical barrel).  So I start working with the people involved–writers, directors, actors–HOPING that they want to be part of this book and will give me full access to everything I need (casting meetings–although I understand they’re scarce at Fringe, rehearsals, tech discusssions, etc.). I get a feeling for who these people are outside the Fringe. I watch as they write their scripts and try to come up with a rehearsal schedule. I watch as they rehearse. HOPEFULLY, during all this, I’m doing a little bit of writing. The shows go up in August, I cover a little bit of the post Fringe activities…and then I go write. I’ve got until January to turn in the manuscript.  This is while I’m also working on my thesis for the MFA program.

The fact that MOST of this will be written in that tiny window between September 2007 and January 2008 is what’s scaring me the most. I’m a slow writer. A very slow writer. And I’ll have other things on my plate at the time. But I’m very excited about this project so, naturally, it’ll have a certain amount of priority.  But still….

First up, a proposal.  Remember, at this point, it’s not a DONE done deal. Both sides–the Fringe and Flux–have expressed enthusiasm for it. Andrew has asked that I write a formal proposal that just sort of lays out my intent and thoughts so both sides know exactly what’s going on. I don’t have a problem with this. In fact, it’s a way of keeping me focused. So a large portion of this weekend will be 1) reading a book on the proper way to write a book proposal and 2) writing a book proposal.  Hopefully, sometime in the next few weeks, this will pay off with a contract that everyone signs off on and then I can REALLY start to panic.

Nah. No panicking. It’ll be fun. It’s just an entirely different kind of flying altogether.