November

I know what's missing in my life. I need to create. I need NaNo. November is going to be hell. The greatest hell ever. I will be so utterly exhausted, but it will be the exhaustion I enjoy so much: that specific kind of exhaustion that comes from spending every moment doing what you love.

I'm not doing what I love right now. I'm writing papers under impossible time constraints, limiting my freedom to truly create the profound essay I'd like; frantically trying to learn how to teach a theatre class to students who have no interest in theatre without losing the few who really do want to learn; cramming language and vocabulary into my head without building the natural, "native speaker" connections that'll make them stick under real-life pressure; and wishing desperately for Monday when I'll get to run another rehearsal. That's all I want. That's all I love.

It's scary, you know, realising that the one thing that's making everything else worth it is just a bunch of high school students who probably don't really care about you much. Not that they don't care, but they're not concerned with me the way I am them. They're not near giddy when they see me like I am them. It's insane. My whole existence right now is attached to them and this play. I need it; I need them!

November is going to be wonderful. In only a few weeks, we're going to cram in the blocking and choreography for the entire play. And while we're mercilessly cramming, I'll be a full time college student who is also writing a novel in a month. It will be amazing. I'll never have a moment to even stop and think, "Man, I am so tired!" I'll be too busy and too exhausted from creating so much.

I wish it were November.

On Not Sleeping

You know what sucks? Forgetting that, in your rush to get over to band rehearsal, you managed to completely not post a blog or even finish. Luckily, you woke up at three-something-in-the-morning, so you could write! Right?

Wrong. At three-something-in-the-morning, my brain was not properly functioning, and I was in a half asleep, half awake fog until six when I finally started to re-join reality and took a shower. And so the usual morning business started. Waking my brother up, feeding the dog, re-waking my brother up because he hadn't really woken up and was still dead in bed, eating breakfast, forgetting the dog outside, realising that my phone battery was nearly dead and thus plugging it in, telling my brother for the umpteenth time that lying in bed grumbling at me does not count as being "up," reading a book for a 10-page paper I need to write tonight and finish tomorrow night, making lesson plans in my head, checking my email, and then suddenly realising that, oh shoot, I never posted a blog!

That's my Tuesday so far. Pretty typical, minus waking up at three-something-in-the-morning; my body usually wakes me up right at sunrise, but with the gloomy weather we've been having, my body is terrified of accidentally sleeping in and has now moved to waking me up incredibly early after my not going to bed at a "decent hour". I have to get back to going to bed before midnight at the earliest. It's always one excuse after another though.

Last night, it was my brother wandering into the family room (where the computer I generally use is), sneaking onto the couch, and then breaking down into crying. It was well past his bedtime. So I sat down next to the couch and started talking to him to find out what was wrong. Apparently, his 10-year-old mind had come to the conclusion that, "The world is going to end," and this was just the worst thing imaginable. Obviously, he couldn't sleep.

It's actually pretty common that he gets up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. As I laid in bed last night to sleep, my mind wouldn't shut down either, and I could not, for the life of me, get to sleep for sometime. I can't assure him that he'll be able to sleep easily in the future, because I've always gotten little sleep, and I hear it from those older than me all the time about not sleeping. Babies can't even sleep through the night. For some reason, we humans, at least in our society, can't sleep all night unless we completely exhaust ourselves and have no choice but passing out like we're dead.

I like passing out like I'm dead. I generally sleep quite well, despite not getting to bed at that magical "decent hour" we idolise and still getting up as the sun rises, because I'm always so exhausted, that I'm out like a rock whenever I sleep. My body is like, "Screw it, I'm exhausted. Let's just be dead for awhile, yeah?" It's a really good actor too.

My brother finally went to sleep after a long talk about science and life and religion and race and the Middle East and earthquakes and New Orleans and Where the Wild Berries Grow. He loves to tell me ideas he has for the play, and he gave me a few good ones last night. I really have to wonder sometimes whether he's really going to be a lawyer like he claims; his mind is too thrilled by physically creating things, just like mine. We'll see. Once we get enough sleep.

Antici . . . pation!

I've grown to love anxiety. Not all anxiety, but a certain kind of anxiety: the specific anxiety that comes when you're anxiously awaiting something thoroughly exciting. Anticipation.

I've been wanting to start talking to my cast about their specific roles for what feels like forever. Casting is horrifying, but once it's done, it's overwhelmingly exciting. So the urge to tell everyone what part they got the moment it was officially cast was ridiculous. It was all cast Tuesday afternoon, and now it's Thursday, and I still can't say anything yet! The cast list didn't get put up until last night, since I couldn't get over to the school, so most of the cast will just be finding out today what part they got.

Some people have been bugging me to tell them what part they got. And it's only made it harder not to tell them. I want them all to know NOW. But I don't want to spoil their anticipation. There's an invaluable moment I'd be taking: that magical moment when all the build up anxiety and anticipation about casting finally bursts as you see your name up on the cast list. It's an explosive moment. I've found out my roles other ways before, and it's never quite the same. Being told over the phone, casting myself, knowing from the start, etc. It's just no where near as exciting. I can't take that wonderful moment away from anyone!

I'm anxiously awaiting and anticipating out first full cast (and crew, whoever we have so far) meeting on Monday. I'm incredibly nervous, but it's my cast list moment, the moment I get to see what role I have. I haven't seen any of the students since casting; it'll be like meeting them for the first time all over again! They're no longer students at my local school, but characters I created coming to life right before my eyes!

As a writer, it is your job to make little marks on paper (or a screen) become life within the imaginations of others, but as a director, you have to take the imagination those words create and turn them into something physical, tangible, real. The story, characters, emotion, and all that's in those words must be transformed into reality. Directing is like playing God.

The power of being god-like is addictive, horribly addictive. I'll be the first to admit it. Directing is my crack. And when I can start with nothing, not even a script, and produce an entire reality out of the raw materials around me, it's the ultimate high.

And what's even more incredible is how each person involved in the production is changed. God-like power aside, it's incredibly humbling. All I do is point people in the direction I think things ought to be going, and somehow, I accidentally hit the switch that transforms people into something greater. The whole becomes infinitely greater than the sum of its parts, and I know that it's because of all the wonderful parts, not just my magical ability to be an awesome director.

There is such a fine line between self-confidence and arrogance, between humility and self-depreciation. I am walking that line carefully, but there are so many people surrounding me who keep me in check. I couldn't so this without them, but I know they couldn't do this without me. Somewhere in there, I think I've found both self-confidence and humility. At least a decent amount of both for only being eighteen. Of course, every thinks they've got it all figured out at eighteen. I guess I'll just have to learn what it is I don't know.

I'm anxiously awaiting and anticipating learning. I love learning, and directing teaches me more than anything else I know. That's why I'm so addicted to it; I'm addicted to learning.

This post is just a bit late and a bit short. It is a post about dreams and plays and heroics and not dying. This post is a post about life; it has to be late and not enough.

I had a dream the other night. It was auditions. (Tomorrow, oh my goodness!) This girl walked up on stage, total badass. She commanded attention. Short, boy cut, spiky hair. Attitude. And I immediately knew who to cast her as, despite how little she physically looked like the character. She was badass. She exuded what the Mel in my head exuded.

I don't know why I dreamt that. I've been mostly dreaming of the exact character walking in all the other times I've dreamt of auditions and specific charcters. It was weird. But that girl walking in was like a dream come true, even if it wasn't the Mel I'd always dreamed of. I think maybe it was about how dreams really come true. Not word for word, letter for letter, but in ways you didn't always expect.

I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up simply because I wanted to be everything. I wrote. I designed clothes. I sketched out buildings and other structures. I took my legos and built cars, houses, stores, cities, entire universes. I made beanie baby plays. I sang, I danced. I dreamt of making music, playing instruments like my heroes. I created.

Yesterday, I was working on designing sets and costumes when I realised that this really is what I've always dreamed of. It's not word for word, letter for letter, but it's better. Instead of choosing one thing, I get it all. This play is me living out my childhood dreams. And I'm only 18.

I dreamt of being a hero more than anything. There was always a little boy in the street that I'd leap out to save from a speeding car. But dying is the end of being heroic. One life saved, and that's it. No more being a hero. But at least then it's obvious that you were a hero, that you gave your life to another.

I think I am a hero. Maybe not the best yet, maybe not superman just yet, but I'm a hero. Art will save someone's life like it saved mine, and I am making sure art has that chance. My life is given to saving another's.

Or so I hope.

My Big Fat Crush

Last Thursday, I met with the students I will soon be directing. In fact, in two days, they will be nervously getting up on stage in front of me and the rest of their future cast members to audition. You know that jittery feeling you get (or got) when you the girl or guy you like is about to walk by and you want to make sure they notice you and think you're cool but don't want to look like you're trying to hard? That's how I feel.

I have a crush on my job. I really, really like it, but I don't know if it likes me back yet. I think it does. I hope it does. I'm jittery. My heart is doing little leaps. My palms are sweaty. My head is spending every moment analysing and reanalysing everything I said or might say. I had the house to myself the other night, so I sat down and starting talking to my imaginary students, just for practice. I keep texting and calling and Facebooking and spamming and bothering people about my crush. I can't contain it. I'm horrified that my crush might find out though. What if it thinks I'm gross and creepy and weird and stalkerish? I don't want that!

I know the students are nervous too, but they have every bit of naïve faith in me. All they're worried about is whether they're going to impress me or not. Me! When did I become so important? It's frightening. Now I have this image to uphold. I have to act important, be important!

I couldn't stand up on the stage last Thursday and talk to them. I felt so intimidating and so very nervous. So I sat down on the steps, just a little above them. It was better, but they were all just staring at me. That was weird. High schoolers don't do that. They're wild and crazy and don't ever sit still to listen to anyone, especially not some 18-year-old with an over inflated ego who thinks she can direct. But there they were, listening to my every ineloquent word like I was saying something worth listening to. It was crazy. I didn't know how to handle all this new power. I still don't!

I think I'm more nervous for auditions than all of them combined. What if they think I'm running rehearsals all wrong? My student director, theatre expert that he is, will notice every single mistake I make. And the choir director will be there too. What if I screw up and she tells the director of the musical about it? What if they decide letting me be more than just a body to order around would be bad and don't take my input on things this year? What if I go backwards and not forwards?

Blogging is such therapy. I know all the things I'm so afraid of are silly. I'm going to be all right. The only person who will be judging me Thursday is me. The students, including my student director, are all too worried and excited and nervous and anxious about auditions and this play to judge me. All they care about is nailing their audition. And the choir director? Every time I walk in the room, she gives me the greatest welcome ever, and she has been cheering me on with every little step I've taken towards being the hired director of this play. I can't imagine her going, "Oh, that Elizabeth, she is such a horrible director. I can't believe how terrible those audition forms were!" It's ridiculous that I should be so nervous.

But I'm nervous. It's that middle school crush on your childhood best friend. Everything's so great, and you definitely don't want to ruin it, but it is the biggest crush ever. You're going to explode if you don't tell them! And nothing in the world matters more. It's a life or death situation. You could DIE.

I love middle school crushes.

P. S. Just for certain bozos, let's be clear: the crush thing is a metaphor. I don't have a crush on any of my students. That'd be, well, weird; they're my students. The only person I have a crush on is Kristen Bell.

Discombobulation

I missed a day again, I know. Things have been crazy. I'm exhausted. I'm happy. I feel like I have a fever, but it's just because the weather got ridiculously hot again. And now it's supposed to rain tomorrow. Or today, I guess, by the time you read this.

The play I wrote is officially being put on at the school! I'm very happy. It was such a long day today. Yesterday. First day back to class (though only one of them), and then rushing off to meet with the principal, only to have him tell me that I needed to go talk to the drama teacher and after school program, as I had been doing since LAST YEAR, and got sent over to him by them. So I went back to the after school program, found out why the guy in charge last year stopped answering my questions about working with the after school program: he wasn't part of it anymore. Whatever. The new guy was easy to work with, totally on board pretty much immediately, once we determined that I could meet basic requirements for working for the program. He said he liked people who were passionate about what they do. I think I'm passionate.

I need a new paragraph. So then I ran in my heels and aching spine straight to the choir room, happily announced that the play was happening (I already knew the drama teacher was behind me), and started getting information out to students. The bell rang, it was the next class, I gave information to those students too, and then I finally ran off (yes, ran again) to the drama teacher, got bombared with hugs from old classmates, and gave him the script. More information distribution, running around, etc. for another hour at least.

By the time I got home, I had to lay down. So exhausted. I still am. And my brain is really exhausted. I was going on adrenaline almost the entire day, since I didn't actually have the energy to do all I did today with my body being such a mess. It's like spending money you don't have. Now I've got these nasty bills to deal with and no money to pay them with. Except it's energy, not money.

I'm staying home tomorrow. Maybe I'll be able to think more clearly and write something interesting, rather than this rambling nonsense.

Sorry about the lack of post yesterday. I was up all night working on the script and not blogging. And then I crashed. And I'm about to crash again right now, so this post is done. Happy Wednesday?

Out of Control

I was driving to school this morning when "Little Girls" by Oingo Boingo came on. Anyone who knows anything about my musical loves should know that "Little Girls" is probably one of my most favourite songs ever, by one of my most favourite bands ever. I was ecstatic.

I got to my parking spot, pulled out my headphones (for the first time in, well, a very long time), and walked to class listening to Oingo Boingo. I was in heaven. I hadn't listened to Oingo Boingo in I don't even know how long. Boy, do I love me some Oingo Boingo!

But that's not the point of this post. See, Oingo Boingo has this song called "Out of Control." This is better than "Little Girls," though not as hilariously creepy. This song, as most don't know, is where the title of Without Direction came from.

It's a not-so-well-known tradition of mine to use lyrics from songs as titles for things like plays. There's a line that says, "You're out of control, and you move without direction, and people look right through your soul." The song's always touched me, but I really felt, after writing Without Direction, that it was the right song to get the title from.

Oingo Boingo's songs tend to be pretty funny, but underneath the wit and charm, there's this small hint of profound messages in a lot of their music. I felt like Without Direction took a similar approach: it was pretty much entirely a comedy, every dramatic moment was so overdramatised that it became parody rather than a serious representation of life. But underneath all the comedy, the characters, to me, all fought horrifying internal battles.

And so "Out of Control" became this sort of unspoken theme of Without Direction to me. There's a "theme song" for Where the Wild Berries Grow too, and a whole story behind it, but I'll save that for after the show is first performed and then closed.

To me, the "theme songs" are just this really personal thing between me and the play, between me and the characters. It's not the driving force behind it or anything, but more of a something that months, maybe years, later will bring me right back to the play and the characters. Like an "our song" almost.

Yeah, I think my characters are real. So what? :P

P.S. Two good writer friends of mine just started blogging too, apparently influenced in part by me! Way super cool. Check them out: Aimee and Jeremiah.

Monday and a Half

Third week of school already! Wow. Also, have a good first day of school tomorrow, PHS kiddos! I am wonderfully NOT sick this week. Hurrah!

Another PHS play update: Yep, I went on Wednesday, talked with Mr. VL, and confirmed what I already knew: the only person who will make sure this program happens the way I want it to is me. I returned on Friday with new resolve: to talk with the new principal and make this happen myself. He wasn't there, but his secretary had me email him, to which I got a positive, "Yes, let's meet and talk more!" sort of response.

Band stuff is band-y. We did record, and my bandmates have been emailing with quite frequency with song ideas while I quietly don't respond much because I'm very focused on this play right now. I will have to pay attention to them again soon. Not that I don't want to, of course. But the play is quite the time-sensitive matter, whilst band things have not yet reached any sort of "OH MY GOD TICKING CLOCK" sort of phase.

I've been reading Hyperbole and a Half, so I feel like my writing for this post has taken on a very sarcastic and ridiculous tone in comparison. Is this good? Do we like the sarcasm and ridiculousness? I'm sure I'll be embarassed by my lack of maturity when I re-read this later.

Godspell was amazing, by the way. I think I shall post about it this week. Maybe. I'll be seeing my friend Daniel perform once again this Tuesday, so it's probable that I'll blog about him again. Then again, I may not have anything new to say. We'll see.

Have a very splendid Monday and a super splendid week!

P.S. If you haven't seen yet, I'm giving away stuff for free. Yes. Do it. Enter. There's going to be a wonderful surprise for everyone who enters. I'm quite sure you'll like it. :)

Mondays Are Nice

Monday. The beginning of a new week. Clean slate. Fresh start. A time both to reflect and to look forward. Mondays are nice.

This week is my last week of summer. A week from today, I will be frantically trying to deal with classes, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Drop this class, add that one. Park here, pay for that. Write this down, file that. Memorise this, that, and these. Et cetera, et cetera. So I plan to enjoy my last week of summer.

This week, however, shall be just as frantic, if not more so, than next week. There's so much to do before summer ends, and only one last week to do it!

First, I have a script to finish. Last summer, no one expected anything but what you'd usually expect from a seventeen=year-old high school student trying to write a play. This year, the expectations are so much higher though. Everyone knows I'm capable of writing something great, even me!, but the pressure is making me panic. I'm horribly behind, and I have to send the script to press in one week. Activate NaNoWriMo mindset!

I'm going to Universal Studios today with my brother and my best friend. This is the sort of regular summer day that I haven't had much of all summer. Wake up early, run off to somewhere with people you love, have a blast, come home exhausted, and do it all over again!

And then Daniel Zlotorowicz has a show this week. (If you're anywhere near Pasadena, you should come! Contact me for details: ethraen [at] gmail [dot] com) It's totally different now though, because I'm in the music business too now. Once, a loyal fan. Now, a fellow musician. It feels so very different.

But most exciting for this week is getting to perform myself! I have a flash mob event (but it's a secret, shh!) on Saturday and rehearsals this week, and then I have my now-usual gig as an occasional street performer. It's pretty cool to just perform on the streets for total strangers. Being backstage is fun, and I really do enjoy it, but being the performer has a certain charm nothing can ever compare to.

Yeah, it's going to be an awesome week. Mondays are so great.

Exceeds Expectations

Woah! Another morning post! Maybe I really am more than just a lazy, unmotivated, irresponsible artist-slacker! Just kidding. Everyone knows artists are the epitome of lazy. It's just FACT.

So as I sit here, trying to finish revisions on Where the Wild Berries Grow, I can't help but daydream. As summer speeds away to its demise, things like auditions, casting, rehearsals, and eventual performance are leaping closer and closer. And I can't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, this year will be way better than last year.

This script will require more from me as a director. It requires bigger, better lighting. It requires dance choreography, music direction, and fight choreography. It requires a set. It requires costumes and make-up. It requires flashback, costume changes, set changes, and more than just a 17-year-old tossing whatever she can find together.

This play requires better acting. The characters are much more real, much more subtle. The drama is intense. The comedy is often less blatant. Many scenes will require very specific blocking and choreography.

I wanted to push myself, I wanted to push the program, and I wanted to push the kids. Without Direction set expectations, and now the goal is to exceed every one of those. Bigger and better.

But it all starts with the script. As much as I'd like to just jump right into production, I have to use the final week and a half I have left to make the script as amazing as possible. Without a more-than-just-good script, we can't have a more-than-just-good production. And since I'm aiming for an absolutely incredible production, I guess I'm going to have to write an absolutely incredible script.

Goodbye, blog procrastination; hello, revision!

Storyteller Disconnect? BAD.

I swear I'm going to start posting in the morning. Eventually.

So as I've been trying to revise my script today (Where the Wild Berries Grow, check out my community arts company's blog for more on that), and it's just been an incredibly slow process all summer. The biggest challenges I faced last year, sure, I know how to deal with now, but I just have new challenges this year. I have literally had almost no constructive feedback all summer, and have thus been totally alone in writing this time around.

So I've been disconnecting myself with the characters and the story so I can give myself unbiased feedback. This is a whole new problem though, as I've discovered. All writers, actors, storytellers, etc. beware: disconnecting from your characters and story is dangerous and definitely not advised. What happens is as follows:

1. I'm not motivated to develop the story and characters to learn more. By disconnecting, I don't feel the usual urge to know every detail about everyone and everything in the story.
2. And that means the story and characters come out flat.
3. Flat stories don't motivate me to learn more about the story.
4. Oh, look, it's a never ending cycle.

Take my word for it: don't try to create a story while disconnected to it. Connect! Being a writer (or any storyteller) requires you to become insane. You must live within the world that your character(s) live(s) in, or else you won't be able to tell the story the way it deserves to be told. People are much more interested in first-hand accounts than someone who heard from someone who heard from someone whose cousin heard from their neighbour who-- you get the picture.

So I started reconnecting with my characters today. Amazingly, I can suddenly write again. Sort of. I'm kind of trying to avoid insane-writer status, but I'm getting lost in their world again, and I doubt I'll be able to avoid insane-writer status for much longer. But two weeks of being an insane writer? I think I can manage to be insane for two weeks so I can get this script performance worthy.

Insanity, here I come.