On risk and rejection (and success!), part six
Well, notice I brought the success part back. I'm feeling a bit more hopeful today, though my moods did fluctuate as the day went on. The most exciting thing is that I got an email with a flyer for the playwriting festival I'm part of this weekend. Wow! I'm on a flyer that I didn't even create! Best of all, here's the text:
Boston has a wealth of gifted playwrights who needto be heard! The Arlington Players present two nights of new works by emerging Boston playwrights as read bya talented cast. The audience votes on their favoriteand the Arlington Players will produce the winner inthe Fall of 2005.
Imagine that! I'm a gifted playwright! And an emerging one as well! :-) I'm brimming with excitement and a just a tiny bit of confidence as well, as some of the playwrights are well-known, locally, anyway. I'm sorry, but it's just SO MUCH BETTER to be chosen than to be rejected. I can't help it. I get such a high with success and such a low with rejection/failure (probably more the former than the latter; if I'm not cast, it's not that I failed but that I was rejected, or better yet, not chosen). I am certain that the reason I persevere is because of the high I receive when I've acted well in a play or when someone reads and enjoys something I've written. And getting accepted into this festival and the two-minute one by Java Theatre is thrilling me beyond compare. I actually had something to write to the Mount Holyoke Alumna Magazine about! I could share my flyer with my friends (and they are, honestly) the baristas at the Newbury Street Starbucks (who asked for a flyer when I mentioned my play) and some of my colleagues at work have even sent me very kind (or funny) emails. One program director laughed after I accidentally kicked him during an Education Policy meeting today and said, "Hey, you're allowed. You're a playwright." ;-)
Honestly, I don't do this for the; well, no. I won't say I don't do it for the tangible, and external, rewards, b/c I do, at least in part. There is clearly something driving me to write (and act) and if there weren't, and I didn't have at least a modicum of talent, then I wouldn't bother. After all, I could try being a sculpter, painter, model maker, but that would be foolish, as I have little visual talent (despite a few people's protests to the contrary). I could try to play an instrument (which I really do want to take on, guitar in particular) and join a band, but as much as I love music, I can't see my fortunes or success residing in those areas. But the performing arts: now that's a different matter altogether. The greatest high of my life, besides graduating from Emerson College with my MFA in Creative Writing after three long, stressful years and seeing my parents bursting with pride, was the night I performed my one-woman show, "Workin' Progress" at ImprovBoston last February. I was terribly nervous, certain I'd throw up, or forget all my lines I'd written, or do both simultaneously. But the performance was nearly flawless (the first and last time, I might add, it went so well), and everything I did was received in the most wonderful way possible. Granted, I knew many (but certainly not all) of the audience members, but who knows how people will react, particularly fellow actors? But they laughed and clapped and oohed and ahhhed and clearly had as good a time as I had, and the whole time I was onstage I felt in control and precise and ON, and I really had command of the audience the entire time.
It was unbelievable, and afterwards, all I could do was smile and bask in the happiness and the high. I went out for frozen yogurt with members of my acting class and director V., and it was just as wonderful. I don't think I fell asleep til after 2am that night, and I wanted the good feelings to last forever. Of course, they couldn't, and the next time I did the show, it went well, but not quite as well, and the audience's response was more mournful, more muted, though those watching it enjoyed it, or so I heard. I had a good time again, but it wasn't as gleeful, perhaps, and afterwards I felt oddly disappointed. The third time was a disaster, as I performed at a pub, after two other zippier acts and after being introduced by two obnoxious would-be stand up comics (I use the term VERY loosely), while blues music droned upstairs, the somewhat drunken and largely young and male audience only paid token attention. I did an abbreviated set, as planned, 1/2 hour, and wanted to run off after two minutes, though to my credit I stayed on stage and performed (and to my discredit, screwed around a bit with the script, to no discernible benefit and to my director's displeasure). Afterwards, I ran out of the pub in tears, but at least I realized that it would never be this bad again, and it wasn't, though my performance in New York City, in front of a sum total of eight people, including my director, the videographer, and the producer, was far from successful, on a sticky June night when few things seemed to click and my director laughed a bit (a lot) too loudly and my three improv friends in the audience tried to be kind but were clearly unimpressed.
It's okay, I can say in hindsight, because I took a chance, and as the year progressed, I made some changes to the script, lost my director, hired a consulting actor/director for two hours (it helped, a bit), and performed about four more times, with some success but nothing like the first time. You can never duplicate your first time. ;-) Honestly, I felt as if I had just lost my virginity to the kindest man possible, and I never, ever wanted the night to end. And I can't say that that night had anything to do with tangible rewards: I made no money, no critics were in the audience, and I didn't get famous from that evening's performance (plus the video camera didn't work, so the evening will always remain a memory I'll have to recreate, rather than a visual experience I can turn back to and share with others). Maybe it's just as well, b/c no matter how I did, or looked, it will never measure up to how wonderful I felt during and after (not before, but that's okay) the show.
And so my acting and writing career do have their tangible benefits--I get to share any success I have with others, by having them see me perform or seeing my work performed (and I am beyond excited to see "Uncharted Territory" on stage this Friday, even if it is only a reading, rather than a fully-staged performance)--and of course it's a way to get to share my accomplishments. I can't really say to others, Gee, I had the most awesome evening advising tonight! or, I got one of my proposals through Ed Policy today!, though both are important and worthy of mention. But art is something meant to be shared, and there is its intrinsic value, as well as the happy feelings one gets in creating and having created and then seeing that product distributed/disseminated or what have you. I also will admit to feeling extremely gratified that Kate Snodgrass, Director of the Boston Playwrights Theatre, responded to my email query today and said to definitely send along my resume (Finally, someone was interested! Okay, three people were, but she's the most important and the most likely to say yes.) and whoever was directing the piece BPT is producing for the BTM 7 would consider it and get back to me. It would be beyond wonderful if I should be chosen, but it's certainly nice to be considered, in any case, particularly after Mike's rejection last week. Risk is okay but rejection...not so sure about it, b/c it feels so lousy. But man, success tastes so damned sweet. So maybe I'll stay out of the dating waters a bit longer, and tread in the artistic ones, and we'll see where it all leads. Maybe the best is yet to come.
Boston has a wealth of gifted playwrights who needto be heard! The Arlington Players present two nights of new works by emerging Boston playwrights as read bya talented cast. The audience votes on their favoriteand the Arlington Players will produce the winner inthe Fall of 2005.
Imagine that! I'm a gifted playwright! And an emerging one as well! :-) I'm brimming with excitement and a just a tiny bit of confidence as well, as some of the playwrights are well-known, locally, anyway. I'm sorry, but it's just SO MUCH BETTER to be chosen than to be rejected. I can't help it. I get such a high with success and such a low with rejection/failure (probably more the former than the latter; if I'm not cast, it's not that I failed but that I was rejected, or better yet, not chosen). I am certain that the reason I persevere is because of the high I receive when I've acted well in a play or when someone reads and enjoys something I've written. And getting accepted into this festival and the two-minute one by Java Theatre is thrilling me beyond compare. I actually had something to write to the Mount Holyoke Alumna Magazine about! I could share my flyer with my friends (and they are, honestly) the baristas at the Newbury Street Starbucks (who asked for a flyer when I mentioned my play) and some of my colleagues at work have even sent me very kind (or funny) emails. One program director laughed after I accidentally kicked him during an Education Policy meeting today and said, "Hey, you're allowed. You're a playwright." ;-)
Honestly, I don't do this for the; well, no. I won't say I don't do it for the tangible, and external, rewards, b/c I do, at least in part. There is clearly something driving me to write (and act) and if there weren't, and I didn't have at least a modicum of talent, then I wouldn't bother. After all, I could try being a sculpter, painter, model maker, but that would be foolish, as I have little visual talent (despite a few people's protests to the contrary). I could try to play an instrument (which I really do want to take on, guitar in particular) and join a band, but as much as I love music, I can't see my fortunes or success residing in those areas. But the performing arts: now that's a different matter altogether. The greatest high of my life, besides graduating from Emerson College with my MFA in Creative Writing after three long, stressful years and seeing my parents bursting with pride, was the night I performed my one-woman show, "Workin' Progress" at ImprovBoston last February. I was terribly nervous, certain I'd throw up, or forget all my lines I'd written, or do both simultaneously. But the performance was nearly flawless (the first and last time, I might add, it went so well), and everything I did was received in the most wonderful way possible. Granted, I knew many (but certainly not all) of the audience members, but who knows how people will react, particularly fellow actors? But they laughed and clapped and oohed and ahhhed and clearly had as good a time as I had, and the whole time I was onstage I felt in control and precise and ON, and I really had command of the audience the entire time.
It was unbelievable, and afterwards, all I could do was smile and bask in the happiness and the high. I went out for frozen yogurt with members of my acting class and director V., and it was just as wonderful. I don't think I fell asleep til after 2am that night, and I wanted the good feelings to last forever. Of course, they couldn't, and the next time I did the show, it went well, but not quite as well, and the audience's response was more mournful, more muted, though those watching it enjoyed it, or so I heard. I had a good time again, but it wasn't as gleeful, perhaps, and afterwards I felt oddly disappointed. The third time was a disaster, as I performed at a pub, after two other zippier acts and after being introduced by two obnoxious would-be stand up comics (I use the term VERY loosely), while blues music droned upstairs, the somewhat drunken and largely young and male audience only paid token attention. I did an abbreviated set, as planned, 1/2 hour, and wanted to run off after two minutes, though to my credit I stayed on stage and performed (and to my discredit, screwed around a bit with the script, to no discernible benefit and to my director's displeasure). Afterwards, I ran out of the pub in tears, but at least I realized that it would never be this bad again, and it wasn't, though my performance in New York City, in front of a sum total of eight people, including my director, the videographer, and the producer, was far from successful, on a sticky June night when few things seemed to click and my director laughed a bit (a lot) too loudly and my three improv friends in the audience tried to be kind but were clearly unimpressed.
It's okay, I can say in hindsight, because I took a chance, and as the year progressed, I made some changes to the script, lost my director, hired a consulting actor/director for two hours (it helped, a bit), and performed about four more times, with some success but nothing like the first time. You can never duplicate your first time. ;-) Honestly, I felt as if I had just lost my virginity to the kindest man possible, and I never, ever wanted the night to end. And I can't say that that night had anything to do with tangible rewards: I made no money, no critics were in the audience, and I didn't get famous from that evening's performance (plus the video camera didn't work, so the evening will always remain a memory I'll have to recreate, rather than a visual experience I can turn back to and share with others). Maybe it's just as well, b/c no matter how I did, or looked, it will never measure up to how wonderful I felt during and after (not before, but that's okay) the show.
And so my acting and writing career do have their tangible benefits--I get to share any success I have with others, by having them see me perform or seeing my work performed (and I am beyond excited to see "Uncharted Territory" on stage this Friday, even if it is only a reading, rather than a fully-staged performance)--and of course it's a way to get to share my accomplishments. I can't really say to others, Gee, I had the most awesome evening advising tonight! or, I got one of my proposals through Ed Policy today!, though both are important and worthy of mention. But art is something meant to be shared, and there is its intrinsic value, as well as the happy feelings one gets in creating and having created and then seeing that product distributed/disseminated or what have you. I also will admit to feeling extremely gratified that Kate Snodgrass, Director of the Boston Playwrights Theatre, responded to my email query today and said to definitely send along my resume (Finally, someone was interested! Okay, three people were, but she's the most important and the most likely to say yes.) and whoever was directing the piece BPT is producing for the BTM 7 would consider it and get back to me. It would be beyond wonderful if I should be chosen, but it's certainly nice to be considered, in any case, particularly after Mike's rejection last week. Risk is okay but rejection...not so sure about it, b/c it feels so lousy. But man, success tastes so damned sweet. So maybe I'll stay out of the dating waters a bit longer, and tread in the artistic ones, and we'll see where it all leads. Maybe the best is yet to come.
posted by Sue B at 6:45 PM
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