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.

Urgency

It's weird how certain things all seem to happen at the exact right moment. In my class last night (at my church), one of the speakers talked about a phone call she received at just the right moment and how, had she received the call at any other moment, she would have said no to the rector of my church's request for her to move all the way out here from North Carolina to serve in Pastoral Care here.

Last night's class came at the exact right moment for me. The whole course did, really. Yesterday, as I sat at the computer, trying to type up today's blog, my mind was consumed not with the usual obsessing over school and work (ha, "work") and band and all my usual day-to-day nonsense but with the idea that the moment was coming that my current routines would all end and I would have no choice but to leave. I always seem to be talking about and dreaming about all the things I'm going to change at the high school while working there, but yesterday, my mind was lost in the understanding that I would only be there a little while longer.

Class last night made me come to a realisation about something else we had talked about in a previous meeting: the sense of urgency that the church as a whole has. That day, we were talking about what we wanted to find in church, and I said I wanted to find peace and safety from the urgency of my every day life. At that time, I was overwhelmed; I needed refuge. It had been a horrible day, and so much going on had been stressing me out. Urgency was the last thing I wanted.

But I found the urgency last night. As we talked about those life-changing moments, about being called to begin a new chapter of our lives, I realised that the chapter I'm in right now will soon end. Suddenly, I began to feel urgent. I no longer have forever to take this theatre program and turn it into a force of nature; it has to be a force of nature now. Because who knows? I could be called to do something else at any moment, and I have to be ready.

I'm not ready. Not yet. But I have little time. Perhaps a year or two more, and then I will have to leave. I can feel that it is coming, and a new sense of urgency is filling inside me. I want to change this school, these kids, but I only have so much time to do it. Soon, my time will be up, and I will lose my chance to act.

I feel urgent. I am urgent.

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.

The In Between

I didn't even notice I missed last Tuesday. And yesterday! I'm in the in between right now. I'll probably miss at least one more in the coming week or two. All because I'm in the in between right now.

I function best when incredibly busy. I get things done incredibly fast. I do anything and everything. I am superman.

I can be laid back too. I can relax and just let things happen. This was my late summer/early autumn. I had things to do, and I got them done when necessary, but I spent a lot of time just relaxing, laughing, not doing anything too incredibly important or time sensitive.

I am in the between right now. Half of me is laying on a beach somewhere, just listening to the sound of the rebellious waves crashing upon the sand and then receding right back into the ocean. It's so beautiful and peaceful the way the ocean always lets the rebellious waves back, always welcomes them with open arms no matter what. But half of me has no time for the beach, no time to contemplate metaphors about waves and sand and vast oceans which have little to do with what is happening right now. That half has more important things to do, and it's doing everything at lighting speed.

I think you can see where this is going. My head is chaos right now. The conflicting halves are undergoing a power struggle, a change of leadership. The busy half needs to get the relaxed half in gear and moving. Add in the effects to my cognitive function of what shall henceforth be called That Friday, and my head is just everywhere now. A complete mess. A missed blog post is completely unsurprising and not the only thing I've spaced out on or missed. I'm not even really sure what I've missed.

And my body is fatigued. I'm physically not used to functioning at this speed. I'm out of shape. I'm questioning whether I have put too much on my plate. Clearly, my mind can't handle this, my psyche can't handle this, and my body definitely can't handle this.

But soccer taught me a lot growing up. The first week or few of a season would be hell. I'd feel like giving up all the time. My body wanted to quit. "Hell week" seemed to burn worse every year. But then my muscles would learn, and I was stronger, faster, tougher. Hell week paid off, and each year I was a better player.

The in between is real life hell week. I have to push myself beyond my current limits so I might grow and learn. I have to put more on my plate than I can carry so I can learn to carry all I have on my plate. More than full time student, director of a high school theatre program (that's only in its second year), novel editor (I'll tell you guys about this later), member of two separate families, lead singer of a band, church goer, and a member of society. It's a lot to handle, but I'll push through this transition and learn to handle the new pressures and requirements of me.

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.

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?

Surprise!

Want to know what the two surprises I mentioned on my Facebook page Saturday are? If you read yesterday's post, you'll understand when I explain this first one:

Sundays are back! But not like you remember them: I'm going to be scanning old notebook pages, drawings, writings, and all sorts of things, and posting them up here. It'll range from really old (like elementary school days) stuff to current projects, but it'll all be original, hand-made work. Messy, chaotic, full of mistakes, and most importantly: human. I want to go back to crossed out mistakes, eraser smudges, illegible writing, doodles in the margins, and all the evidence of the imperfect path taken to make something. I want to make something more than just a serious of zeros and ones displayed as pixels on a computer screen. I want to create.

Surprise number two is the announcement of the free art giveaway contest winners: everyone! Insert maniacal laughter here. I tricked you all! That was the plan all along! It's my gift to you for supporting me. I am constantly amazed at all the support I have; you guys are absolutely incredible. So I hope you enjoy the art. It's going to take me awhile to do it all, since I am pretty busy, but just be patient and I'll get the art to you as soon as I can.

Anyway, if you haven't noticed yet, there is a poll on the top of my sidebar. I would love if you voted in it. And I'd especially love blog comments (or Facebook ones). I love hearing from you guys. Honest! I'd rather this blog be a community and a conversation than just a lonely or tyrannical monologue.

Have a wonderful week!

P. S. I have a meeting with the PHS principal a week from tomorrow. Updates about PHS's theatre program will henceforth be posted on the Ironic Sea Serpent blog and Facebook page.

Godspell

Okay, as I mentioned before, Centre Stage's Godspell was this past weekend. It was absolutely amazing. So amazing, in fact, that I just have to use up an entire post just for it.

It's no secret that I love Centre Stage. I found Centre Stage through Juliette and Alison who run the dance program, and they are two of the most incredible people I know. I shouldn't have been surprised to find that everyone in their dance company was also incredibly incredible, but I'm not sure it's possible to ever be prepared for the level of incredible that Centre Stage is at. It's just beyond expected human capabilities.

So I go to all of their shows, schedule willing. Godspell was no different; I went Saturday night, ready for another incredibly Centre Stage production. What I got, however, was far from what I expected.

The show was already "in progress" as the audience members found their seats and skimmed their programs. There aren't any curtains in this particular "theatre" (it's actually a church chapel), so you could see the coffee house set right away, along with the actors on stage doing ordinary things like arguing on cell phones; chatting; typing on laptops; playing ping-pong; battling each other on the Wii; or (my favourite) walking into the audience, hugging you, and sitting down to talk.

The word "Godspell" means "good story"; Godspell, however, was much more than just a good story. From the initial intimacy and "real" feel established from before the house lights even dimmed, Godspell was not just a performance, but an interaction, a conversation. As the patrons of the coffee shop journeyed and learned their individual lessons, so did the audience. The anxieties, hopes, fears, dreams, and emotions of the characters were shared by everyone in the theatre.

These kids weren't acting though. There were no characters, just real people with real emotions. The penultimate scenes were excruciating for the "characters", actors, and audience alike. It was horrifyingly painful. I was angry. I didn't come to watch this misery; it was like watching all hope just burned away to nothingness. I felt empty.

I can't remember what the last scene was like, really. I was so torn up from the scenes before that, despite the sort of "happy ending" that Godspell has, it didn't leave me feeling bubbly. Instead, I felt stronger. Hurt, beaten up, and aching, but stronger. Like after a really good run, when your body is exhausted, but it's a good kind of exhausted; you're becoming stronger, faster. My heart was exhausted, but it was a good kind of exhaustion.

I've never seen any other version of Godspell before, but it was the best I've seen from Centre Stage so far. Each production they do seems to only be an improvement from the last. The pick good shows to begin with, and then the direction, the choreography, the sets, the lighting, the costumes, the acting, and the sheer volume of dedication that is obviously put into their productions all make for incredible shows.

I'd rather see a Centre Stage performance than a Broadway performance.

Late Monday

As mentioned yesterday, I'm sick. I've been a groggy mess, but I plan to be back to normal, including regular 5AM PST blog posts, by tomorrow. Anyway, onto our regularly scheduled Monday stuff:

First, last week's riddle hasn't been solved yet, so go here to read it and see if you can solve it. The prize is still the same: "an unreleased (even to my closest friends and family) free-verse poem called "Step," hand-written, decorated, and signed on plain 8.5" by 11" paper."

So as far as updates go, I'm going over to PHS on Wednesday to start setting dates and reserving the theatre for auditions, rehearsals, and eventually performance of Where the Wild Berries Grow and work out some some fiscal concerns. Assuming all goes well, I'll be ordering cast scripts quite soon.

In other news, my band is recording music (nothing too terribly fancy; just Garage Band) this week, and we're getting close to deciding on a name, which means photos, Myspace page, website, etc. And which all means we're that much closer to trying to get some shows booked.

Speaking of shows, I highly suggest that if you're in or anywhere near L.A. County, you go to see Centre Stage's production of Godspell. I've only seen one of the numbers in the show, but Centre Stage has never disappointed me before. Despite being "children's" theatre, Centre Stage never fails to put on professional shows. In fact, Centre Stage's productions even go beyond what other "professional" theatres do. Godspell is only around this weekend, and then it's gone, so don't miss out!

And that concludes my update. (First week of college was great, by the way!) Have a wonderful week and see you at our regular time tomorrow morning!

Band Rehearsal

Hey! I'm in a band!
Really?
Really!
You're kidding.
Nope! Dead serious!

It fell out of the sky, like I mentioned in last Friday's post. (Shoot, tomorrow's Friday! I need to learn something!) Last night was my first ever band practice with the band, and it was QUITE exciting. I don't know how other bands function, but if every band is like this, what on earth have I been doing NOT being in bands?

Joe, the guitarist, had already written lyrics and a little guitar for one and a half songs, but it was just a sort of "rough sketch," so we started out with those two. Cutting to the chase, it was basically just a jam session. Our tireless drummer (He's a machine! Literally.) kept the beat going while Joe and Yves, the bassist, fiddled around on their guitars, and I worked out how the vocals should go. And played guitar in one song, actually. Simplest chords ever, but I couldn't have done anything more complicated; I was thinking about lyrics, inflection, notes, harmony, etc. just for my voice alone, and my fingers were not down to do any crazy fretting, having only touched guitars every once in awhile thus far in my life. (Funny thing about guitar, you kind of have to practice.)

I make it sound like singing is just sooo hard. It's really not, but I've come to realise how much actually goes into being a GOOD vocalist. Some people are just lucky enough to have incredible voices at birth (not me, heh), but I'm pretty sure they have a lot to consider when singing too. My background in theatre has already proven to be one of my greatest assets; the improvisation skills and willingness to step outside my comfort zone it's given me apply to just about everything, and singing is no exception. According to Joe, it's very rare a vocalist can "jam" with the band. If it's not scripted, they can't do it. Kind of blew my mind.

Anyway, Joe's songs started coming together as we jammed, and I came up with the missing verse for the half song while we improvised. Two rough songs down! On our way to enough for a show. So I pulled out my phone, grabbed lyrics I had written, and we started figuring it out too. Let me just say that it is SOOOOO different writing via jam session with others than just sitting on a piano bench trying to make something decent with my lack of ridiculously awesome piano abilities. And hearing YOUR song suddenly come to life with all these different sounds? It's incredible.

Three rough songs down! That's almost enough for a show! Hey maybe we'll play a show soon! Oh, wait, we probably need a live drummer for that though, don't we? Yeah, so if you know or are an incredible drummer, we're on the lookout for one; get in touch with me!

P.S. I finally bought a ukulele yesterday. I am in love.

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.

So You Think You Can Blog

This blogging daily thing won't be so hard if things like BEING ON THE SEASON SEVEN SEASON FINALE happen more often.

"You were on SYTYCD, say WHAT???" Yeah, I know. Okay, I'll explain. I am not a super mega awesome dancer, nor was I cool enough to be in the audience either. But I was on the show. For like two seconds. Yes, I leapt out of my seat (in this case, a rather comfy couch), tossed and/or hugged rather tightly the pillow I was clinging onto for the entirety of the episode, grabbed my brother, and excitedly pointed out my non-HD self. I rewound, replayed, and rewound again. I paused it and looked at myself on TV. It was exciting.

So how, you ask! Well, see, I partook in a wonderful thing called a flash mob on National Dance Day. We danced; it was exciting! National Dance Day was definitely one of the most enjoyable days I've had in quite some time, and I have enjoyable days nearly all the time. Video was sent to the wonderful people at SYTYCD, and they threw in a clip with me and other near me dancing in their "National Dance Day is cool" montage midway through the show.

Watch for me on Oprah next week. I'll be in a montage of bloggers who stare at their computers all day and develop extreme sensitivity to sunlight as a result. Yeeaaah.

But in all seriousness, the point of National Dance Day and the clips of regular people (like me!) dancing up on SYTYCD, along with Ellen DeGeneres, DANCE LEGEND, getting to dance on that incredible stage is that anyone can dance. In fact, anyone should dance. Whether you dance incredibly or incredibly bad doesn't matter; it's just about dancing for the sake of dancing.

Ah, dance, one of the many, many fields I want to get into more. I think I'll start dancing more often. (Because whilst driving isn't usually the best time.) Yeah, I know I've been saying that for nearly a year, but I mean! Look, just to prove my point, I am going to dance for at least 1 hour a day for the rest of summer vacation! HA! Take that, doubters!

I think I can blog, by the way.

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.