Josh Languedoc (he/him/his) is playwright and director of Indigenous strategic planning at the Edmonton Fringe. If you’ve been in a Vic drama class there’s also a slight chance you’ve had him as a substitute teacher. I sat down with him for an interview before any of the Awakening playwrights had been determined so you can imagine my surprise when I ended up in the cast of his show. Truly, this coincidence launched the whole playwright interview series that we’re so excited to be sharing with you. You can see his show A Temporary Stop in Time as a part of the Awakening festival on May 17 and May 19, 2022.

What do you do? Tell me a bit about your plays.

I do many things but what I do here at the fringe is part arts administration and part arts detective. I got hired by the organization to learn the organization inside and out and identify the ways it can expand to be more inclusive of Indigenous voices at all levels of its structure from the board to the volunteers to the artists to the people that run the Fringe. It’s a lot of figuring out where the holes are and identifying how we can fill those holes. [All of that] on top of artistic programming and facilitating and leading and all of that fun jazz. So many different little hats.

I’ve written quite a few plays, they’re all at various random stages of development. The ones I’m working on right now: one’s called IN-COR-RI-GI-BLE: The Legend of Thundervoice, it’s based on my dad’s life and I’m also finishing up my MFA at the UofA and that’s going to be my thesis play. I’m also being commissioned right now to write a new play for puppets, I’m tentatively calling it Creature in the Dark, we’re doing it at Theatre Prospero. I’m also writing CIVIL BLOOD: A Treaty Story, which I’m collaborating with Mr. Bye-Keufler on. 

What got you involved in theatre and playwriting?

I guess I was six years old, my parents were watching me just be expressive and imaginative and reenacting movies by myself. So they tossed me into a drama camp when I was six years old and I’ve chased that feeling ever since: being onstage, being in a live theatre. So, I’ve kind of grown up in theatre and every time I’ve tried to move away from it or done jobs outside of the theatre, it always calls me back. It does feel like a home, like where I belong and where I want to do the work that I really want to do.

In terms of what got me into playwriting [...] I know that I was thirteen/fourteen and I was getting frustrated with auditioning and never getting picked for anything but I loved to make up stories for myself. Again, my parents put me in a [year long] playwriting course at the Citadel and I just completely fell in love with it. And that’s where I met one of my mentors-- he’s still my mentor to this day. I’ve really had this on-again off-again relationship with playwriting but, it’s really only been the last five years that I decided [that] this is what I really want to do, where my artistic views lie and specifically writing for my people--Indigenous narratives and [vouching for] Indigenous issues. 

Why playwriting?

I’ve attempted to write poetry, I don’t know if it’s any good. [...] There’s something about getting people talking that’s just so exciting. 

What keeps you writing? How do you deal with writer’s block?

I leave it. I leave it, I just shelve it and come back to it later. There’s ways you can trick your brain to practice writing everyday, practice playwriting everyday and I firmly believe in that. For me, I just find that-- because sometimes I write things that are really, really heavy-- if I hit a wall, sometimes I need to wait until inspiration comes back to me or until I’ve unlocked something or until I’ve learned something in my own life that helps me get back to it. That could mean I leave a draft for a year or two and come back to it. Honestly, what I think helps me the most with writer’s block is just being gentle with myself, not forcing something that isn’t ready to come out. I usually jump back and forth between a couple of different projects so it’s not like I focus on one thing, leave it for a few years and then come back to that one thing. I usually have multiple things that I’m working on so I can hopscotch a bit.

What does your writing process look like?

It always starts with observation [...]. Sometimes I don’t even realize what I’m observing is going to be something I’m going to write about but, I keep my eyes open. Usually, it starts with a conversation. Whether that’s a commission or a challenge or a “oh that would be cool if we tried this” then suddenly my wheels start turning and I sit down and end up vomiting it out. And  that’s very much how it starts for me [...]. 

For me, I would say it very much starts with character. I may have this big idea or this fate that I want to make but I have to do a lot of [...] side writing until I find the character. Sometimes I’ll just write random monologues just to get the character talking and to be exploring their voice. Often I’ll do that for quite a while and several drafts before I have what I think the character’s voice is. Or sometimes I’ll start with little scenes and those things connect in my mind and those scenes turn into a draft but other times it doesn’t.

Why do you gravitate to Indigenous stories?

Me. It’s who I am. I think what draws me artistically to it is the fact that I didn’t see my people at all until university. It was very much a private way of living: how my family took us to ceremony etc. It was never something I was really loud and proud about. It wasn’t until university that I realized that the narrative had been ignored for so long. Not just artistically but everywhere: policy, leadership positions, how organizations are run. I began to see these holes everywhere. So I realized that I [could] take my anger and frustration towards that and tap into stories of my life, stories I’m drawn to because of how I was raised and how I have navigated this world. To me it was a calling. What I’m really driven to do is to fill those holes and have Indigenous people look at theatre and think “hey, I belong here,” or “I can tell my stories there.”

I think there’s healing in it too. Some of the plays I’m writing are about healing the Indigenous community, healing that broken relationship between settler and Indigenous, and what the future could look like if we could come together; how do we even get there? It feels like a life quest for me at this point. 

What would you recommend for young people interested in playwriting?

Words have power. Your life and your words have power. You may not know that you have power, but trying to write, trying to express yourself is learning to take your power for yourself. Trust the stories that you know, trust the journeys you’ve walked. You have a voice to share with the world and the more you can tap into that in an authentic way, I think, the more meaningful your work will be in the end.

What would you say to your high school self?

What’s hilarious about this is that I am a Vic grad! I was in [Directing] 35 eons ago. It was actually in grade 12 that I started to embrace my Indigenous ways of knowing in some assignments I had, mostly in Acting 35. I would say: “don’t stop, keep going. Trust your heart, trust your gut. Don’t trust the naysayers or the people who are trying to take power away from you. Trust that you have a story to share and trust that your heart and your gut will lead you where you need to go.”

With any ideas so far, how would you describe what you're planning to write in three words?

Fragmented picture memories.

Why is Victoria School the right place for your work?

I am a proud alumni of Victoria School. The program gave me a lot as a young artist and this is a wonderful chance for me to give back to my home community to help the next group of up and coming artistic voices. Aside from that, Victoria School fosters such a daring and brave space of artistic expression and creativity. As I write this new play it is exciting to me to see young artists take ownership of the work and invite brave creativity to help my play develop. It is indeed very exciting!