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.

Epileptic Dwarf

Last week was great. I was way up high on the blogging rollercoaster, overlooking miles and miles of endless worlds. I was so excited, I got all my posts for the whole week done Tuesday. It was an easy week. I just sat back and watched as my blog views went up on their own.

And then the views started going down. Like they always do on the weekends. And I tried to get some blogs for the week written ahead of time, but nothing came out. Nothing sounded good. I was too demoralised from the weekend lows. So now it's almost 11PM Monday night, I'm exhausted, sick, hungry, and wanting nothing more than to just sleep right now. But I have to blog. So I go catch up on webcomics.

I'm thinking I should switch to doing comics. Make jokes and draw kitties? Boy am I in the wrong "profession"! And then, of course, it occurs to me that I'm not that funny and every cat I draw ends up looking like an epileptic dwarf with a crack problem. Comics are too much work. So I gaze through my inbox.

There's a message from a writer. I need to write him back, but I've forced myself to blog first. It gives me time to get past the giddy excitement and respond reasonably and calmly. But if this writer's book is as good as the first page, and if he can put some blind faith in me, Ironic Sea Serpent Books is going to start turning into a real publishing company soon. As if all my dreams weren't already coming true enough.

I guess I have no reason to be so demoralised whenever my blog views are lower than I'd like. Even this post, no matter how stupid this is, is going to be read at least 20 times. TWENTY TIMES! I can't even believe that. And it'll probably get more like 30-40, since it's a Tuesday post. And it's just me rambling pessimistically.

I'm ashamed of not being happy 24/7. Blog views is such a stupid thing to complain about. And it makes me so mad at myself that I have to force myself through the pity party until I reach the end and realise that, hey, my life is pretty good. So good, that I'm starting to feel like I can't even dream fast enough any more.

New dream: start a webcomic about an epileptic dwarf with a crack problem.

P. S. Thanks for reading my blog, even when I'm demoralised, moody, and unappreciative. Every time someone views my blog, I feel a little more ready to conquer the world.

P. P. S. I just looked at my comments, and I saw that I had two new comments today, both of which made me smile. Why are you guys so wonderful? Thanks. I'll keep blogging.

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!

Another show closed and put away. Wow. The Music Man (with Centre Stage) was a great show and a great experience.

I ended up on props, making sure everyone had their props and everyone gave them back. And boy, did I make sure. We had two prop tables, so I kept one nice and as-empty-as-possible for current props. And as the Wells Fargo wagon was rolling out just before intermission, I'd get everything from Act I stashed away in its home (after checking each one back in on my checklist), and all of Act II ready on the neater table. Props falling apart? No problem. The poor books for the Library scene and Pick-a-Littles were getting destroyed, so I ended up hot gluing almost every book back together. Poor, poor books. I'm also a professional Pinwheel Repair Person now. That's going on my resume.

All in all though, it really was just great to be there. Everyone involved with Centre Stage is great; they're all friendly, helpful, hard-working, and just great to work with. I came to help because I had worked with their choreographers before, and I thought I'd see if they could use any help. Turned out that there was much to be done, and in the weeks I spent working with all these strangers, I quickly joined the wonderful family they've built over the past ten years.

I want that. When I think about ISS, I see a group of people like those at Centre Stage. Heck, I see Centre Stage sometimes when I'm imagining. Before Centre Stage, I only knew that I wished for a way to do the things I see ISS doing. But now? Shoot, now I can see it's all possible and actually reasonable. Because the people who run Centre Stage and make it all happen? They've got homes, cars, food, comfortable lives. I may dream of the poetry of the life of a starving artist sometimes, but really, I want to have enough to give freely much more than I want my life to feel like some sad but beautiful story of love and passion and a bunch of silly nonsense.

It's crazy to me that I am very much living out my dreams already, at only 18-years-old. Shouldn't I have to wait until I'm at least a few years out of college minimum for this? The answer, of course, is no way. I should have been living out my dreams for years. And I was, as a young kid, until I got it in my head that life was supposed to be hard and miserable. Boy, that was a weird phase.

Speaking of dreams, I've finally gotten "Without Direction" published (order via me here or through Lulu.com here), and am working on getting it sold. There are some local bookstores I'm going to try, as well as trying to get schools anywhere in the world to put it on. How awesome would it be to have my play put on by someone else?

Yeah, like I said, living the dream.

No One and Everyone

Hi. Let me introduce myself: I am no one and everyone. It is your pick.

You may leave, close this page, stop reading at any moment, and thus I am made no one.

Or you may read, lather yourself in my words, visit every day, and thus I am made everyone.

Regardless of your choice, I will keep writing. Today marks day one of a lifetime of day ones, of restarts, of failed projects and plans. My life begins today, as it does every day. A lifetime of failing to succeed or succeeding in failing will not stop me from writing another day one, from waking up again, ready to start again.

I am unprepared. I lack qualifications. I am competing against thousands who are leaps and bounds more worthy than me.

Today, I begin with an old idea, an old dream, not a new one. After eighteen years of new, failing dreams, I return to the oldest ones, the ones I gave up on when reality hit. Reality is overrated. It's boring. So, today, I return to the dreams I once gave up on. Today, I have the bright, wild, crazy, passionate, idealistic, unrealistic dreams of a child: I will change the world. I will save the world.

To be specific, for anyone can dream vague dreams, the first of those dreams is to become a filmmaker. I love art of all kind, and what better medium than film to capture all kinds of art in one eternal form? Film is magic. I was going to create these wonderful films, epic [Note that I mean "epic" as it relates to those great works of literature and oral tradition, not the watered-down "cool" version of the word.] tales of brave and mighty heroes with heart and soul and passion, fighting valiantly for what they believe in.

That was before I met Reality.

Ah, Reality. She seduced me, tricked me into giving her all of me. And then she broke my heart, that terrible, terrible woman! And yet, I couldn't leave. I kept coming back for more. Addicted! It was horrible. Luckily, I finally saw Reality for the liar she was and left her for good.

I'm going to create those films. All the stories I dreamed about as a kid, before I met Reality, will be preserved forever in the magic of film, in my very own art and words, in the hearts and souls of every person I can reach.

This is my dream. I hope you think I'm everyone.

-Elizabeth