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.

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.

An Unforgiving Teacher

Injuries suck. I mean, they really suck.

You're going full-speed, doing everything, making things happen, on top of the world, nothing can stop you. And then you get a stupid injury. It hurts like all hell, but you think, "Hey, nothing can stop me! Why should this stupid injury stop me?" And then you make it worse. And, stubbornly, you insist again on your invincibility. Until your spinal cord snaps and you're paralyzed for life.

I'm stubborn. I don't let anything stand in my way. Ever. You'd have better luck convincing a brick wall to tango. So when I got my most inhibiting injury ever, my initial instinct was, "To hell with being injured. My spine doesn't want to move? I'll make it move!" Or better yet, "Doctors? Who needs 'em! All I got to do is toughen up, and I'll be fine." Thankfully, however, logic has been winning out mostly. Logic has a pretty good argument: "Not moving around much right now sucks. A lot. I know. But if you keep moving around, trying to be unstoppable, you are going to be permanently injured. Or dead. DEAD. DO YOU WANT TO DIE?? No? Well, rest up, and you'll be good as new soon. With over 9000 toughness points for overcoming your injury. So over 9000 or DEATH? Which will it be?"

Logic has learned how to appeal to the illogical: hyperbole. I've been enduring the psychological misery of not being able to do all the things I want with logic's ridiculous reasoning. Don't tell the illogical, but this isn't a video game; toughness isn't measured numerically. Whatever points I think I'm winning by recovering from an injury don't really exist. Or, at least, no one else cares about them. Even I don't.

What I care about is being able to go full-speed, do everything, make things happen, on top of the world, nothing can stop me again. As soon as possible. In one week, a bunch of nervous teenagers will all one by one stand up on a stage, speak for less than a minute, and desperately hope they managed to somehow blow me away in such a short time frame. Little do they know, I'm just as nervous. Casting is the most terrifying part of production. But then production will begin. Little old injured me will need to be ready for the physical demands.

Did you know directing is physically demanding? Sure, it can be done from a chair, but that's not the kind of director I want to be. I want to be that director the cast always remembers for all the passion and positive energy she put into the production every single day, come rain, sleet, snow, or hail. I want to be that director that makes everyone in the production say, "Hey, this is fun!" I want to be that director who isn't the boss, but the role model. I want to be that director whose love for everyone involved in the production is obvious. I want to be that director who fits John Quincy Adams' definition of a leader: "If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader." I want to inspire.

I hate being less than 100% right now, but I know the rest right now is necessary. I have to let my body heal so that I may be around as long as I can to learn how to become the person I dream of being. I have to learn patience, and I have to learn to take care of myself before I can be worthy of taking care of others.

Injuries suck, but they're one of those "either you learn, or you die" situations. Either you learn to swallow your pride and listen to your body's needs, or you run your body straight into the ground and destroy yourself. Injuries are unforgiving teachers.