December 16 - Career Goals

I read an article yesterday on Backstage.com talking about how important it is to set real, specific, achievable goals, and how much more likely a person is to achieve those goals if one writes them down. The article was talking in terms of career goals for artists, though it could apply to others as well, and I think it was very well timed for me as we all know I'm starting to freak out a little bit about the third of my three plays coming to an end and I don't have another one lined up yet. But the author talks about taking some time to enjoy the holiday season, enjoy family and friends, stop submitting to auditions and workshops, and suggests making a list of real, specific, achievable career goals for 2015. So here we go. My artistic career goals for 2015:

1. Perform in three projects that I did not create myself. I say projects instead of plays because I would count student films, video projects, etc. in this category, too. In other words, I want to go to at least three auditions that result in someone offering me a role and me accepting that role.
2. Get cast in the sort of role that a reviewer might notice while watching the show. In other words, get cast as a lead or major supporting character instead of background or ensemble. Not that there is anything wrong with ensemble work, but getting cast in a larger role would show some forward momentum in my career and I would like some forward momentum to help me determine whether or not New York is the right city for me.
3. Create a voiceover demo reel. This also means getting myself to a place where I am ready for a demo reel and ready to go out and book jobs.
4. Create a video demo reel. I have lots of footage; it just needs to be compiled properly.
5. Finish one set of play analysis videos. I'm not going to go into too much detail about this one here because I don't want anyone else to take my idea, but I have talked about this project with a few people and they think it is a great idea. I want to get started on this for real with at least one full set.
6. Play at one open mic in New York City. I kind of miss making music. I was good at it. There is still a lot of emotional baggage associated with playing my own music, but I think it is time to work through some of that, so I want to play at an open mic sometime.

What is nice about these goals is that I have complete control over two-thirds of them. The first two, I can only try my best. But the last four I can totally take care of, probably fairly quickly, too. So I will feel like I'm making progress. And if I want to then expand those goals to play more open mics or make more video sets, I can. But I think these are a good place to start. Help keep me focused. Keep my career diversified. Keep working on myself at the same time I'm putting myself out there.

So what are your career goals for 2015?

November 14 - Long-Term

As an absolute last minute thing, I got to see a friend of mine yesterday who I have not seen in at least six years. A lot has happened for both of us in that time, so there was a lot of catching up to do. One thing I found really nice about our conversation, though, was that it wasn't entirely past-focused. We talked about the present and the future just as much if not more than all of the things we had missed.

Side note: one other thing I really love about talking with this friend is that we have actual conversations. I find myself in situations quite often where I ask someone about their life or opinions or goals or whatever and they don't then turn around and ask questions back. I don't know if that is an introvert/extrovert thing, or a product of our society wherein we're so focused on what we're doing that we don't invest very much in those around us, or if I'm really so dull that people just don't want to know, but it's a thing that happens. Which leaves me feeling like I'm in either a one-sided conversation or a one-sided relationship, or it forces me to be more extroverted and just tell people the things I think they should know about me instead of waiting for them to ask and as an introvert, I hate having to tell people things. I'd much rather that they ask so I don't sound like I'm bragging. But with this friend, he asked about my life as much as I asked about his. We talked through ideas and celebrated each other's successes and empathized with each other's sadnesses. It was a true conversation. For that and for many other reasons, I will always love this man.

Back on topic: one of the things we talked about in terms of future plans on my side of things is an idea I had a little while ago for a video series. He was very encouraging and thinks my idea is a good one. We even added a little whimsy to it, which might help attract a larger audience. But I find myself thinking more and more about it today. It is a project that is personal to me, something I would like to learn more about and then share with others, something I think I could have a lot of fun doing. And it is something I could do on my own. I've been submitting to the odd audition announcement here and there and have not been getting invited in to read, and I'm feeling like my luck in getting three shows right off the bat upon arriving in New York might be wearing thin. Not that I'll never get cast again, but it could be a little while before my next show. So maybe it is time to start working, really working, on this longer-term project. I like long-term projects. It's something I can really dive into and devote time and energy to, and the more time I spend in pre-production, the better the videos will be. Which is good because finding a space to shoot videos given my current living situation could prove challenging.

Anyway. Much love to my friend, and thank you for giving me a little kick in the pants to keep moving toward my goals.

June 17 - Something New

So this project that I have been working on, that has been kicking my butt and making me feel utterly stupid, took a turn for the better. I find I get caught up in the mental picture of how something should look or how it should turn out and if the slightest thing deviates from that plan, I get frustrated. 

But I stopped to remind myself today that what I am making is not an exact replica, but an artistic homage. An artistic interpretation, if you will, so maybe deviating from the original plan is okay if the original plan has me questioning my worth as a human being. And once I made that decision and came to terms with it, I got excited again and was able to enjoy my project for what it is - fun. 

I think this is an important thing for me to remember in general. Things don't always work out the way you plan. Sometimes they look completely different and sometimes, different is better. 

June 6 - Imagination

There are certain advantages to being an imaginative person. It is easy to keep oneself entertained, for one. But there are also disadvantages to being an imaginative person, especially an imaginative person with an overactive empathy center, because in the face of not knowing something for sure, one's imagination can run completely wild and come up with a ridiculous number of insane scenarios to explain the simplest situation. These scenarios run from completely fantastic to totally banal and in the mind of an imaginative person, they all become equally valid, equally viable. And at some point, the most ridiculous possibilities become the most plausible, with the most benign becoming the least likely.

I am such an imaginative person. Today, I am wondering about keys and houseguests. And what was probably a very simple exchange of lock-the-door-shove-the-key-under-it has escalated in my imagination to include the spirit haunting my bedroom taking form and killing my houseguest so I get to go home to a corpse on my couch in who knows what state because I have a cat who I would like to think would never eat a person, but you never really know. Or instead of a haunting, the romantic side of my brain has turned the situation into a rom-com, where I will come home to a beautifully decorated, very clean apartment, with some fancy treat waiting on the table and a hug from my houseguest who just couldn't leave without one more embrace. Or the suspicious part of my brain has me convinced I'll go home to a completely empty apartment, as the last houseguest I had has permanently scarred me and made me terrified that I'm always going to be robbed by someone I know. And while all of these ideas are swirling around in my brain, the logical part of me knows it was actually just a very simple exchange of lock-the-door-shove-the-key-under-it, but the logical part of my brain just can't shout as loudly as all of the other ones.

What I should do, is put my imagination to good use and start writing songs or stories again.

Since I've been blogging just about every day for nearly a year and a half, though, is too much creative energy going into writing these posts and not enough into crafting something artful with these sort of thoughts? I don't know. Maybe if I stopped blogging for a while and I'd start writing music again. Who knows? Maybe if I stopped blogging for a while, my imagination would have better things with which to amuse itself than the potential ethereal slaying of my houseguest.

March 21 - Creation

I found a quote online today that is attributed to Cyril Connolly and states, "Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." That hit me rather hard as I'm pretty sure I have approximately three readers (no official subscribers) of this blog, and as I am going to host a workshop/reading of a new short play I wrote on Sunday night. I'm terrified nobody will like the play, even though I already know at least one of my girl friends does. I'm terrified that if I produce it or film it or whatever, submit it to one-act festivals, that it will be dismissed as trite, unrealistic, insignificant, or derivative. I think that is one of my biggest fears as an artist in general - that nobody else cares about the art I create. 

But the thing is this: I create because I can't not. When I get an idea, I have to do something about it or it eats away at me and becomes all-consuming. I have to have a creative outlet of some sort at my disposal at all times, be it a pen and paper or a guitar or a monologue to parse for subtext or whatever. I have too much creative energy to be contained in this body - I have to be able to let it out in one way or another. 

So the quote from Cyril Connolly found me at the right moment. The moment when I am full of self-doubt, on the brink of throwing in the towel, and reminded me that first of all, I make art for me and that is the best possible reason to do so; and secondly that while it doesn't matter if other people are paying attention or not, if I don't at least try to put it out there, I'll certainly never know if there was someone else who found my art when they needed it. 

Thank you, Cyril. 

March 7 - Creativity

Creativity begets creativity.

I think I have figured out that when I am in a creative rut, I need to do something creative that is mildly adjacent to the thing I am trying to do in order to kickstart myself into being able to do the thing I'm trying to do. Let's get more specific. Say I'm trying to write a song and it's just not happening. Maybe I need to have a dance party or learn someone else's song or draw some random thing and then the song will come.

I got an email a little while ago, calling for short plays for a new works festival kind of thing and at the time, I thought I should do it. I had an idea that I thought was pretty good and figured why not, right? If it is selected, great; if not, so what? I started writing and got some good ideas down on paper, but then it sort of fell by the wayside and just sat there for a little while. Again, not the end of the world because what did I have to lose?

Then last night, I went to a workshop for a play that is going to be produced later this season. They just kind of want people to read the work so they can hear it out loud and then we're discussing issues that pop up, inconsistencies we see, questions that arise, that kind of thing, to try to tighten the script up and make it even better than it already is (because it really is a lovely script). And suddenly, I was able to go back and edit my short play and get it to a place where I'm ready to share it with people. I sent it to a friend who I want to read it with me and I submitted it to the short play festival-thing. If they pick it up, great. If not, I'll do something else with it. Because I don't think it is the greatest, most innovative script in the world, but it is a good story and a story worth being told. I think. At the very least, it is the kind of story I wish more people were telling.

So we'll see what happens with it. Maybe something. Maybe nothing. Hopefully something, because I'm back in that mindset that if I really want things to happen for me, I'm going to have to make my own opportunities. I'm okay with that.

November 13 - Control

I don't like to think of myself as a control freak. In fact, in many ways, I think I am extremely flexible and I like giving up control for some things to other people because I don't want to be pestered with all of that responsibility. I do like deluding myself into believing that I have some sort of control over my future as an artist.

I say I delude myself because I honestly don't know if I'm a fatalist or not. And also because nobody knows what the future holds for artists. It is a very insecure world and sometimes the best and only thing you can do is hold on for dear life to the things you love the most. Moments come, too, when I am reminded of how little control I have over my artistic career, like when as one of the principal characters in a play I am not mentioned in a review, or when I am not cast in a show because I'm too pale next to the lead guy or whatever. These are things I cannot control, as much as I wish I could. I cannot. I have to be okay with that.

But one of the things that helps me be okay with that is knowing that I can always create. I can always imagine. With a camera and a day, I can make a silly YouTube video that makes other people smile. With paper and pen, I can write a book for my nieces. With a guitar and a thought, I can write a song to pass the time. I can always create. And a rejection from one project does not negate, cheapen, or lessen the importance of the other projects. I create because it is what I do. If other people choose to participate in my creations, fantastic. If they don't, I still create because it is what I do. It is the one part of my artistic future I can control, so I hold onto it for dear life.

October 21 - Ice Cream Play

I'm taking an acting class again that I have taken before. You will likely hear the actors you most respect telling you that one can never master acting and that one must always be pushing oneself to learn. I agree with this wholeheartedly, which is why I still take classes, why I will take a class more than once, and why I put as much effort into classwork as I do any other performance endeavor. That said...

I think what I'm getting from this class this time around is a sense that I still have a long way to go, and a feeling that the best theatre is the theatre that scares the crap out of you as an actor, but you do it anyway. The scenes I've done so far for this class have involved me holding a grudge for three years, cheating on my husband and getting pregnant by another man, and dealing with the loss of my husband whose funeral I missed for rather selfish reasons. These involved a lot of work, a lot of time, a lot of energy, a lot of thought beforehand, and a lot of personal emotional investment during. And each one terrified me in its own way. The scene I have to do tomorrow is also scaring the crap out of me, but I don't want to say why on the off chance one of my classmates is reading this and might get a heads-up as to what's going on. Suffice it to say, I'm having to go to some pretty dark places on a weekly basis.

I had an audition over the weekend that was frightening in another way, as there was a lot of physical movement involved, so there was a physical freedom and emotional vulnerability into which we had to tap as performers. I ended up skinning my knee as I threw myself into the challenge of it. And while I'm not sure I'm the best fit for the role, it was so much fun to throw myself into that task and it would be an amazing opportunity to get to explore that further.

I also read a play for which I will be auditioning this coming weekend that is teeming with vulnerable moments, great cover-ups, and emotional explosions. It left me feeling drained after reading it, knowing the kind of work that will have to go into the character I am auditioning for if I am lucky enough to play her. Being able to take her on the journey she goes on, to go to the places she needs to go to make the choices she makes...

And the thing is, through all of this, the thought of putting in all of that work, of exploring the human condition at its best and at its worst is what gets me most excited about working on a project. I did a short play a couple of years ago that was just gut-wrenching for both of us in the scene, and hard for the audience to watch, too, as they see these people crumble in front of them. We would finish rehearsals wanting just simply to collapse. My scene partner referred to the show as an "ice cream play," in that when it's over, you really need to go home and have a bowl of ice cream. I want every show I do to be an "ice cream play" in its own way.

This is not to say that every show has to be drama-filled or that I always want to play a murderer with a heart of gold or anything like that. The show I'm in right now is a comedy and is rather physically involved. And I'm finding that if I put the same energy into the humor and the comedic timing and the fight sequences and into trying to make my scene partners look good, I still walk away from rehearsal exhausted and in need of ice cream. And I love it. There is something so fulfilling to me about working myself to the point of complete mental and physical exhaustion and then getting up and doing it all again the next day. I guess it is how I know I am alive.

Please let me always be working. Please let me always be making art that challenges the audience and myself. Please let me always be able to find my vulnerability so I can remind the audience of theirs. Please let me always be able to give my scene partners the gift of my full attention and full effort.

Please let me always be doing ice cream plays.

October 4 - A Story

My dear friend over at Please Note the Whale and I wrote a story today via Gchat. Enjoy!

Once upon a time, there was a girl who had blue hair and a box of lollipops that could grant wishes to those who licked them. She would often give them to kittens who looked like they needed a hug, but kittens are not known for liking sweets, so in order to get the kittens to lick the lollies, she would drop them in fish guts. But fish guts aren't easy to come by unless you work on the docks. So she would sometimes have to venture down to the docks to get her guts.

The docks were no place for a girl with blue hair, and they always gave her the heebie jeebies. This particular day a man with a starfish tattoo on his face stopped her and told her that a safer way to get fish guts was too learn how to fish herself. The starfish was actually a logo for his local fish and bait shop. "Come on down," he said, "I'll show you my secret method for catching fish. All you have to give me is your soul!"

The girl was, needless to say, hesitant, but after a brief moment's thought she replied, "Okay, I'll give you my soul if you teach me how to fish so I can grant wishes to kittens. I will come to your shop tonight after I tell my mother that I love her." The girl set off home, the weight of her soon-to-be-missing soul pressing on her mind. "Will I still want blue hair when I have no soul?" she wondered. "What if I lick a lollipop and wish to know how to fish? Then I won't have to give that man my soul for some sole." She picked out the biggest lollipop and whetted her whistle and took the biggest lick of her lollipop that she could. "I wish I knew how to fish," she thought as she licked. She opened her eyes and saw her mother coming back from the grocery shaking her head.

"Silly girl, you can't get a wish that way. Licking your own lollipops makes all the wishes go away." She took her daughter by the hand and led her back home. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?" asked her mother.

"I just feel so bad for the kittens," the girl replied. "So I thought if I could learn how to fish I could make the lollipops tasty for them. But the starfish man wanted my soul in order to learn his secret."

Her mother laughed and said, "That's very sweet of you. Hand me a lollipop." The girl gave a huge red lollipop to her mother, who closed her eyes, concentrated very hard and said, "I wish that you would go to bed and we find a solution in the morning." The little girl was still sad about the kittens but said goodnight to her mother who tucked her in sweetly. She then took her daughter's box of lollipops into the back garden. "These things are more trouble than they're worth," she growled. "I'm going to have to feed them to the pigs." She dumped the the pig trough.

Back inside she picked up the phone to call the starfish man. "What are you doing, trying to help my daughter help the kittens? I thought we had a deal!" she shouted at him. "You promised me that you would avoid her until I was ready to introduce you to her!"

The starfish man replied, "She was down by the docks and I was worried about her. I didn't realize she was the chosen one, destined to be the Kitten Savior. What can I do to set this right?"

"Well, for a start," replied the mother, "you can get all of the fish guts and fishing supplies down at the dock and meet me at the river. We only have a few hours until she wakes up to get rid of them. We must rid the world of all fish and fish-related paraphernalia. Those darn kittens will never get their hugs if it means I have to take allergy medicine to do it myself!"

She sneezed as she hung up the phone and turned around to discover the pigs had all turned into kittens and were slowly creeping up on her. She reached for a broom to sweep them away, but her constant allergic sneezing kept her from being able to shoo them out the door.

Meanwhile, the little girl had heard everything and snuck out the bedroom door into the kitchen where her mother was. She saw the box of lollipops on the floor, stuffed one in her pocket and ran out of the house. "There were too many kittens in there for me to hug all of them right now," she thought. "I better get help from the witch doctor!" and she slipped into the shadows of the forest. She ran and ran until she could run no more. She stopped by an old, gnarled tree to catch her breath and was suddenly struck by the feeling she was being watched. "Hello?" she cried out. "Is anyone there?" The reply came back on the crumpled leaves of the forest floor and the tree began to move. It was the witch doctor in disguise.

"I'm sorry to scare you my dear, I was just studying the mating calls of the various types of swallows in this region. It's best if they don't know I'm listening. Can I help you with something?"

The girl sobbed as she recounted the scene in her kitchen. "Why would my mother hate kittens?" she asked.

The witch doctor took her face in his branch-hands and said, "Your mother lost her kitten when she was your age and then developed allergies. Take this pill and only use it as a last resort. Your lollipops are useless and you must go to the shack and hug all the kittens yourself. Let nothing stop you!"

With that she started running again towards the shack. "I'd better get ready for some serious hugging," she thought, so every time she had to stop and catch her breath, she would stretch and practice her kitten-speak. Soon a glow appeared in the distance - a light was on in the kitten shack. The little girl ran harder, her blue hair whipping in the wind. She opened the door and saw hundreds of kittens - tabbys, calicos, siamese - all crawling over one another, mewing for attention. "Poor darlings," she whispered as she gently picked up a gray tabby. The kitten nuzzled her and all the other kittens crowded round mewing for their hugs. Kittens sat perched on her head and shoulders, rubbed against her legs. The little girl was buried in a pile of adorable. 

The sun rose and bathed the room in its warm, orange light. One by one, the girl hugged the kittens until she remembered her mother and the starfish man. No one had run after her. Had they dumped the fish guts? Why didn't either of them stop her from hugging kittens? She noticed one kitten, small and brown in color, shying away from her every move. She went to pick it up and it sneezed. Taken aback, she stood up and looked at all the happy content kittens curled up on shelves and under couches, playing and napping. In the window behind the little brown kitten was her mother, crying. 

"That kitten," her mother said, "It's just so cute. It looks just like the one I had when I was a girl. Can I hold it? Can I hug it?" 

"Of course, mother," replied the girl. "Just be gentle." 

The girl picked up the small brown cat and walked to her mother but the kitten hissed. The fur on its arched back rose. The mother sneezed and sneezed and sneezed until she dissolved. From the pile of clothing that remained emerged a perfect, snow white kitten with blue eyes. It looked up at the girl and began purring. "Mother?" asked the girl as she picked up the white kitten. It licked her nose and fell asleep in her arms. "I guess the other kittens don't have to worry about you anymore." 

The girl , happy with her kittens curled up among them on the couch, unaware that the starfish man was still peering through the window from the shadows...

Join us next time for Episode 2!

September 19 - Acting Career

There are those who would argue that I don't have enough experience as a working actor to speak with any sort of authority on this subject, and there are those who might argue that I do (me). Meaning you can take the rest of this post with a grain of salt if you so choose. Though I might recommend hot chocolate instead - my blogs go much better with hot chocolate than they do with salt.

So Hamlet is over. Just about. I have a few insets and some voiceover stuff to shoot on Sunday and then I'm done with it until it is all edited and released and whatnot. Don't worry, I'll spam all of you when it is available so you can watch it. But I find myself confronted with the question that lurks in the back of every artist's mind as they finish a project, "What now?"

The artistic life is far from a stable one. This is why most of us have day jobs of one sort or another; we don't make enough money from our art to be able to pay rent and buy food and art supplies. So when one project ends, you want to try to have the next one lined up. If you don't, the panic can start to set in. Now, I know I've hinted at projects in the works and those projects are still in the works. But a funny thing about being an actor is that if you're not out acting, people forget you exist. Seriously. If you're not out going to auditions and seeing shows and constantly reminding the rest of the theater world that you are still alive and working (or trying to get work), they will forget about you. It's not a rudeness thing; it's just that these people are bombarded by actors and writers and wannabes all the time and they only have a limited number of roles to fill. If you can prove you're wanted (by being in stuff all the time), they will want you more because you are more likely to be talented, good to work with, and/or an easy way to put butts in seats. It's just how the industry works.

Or, it's how I think the industry works. Remember: I may not be an expert on this.

I have been blessed in that for about the past two and a half years (two and three-quarters years?), I haven't had to worry too much about my next project. They just kept lining up and I just kept knocking them down. Felt good. Felt great, actually, to be consistently working. And I was thinking that with Hamlet ending, I might want to take a little bit of a performance break and focus on other stuff - writing, perhaps building a YouTube show, being a normal person with friends, whatever. In the two weeks since Hamlet essentially ended, I have learned that I cannot do that. I still want to do the writing and the being a person and all of that, but I have to keep trying for acting jobs. I'm not getting any younger, you know, so I need to keep auditioning for these roles while I might have a fighting chance of getting one of them.

To that end, I have scheduled three auditions for myself within the last three days. Most of them involve having a monologue. I think you all know how I feel about monologue auditions, but if I chose to skip all monologue auditions, I'd have nothing to audition for. But it has started me on the path to finding a new monologue or two. I've been using the same couple over and over again for a while now and I'm kind of tired of them. I read a play and a half last night, and am hoping to read another play and a half tonight to try to find some new material to work with. My only hesitation is that the audition I have this Saturday is one at which I would really like to do well - I'd really like to work with this theater - but trying out new material on them may not be the best idea. Then again, using tired old material may not be the best idea, either. So we'll see. Maybe by the time my third audition rolls around in a couple of weeks, the new stuff will be the good stuff and I'll nail the audition.

So that's where that stands. I'm reading plays like a fiend looking for new material so I can get an acting job so I can do the writing and the YouTubing I want to do on the side. Such is the life of an actor, I guess.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

September 6 - Sad

I'm sad today.

Before I go into why I am sad, let me just say that it is perfectly normal to be sad from time to time, and I have found it best to embrace the sadness as opposed to trying to avoid it. If I figure out why I am sad, I can deal with that thing and the sadness will go away as a result, as opposed to trying to just not be sad. That doesn't deal with the issue.

So anyway, today is a day to be sad for me. It has nothing to do with all of the sadness and suffering in the world, or the really difficult decisions that are being made right now concerning Syria, or anything that really impacts anyone but me. It is my own little personal bubble of sadness. The kind of bubble that goes nicely on a couch with hot chocolate, a super soft sweater, and a sad movie.

I am sad today because tomorrow is the last day of principal photography for Hamlet: The Series. In many ways, this is just the beginning of the project - it can then be edited and shared and discussed and it will be around forever. For the rest of my life, I can say I played Hamlet and I can show it to people all around the world. But for the actors in it, principal photography is the fun part. That is when we get to do what we do. All of the preparation, all of the rehearsal, all of the time spent analyzing dialogue and building characters all comes down to the actual performance, which in film, happens during principal photography. Once that part is done, we just sit back and wait for the thing to be done. We can move on to other characters and other projects, and for the last two and a half years, that is exactly what I have done to help with the mourning process as I say goodbye to all of the characters I have played, all of the amazing people I have worked with. If I keep myself busy and preoccupied with the next project, the next show, I don't have time to get too sad about this show ending.

I don't really have the next project in line yet. I have projects in the pipeline; don't get me wrong. But I don't have another character to inhabit yet. Another person to bring to life through my actions and someone else's words. And this makes me very aware of how empty I will feel when I'm no longer sharing body space with Hamlet. She first came to live with me a little over two years ago. It has been an extraordinarily long process, with ups and downs and stops and starts and frustrations and joys. We have laughed so hard on set. I have cried so many tears. I have spent so many hours with the script and my Shakespeare Lexicon books, trying to figure out who this person is and why she does the things she does and now that I finally sort of feel like maybe I have it, she's moving out. Unlikely to come live with me again. I've gotten used to her. I've grown to love her and empathize with her. And in the absence of another character coming to live with me, I just get to feel her slip away as I mourn her leaving.

I am looking forward to shooting these last bits tomorrow, because it means the project is that much closer to being done and I will be able to see the fruits of all of our efforts. But for all of the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that her flesh is heir to, I have loved this project and I am sad to see it coming to an end.

So I am sad today. I will be less sad later.

August 29 - An Explanation

I woke up in my bed to the sound of my alarm, my cat gently nuzzling my arm. I stretched and yawned, preparing myself to face whatever this Friday had to bring. A quick look at my phone, though, showed me it was Thursday, not Friday. I was sure it was Friday. This had been a particularly long week, and I was looking forward to it being over, so I knew it was Friday. Another look at my phone confirmed it was, in fact, Thursday. As my hand reached up to rub my tired eyes, I felt a small amulet around my neck…

It started with a noise.

A completely strange noise, yet oddly familiar. What was that noise? Where was it coming from? It was a sort of whooshing noise, with a whale cry and loud thump at the end of it. I was groggy and half-asleep still, and thought it must be my neighbors watching something on the television with the volume turned up too high. But then other noises followed – running, scuffling, shouting in the street. Not the usual shouting from the angry homeless man who likes to rage at God at three o’clock in the morning, but a different kind of shouting. Purposeful. Coherent. British.

I stumbled to my open living room window, intent on telling whoever was making this noise to button it. Instead, I saw large, muscular reptilian creature holding a tall, skinny man in a suit over his head in what was soon to be a body slam onto the curb. The skinny man held aloft a small glowing sphere, keeping it as far from the creature’s reach as possible. As if by magic, his eyes caught mine and he yelled, “Take this!” and hurled the glowing sphere toward my open window. I caught it and he yelled, “Run!” as the muscular creature dropped him on the sidewalk and headed for my apartment building’s front door.

“Oh shit,” I thought. I slipped on the nearest pair of shoes I could find, grabbed my keys, and ran for the back door, forever grateful that I had recently moved into an apartment that had both a front and a back door. I heard the creature rampaging up the front stairs as I bolted down the back and out the door. No sooner had I emerged onto the dark city street than a hand grabbed mine and again yelled, “Run!” We were off down the alley.

It wasn’t a long run, which was fortunate as the shoes I put on were not built for cross country sports. Also because what I saw before me made my knees buckle and I skidded and crashed to the ground. “Come on, get inside,” shouted the skinny man as he helped me to my feet and into the large blue box.

“It can’t be…” I stammered.

“It is,” he replied with a knowing smile.

“But…but…that’s a television show. It’s not real.” I could feel tears of joy and confusion and fear and anger welling up behind my eyes. Somebody had to be playing a trick on me. There was no possible way I was standing in the control room of a spaceship disguised as a police box with a tall, skinny man in a suit who had just told me to run. “Who put you up to this?”

“Up to what?”

“This. Who put you up to this, and where did they get one of these that is actually bigger on the inside?”

“It is actually bigger on the inside. It’s the chameleon circuit…”

“I know your chameleon circuit is broken. Everybody knows your chameleon circuit is broken. What I want to know is which of my friends thought it would be a fun joke to wake me up in the middle of the night to stage something like this, and how did they make the alley look so much like the alley with this thing inside it?”

“Oh, you’re a feisty one aren’t you?”

“No, really, where did they get the drops to hide the rest of the set?” I went for the door to take a look around and see how this marvelously cruel practical joke had been staged.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned.

“Why not?” I opened the door to the sharp teeth and hammer hands of the large, muscular reptilian creature.

“That’s why.”

I shut the door again and promptly fell on my butt, sobbing because I couldn’t not anymore.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, hey there. You’re okay. You’re safe in here. The assembled hoardes…”

“…of Ghengis Khan couldn’t get through those doors, and believe me they’ve tried.” We finished his sentence together. I had heard it a million times before, and here I was saying it along with him.

“Are you really him?” I asked.

“Oh yes.”

“But you don’t look like him. I mean, not the him I’m used to.”

“Well, they had to get an actor to play me on television, didn’t they? I’m rather busy most days.”

“So how much of it is real?”

“All of it. Well, most of it. Well, some of it. They have to employ a bit of a creative license from time to time, and some names have been changed to protect the innocent, and that bit that was leaked on the internet about me hating pears is completely false – it’s rhubarb I’m not a big fan of – but beyond that, I’d say it’s mostly pretty accurate.”

“And that thing outside?”

“Nasty fellow. Do you have the object I threw to you?”

I produced the glowing sphere from my tightly clenched fist. I hadn’t realized I was holding it so tightly that my fingernails cut small half-moons into my palm. “What is it?”

“That, my darling girl, could fix all of the Earth’s energy problems.” He rolled it around between his thumb and forefinger and looked at it with the reverence one might show a holy relic of old. “It is a dwarf sun from the Fizzigypsun System, encased in Midnight diamond. All of the power of a sun – the solar energy, wind energy, hydroelectric energy that can be produced from the natural nuclear reactor that is a sun’s core – in the palm of your hand. You could terraform a new planet with that thing, or plug it into your electrical grid here on Earth and voila! Free, clean renewable energy for everyone! Nice catch, by the way.”

“So what does Mr. WWF out there want with it?”

“There are two sides to every nuclear reaction. He prefers the side that goes boom, and I’m not about to let him blow up a planet of innocents.”

“How are we going to get rid of him?” I asked.

“Already done. Take a look outside.” The skinny man’s eyes twinkled in a way no human eyes can. The anticipation of seeing something familiar through a new pair of eyes had him as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

I walked back to the door and opened it slowly. A brilliant, lavender light met my eyes, momentarily blinding me as I stepped from the relative dark of the blue box onto what could only be foreign ground. The smell of lilacs danced on the breeze, which was cool yet comforting. Blades of soft blue jasmine grass brushed at my ankles, tickling me ever so slightly. A brilliant orange sun hung in the lavender sky, and in the distance, I could see mountains unlike any I had seen before.

“This is Fizzigypsun Six,” said the skinny man as he stepped out of the blue box. “The dwarf sun you are holding belongs here. It was taken by the Schlanglinial to be used as a weapon against the Fizzigyps, and you have helped me return it to its rightful place in the Universe.” He took my hand and squeezed it gently. “Come on,” he said as we walked toward the distant Fizzigypsun mountains.

Within just a few moments, we were greeted by a small fuzzy creature with six legs, four arms, and giant anime eyes. The skinny man introduced us, and then handed over the sphere. The fuzzy creature thanked us, bowed deeply, and then threw back its head and shouted a rainbow into the air that fell down upon us in a gentle mist of flower petals. The skinny man took my hand once more and gently led me back to the blue box.

“Thank you,” I squeaked out, once again holding back tears of joy and astonishment.

“Thank you,” replied the skinny man. “You were brilliant.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, but you did. If you hadn’t come to your window, the Fizzigyps might have never gotten their sun back. You saved a whole planet, a whole species.”

“I just heard a noise…”

“You were brilliant. And now, you’re home.”

“Home?”

“Yup. Right outside your apartment, just moments before I landed, so your front steps should be in order.”

“Okay, but with time travel, doesn’t that mean you’re going to show up again in a minute and the whole thing will happen all over again?”

“No. When we returned the dwarf sun to the Fizzigyps, we returned it moments after it was taken. My chase with the Schlanglinial all over the Universe never happened.”

“So what happens to me, then?”

“When you step out of those doors, the paradox of you traveling back on your own timeline will collapse in on itself and this version of you will cease to exist. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“But I don’t want to stop existing. I don’t want to forget what I saw and the way the air smelled on Fizzigypsun Six! You can’t take me on a journey through time and space and then take it all away from me again!” I protested as hot tears of anger and disappointment began to spill down my face. “And what about the rest of reality, as my paradox falls in on itself?”

The skinny man approached me slowly, and gently took me in his arms. “Take this,” he said as he placed a small amulet around my neck. “This will keep the paradox limited to you, so the rest of reality will be unharmed. You will meld back into your past self, and you won’t miss what you never knew happened.”

“I don’t want to go. I’ve wished for so long that you were real and now you’re here and I have to forget about you.”

He held me for a moment longer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He wiped away my tears and looked at me with those brilliant alien eyes, reflecting my sorrow and regret and loss and disappointment.

“Take me with you,” I pleaded softly.

“I can’t. Not this time,” he replied, stepping back to arm’s length. “This is how it has to go.”

He walked me to the door, and held my hand as I stepped through. “You were brilliant,” he said with a smile as my hand fell away from his. “Absolutely brilliant.

I woke up in my bed to the sound of my alarm, my cat gently nuzzling my arm. I stretched and yawned, preparing myself to face whatever this Friday had to bring. A quick look at my phone, though, showed me it was Thursday, not Friday. I was sure it was Friday, and as my hand reached up to rub my tired eyes, I felt a small amulet around my neck…

August 28 - Hair

I like my hair. Scratch that, I love my hair. It is so ridiculously soft that I almost feel guilty not letting people play with it more regularly. If I had a significant other just now, he would get to make his friends jealous with how amazingly soft his girlfriend's hair was. And it's red, to boot!

Thing is, there is always a week or two, every year, when the humidity in Chicago just goes bonkers and no matter what I do, my hair just will not behave. I get the half-frizzies, where the top layer of my hair decides to go for the Medusa look, whilst the rest of my hair just wants to chill out and hang on my shoulders. It's an odd look. Not my favorite. I generally end up pulling it back in one fashion or another to try to tame the wild and wiry fly-aways, but mostly, I just have to wait for the uber humidity to be over. The nice thing is that the week after uber humid week is generally nice and calm and I have hair so awesome, people should write epic love poems about it.

We are right, smack in the middle of uber humid week.

To try to combat the crazy today, I thought I would employ a scarf, strategically tied around my head (for a sort of headband look - none of that stupid "across the forehead" nonsense for me, thank you), and then braid it into my hair and tie it in a bow at the bottom. This is probably the most complicated hairdo I have ever attempted on a work day, and I can't totally see how it looks because I didn't do the braiding until I got to work, so I don't have the other little mirror with which to look at the back of my own head in the mirror in the bathroom. The thing is this - I have a ginormous head. And a tumor behind my right ear. Neither of which makes headbandy things very comfortable. Which means I've been sitting here with a scarf tied around my head for about six hours now, and I am dying to take it off because it is squeezing my head, but I don't want to take it off for fear of what my hair may be doing on it's own, and because I kind of want to be able to see my handiwork before I undo it.

I know, I know. Not the worst of problems. But I'll be glad when the humidity wanes and lets my hair be normal. The heat can stay; just cut back on the humidity. Thanks!

August 19 - Creativity

The by-product of negativity is that it kills creativity.

I notice that when I get in really grumpy moods or let the little annoyances of the day get to me, I don't feel like doing anything creative. Hell, I don't feel like doing anything at all. I wake up in the morning, knowing I can do anything, wanting to tackle the day and make something brilliant out of it, but the negative energy seeps in and I feel like the day is lost. If I have to do something creative later, like write or make a video, it feels like a chore and like I have to start all over pumping up my energy level. This is bothersome.

Today, I fought the grump and made a silly little video for VEDA. It's not going to win any awards, will probably get thirty views maximum, but it was fun to make, fun to edit, and I have fun watching it. It makes me giggle. It started out feeling like a chore to make a video, but I made myself create something, and I made something that might make someone else giggle, too. That feels pretty good. That is one of the reasons I enjoy being creative, the buzz I get when I get to share my work with other people.

Now, if only I can figure out a way to keep the grumpies from making me dread seeking out that buzz...

July 3 - Problem (Not Really)

I love that I am a creative person. It is largely how I define myself. I think of myself as an artist and a creator, rather than a consumer or destroyer. And truth be told, I am a terrible consumer - I can always think of a reason to not buy something. As I type this, I'm wearing a little black cardigan that is probably five years old and is so worn I have had to fix the sleeve seams two or three times, sew buttons back on it, and the cuffs are now so frayed and stretched out that I can't really push up the sleeves anymore. But I still wear the cardigan because it still functions as a cardigan and I've not been bothered to go buy a new one. Like I said, I'm a terrible consumer. (Unless it is TARDIS themed merchandise, as I seem to have an abundance of that - TARDIS watch, TARDIS notebook, two TARDIS lunchboxes that came with coasters and TARDIS travel mugs, TARDIS teapot (a gift, but still), TARDIS phone case, TARDIS bobblehead, two TARDIS t-shirts - seriously, what is wrong with me?)

But back to the point. I am the creative sort. I like making things, I like having ideas, I like working on projects. And I often find that the more projects I'm working on, the more ideas I get for other projects I should be working on. Granted, not all of them are good ideas and I don't always see all of them through, but it's like creativity begets creativity. The more I'm working, the more I want to work.

Which, of course, means now that Hamlet is in the middle of shooting, I'm being bombarded with ideas. I'm playing my guitar again, I'm auditioning again, and I had one idea this morning that is probably so crazy crack-pot too big for me to handle on my own that it might just be brilliant. My mind is abuzz with plans and thoughts and ideas and people I would want to approach to collaborate and things I'll have to do to sort out the legality of some issues and whatnot and the more I think about it, the more I think it could be really fun.

But, of course, I have to spend about nine hours a day at my day job. Where I don't get to plan and investigate and collaborate on these amazing creative ideas that I have. I have to do the things that I have to do to make money so I can live and have an apartment and eat food while I have all of these lovely creative ideas. Sigh.

Such is the curse of the creative person - trying to find balance between creation and survival. I will admit that maybe my balance is a little too skewed toward survival every now and again. I hope that someday, having to choose between the two and having to schedule time in which to be creative is not such a challenge. I hope someday I just get to create.

June 26 - YoM

First off, I want to say that in the past couple of years I have tried very hard to expect very little of this day so that when and if very little happens, it's okay. So I expected very little this morning, but have already received quite an outpouring of love so I want to say thank you for that. Thank you for remembering.

And thank you to my parents because without them, I wouldn't be here. Literally.

Anyway.

I don't want to do a full-on recap of the last year, or another chat about how awesome it is to be vegan now that I am eleven years into what was going to be a one year experiment. Instead I'm going to tell you about a little project that one of my friends thought up. Her birthday was Monday, and she decided to take a selfie every day for one year, starting on her birthday. I told her I would if she did, so I am. I even signed up for Instagram to capture them all and everything. And now that I have shared that link, I should probably fill out a profile so it's not just a sad looking page with one picture on it, huh?

I don't know what I'm expecting to achieve by taking a picture of myself every day. I'm also wondering if "selfie" means "full face picture" every day, or if there is room to play with that a bit. Knowing me, I'll probably play either way, as long as some part of my body is in the picture and I'm the one taking it. But we'll see. We'll see what a year of pictures of me yields. Hopefully something more than just 365 pictures.

Happy Wednesday, everybody!

Oh! And the hashtag I'm using on the pictures, YoM, stands for Year of Me. But it also sounds like yum, which is why we chose it.

June 24 - With a Little Help From My Friends

I know this may sound odd coming from me, the Queen of I Can Do This Myself Thank You Very Much, but there are some things that you just shouldn't do by yourself. As hard as it is for me to ask people for help, sometimes you have to suck it up, relinquish some small piece of control, and ask someone to help you with something. It's not the end of the world, and sometimes, it makes for a better end product.

Now, I'm not saying you should abandon your sense of self or your opinions or anything and give in to another person. We all know I'm a big fan of doing things alone - I've traveled the world alone for crying out loud. But I think it is important to know your limitations and to know when it is better to ask someone to help you.

Moving, for example. I would not recommend trying to carry a couch up and down two or three flights of stairs without assistance. I have carried a mattress down three flights of stairs, but I could really only do that because the mattress was flexible so I could navigate around the corners. I would not try a couch on my own, nor would I recommend you try it.

I think the idea of asking for help is particularly difficult for artists. In this age of everyone wanting to protect their own creative content, the thought of asking someone else for assistance or input is scary. How much of my credit will they get? How many opinions are they going to spit at me while I'm trying to create? How do I politely tell them that this is my vision, not theirs, so could they please just hold the light bounce card and keep their opinions on amber gels to themselves? Because as artists, we all also want to be liked and respected, especially within our own artistic communities. I think we're afraid that if we don't turn every act of assistance into a full-on partnership collaboration, we'll be disliked and disrespected. I don't think that is necessarily the case, but I do recognize the fear. I've had that same exact fear.

I will say this, though. There are certain projects that are made so much better through collaboration. I wrote and directed a children's musical several years ago, and it was scary to hand over choreography to someone else, and costume design to someone else, and the performance of my characters to these other people. But my actors were brilliant from start to finish. They played along with all of the exercises I threw at them, but still infused their characters with their own lives and flavors. The costume designer was brilliant, as she was able to dedicate the time and energy to making things I would not have had time to make on my own. The choreography was fun and simple and made me squeal with glee every time I watched the dance numbers. It was through this collaboration that the show became what it was - an absolute joy. And while in my mind I sometimes think of it as my show, I really know that it was our show, and I loved being able to share that experience with those people.

So I wonder, as I pick up my guitar again, should I be playing with other people, too? These other video project ideas that I have, should I get a camera operator and an editor? Because I'm sure I can do these things on my own, but I can't help but wonder how much better they would be if I had help.

Just a thought.

May 24 - A Story

Last week, while I was waiting for my flight which had been delayed, I texted my good friend Sir Fancy du Pantaloons and asked him to entertain me while I waited. The following is the text message story that ensued.

There once was a dragon in a marshmallow kingdom. Everyone was scared of the dragon because he set all the marshmallows on fire. "Don't burn me!" screamed all the marshmallow people in nearby Marshmallow town.

But what the marshmallowians didn't know was that the dragon was just lonely and trying to make friends, but his social anxiety made him snort fire. See, the dragon was originally from 'Smoresville, where snorting fire actually came in handy. But since they were not cannibals by nature, the marshmallows did not know their full yummy toasted potential.

And so, the brave marshmallowians took their chocolate swords and graham cracker shields and went to confront the dragon.

"We're tired of being set ablaze!" they shouted. "Leave us at once!"

And the dragon, in his socially awkward way, tried to politely explain why he had come to their town, but unfortunately, his aversion to uncooked marshmallow smell was just too much for him to take.  He began to sweat, trying to control himself, and he could feel the flames of anxiety welling up in his nose. And then, while reaching for a Kleenex, the marshmallowians screamed in fear and tossed the nets made of licorice to ensnare the dragon.

"Noooooo!" cried the dragon. "I'm allergic to licorice! Ah...ahh...AAAHHH-CHOOOOOO!"

And he set forth a massive jet of flame over the brave, but foolish, marshmallowians. And as the flames basked over them, they found the chocolate melt over their body and their bodies began to melt toward their shields.

The dragon felt horrible about what he had done, but the smell of freshly baked 's'mores made him feel at home in a way he'd not felt in a long time. "I'm so sorry!" he shouted. "But I have an idea. I know a magical land where you can learn to live happily as marshmallow-graham-cracker-chocolatarians." And so the dragon fashioned a boat made of gumdrops and wishes and filled it with the marshmallow-graham-cracker-chocolatarians and flew them off to their new home of Camp Milktown.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Until the evil conglomeration of dessert town showed up and enslaved the locals.

We totally need to write children's books.

May 20 - Two. Sometimes Three.

Pardon me while I borrow a tired cliche, but I live two lives, really. Sometimes three. Much of the time, I don't really notice - I'm aware of them, I'm aware that lines between my day job life, my artistic life and my friend/family life exist, but they're just kind of there. They don't usually blind me like a neon sign. Every once in a while, though, two or more of the worlds are forced into this strange juxtaposition and I can't look away no matter how much I might want to.

I spent this past weekend at a convention with a bunch of artists - writers, mostly, but there were other artistic disciplines represented as well, from musical to culinary to design. It was a weekend of discussions about hopes and dreams and project ideas and creation. I had a wonderful time and met some truly inspirational people who I hope I will know and continue to get to know for years to come.

Today, I was back at my day job, working the floor of a trade show. There were discussions about technology and how things work and value propositions and what makes our equipment better than that of other companies. There were some familiar faces, plenty of smiles, lots of handshaking.  Everywhere I looked, I saw faces that I hoped were the ones I had met over the weekend, coming to greet me with an eight-second hug that would bond us for life. Sadly, they were not there.

And I couldn't help but notice the difference between an artistic conference and a technological conference. I don't mean to say that one is bad and one is good, or that I enjoyed one and not the other. Both have their merits, both provided stimulation and a little break from the norm that was much needed. But while one is good, the other is the reason I exist. One makes me feel like I did something productive; the other makes me feel like I contributed to the human race. One filled me with wonder for what people can build; the other gave me faith in who people are.

As I continue on in my life, I hope I can balance the amount of time I spend at each of these activities a little better. Having faith in humanity allows me to present the technology better. Knowing the technology helps me connect with humans better. But in either case, in either pursuit, I want to always feel like I am contributing something positive to the human race.

Thank you to my friends, old and new, who I met at the artistic conference over the weekend, for reminding me what a brilliant species we are and just how amazing we all have the potential to be. I love your faces and hope to see you all again very soon.

April 19 - I Got It

I think I figured it out.

I don't know if I mentioned it in this blog before, but there is a show on Hulu called The Booth at the End which is absolutely brilliant. I love how it is done, I love the characters and their arcs, I love the combination of simplicity and complexity that exists within the show. It's really unlike anything else on television right now and if you haven't watched it, you should. Right now. If you don't have Hulu, sign up for Hulu so you can watch it. It's worth it.

Anyway, the premise of the show is that people ask this man in the booth at the end in a diner for things and he gives them a task that they have to perform in order to get what they want. I don't want to give too much more away because the beauty of the show is in watching that unfold, but the important thing to know is that if you want something, you ask this guy and he tells you how to get it.

So it got me thinking about what I would ask for. What do I want so badly that I would go ask a stranger for help in obtaining it. And I think I finally got it.

I would ask for a higher resting metabolic rate.

I think this would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. It would allow me to eat the way I like to eat without turning into Gilbert Grape's mother, and it would help me stay warmer in general. If I had more natural body heat, I wouldn't be so cold all of the time.

So yes, I would ask for something kind of selfish. Most of the people do. And I don't think there is too much harm in asking for something for oneself. And hopefully in asking for something that really only effects me, the task I would have to perform wouldn't be too unsavory.

So how about it, man in the booth at the end? What task would allow me to get a faster metabolism?