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Stage in the Game

2011-05-20 - 6:09 a.m.

I normally don't like to be on stage, but was more than happy to perform a 10 min story recently, along with some other readers who read their work on that night. LA has some really talented writers, and so I really wanted to kick my own ass into doing something other than just writing something that didn't move. But there's a heavy line to tow from your head to the page to the stage.

A few weeks beforehand I was really psyched. The day of, same thing. Even right before the reading, all good! It was sunny out the entire day, including birds, and I'll add - my dogs seemed extra encouraging. One of them smiles sometimes, and she kept turning around and beaming at me on our hike.

On the way to the venue, I thought about a lot of things: how being in the sun really does relax a person, the fact that I wasn't nervous at all, how performing was probably not as hard as it looked, the idea that God really must exist. When I got to the venue, I assisted with set up, to keep my mind off off the potential thinking I might do if given enough time near that stage alone. My husband was chatting with the organizer's boyfriend. I figured he wouldn't mind.

"Hey, will you grab some of these pillow cushions with me? Thanks."

Then I found my seat onstage and chatted gaily with my reader cohorts, who, along with myself, comprised a panel of seven. There were two authors, one of whom had written a book on Jimi Hendrix, and the other had written a book about her early life and getting married at age 13. What a heartbreakingly funny story she was going to be reading. There was also a TV actress, a stand up comedian, the venue organizer, who is somehow able to come up with rich content to read each month, and my new friend Crystal, seated next to me. Crystal would be reading a charming and hysterical piece on her family.

She seemed cool, so I spoke to her a while. She mentioned that she hosts 3 of these reading venues in LA. She was really laid back about all of it, having done this a hundred times, so I was happy to have her next to me.

"You have some great stuff, Crystal."

"You've seen me read before?"

"No, I googled you, once I knew tonight's line-up. Wanted to see who was what."

"Oh, well - I googled you too. Hey, you should come and read for one of my venues."

"Tell me that after you hear me read tonight."

When asked by the organizer in which order we wanted to read, I think no one really cared but me. I asked for second. Wish granted. Crystal asked to go first.

Then I realized how f'ing nervous I was. I whipped my face back toward her.

"Can you give me some tips? What the eff did I get myself into? Do I seriously have to go directly after you? You're like a pro."

"Just breathe - slowly. You're going to be fine."

A few minutes before the show, the Jimi Hendrix author was talking to a couple of us about his book, and my husband came up to chat w us. When I mentioned that some of my friends were not convinced that Jimi Hendrix had actually OD'd and thought he was more than likely killed, I was happy to discover that the author was already keenly aware of that, and we listened as he went into detail about the gallons?(<--- could've been liters) of wine found in Hendrix's body; an almost certain indicator of a forced drowning. It's nice to feel validated, because some of my "other" friends as well as my husband tend to think that conspiracy theories are for crazy people...although my husband did fill me in on one particular group that are convinced that no one has ever gone to the moon, and the group says they have proof of that.

Naturally I went and did some research on it... maybe another time.

Some of my friends are performers, and even my husband used to act in plays. I have yet to convince him to perform privately for me, though.

"One monologue. Come on. How about on my birthday?"

I've even offered to play the other character, knowing full well that I'll ruin the scene, but - nothing. In high school, I was cast as one of the singing nuns in The Sound of Music. But I knew not long after first rehearsal that I couldn't ever be content in the acting world, because it just made me feel even more like myself, the very person I was trying to escape, so I quit the musical. I figured my music teacher/director wouldn't mind, since there would've been approximately twenty other singing nuns just like me, walking in a line somewhere in front of me or behind me. Wasn't like you could tell us apart.

Going even further back in time, like way back, to preschool, my first role ever was as the pig in "The Sky is Falling".

I was five, and all I knew was that Chicken Little and one other animal would be running up to me at some point to break the unfortunate news, while I lay on my paper dirt bed. It was my first foray into improv, and I would say that I mastered the confusion, the terror, and the bewilderment effortlessly, mostly in my facial expressions after they came running toward me. Still, that wasn't really prep work for tonight's reading.

One of the authors next to me was breathing kind of heavy. She said she was getting nervous. She looked it. Having no experience whatsoever with which to console her, I wung it.

"Just breathe - slowly. You're going to be fine."

She wasn't convinced.

I told her, "Look, It's not like you have to reinvent the wheel. Your stuff is already good. "

Because I had googled her too.

At that point, two of my friends walked in that I didn't know were coming. I ran over to hug them and then sat down, excited but stunned. I only told people about this event one day before! They weren't supposed to have enough notice to make it out here tonight! They sat down next to my husband, who was smiling and waving at me. They joined in. I felt sick. Show goes on regardless.

Crystal was funny as expected, and I was cursing myself for being here while waving to my smiling husband. When my turn came, I got up and read. It wasn't so bad, 10 minutes felt like 10 minutes. And when it was over - my husband ran up and hugged me, and he looked as proud of me as if I'd given birth (I haven't). My friends came up and said hello, and we talked, and I inched my way toward the door. It slowly dawned on me that I was wrecked. I don't know if I was expecting to feel any different now that it was over, but I realized I actually abhorred the way I had inflected on a few words.

My husband assured me in the car that he really was proud, and that I had done very well. It's just that some of the time I wasn't "projecting my voice that loudly", or something else only people who've acted before would really know.

"That's because the speaker sounded like a booming drum in my ear."

"Right, that's because they weren't clear on how to fix the sound during sound check."

"Now you tell me."

I told him I'd never show my face in this town again. I was serious.

He listened to me for a few minutes, looking concerned but also very amused, knowing that nothing he said would change my mind. He kept shaking his head and laughing and told me I sounded like some crazy actresses he's known. I didn't care, I knew the terrible job I'd done - and it was too late at night to call anyone about it!

We stopped off at a store to get some drinks (as a newer performer I was dizzy, parched and faint) and my husband ran in to get something cold. I scanned through the entire address book of my phone, but no one I knew would be around right now to hear of the absolute travesty I had made of my life! In desperation, I texted my longtime iPhone word game friend who lives in Alabama, "Miss Convelescent". She's 87 and has never met me, but she seems to really like me a lot. And she sometimes stays up late to play me in this game, occasionally just to remind me that I suck. (not in those words).

I wrote

"My life is over. Will never live down this bad performance I had tonight."

She wrote back the next morning

"Well dear, don't worry so much. Yes you've done better, just keep the vowels for later in the game, and maybe you'll win the next one."

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