Building a Village: A Sewanee Love Letter

ENTERING THE DOMAIN
  

When you arrive in Sewanee you drive through the old stone gates where a sign ominously informs you that you are entering “The Domain of the University of the South.”  Legend has it that when you leave the gates a Sewanee angel watches over you until your return.  I have certainly found my angels in Sewanee and they have given me protection these past fives years.

Located on the Cumberland Plateau in southeastern Tennessee, Sewanee is a small private liberal arts collect governed by the Episcopal Church.  Affectionately called the Hogwarts of the South, the school is modeled after Cambridge in both its architecture and love of tradition:  all of the buildings are made of stone and professors wear gowns to teach.  The fog, which has often been written about, creates a mystical feel.

Home of the Sewanee Review, the oldest continuous literary journal in the country, Sewanee is steeped in literary tradition.  Thanks to the generous support of the Tennessee Williams endowment, the quaint hamlet is also home to the Sewanee Writers’ Conference each summer.  It was a fellowship as the Tennessee Williams Playwright-in-Residence which brought me to Sewanee five years ago.

The fellowship was truly a gift; Sewanee arrived in my life when I needed it most.  Here I have had the time and space to write, while also being given a livable wage, housing, and access to health insurance:  basic necessities that artists rarely have.  It’s also allowed me to be the writer I want to be while also being the parent I hope to be. 

BUILDING A VILLAGE  

When I moved to New York I found my tribe for the first time; in Sewanee I built my village.  One thing I have learned from being a parent is that children can create instant community.  The people I met when we first arrived were also parents, and we were bound by our desire to be good parents while balancing our work life.  

In Sewanee parenthood has given me membership into a club of compatriots who understand the frustration, exhaustion, and satisfaction that comes with being a parent.  There are other friends who don’t have children.  They play an important role as well:  they provide me a much-needed escape from parenthood. 

When you live on a college campus people who love to learn surround you.  It’s one of the things I love most about the community; I am surrounded by smart people.  Sarah, Betsy, Shelley, Megan, and April are all smart people in ways that don't feel intimidating (well, maybe a little), but inspiring.  Among the group there are two college professors, an English teacher, an Episcopal priest, and the coordinator of the prestigious Sewanee Writers’ Conference. 

When you don’t have living parents or siblings you learn to build community.  Each of these women, along with numerous others in the community, would take my child in an emergency.  They have provided my daughter with play dates while I grade, kept her overnight while I’ve rehearsed a play or attended an event.  They have engaged in late night texting sessions when I needed to vent about the frustrations of parenthood, and they ask about my grandmother and what I’m writing.  They are invested in my success as a writer, a parent, and a professor.  And when I see them they always ask, “How are you?” That might seem basic, but they ask how I’m doing and really listen to the response.  When you’re a single parent that doesn’t always happen.  

DRINKS AT THE INN

Instead of lunch, we steal away for a drink at the Sewanee Inn.  Sitting by the fireplace, we cozy up on the overstuffed couches and share stories about our children’s latest quirks, challenges at work, and plans for spring break.  We talk about the changes in our bodies as they grow older, aging parents, and the logistics of daily life.  And there’s laughter, lots and lots of laughter.  

This mighty group of women reminds me of the things we should all look for in friends. They never make me feel self-conscious about who I am as a parent.  They love me in yoga pants and no makeup.  They know that my daughter loves frogs and turtles and won’t eat vegetables unless they are raw.  They’ve all seen me cry and they’ve celebrated my victories.  And they have taught me how important it is to have people in your life who have seen your child at their worst  - and perhaps even a glimpse of your parenting at its worse - and rather than judgment offer understanding. 

When I turned 40 they planned a surprise party for me and gathered all of the people who have helped define my experience here in Sewanee.  It was a lovely act of friendship.  I’m not sure how much longer we will remain in Sewanee; uncertainty looms.  But if this chapter is coming to an end I can leave knowing that Sewanee has served me well.  Sewanee have given me a place to call home, an opportunity to write, to discover my love of teaching, and the resources to grow as both.  The community has reaffirmed the old adage that it takes a village to raise a child and that we all have a chance to build family wherever we go.

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All Roads Lead Back

All Roads Lead Back
Kent Thompson is a man who builds things.  He builds stories into plays and theatres into institutions.  

Most people have a defining moment in their life, a moment that all roads lead back to.  When I was in high school the Alabama Shakespeare Festival announced it was producing Peter Pan, so I convinced my mother to drive me the two and a half hours to Montgomery to audition.  My mother later admitted she only allowed me to audition because since I was a chesty 15 year old girl who couldn't really sing, she was sure I would never be cast.  But I was.  

Nothing about it was practical. But somehow my mother, who knew nothing about the theatre, recognized that this was an experience I couldn’t pass up.  So my grandmother and I moved into a furnished apartment for 10 weeks, which I’m sure was financed on credit cards.  My mother drove up on the weekends to play the role of reluctant stage mother.

Working with the company of Peter Pan was a life changing experience. Most of the cast came in from New York and a few had Broadway credits, which for a kid who spent her spare time pouring over old Playbills, was magical. It was in the rehearsal rooms of the Alabama Shakespeare Festival that I learned what it meant to be a working theatre professional.

The production was directed by Kent Thompson, who was then the artistic director of the Alabama Shakespeare Festival. Soft-spoken, with an understated, dry sense of humor, Kent is very much a gentleman.

New Plays and New Voices

Perhaps Kent's greatest legacy at ASF was the creation of the Southern Writers' Project, which shepherded new plays focusing on Southern and African-American culture, to the stage.  As I got older and my focus shifted from acting to writing I lied about my age so that I could participate in their inaugural Young Southern Writers’ Project. 

Soon I was invited to the Southern Writers' Project where I was given time, space, and a cast of smart actors who challenged me as a writer.  At one point Kent stopped an actor who was reading a long monologue about something that happened offstage.  And then he taught me a valuable lesson about active verses passive choices:  an audience would rather see a moment come to life than hear about it.  It’s a lesson that has stayed with me all these years and good advice for lives lived both on and off the stage.

As a lifelong theatre artist, Kent understands the challenges that artists face.  After I had a play at the Royal Court in London, Kent offered me my first commission.  That commission kept me afloat while I was writing and bridged the gap between other paying gigs.  The play I wrote became Gee’s Bend, my most successful play so far. 

After 16 years Kent left the Alabama Shakespeare and became the artistic director of the Denver Center for the Performing Arts.  There he launched the New Play Summit, a new play development program that now attracts theatre artists from around the country.  Not only is he committed to commissioning playwrights, but he understands the value of then shepherding those plays into production.  Once again Kent offered me a commission; the play, written just after my mother died, became a sweet little love story about death.

The New Play Summit has evolved into something more than a showcase for new work; it has become a place where artists come together for fellowship and dialogue.  Kent's commitment to diversity has seen the voices of more women and people of color represented on the stage.  The Women's Voices Fund, which he created thanks to support from major donors, actively commissions new work each year.

Early Inspiration
Kent was born the son of a Southern Baptist Preacher, who held a PhD from the University of Edinburough and was mentored by Martin Luther King, Sr.  It might seem unlikely for a preacher’s son to grow up to be a theatre artist (or maybe not), but growing up listening to his father preach had an unexpected influence on him as an artist.  His father was doing from the pulpit what Kent has always tried to do in the theatre:  promote dialogue.  “I watched that from my dad every week,” he tells me over dinner. “Let’s talk about what’s happening now.  We have to talk to one another.”  That philosophy is a driving force behind the work Kent chooses to produce. 
Moving On

This spring I learned that Kent would be stepping down as the artistic director of the theatre after 12 years.  I decided to fly out to Denver to see his final production.  Kent graciously agreed to dinner.  We talked about creating new work, the challenges of making good theatre while also making money, and our journey to where we are today.  We talked about our losses over the years, of parents and spouses.  I asked him how he raised his son, now grown and in graduate school, while running a theatre; those who do it successfully continue to be an inspiration to me.  I savored every moment.

As we said goodbye I awkwardly tried to say thank you, to somehow convey the respect I have for the work he's done and what his faith in me has meant all these years.  He said, “Now you’re doing the same thing.”  And I suppose am I through my students.

Kent closed his show at the Denver Center after also celebrating his final New Play Summit.  For now, he plans to finish a book on directing which he has been contracted to write.  He and his wife, actress Kathleen McCall will continue working with Denver Health where they are advocates and fundraisers for the Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Unit. My guess is that he will find his way back to a theatre where he will continue to make plays and inspire others.

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On Triumph and Defeat: The Halfway Mark

Being An Active Participant

The 40 Lunches Project has made it to the half way mark.  

When I talk to my students about creating compelling characters, I tell them that a good protagonist is always active rather than passive.  When we think back on our lives it is easy to place ourselves in the passive role.  This happened to me.  This person did this to me.  40 Lunches has forced me to look at myself as an active character.  What did I do?  What role did I play in this relationship?

Launching 40 Lunches has been one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself.  It has challenged me to confront some of the most difficult moments in my life, reflect on friendships, and boldly reach out to people I wanted to connect or reconnect with. It has given me an opportunity to say thank you to most and I'm sorry to some. It has forced me to put those experiences into words and to consider the part I played in each story.  It has also given me a weekly writing assignment (more or less) and deadlines to meet.

Midway Slump

But I’ll admit that I have hit a slump.  Keeping up with the weekly posts has been a challenge when I am also juggling work and parenting. 

And it’s not just the writing.  It’s the 20lbs I’ve managed to gain, because apparently when I turned 40 my metabolism stopped.  (That wasn’t supposed to happen.) It’s fear and uncertainty of being 40 and not knowing what’s next.  (That wasn’t supposed to happen either.)

So What’s Next?

So now, in addition to thinking about what I want the next 40 years of my life to be, I am looking at my immediate future as well.  How can I make the last half of 40 be the best it can be?

There is a lot I don't know, but what I do know is that there will be travel and adventure.  I'll open a new play in San Francisco and workshop another in Omaha.  I’ll be visiting with guests in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Washington DC, New York, and Alabama.  For many of the upcoming lunches I’ll be visiting with friends I haven’t seen in years.  

But when I launched this project I knew that in addition to reconnecting with people who shaped the first 40 years I wanted to reach out to people who I hope will inspire the next 40.  Many of my remaining lunches will hopefully do just that.
 

The Best Part

The best part has been the support of the people who have been following the project, the people who share my posts with others, and take the time to make a thoughtful comment. It’s been interesting to see the ways in which people connect and relate to the stories I am telling. 

Have any of these stories inspired you to reach out to someone in your life?  If so, drop me a line and tell me about it.

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