Exit Stage Left

My sister told me there is  a country song that has a line about trying something new every day.  I'm not a fan of that musical genre, but I do believe that having new experiences is a way to keep myself young and the world interesting.  While in Santa Fe this past January, my daughter, Andrea, sent me a link to an audition that would honor World Story Telling Day.  I'm a writer.  I have stories to tell.  But I didn't know what this audition or subsequent acceptance to the production would actually entail.  This would definitely be trying something new, but it would be a month long journey.  An Odyssey.

I've never tried out for anything in my adult life.  I haven't acted on a stage since I played Dorothy in the Wizard if Oz.  Second grade.  I don't even interview well for jobs - my work experience had been more on my terms, and with my last two gigs I ended up interrogating my potential bosses during the initial examination.

I needed a short - three minute - story to tell at the audition.  I chose to tell my story of the Waldo Canyon Fire.  I was nervous, but I managed to eke out the words.  Then I waited and surprisingly was accepted into this troupe of five other peeps who all had acting experience.  I was the greenhorn!

My naive self thought that I would come in very prepared, story in hand.  I'm a writer and I have many essays and memoir- esque pieces in my portfolio.  But on February 22nd, my 59th birthday, our ensemble convened in the narrow art room of a church for a get-to-know-you potluck and some team building.

Over the next week and a half or so, I would abandon my original piece.  I let go of the notion that I had to control my own work, and allowed the director, Tara, to not only pull a new story out of me, but also learned it is not so painful to kill my darlings.  For me the writing was the most natural part of this process.  My comfort zone.  It was what came next that fully managed to pull me into my challenge zone.

This stage production would be a hybrid of a stodgy stand up and rattle off a story kind of talk mixed in with actual acting, moving around the stage, and having lines in other people's stories (and they in mine) to keep the audience interested and lend dimension to our tales.  So in addition to my own fifteen minute intermittent monologue, I had about 17 other lines to remember from my fellow ensemble members stories.

I learned new terminology for this endeavor.  Blocking.  The Gap.  Downstage.  Every job has its own special vernacular and our director was well versed in the language of theater.  I learned that other people would be depending upon me to not only know my own piece when the night came to perform on stage, but remember the important speaking moments I had in their stories.  My cues.  When to stand up, cross the stage, which chair to return to.  Don't talk when in the back line.  No yawning.  Be attentive to the other story tellers.  No RBF*.  If we're bored the audience is bored.  I learned that stage laughter starts with breathe!  I plucked a few ditties uttered by Tara to use in a future poem or two.

Memorizing all those words, in order and accurately, was pretty tough for me.  I'm a writer, so when I want to know what I wrote I look at my scribbles.  I'd have no cheat sheet the night of the show.  Only my memory and my courage.  I tried to pay strict attention to the scenes where I got up and moved, spoke a line or two, and meandered back to a new space in the line.  Did I have enough intact brain cells to manage all these transitions?

The days before the performance involved late night rehearsals, last minute revisions and a good amount of walking around the living room talking to myself.  I felt quasi confident and then?  Showtime!  We performed at the Forum, an intimate 37 seat theater in our beautiful local library.

I've performed a bit of poetry, scratch that, recited my own work with emphasis and nervousness.  This was different.  Stage lights in my eyes, five other performers and the director, and of course, the audience depending on me to not flop.  I did pretty well.  I missed a few lines, but only in my own piece.  My heart was beating a bit faster than usual, but I didn't feel like myocardial infarction was imminent.  Then about an hour and forty minutes later, our bows to enthusiastic applause.  It was done.

A few friends have asked me if I am bit by the theater bug and the answer is NO.  This was a fabulous experience that stretched my abilities and exposed me to a world I had previously only enjoyed from the comfort of a balcony seat.  I did learn a few things about myself.  Some that I already knew, but never openly admitted, and a few new eye-opening tidbits about my personality.

I like everyone I worked with.  But I came to realize that I enjoy working alone more than in a group. My hands on the keys, or a pad and pen in hand, curled up in a comfy chair is more my speed.  In most of my jobs I was the boss.  And while I wouldn't consider myself a control freak (any more, anyway) it was a new experience to let go of being in charge of the details and allowing the director and actors to guide me in this endeavor.  It was a relief in some ways to just take direction, watch how other people work, engage in banter, learn theater terminology, listen.

Physically I made a few sacrifices to ensure my health for the night of the performance.  Sniffles and a scratchy throat seemed to want to overtake me the week before the big night.  It was a decision, not made lightly, to delay taking my two medications in order to keep my immune system up and running.  I have an autoimmune disease that requires the obliteration of my immune system as to calm the effects of Rheumatoid Arthritis.  I traded achiness and hurting hands to be able to take some Echinacea and other herbs to combat whatever crud was coming on.  Success!

I also gave up many nights of being in bed at my usual early hour.  Sleep is an important component of keeping myself in good operating order.  We were lucky enough to have only one night of snow.  But it was chilly at midnight and way past my bedtime when we broke up rehearsals to return home.  I'd be so amped up, sleep would elude me till an hour or two after I was home.  My wake-up time is imprinted in my circadian clock, so I still arose to sun-up and birds chirping.

As a writer, I write.  I compose a rough draft, let it sit a bit, come back, edit.  Sit.  It's a process, but it doesn't last too long.  I decide somewhere along the line to continue polishing a piece, or let it go.  This was different.  I sat in my same words, and those scripts of cast-mates, for a month.  Reading and reciting and rehearsing the same words in the same order.  Over and over.  This was almost painful for me.  I like to move on.  Write it, read it, retire it.  Not here.  I wouldn't say I was bored with the repetitiveness, but this was grounding of sorts that I don't practice in my writing.  This is theater discipline, and I think I can take a lesson or two and apply it to my daily routines.

I have more to write about this, and will in a future blog. Today I am awaiting the arrival of a friend to enjoy a restorative yoga class and hot springs for the day.  I know how to take care of myself.

Time to Chill,

Jane


*RBF --  resting bitch face