A resignation

Liz Chapman
123 Address Place
Salt Lake City, UT 11111

Sunday, November 6, 2016

National Novel Writing Month
123 The Internet Blvd.
The Internet, The World 00000

Dear Sir or Madam:

This letter is to regretfully inform you that I have chosen to tender my resignation from this year's NaNoWriMo. Please know that it is very likely that I will participate in future years, and that your organization still has my full and enthusiastic support.

I am very grateful for the inspiration and guidance you have given me in past years. I first participated in NaNoWriMo in 2012, with a manuscript I did not complete that year, but which has since been finished, and which never would have existed without your group. I have completed a novel every November since then, and now have three full novel manuscripts. Through my participation in NaNoWriMo, I have learned discipline, how to overcome writer's block, the value of writing continually in order to improve, and have gained enormous confidence in my ability to create work. I am eternally grateful to your organization for all of the things you have given me.

In order that you may have a deeper understanding of my resignation, allow me to present my reasons:

I am currently pursuing my MFA in Creative Writing from an online university program. This semester, I am taking a class in ekphrastic poetry and a playwrighting class. Both of these courses demand that I complete weekly writing assignments, and in a few weeks, I will begin work on a full-length play manuscript. To add a 50,000-word novel to my to-do list gives me a sense of diluting my creativity...it forces me to focus on breadth instead of depth. I am not able to give any of my writing projects my full attention, especially with other demands like working as an actress and keeping a day job. Normally, I would reject "I'm spread too thin" as an excuse. I feel you must make writing a priority in order to be good at it. But with my MFA program, it's ALREADY a priority. It doesn't make sense to add a secondary writing priority. Doing so makes me less able to do meaningful work in either place.

This MFA program forces me to write regularly, which is one of the great strengths of NaNoWriMo. If that need is being met through homework assignments, I don't have as strong of a need to participate in writing a novel during November.

For me, NaNoWriMo is also a yearly reminder of the value of just creating, and that I am capable of writing, despite frustration or fatigue. But after 3 years, it's a lesson I feel I carry with me more permanently. I have less of a need for that reminder this year, though I'm sure the time will come when I need it again.

I have been worried that my resignation will be a disappointment to friends who have watched me on my yearly NaNoWriMo journey. I even set up a support group on Facebook for those who are participating this year. I regret stepping away from my novel, and worry about what it will mean for those friends who I began with. But ultimately, I knew this resignation was the best choice for me. I will still be available to offer moral support to my fellow WriMos, and I look forward to finishing my novel in the future. This resignation was not a decision made out of fatigue or frustration with my story or a lack of confidence. It was a thoughtful decision based on what my long-term and short-term goals are, and whether or not NaNoWriMo this year was helping me meet those goals.

Thank you for everything you do. You have inspired and continue to inspire generations of writers. I look forward to working with you again in the future.

Sincerely,

Liz Chapman

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A resignation

I'm Tired of Marvin Asking Me What's Going On

My grandparents recently sent me an email (WITH AN EMOJI!!!) telling me they've been hoping for a blog update soon. It was the final motivation I needed to dash one off really quickly. Things have been busy in the House of Chapman. Here's what's going on.

Getting a job! 
I work 20 hours a week as a receptionist for a graphic design company called Royter Snow! I applied on Monday morning, interviewed Tuesday morning, and started work on Wednesday morning. It's really fun! My organizational heart is happy with the tasks I do, and I have plenty of down-time where I'm allowed to work on homework. The guys who run the business are friendly and laid-back, and the building is awesome. (When I mentioned my acting work during my interview, the business owners said I'm welcome to take off for an interview or day of filming if that ever comes up. PERFECT JOB.)
(Incidentally, if you're looking for an office space in Salt Lake City, Royter Snow has two suites available for rent. Only $420 per month. Check out the KSL ad here.) 
And working with designers means my office space is pretty. Here is a picture of the view from the break room.

Cabaret!
OMG WE OPEN ON FRIDAY. I feel super good about the show, and a little nervous about layering ALL the tech in over just four days. But it's happening whether I'm nervous or not. We did a "sitzprobe" with our small orchestra today and I grinned my way through most of "Wilkommen." It sounds SO GOOD. So full and lively and gritty and awesome! If you'd like to see me in vintage tap pants, you can get tickets here. Aaaaaand you'll get two for one*--Jacob is also in it! Surprise! A cast member had to drop out, and the production team was desperate to find someone to replace him, and I put Jacob's name/face forward, and now he's Ernst Ludwig. And he's spectacular. Obviously. Everyone is. Here is a picture of Anne-Louise Brings, who plays Sally Bowles, in rehearsal with the orchestra at a local studio.

Liz gets an MFA!
Still plugging away at my Masters. There are days when I feel so certain that it's the right thing to do, and other days when I question my decision. But deep down, I know that this degree will open doors for me that were previously closed, both because of the degree itself, and because of the writing skills I'm learning. This semester I'm taking two classes: The Craft of Fiction, and "The Rock Stars and the Poets." The last class is as fun and interesting as it sounds. Here is a picture of my homework for this week.

Acting! 
I've had a bit of a dry spell when it comes to casting, and for a while there, it was really rough. As much as I intellectually KNOW that rejection is a big part of this industry, it can still get to you. During July, I had 8 auditions and didn't get cast at all. I know that doesn't sound like a lot, but that's twice a week. When you're getting a "no" twice a week, it starts to feel like it must be something personal or something. It threw me into a little funk for a minute, there, and I'm still sort of re-arranging my psyche to help me better deal with rejection in the future. In the meantime, I keep auditioning! The dry spell can't last forever. I do not have a picture to accompany this item on the list.

The Internet! 
I love the internet. So to conclude, here is a favorite thing from the internet lately. In response to a prompt to name the creatures on this old-timey map, someone came up with these species names:

D - Pigdoggle
E - Snuffcumberworm
F - Schnozpoddler
G - Seahorse
H - Piggly Frontwave

(Snuffcumberworm and Schnozpoddler are my favorites.)

*Beedle-dee-dee-dee-DEE.
SaveSave

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I'm Tired of Marvin Asking Me What's Going On

Thwarted Plans

Here's why yesterday was a bummer.

The first part of the day was just one of those dumb days when little things just keep going wrong. The store doesn't have the one thing you're looking for, you can't load the podcast you want to listen to, and you hit every single possible red light. One of those days.

But then, that night, I finally got around to opening my financial aid letter.

Wait. Lemme back up.

So, I'm getting my MFA in Writing right now, through an online program. I started in January, and made this plan: Take 9 credits per term in order to graduate by summer 2017. During this time, I work a few times a month for the U of U as a simulation patient, and pursue acting, all while working on my degree for a few hours per day. I'm eligible for enough financial aid to cover the cost of tuition and have a little left over to supplement my income, so that I can focus on acting and school.

Great plan, right?

So, I got my financial aid letter for the next school year, and apparently I am eligible for $12,000 LESS than what I was expecting. Starting in July.

Plan THWARTED. All kinds of thwarted.

Suddenly, I found myself in this terrible conundrum. Here were my options:

1. Keep taking 9 credits per semester, but get an additional job to make enough money to pay the bills. This would necessitate giving up acting for the year, because I don't have enough time to work as an actor, take 9 credits, AND work an additional hourly job.

2. Drop out of school altogether, get an additional job, and continue acting work.

3. Reduce my credit load to 6 credits per semester, meaning I'll graduate LATER, but which gives me enough financial aid to continue my current plan of working as an actor and my several other jobs.

After freaking out for about half an hour, I finally chose Option #3. My acting career is really important to me, and I didn't want to give it up. I also didn't want to drop out of school. I'm disappointed about taking longer to finish my degree, but ultimately, it's the option that allows me to pursue both my current goals and my future goals. It's the one that makes the most sense. But it's still a bummer. Because time. And because money.

It means that my budget is a little tighter than I had planned, so I REALLY need to get more paid acting work if I want to do anything except pay rent and utilities. Things like the orthodontist and new character shoes just have to stay on the wish list until and unless I get a paid gig.

Luckily, there are lots of those to be found around here.

(But, Liz? Doesn't Jacob have a job? He can support you both, can't he? Yes. He does have a job, and he could, theoretically, support us. But a few years ago, we decided to split our finances. Our shared monthly bills are split evenly, and anything else we do with our own earned money is up to us. This is the best solution for our marriage. I don't claim to believe that it's best for everyone, but it's DEFINITELY best for us. We do help each other out in emergencies. But I'd really like to hold up my end of the deal and pay for my share of things. Someday, our circumstances may change, and we may shift the way we do things. But for now, this is how it works, and I want to do my part.)

The final chapter to this mini-drama is a happy one, though. I posted that above-pictured Facebook status in the wee small hours of the morning last night (time makes sense?), feeling a little lost and trying to embrace my vulnerability. And I woke up this morning to this ENORMOUS outpouring of love and support, far more than I was asking or hoping for. I had private messages and memes galore to lift my heart, and lifted it was. I was humbled by the kindness that so many showed me. I feel incredibly blessed to be surrounded by so many large-hearted people. It makes disappointments far easier to bear. Thank you.

So here's to a longer MFA career with less money, with loving friends and family by my side! Onward.

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Thwarted Plans

Walmart stake out

I had a homework assignment last week to go to a public place and write what I was observing all around me in an unusual form. Inspired by my beloved X-Files, I did a stake out.

Note--At 9:38 pm, I was approached by a police officer and asked to move out of the handicapped parking spot. My explanation that I was doing a homework assignment did not impress him.

Observation Log
Saturday night, June 4, 2016
Orem, Utah Walmart
Stakeout location: a handicapped parking spot just north of the market entrance (where I am illegally parked).

9:03 pm
I am Dana Scully, sitting on watch duty, badge hidden, red hair framing my face. I’m looking for stories. I’m an emotional voyeur, watching the faces of the people walking in and out of the Walmart, waiting to see if their faces will tell their secrets. Trying to remain somewhat inconspicuous, laptop notwithstanding. Carts roll with a metallic rumble across the pavement, the white noise of the I-15 in the deep background. In the summery dusk, potted flowers wilt in front of the store entrance. It’s warm, in the upper 70s. My allergy pill is wearing off.

9:06 pm
Older couple. 50s or 60s. Both wearing striped shirts. His is white, hers is pink. A silver car rolls by, windows down, classical pop piano blaring. A guy in his twenties walks past my cracked window; he’s too thin, angular jaw and long brown hair. He’s got a goatee and he’s talking with concern to someone on a cell phone, one hand in his pocket.

9:09 pm
Students from Utah Valley University push each other around in one of the carts—the kind that has the plastic seats for kids. They’re laughing hysterically, and in my 30-year-old wisdom, I think fondly of the days when I could be obnoxious in public without feeling obnoxious. Sirens suddenly ring out from Sandhill Road behind me. A fire truck and two ambulances. Their alarms change in pitch as they get closer, closer, then farther, farther.

9:11 pm
Inside the lobby, vending machines stand side by side with two redbox kiosks and a “treasure shoppe,” one of those rigged arcade games where you use the claw to try and get a stuffed animal. Two kids—I imagine them siblings—stand side by side to try their luck. I wait to see if they’ll win, but of course they don’t. Growing up, I always begged for quarters whenever I saw one, and my parents never let me try. My mom finally gave in at a Denny’s when I was 11 or so, and with one swift, smooth movement, I gripped a white puppy and let it fall into the slot. My mom was astonished, but I don’t know why. I always knew I could do it.

9:14 pm
This is the second person I’ve seen walk out of the Walmart with a limp. I feel like an a**hole for taking a handicapped parking spot.

9:15 pm
Two boys in their late teens stand next to the potted plants. They chat, with false shows of bravado. One’s got mismatching socks. They take turns pulling out their phones and scrolling through. Displays of masculinity so absurd, they’ll crack into a thousand pieces if you bump up against them too hard.

9:17 pm
I hear a wolf whistle…once…twice. It’s not aimed at me, but I’m enraged by it anyway. I could give whoever whistled the benefit of the doubt (maybe they’re just signaling a friend), but these teenage boys by the potted plants have got me all caught up in toxic gender constructs.

9:19 pm
A flashing yellow light signals a line of carts being returned by machine to the overhang. I wish they’d had that machine when I worked at Walmart, walking through the parking lot with an itchy yellow vest, Idaho sun high above me. Age 19, working full-time with two other roommates. We’d get snowcones on our way home every day, then sit in the warm living room, discussing episodes of House.

9:21 pm
Spotted! Returned Mormon missionary! Modest khaki shorts, navy blue t-shirt with a compass on it, the words “Arise” written across it. Hair tidy and militarily short. Glasses. He’s carrying two bags, and I feel certain that if the doors weren’t automatic, he’d hold them open for you.

9:23 pm
In the few minutes I’ve looked down to type, I missed it—the moment that shifts between dusk and twilight. I wait to catch it every summer evening, but it always happens in the moment I blink, or look at my book, or get distracted.

9:24 pm
Orem, Utah is mostly white. Lower middle-class and blue-collar folks frequent the Walmart the most. People speak in that regional accent peculiar to the Rocky Mountains. (“Mou-ins.”) I hear an occasional phrase in Spanish, a sentence or two in Arabic that makes me glance up. Two brothers, each pushing a shopping cart, in what sounds to me like heated debate, but it could be the media informing my interpretations.

9:27 pm
A middle-aged woman in her Sunday best strolls by, holding an unopened game of Monopoly. I begin to make up a story about her. Her college-aged children are in town, and she ran out at the last minute to pick up a game to play, to keep everyone awake and together at the kitchen table. Or maybe she’s teaching Sunday School tomorrow, and she’ll use the fake money as an object lesson. Or maybe she’s found some craft on Pinterest, and she’ll spray paint each of the pieces and glue them to a frame.

9:37 pm
My allergies are getting the better of me. I’ll wander into the store myself now, make my way to the pharmacy. One package of Allegra D. One of the white, lower-class Mormons in Orem, Utah.

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Walmart stake out

The Island King

Dug this out of the drafts today. This is an old entry from like, November, inspired by the story I told a friend when he laid down on the couch before rehearsal and said, "Tell me a story!" Also inspired by my mother, who has made up short, enchanting stories like this one since my childhood, and continues to do so to this day, occasionally posting them on her blog. 

Once upon a time, there was a young boy. He lived all alone on a desert island. One day, as he was walking along the perimeter of his home, he thought to himself, "If I am the only one here, I must be the ruler." He stopped and said out loud, "Why, I'm the king of this island!"

And no sooner had the words left his lips than an enormous crowd of people appeared. They came out of the jungle, they stepped up from behind him in the sand, they crawled out of the ocean. One among them stepped forward, bowed before the boy, and said, "We have been waiting the arrival of a king."

The boy was surprised, but took this all in stride. Just to be polite, he bowed in return.

"Thank you," he said.

The man who had spoken looked up at the boy. "We have been waiting for a ruler who can slay the creature who has us at our mercy." They explained that their island floated on the back of a giant sea monster, who would occasionally eat a wandering islander, but they couldn't figure out how to destroy it without also destroying themselves.

Well, the young king had never been asked to do something like this before, so he was a little unsure how to proceed. He gathered all the island's scientists to form a plan. (They were just sort of "freelance scientists," as the island didn't have any universities.)

Finally, they came up with an idea. It was a little risky, but it involved killing the monster and then attempting to re-inflate it using primitive bellows. They all gathered the necessary supplies and on a certain day, they gathered to enact their plan. They were just about to thrust their spears into the creature's side when suddenly they heard its voice rise up from the sea!

"Oh, do not slay me! I only wish to be loved! I do not mean to eat your people. I mistake them for seals and other sea creatures! I'm sorry for the sorrow I've caused you."

The islanders and the king stood back in amazement. Finally, the boy king spoke. "Creature, if we wear bright colors when we swim, so that you do not mistake us for seals, can we live in harmony?"

"Yes! Yes!" the sea creature cried.

So the islanders all agreed to wear bright colors whenever they swam, and the sea creature lived in harmony with them, letting them float on his back, and joining his voice with their island festivities. And they all gathered their weapons of war, and build a mighty monument out of them, and there it remained on the beach for the rest of time, as a reminder of the day that the young king brought peace to the the island.

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The Island King

Fortunately/unfortunately

There's this improv game called "Fortunately/Unfortunately." It makes a better workshop/drama class exercise than show game, but it goes something like this:

Actor 1: "The plane is ready to take off!" 
Actor 2: "Unfortunately, I'm not on it." 
Actor 1: "Fortunately, I'm friends with the pilot, and I told her I'm on my way." 
Actor 2: "Unfortunately, I've just been detained by TSA." 

Etc. 

I'm styling today's blog entry after this format. Here goes. 

I saw "Peter and the Starcatcher" at the Hale tonight and it was magical.

Unfortunately, I didn't get to see a handful of friends after the show, because "Captain America: Civil War" came out tonight.

Fortunately, I do have a best friend in Jacob, and I get to see him all the time.

Unfortunately, some of that time is occasionally spent in asking him to do nice things for me, because I suddenly realize, with literal sickness, that all I've eaten over the past 6 hours is a donut and my blood sugar is like, a really big problem.

Fortunately, Jacob does nice things for me, like buys me grapes and bread and things that are easy to digest and that will raise my blood sugar so that I don't feel on the edge of death, and will let me eat them while laying in the back of our van in a grocery store parking lot, because that's how classy we are.

Unfortunately, my digestive system is wrecked a little, from today's roller coaster of nutrition/lack thereof, from anxiety, from poor habits.

Fortunately, I've got Pepto-bismol.

Unfortunately, Pepto-bismol doesn't help much with anxiety. And anxiety is a b***h. When will I get paid? What if no one likes the essay I submitted for workshop? How did Trump become the Republican nominee? Is that lint or a spider? Is the zombie apocalypse starting? Am I actually not a very good actress? WHAT IF NO ONE REALLY LOVES ME?!

Fortunately, 99% of the things human beings are anxious about rarely come true. I've got enough money, it doesn't ultimately matter if no one likes my essay, it's just lint, zombies aren't a real thing, I'm a decent actress at the very least, and I'm fairly confident that at least a handful of people love me.

Unfortunately, Trump is still the Republican nominee, though. Still anxious over that.

Fortunately, I can...

...hold on, I'm still a little anxious about Trump.

Okay.

Fortunately, at this point in my life, regardless of the presidential primary results, I get to do what I love on a DAILY basis. Every single day. I get to do what I love, whether it's writing or learning or acting. Yesterday, I had such a perfectly lovely day. I shot a commercial for RC Willey, and there's something about being on a set that I just adore. I'd been craving it lately, and yesterday, I got to satiate that craving. While in front of the camera, I got to improv and act and make people laugh. In between takes, I made new friends, had some great conversations, ate wonderful food, and for a solid hour, sat on a cool, breezy porch on a sunny spring day, reading a book and thinking. I'm learning more and more about writing, turning corners and reaching goals. I get to spend every other evening performing onstage (and recently got a favorable review in the Deseret News--hey!) with other capable and talented people. Jacob and I are moving towards our mountains.

Life is good.

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Fortunately/unfortunately

Forward. Stop. Reverse. Forward, forward, forward.

Yesterday was like an emotional game of Simon Says. "Simon Says make long-term plans!" "Change your long-term plans!" "Wait, Simon didn't say!"

Here's where yesterday started:

In the front seat of my van, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for the 35-minute commute to my new job. In order to communicate the insanity of yesterday, I should also mention what's not pictured: me going on roughly 3 hours of sleep, attempting to deal with debilitating allergies/a possible sinus infection, and some residual back pain from a displaced rib.

But I was choosing to be positive.

Yesterday was my first day as a Special Ed Paraeducator at Dan Peterson School in American Fork. I accepted the job about a week ago--I subbed for several weeks before being offered a position as a classroom aide. The day went fairly smoothly--I filled out paperwork and spent the day in a class where I had subbed before, feeding, changing, repositioning, and working with secondary and post-secondary students.

Then in the afternoon, I got online to start my MFA homework. And learned that I was actually able to take an additional class, which would allow me to graduate an entire semester earlier than I had planned. And that I had enough financial aid to live off AND take that extra class.

I had known about the financial aid, but not about the class. And the class was the straw that broke the camel's back--it clarified for me something I already knew in my gut, but was too afraid to admit.

It just didn't make sense for me to be working almost 30 hours a week at a job I didn't necessarily need, when I could be spending that time advancing my MFA. Especially when I was already spending 20-40 hours per week working on a show. Especially when I already had a job at University of Utah, which would force me to get a sub for two or three days per month if I was working at Dan Peterson. Keeping the job at Dan Peterson meant spreading myself so thin, trying to walk towards so many mountains at once. It made the most sense to quit the job at Dan Peterson.

But what a sh*tty thing to do--quit a job on the first day. And it was an awesome job. A beautiful job. I loved the kids. I still do. Those sweet students. Working at Dan Peterson felt, for all the world, like Alianza--a group of smart and caring people doing some amazing things in the world of education. I felt welcomed and at home, and it was so rewarding to do that work, even in the moments when it was difficult.

I spent an hour or two agonizing over my decision, thinking, talking with Jacob, praying. Quitting the job at Dan Peterson made the most sense, emotionally, financially, professionally, mentally, and spiritually. But I hated to put the school in such a terrible position--without an aide, AGAIN, for who knows how long until they could hire someone else. My ego was afraid of what everyone would think--that I was flaky or unprofessional or weak-spirited or selfish or any number of things. What would the principal think? The teachers? The other aides? And my heart didn't want to leave those students, or that place of belonging.

But I had to move toward that MFA mountain.

So I called the principal and left a message, apologizing and inarticulately tendering my resignation. She called me back shortly afterwards, expressing understanding but saying she was sorry to see me go. I originally thought about trying to stay for a few extra days this week, just to keep them from needing to find a sub, but my MFA classes began already. And it's tech week. If ever I needed the time to devote to school, it's this week. So that was it. My first day at work was also my last.

After that horrible phone call with the principal (horrible only because it was so difficult), I did my homework, tried to eat some dinner, then went to tech rehearsal for Jane Eyre, where I stayed until almost midnight. (And where I also gave an abbreviated explanation of my situation to several kind people who asked how my new job was going.) And then I drove home--listening to the BBC for the 45-minute commute and eating Reeses Pieces to stay awake.

Here's where yesterday ended:

In the dark, around 1 in the morning, barely awake, physically and emotionally exhausted, sitting in the front seat of my van, trying to muster the energy to get into the house and go to bed.

I stayed in bed for as long as I possibly could this morning.

Then I drove to Dan Peterson School again, this time to fill out resignation paperwork. The staff was kind and understanding, and said they would welcome me back when I was able to work again. I thanked them for everything, then left the office. Halfway down the hallway, I glanced over my shoulder at the classrooms where I would have been working. J's class, with her sweet students, where I subbed for weeks and felt so much love and belonging. T's and K's class, where I would have been spending my days, with those students who were smart and funny and rebellious. I took a step towards those rooms at the end of the hall, wanting with my whole heart to just say goodbye, to say thank you. But I couldn't quite bring myself to do it.

A small part of me was afraid of what the teachers and aides would think--I didn't want to face their possible judgement, both for leaving and for visiting their classrooms to say goodbye. But ultimately, I didn't do it because I knew that it's very likely that I will never see those students again. I have never been good at goodbyes. I hate them, because a goodbye is never as fulfilling as knowing you'll see someone all the time. I can never say enough, or say what I mean. And in the case of some of these students, they might not have heard or understood me anyway. And it would have been selfish of me, to interrupt their school day and their routine just to attempt to satisfy my need to...I don't know, have a grand gesture of closure.

It's possible that I'll work for Dan Peterson School again someday. But I don't know when, and I don't know which students will still be there. Some of them may move. Some may graduate. And the harsh truth is that some of them may die. Dan Peterson School is a place for students with both mental disabilities, and physical disabilities. Some of them are considered "medically fragile." Some of them have DNRs. The staff regularly deal with seizures and falls. So I knew that if and when I return to the school, it won't be to this same situation, to these same students.

So I walked out to my van and drove to the library to do my homework, crying the entire time.

I know, ultimately, that this was the right decision. Working at Dan Peterson School was the right thing at the wrong time. I would have been just as heartbroken to give up additional schooling. This was a difficult choice between two very good things. I'm sad to have to give up one of them.

But I'm also so blessed. I get to do other things that I love--I get to act, onstage, and even be paid for it. I get to write and study and read and learn. I get to choose my own schedule in some ways, as I pursue my degree. I've got an incredible husband--this amazing companion, this best friend that will listen to me cry and let me talk through things when I'm in crisis. I get to spend my evenings in a theatre, surrounded by brave and kind and talented people, telling stories. And I'm healthy and well-fed and I have a working car and clothes and enough cash to make ends meet. I clung to all of these truths with so much gratitude all day yesterday, and I'm filled with them today.

So here's to grad school, to theatre, and to everything else I'm lucky enough to have.

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Forward. Stop. Reverse. Forward, forward, forward.

Multiple Mountains, or "Having It All"

I want to publish a novel.
I want to work in education.
I want to finish my MFA in Writing.
I want to get an MFA in Theatre.
I want to act.
I want to direct.
I want to have and raise children.
I want to travel.

And I want it all now.

First of all, I should acknowledge how awesome it is that I live in a time and place that all of these things are even available to me. For so many centuries, these things wouldn't have been possibilities for a woman. And so many of them still aren't, for so many people. So it would be obnoxious for me to not acknowledge the incredible levels of privilege I have. I'm a white, lower middle-class, college-educated woman living in the United States. So much is within my reach.

My problem is that I want to reach for all of it RIGHT NOW.

Jacob and I are in an interesting time in our lives. Jacob's waiting to hear from one more grad school before making a decision. I'm in the process of getting my MFA online. I'm getting acting work fairly consistently. We've got enough income to cover our bills, and we have some to spare most of the time. We're leaving our twenties behind and entering into our thirties. Many of our friends are still unmarried undergrads, and many others have 3 or more children and are well into their careers. We've been married for almost 6 years, but we know that it's not quite the right time for us to have kids. (Even though I'm keenly aware of the expiration date on my ovaries, and it stresses me the hell out. I'm trusting our timing, though.)

A while ago, I wrote a blog entry about Neil Gaiman's philosophy of always "moving towards your mountain"--making sure that everything you do is helping you move towards what you ultimately want to be doing with your life. And I still believe in that philosophy.

My problem is that I have, like, 8 mountains. And there are times in my life when I'm feeling pulled towards all of them at once. Which ultimately leaves me feeling a little paralyzed, since I inevitably sometimes have to move away from one mountain in order to move towards another. Sometimes they're not lined up neatly.

All of this is on my mind because of A) Jacob's grad school possibilities, and B) I have a possible job opportunity that would move me towards the education mountain, but away from some of my other mountains. And the education mountain is like, 90% ideal, with the possibility of becoming 93% ideal in the future, but it's not 100% ideal, and that's giving me pause, especially if it means moving away from other mountains. AND I'll still be pursuing the MFA in Writing mountain and the Acting mountain, too, and I'm a little uncertain about my stamina.

But I want all the mountains!

I decided a few years ago to remember that I can live my life on my terms...that I shouldn't ever blame my circumstances when I'm not getting what I want out of my life. There are times when you've got to make sacrifices, or put one dream on hold in order to pursue another. I'm just trying to decide whether or not to do that, and writing it out helps me make decisions. Especially when those decisions have deadlines. So here we are. Sitting in the Orem Public Library before rehearsal, blogging about life decisions and waiting to see if anything feels more solid as I type.

Confession: At the end of this blog entry, I'm not any nearer to making a decision. But I do feel a little bit less overwhelmed about it all. I feel like my vision is a little clearer, and I have a little more confidence in my ability to make my decision.

Thanks for coming along for the ride, I guess. I'm glad you've stuck around. I'll keep you posted on which mountain(s) I'll be focusing on.



photos by Steven Taschuk, Kamil Porembiński, Alper Çuğun, E M, Drregor, gwenole camus, Arild Storaas, Thangaraj Kumaravel, Henry Hemming. VIA Flickr

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Multiple Mountains, or "Having It All"

Before I blog about NYC...

I wanted to announce that I now have a Patreon page!

If you've never heard of Patreon, it's awesome. It's the best way for artists, writers, filmmakers, etc to make money with their work. Patreon is a pledge system..."patreons" (or patrons) find work that sounds interesting to them, and pledge so much per month or per work. Artists get to avoid working with advertisers, and patrons support art directly, and it's awesome. And usually, as a thank you, artists give special rewards/benefits to Patreon supporters.

So if you'd like to get an exclusive blog entry from me once per month, feel free to pledge! Click on the button on the right, or here.

Thanks!

(And I really am gonna blog about NYC. Stay tuned.)

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Before I blog about NYC...

Dear Diary

Well, it's been a while since I last wrote. I was gonna blog about Donald Drumpf at some point, but what more can I say than what has already been said? Thanks, John Oliver. I'm too tired to write at length about politics. I'm writing at length about writing, nowadays.

My MFA is going well. I kind of wish I had taken 3 classes instead of 2...I'll probably do that after these semesters are done. I'm taking poetry and screenwriting next semester--woo hoo!

I recently blogged about all the awesome stuff I have to look forward to. I've accomplished a few of them, and added a few more items. Disneyland was AMAZING. We rode Indiana Jones as a family 3 times, and all 3 times, Beckah got to be the driver. (Which meant that I spent most of the ride yelling at her to find the lights, step on the gas, and "get us outta here!" Apologies to our fellow riders, who didn't realize they were getting drama kids in their group.)We also introduced Beckah to Space Mountain, which she'd never been on. At the end of the ride, we all turned around to ask her what she thought, and she just looked at us and unsmilingly shook her head. Happy birthday, Beckah! Other highlights included watching a fireworks show from Main Street, almost crying on the Peter Pan ride, and, according to my FitBit, walking 57,342 steps in two days. (Daily average is about 8,000.)

(In line for Indiana Jones. Beckah and I have never looked more like sisters in a picture than we do in this picture. Even though all of us look kind of like cartoons.)

The trip to Rexburg last weekend was lovely, and I was reminded (again) of how lucky I am to have such amazing in-laws. Think of the best cast you've ever been in, or the best improv team you've been part of, or your best group of friends. Now realize that those people will be your actual family. FOREVER. It's so awesome.

In stuff added to the list of Things To Look Forward To, I don't start rehearsals for Cabaret until June, and I noticed that the Hale Orem was doing Jane Eyre, which closes June 4th, so I auditioned last-minute, and GOT CAST. I get to play THREE roles: mean ole schoolmarm Miss Scatcherd, the aristocratic Mrs. Dent, AND crazy, locked up Bertha Mason. I'm most excited about playing Bertha. And I get to be double cast with Lauren Hughes, one of my favorite fellow actresses.

I don't know what cast I'm in yet, but the show runs April 24th - June 4th! Details to follow. There are some familiar faces in the cast--folks I worked with during Damn Yankees and/or Oklahoma, and I'm excited to get to know them better, and to make new friends as well.

Of course, I don't know the music from this show AT ALL. And I was reminded last night at rehearsal that I suck at sight-reading. I spent twenty minutes tonight trying to plunk out notes on our keyboard. Why are the alto parts of awesome-sounding chords so HARD?

Also, I've been keeping this hush-hush for a while, but Jacob and I have been writing for a Late Nite type show exclusively on youtube, and we're filming the first episodes this Saturday! Well, they are. Jacob and I will be in New York. But our jokes will be spoken. The show is called That Late Show (with Cassidy Hilton) and the guests are all social media stars and it's gonna be awesome. We had a final planning/writing meeting tonight, and man, these people all know what they're doing. They're great comedians and storytellers and entertainers, and I'm just excited to be part of something like this. I'll post links to new episodes when they're uploaded! Aaaaaand if you're in the Salt Lake Area this weekend, go be part of the studio audience! There will be pizza, shirts, hilarity, and other feelings. Check out the Facebook event here.

Oh! And I've been snap-chatting a lot lately. I recently re-downloaded snapchat, and this time around, I'm a huge fan. My stories usually include cute snaps of my nephew, me rapping Hamilton, thoughts from my car about auditions, and other stuff that's interesting enough to share, but not interesting enough to share on Instagram. I hella snapped Disneyland, too, and I'll probably do the same with New York this weekend. Feel free to follow! Username lizannechapman.

Welp. Jacob and I are leaving for New York on a red-eye in less than 24 hours, and I'm starving, and my Kindle is calling my name, and the spot between Jacob's shoulder and jaw is missing my head. (I think that last part was romantic, but I'm not quite sure--it doesn't quite ring the way I wanted it to...the point is I want to cuddle?)

Sleep well, my dearies.

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Dear Diary

The Februaries: Two Lists

Blerg.

I've got a bad case of the Februaries tonight. There are various factors at work here.

#1. It's winter. And we all know how I feel about winter. I'm into winter for about two weeks around Christmas, and then I'm over it. It's time for summer to begin again, please. I'd like more hours of daylight and to stand outside without having to wear shoes. Too bad I have like, five months to go still.

#2. I'm not at the theatre tonight. I know, I know, I was just there last night. And I'll be there again tomorrow night. I just love acting so much! And I love working with the wonderful people I work with! And I love telling this story and making people laugh. And after being in rehearsal every night for the last two months, having every other evening at home is jarring. The hours stretch before me like...some depressing thing. (I'm too winter-weary for similes.) I just want to do theatre every night, all the time.

#3. I'm on the very edge of being sick. I'm not quite fully sick. But my head kinda hurts, and my nose is kinda stuffy, and my throat is kinda scratchy, and I kinda have a cough. In my melancholy state, I'm not sure which is worse--being totally sick, or being almost sick. My main thought is that if I was totally sick, I could justify eating unhealthily and laying around all day. As it is, I feel obligated to go about my daily activities, and I just feel vaguely blah as I do so.

Getting sick was probably inevitable. Between tech week and New Year's and Christmas and everything, someone in the cast was bound to get sick. Andy had it a week ago, and then Ben, and now Bryan and I, which means it will eventually get to Todd, and then Becca, and probably Ben again. Ah, the perils of stage kissing.

#4. Did I mention winter yet? It's just such a big factor. When it comes right down to it, a therapeutic light therapy box just isn't the same as a long walk on a summer night. I need a giant greenhouse to wander through, or a bio-dome of eternal summer to live in. The plant parts of me are curling their leaves inward and oh, how I ache with it.


I feel vaguely overwhelmed by the Februaries tonight, so, like Hemingway advised, I'm trying to just "write hard and clear about what hurts."

It seems I write a blog entry like this every winter. There's this one from almost a year ago, where I compared my winter slump to the sound of a wet comforter falling onto the floor. And this one where I named my impulsive coping mechanisms and also listed the things that keep life shimmery enough until spring.

So, in an effort to remind myself of the invincible summer within, here are the things that are shimmering for me lately.

#1) The moments of perfect communion onstage, when something passes between actors and audience and everyone's connected in this beautiful, temporary microcosm. That sounds so so cheesy, but it really is one of the greatest things about theatre.

#2) "Parking Lot Talks" with friends after the show...talking about characters and life and art and friendship while the the cold gathers in clouds around us, until we're shivering too much to talk any more, and I get in my car and drive home filled with gratitude for the people in my life.

#3) How the stars are almost always there to greet me each night, glittering in constellations. Even on cloudy nights when I can't see them, the knowledge that they're still there calms my soul somehow.

#4) Recent shenanigans with family and friends, including meals and Cards Against Humanity and good movies.

#5) This is going to sound silly after the other semi-profound items on this list, but the awesomeness of the X-Files deserves a spot here. I've just discovered the show, and I've been binge-watching it on Netflix for a solid month, in all its mid-90s glory. I have a mild crush on Fox Mulder, and I want to believe, and the truth is out there, and I'm only halfway through Season 3, so hopefully this franchise will last me until spring.


Keep on keeping on, all you summer souls. Our lemonade hearts will thaw soon enough.


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The Februaries: Two Lists

Beau Jestery Diaries

You guys.

The unabridged version of my Beau Jest rehearsal diary is 28 single-spaced pages long. 21,000 words. I have a problem.

(Actually, it's totally NOT a problem. I love writing and I always have, and I think I always will. It has blessed my life in the most wonderful ways. PLUS, you punks benefit from it, too, as readers of my blog. So Imma keep writin'.)

Anyway, here are a few more thoughts from Beau Jest rehearsals.



Monday, December 7, 2015
1st Day of Hannukah
Happy Hannukah! Today was the first day of the holiday, so during a break tonight, we ate our treats by the light of the menorah and listened to Adam Sandler’s Hannukah song.
I love my job. I love this play. I love my cast. I love this experience. I feel most alive and like myself when I am at the theatre, rehearsing and running lines and talking about the show.
I ran lines with Bryan a TON tonight before rehearsal even started, and it was so so so helpful. The whole rehearsal tonight was a good one.
Tonight was also one of those awesome nights when you find solutions to little problems. Or find ways to improve things. (I also organized all those dishes and stuff!) I love those nights of fixing and discovering. We fixed the first romantic kiss thing with this idea I had, and it wasn’t not working before, but now it works even better. I just felt “on” tonight. There’s only so much control one seems to have as an actor. You do have some control. But there are times when the magic is there, and times when it isn’t. After Saturday’s being “off,” tonight’s being “on” felt amazing. There have been a few times in my life when I can feel that—when I feel myself brushing up against that column of light, or even standing in it. I always notice and then try to stop noticing—noticing turns that light off. You just have to keep going. I can feel the elements of this production combining more and more consistently to make that happen more and more often. I love that. It’s, and you’ll have to forgive the shortcomings of language here, magical.
Tonight’s “Ruthie Award” (the first one of the process!) went to Ben Parkes, for ending his victory dance with “Too legit to quit,” and also for his maniacal laughter after the line “It’s settled.”
Finally, Bryan didn’t shave before rehearsal tonight, so he was all scratchy. I was complaining about it all night, and then when I got home and kissed Jacob, I laughed because he was scratchy, too. “I’ll never escape it!” I cried. “Every man I've kissed tonight has been so scratchy!” (File that under “Things I Am Surprised to Hear Myself Say.”)

Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Ugh, Act One lines are rough. Even with Bryan and I meeting to run them beforehand. We’re continually improving, though, so I feel confident we’ll get to where we need to be. Tonight’s “Ruthie” went to Betsy, for sqealing gleefully as Miriam, and hitting Joel’s hand with such great timing.
Also, after all my complaining about Bryan’s scratchy face last night, he showed up today having shaved—everything except his mustache. You know, the part most likely to poke me when I’m being kissed.

Thursday, December 10, 2015
I feel so much more confident about Act II than I do about Act I. I also want to just rehearse everything always. We’re alternating casts for rehearsal this week, so I didn’t have any last night, nor do I rehearse tomorrow night. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. It will be four whole days until rehearsal!
I love that Eric and Bryan have improv experience. They both can do excellent impressions of Winnie the Pooh characters, so tonight, the two of them did a scene as Tigger (Eric) and Pooh bear (Bryan) having a mobster confrontation. It was amazing. I suspect, deep within me, that I could be amazing at impressions. But I’m afraid to try, because if I don’t succeed, I’ll be really really sad about it.
Tonight’s Ruthie award went to Todd Thompson, for his hilarious mumbling as he sits back down after yelling that he’s willing to convert to Judaism.
I am so so so so so absurdly grateful to be doing this show. I was heartbroken when I didn’t get cast in “Christmas Carol,” but now I understand why. Or at least I understand how that heartbreak fit in to the path of my life. I needed to do Beau Jest. I have this line in the show where I say, “I don’t know why you came into my life at this particular time…” and for a brief moment tonight, I thought about how I feel that way about the show in general. It’s funny—I’ll make these friends, and then I can’t remember what my life was like before them. All I know is that working with these people and getting to do this show is one of the greatest blessings in our move to Utah.

Monday, December 14, 2015
Our cast just ran lines while the other cast did a run tonight. It was EXACTLY what we needed. It was also fun to just sort of run around the dance studio and play while we got our lines down.
Oh! And here's a funny thing! Betsy and I realized tonight that I went to her house about a YEAR ago for Soup Group. Jayne Luke from Damn Yankees invited me and Jessica. I only went once, but Betsy and I realized tonight that it was to HER house. I remembered later that she had cats named after characters in “Waiting For Godot.” Who would have thought that one day we'd be playing mother and daughter? Funny.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Feels like the first full run-through we’ve done in a long time. It went pretty well—we’re still making new discoveries and that feels great. We’re still stronger on Act II, probably because it’s shorter. The confession to my parents was so emotional for me tonight—I’m glad I was able to go there. Eric told me to pull back a little bit, and I responded that I agreed; it was just happening and I wanted to follow it and see where I would eventually need to pull back. At the end of that scene, Bob hugs Sarah, and after the initial hug, I sort of buried myself into it—I needed the safety of it…I did, as Liz.
There are certain things that happen during rehearsal or during notes that I have no way of explaining in words. I can try to record them, but I don’t know how. Like, I’ll try to explain this one…today after notes, Bryan grabbed my finger and sort of lifted my hand with it. Then he put it down. Then I lifted my own hand by my finger in the same way, then lifted his hand the same way too. Why? I don’t know. Following an impulse. Then he started sculpting my hand, then I started sculpting his, step by step, until we had formed this two-hand sculpture, with his hand making a peace sign and mine flipping the bird. At that point, Eric saw my hand and stopped us and said, “No hate!” I pointed to Bryan to blame him, and then paused and said, “I…actually don’t have any way to explain how this started.” As we stood up, Bryan pointed out that this is the case for most of the things we do.
Today’s treat was brought by Todd, who is a miracle of class and humor. He brought us all bottles of sparkling cider, but they were a “special brand.” He took a picture of himself, IN COSTUME, with the piano in the lobby. Then he made a special label for each bottle, with his picture, calling the drink “Chris’s Bubbly.” It was AMAZING.
Also, we are the worst Jews EVER. We made plans to celebrate Hannukah, and we were all about it for the first day—lit candles on the menorah and everything. And then we forgot about it for the rest of the holiday. I don’t think we ever lit candles again. Oops.
Tonight’s Ruthie went to Jerry, for upping his game so much and coming so far, especially having missed so much rehearsal.

Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Tech Preview tonight! And it was…um…a little rough. But not horrendous. I managed to convince everyone to let MWF do Act II instead of Act I, because we’re stronger on it than we are on Act I. We’ll have to tackle Act I tomorrow, but at least not in front of technicians. I think we were all just nervous. We made mistakes in places we’ve never made mistakes before. The very last scene, we got SO LOST in the lines. I think we got every single one of them in, though. Just in sort of an arbitrary order.
I feel like I was able to find a good balance with the vulnerability of the confession towards the end of the show. I was able to be honest with it, but also allow it to build naturally (pulling it back where it needed to be). Sometimes I get worried about “making myself cry.” It’s nice if I cry, because it’s physical evidence of the emotional journey—something visual that represents the inner experience. But I never want to force it. So I’m trying to remember some of the skills I learned in Ben Hopkin’s class—just stay connected, soften into the moment, and let it move you. When I do that, tears come naturally. I feel pretty good about my work on this show in general, and I’m so grateful for the ways it has allowed me to grow.
I also loved watching the other cast do Act I. I learn so so much from watching. I’ve got a handful of notes to implement, just from seeing how the other cast does things. During rehearsal tonight, I kept leaning over to Bryan to whisper ideas—leaning over the cardboard box and coat rack we put between us to keep us from distracting each other. (It sort of worked.) There are a few moments for us to work tomorrow before rehearsal starts.
Here's a funny…one never really discusses the logistics of kissing in real life. You just kiss. But these things need to be discussed for the stage. At one point, Bryan and I watched Ben A and Becca do a specific kiss, and I turned to Bryan and reminded him about a note that Eric gave us. Bryan asked, “Should I swivel my head?” I thought and then replied, “Only if you shave.”
Tonight, Andy brought marshmallows as a treat, because Chris told us she can fit 17 marshmallows in her mouth and we wanted her to prove it. (She didn’t.) Between discussions of my small mouth and those marshmallows, the entire thing quickly descended into perverse innuendo. Sigh. I love this cast. (And for the record, I could only fit one marshmallow in my mouth. ONE.)
Finally, tonight’s Ruthie awards went to a TEAM. Ben A, Ben P, Betsy, and Bryan won a game of “Categories” before we began the run. We actually warmed up tonight, something we’ve never done before, and their team beat us. Although, I felt an “Honorary Ruthie” should have gone to Ben A, because when Eric said the category was “Modern Prophets,” Ben A yelled, “Yes! I got this! I was the primary chorister, bitches!”

Thursday, December 17, 2015
Tonight we tackled Act I, and we did pretty darn good! We’re more and more solid on lines, and we tried a few new things and made a few new discoveries. We open in two weeks—whew! Tomorrow’s rehearsal was originally a TBA, so we decided to just work a few Sarah and Bob scenes. I’m glad because that’s what I feel like we need. There are a few bits that just need smoothing. And I really love watching the other cast. They have such different moments, and I love stealing from them.
Oh, and tonight’s Ruthies went to Becca and ME! For our hard work, from the very beginning. I felt honored.

Friday, December 18, 2015
Tonight was just Sarah and Bob in rehearsal, and Bryan and I did a few fun exercises when it was just the two of us—we traded off working with the set and Eric, and working on our own in the dance studio. We did one scene in gibberish, to find a few ways to get out of intonation patterns and communicate just with our bodies and faces. We did one scene waaaaay over the top, to just see what we discovered. Both exercises were SUPER helpful, and I ended up making some great discoveries that I could put into use. The only downside was that after we did the scene in gibberish, we kind of had a hard time getting back into English again.
Oh. Also, I totally said the word “f**k” in rehearsal tonight. I kept messing up my line and I was standing right next to Bryan and looking at him and trying to get this line out. I finally just ended my nonsense string of words with a whispered, “F**k.” Bryan laughed, then turned to Eric and said, “Are we allowed to say ‘f**k’?” Eric laughed and Tammy reprimanded us, even though she laughed while she did so.
Tonight's rehearsal felt really productive. There was one particular scene where Eric didn’t have any notes for us—said it was great just the way we were doing it. Victory! On another scene, Eric said, “I like the way you’re doing that bit.” I said, “Really? During this whole process, I’ve felt a little—I don’t know, I’ve been afraid of not being feminine enough.” He pointed out that even if my ACTIONS are not super-feminine, they will be MADE feminine by the costume and makeup and hair. He said that as a director, he spends a lot of time trying to PULL comedy out of actresses--women are often not as confident in their humor. We talked about how it’s really only been within ONE generation or so that women are allowed to be funny, if that. It’s hard for women to have confidence in their ability to make people laugh, because it’s still such a new idea. I pointed out that it’s hard for women to feel funny and f**kable at the same time (although this time, I didn’t say the word). But Eric pointed out that most men want to be with a woman who will make them laugh. One of the many strange conundrums the modern woman faces. Anyway, it felt nice to have my work as a comedienne recognized.
WE OPEN IN TWO WEEEEEEEKS!

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Beau Jestery Diaries

Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know

Revisiting an old poem. Tonight was one of those strange times when I was reluctant to go inside. Between parking the car and walking to my apartment door, I could feel a youthful wanderlust tugging at me. I often complain about the cold of winter, but there's something about the solitude and the night and even the cold that was calling to me tonight.

I don't feel I can walk alone into the wee small hours of the morning nowadays, in part because crime, and in part because I keep binge-watching the X-files. These two things combine to make walking alone at night seems fraught with peril. But the city lights kept reflecting off the rainclouds tonight, so instead of walking, I re-worked this poem a little bit. Maybe some night I'll walk instead.



Walking Thoughts

I walk to sleep
and take my walking slow.

I used to walk more often
years ago.
Heartsick, I would wander uphill,
past the silent homes of strangers.

Now,
I lay in bed and think
of those star-filled nights,
with the moonlight on the snow,
and my heart
slowly
pumping
someone’s name.

Now,
I lay in bed
stretching the muscles and tendons of my legs.
For the most part,
I no longer yearn.
His name is in my blood
and he is warm beside me.
So often now,
I walk and tire in the walking.

But now and then,
on a December night,
I will glance upwards
and think of how the moonlight looked
when I walked alone in the snow
and I will miss the cold silence of it.
I will miss how the cold
and the stars
and the snow
and the moon
filled the walking places
in me.

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Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know

Mid-NaNoWriMo Thoughts

I feel like I'm trying to crash through brick walls on my NaNoWriMo novel lately. Partly because I planned this novel VERY poorly. And partly because I'm working on like, two other writing projects simultaneously. And partly because I have a crush on "Beau Jest" (the show I'm rehearsing), and it's all I can think about. But whatever the factors for my struggles, the point is that I'm struggling. So to give me a break from trying to novel-solve, I thought I'd share this bit of inspiration.

Ray Bradbury once told a story about how when he was 12 years old, he decided he wanted to be a writer. He had taken to learning magic tricks, and helping with carnivals that came to town. One day on a trip near Lake Michigan, he met a carnival magician named “Mr. Electrico.” (You can read the whole story of Mr Electrico in Bradbury's words here.) Bradbury wrote:

Mr. Electrico was a fantastic creator of marvels. He sat in his electric chair every night and was electrocuted in front of all the people, young and old, of Waukegan, Illinois. When the electricity surged through his body he raised a sword and knighted all the kids sitting in the front row below his platform. I had been to see Mr. Electrico the night before. When he reached me, he pointed his sword at my head and touched my brow. The electricity rushed down the sword, inside my skull, made my hair stand up and sparks fly out of my ears. He then shouted at me, "Live forever!"

A few days after that experience, back home in Arizona, Ray Bradbury began writing. He wrote one thousand words a day, every day, for ten years. Finally, when he was 22, he sat down at his typewriter and wrote the words “The Lake.” And then he just started writing whatever came to his head—a beautiful and sad tale about a boy who’s childhood best friend drowned in a lake, and when he revisits, he discovers that her body has been discovered, and it’s been preserved, small and unchanging, while he’s grown. And Ray Bradbury sat back from his typewriter, and he wept, because he knew that for the first time in his life, he had written something good. He wrote every single day after that, until the day he died, sixty-nine years later.

I’ve always loved that story. It reminds me that being good at something takes patience. I can’t imagine doing something every day for ten years if I wasn’t any good at it. I’d get discouraged. I’d give up. I do give up. Because it seems like MADNESS. To stubbornly persist in doing something you don’t think you’re any good at. I think back on my own life, and even things I’m pretty good at now, I feel like I’ve always had some small portion of talent. Granted, it’s very very small, and I’ve grown a lot through doing. And I suppose it’s possible that Ray Bradbury’s first ten years worth of writing was actually good, and he just had super high standards.

I feel like I’m rambling.

But the point is that any time I get discouraged in trying to write this story, or when I don’t get a callback or a role, Ray Bradbury’s story helps me. Just keep doing. Just keep working. If the end result of this exact work isn’t great, it’s simply practice for the work that will be great. And you can’t be great without the practice.

So here’s to the practice. For forging ahead in your writing when you didn’t plan things out well. For working that audition song when you’re sure you’ll fail. Just fail. You’ll probably survive your failure better than you realized you could.

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Mid-NaNoWriMo Thoughts

Calling Writers Anonymous

I'm in the middle of NaNoWriMo. And it was rough for a little while, but the last couple of days, I've been flying through my daily word count. I'm also working on two, no three, other writing projects--a journal of "Beau Jest" rehearsals, the Non-Paper Poetry Project, and this other secret project that I'll tell you about later. And I just signed up for grad school classes which will start in January, for my degree in Writing.

And now I'm blogging because I just want to KEEP WRITING.

I think I have a problem.

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Calling Writers Anonymous

"The first draft of anything is s***." --Ernest Hemingway

In exactly 13 days, I and around 400,000 other aspiring novelists will begin the epic task of writing a novel. In one month.

Since 1999, every November has been National Novel Writing Month, or "NaNoWriMo." The goal is to write a draft of a 50,000 word novel (about the length of "The Great Gatsby") during the 30 days of November. This means writing at a rate of about 1667 words per day.

Crazy, right?

Right.

As long-time readers of this blog will know, this will be my 4th year of doing NaNoWriMo, and it's one of the hardest and awesomest things I've ever done.

Because the point isn't to write a GOOD novel. It's just to pound out that draft of the book you always SAID you'd write. Because you can take 50,000 words of rubbish and edit it to make a novel. You can't make a good novel out of nothing. I completed my first novel in 2013, and just a few months ago, finished a draft that's good enough to send out to agents and publishers. Because you gotta start SOMEWHERE.

So who's with me?! If you're in, there are a few handy resources and tools that have helped me in past years. Here they are!

1. NaNoWriMo Website
This is one of the best resources. On the website, you can update your daily word count, join local regions and hold write-ins, get pep talks from published authors, and visit the forums. I LOVE the pep talks, and the forums are an awesome resource if you're feeling stuck. There's even a forum called "The Adoption Society," where people put unused characters, plot twists, and settings up for "adoption" to be used in other works. I'm "Lizanator" if you want to add me as a writing buddy!

2. Pinterest!
It might sound a little weird, and there's definitely a possibility of distraction. But I've used Pinterest as a place to gather images, articles, websites, inspiration, motivating quotes, and other resources. I've also got a bunch of "plot generators" and writing prompts, if you want to write but aren't sure what to write about. You can check out my "Writing Things Down" board here.

3. TickTockTimer
You can also just use the timer on your phone...any ole timer works. I use this for two things: timing breaks and doing "word sprints." If I'm having trouble writing, I'll sometimes give myself 10 minutes to write, and 10 minutes of a break, and it keeps me productive. A "word sprint" is the practice of pounding out a bunch of words in a set amount of time. Say, 500 words in 20 minutes! Sometimes NaNo writers will challenge each other to these, and it's a fun way to meet goals.

BUT WAIT!!! IT'S ONLY OCTOBER! IT'S AGAINST THE RULES TO START WRITING UNTIL NOVEMBER! WHY ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW?! 

Because NaNoWriMo is easier for a lot of folks if you have a little bit of an outline. Or an idea. Or a half-coherent sheet of hastily scribbled notes. It's not NECESSARY. But if you want to participate, and you also want to plan, I thought I'd share this stuff NOW. You've got 13 days to come up with ideas. I spent yesterday afternoon mapping out the basic plot of my futuristic dystopian YA novel, and tonight I'll spend some time ironing out the kinks in the world I'm creating.

So, happy writing, my friends!

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"The first draft of anything is s***." --Ernest Hemingway

"Because paper has more patience than people."

I have been keeping a journal for 17 years. A few months ago, Jacob asked me what my motivation for journaling has been. I answered with a lot of reasons--because I write compulsively, because writing helps me think through things, because I know it will be fun to go back and read about later, because it will be an important record for future generations. But when I thought about the first journal entries I ever penned, and what motivated those, I realized suddenly that it was the diary of Anne Frank.

I was about 12 when I first read Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl...one year younger than Anne was when she wrote her first entry. It is one of the most well-loved and oft-read books I own. I still have my original copy--I think I got it as a birthday or Christmas gift. It is one of the few books that survived moving to Oregon, my entire college experience, and various purges/spring cleanings. I've read it so often that I have whole sections of it memorized.

Anne articulated for me so many aspects of growing up, even though our worlds were so different. The feeling of being misunderstood, of being afraid to show anyone your better side in case they laugh at you, of having opinions and thoughts and aspirations that people don't take seriously because you are young. And I know I'm not the only person who felt that way--it's part of why the book has been so well-loved for so long.

Anne Frank's diary gave me courage as a young girl...courage to pursue my dreams and develop my gifts. Her words gave me confidence during lonely times, when friends were hard to come by, or when family members were fighting, or when the world just seemed too big and confusing to be a part of. The diary inspired me to write my own stories and experiences, and this blog exists in part because of that inspiration. This story is very very very dear to my heart, and it always will be.

Until this last week, I'd never seen any adaptation of the story. Not the play, not any film or television. I think I've been afraid of this enormously beautiful part of my life being...well, slaughtered. It would be heartbreaking to have this beloved story told poorly. But I finally girded my loins and headed to the Hale Centre Theatre Orem's production--an old friend was playing Dussell, and I wanted to see his work in this story that I love so much, and to see if the story could really be told on stage. So I sat in the 4th row and watched as ten actors told the story.

And it was beautiful. It was as close to perfect as it could get.

It is an astonishing challenge to portray people who really lived. And for so much of my life, I've seen each character through Anne's eyes...unfeeling Mummy, insufferable Mrs. Van Daan, the shy and dear Peter, the stodgy and foolish Dussell. But the play allowed me to see each character even more fully. Mummy only seems unfeeling because she and Anne don't quite understand each other, but they long for one another's love. Dussell is simply a man set in his ways, and having to go into hiding with two full families is hard on him. Mrs. Van Daan was truly happy when she was young, and her life hasn't turned out quite the way she wanted it to, and that hurts her.

(Part of me wishes I could have seen this show earlier, so that this blog could also serve as a review and a "go see this show!" But closing night was Saturday...oh, the impermanence of theatre.)

The script does a wonderful job of bringing Anne's diary to life, and condensing some of the most important parts into a 2-hour production. There were little details that I noticed and loved--the mention of the Westertoren clock, Anne's moment of talking about the window in her room, the giving of gifts. Anne gives all of these things a lot of thought in her diary, and seeing them nodded to onstage warmed my heart. And the script manages to capture the humor of Anne's world as well as the heartbreak--the anger as well as the love.

HCTO's stage conventions were also perfect choices (and I don't know whether some of these are specified in the script or not). The audience entered through the hidden door that concealed the entrance to the "Secret Annexe"--complete with a bookcase. And as soon as any of the "Secret Annexe members" entered the stage, THEY STAYED ONSTAGE. This included during scene changes (which were done through dimming the lights and a voiceover of one of Anne's diary entries, during which the actors would complete any costume changes), and during intermission. It was such a perfect convention--because the Van Daans, the Franks, and Dussell truly did have to stay there the entire time. Having the actors remain onstage and in character during intermission allowed the audience to see the way they must have spent most of their time, in boredom or in games, in conversation, or resting.

An enormous shout out must be given to each of the actors. I could spend hours singing each of their praises, but I'll just say that their performances were flawless. I think part of my love of the show was simply because what was presented onstage perfectly matched what I've seen in my head for all these years. Often when we dislike some movie or play, it's because what we see on stage or screen DOESN'T match our imagination, but this time, it happened to align perfectly for me. (And a big shout out must be given to Dan Anderson as well, for superb costume design. You've a good eye, sir, and your design heightened the storytelling without distracting from it.)

In all my years of reading "Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl," I've only read the afterword a few times. I know the story of what happened to each of the members of the Secret Annexe. But Anne's diary doesn't cover it--we don't hear about the events in her voice. So I've never had to really face it. I've never had to watch the faces of the Van Daans and the Franks and Mr. Dussell as they listened to the sounds of the approaching Gestapo. I've never had to witness their fear and despair as the knocking and hammering got louder and louder. And my heart splintered watching it.

Anne Frank's story is an important one, and a beautiful one. Not only because of the story she tells, but because of the beautiful way she tells it. In one journal entry, she writes:

“I want to go on living even after my death! And therefore I am grateful to God for this gift, this possibility of developing myself and of writing, of expressing all that is in me. I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear; my courage is reborn. But, and that is the great question, will I ever be able to write anything great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer?”

In the tragedy of Anne's story, there is such beauty in knowing that her dream came true. She goes on living, even after her death. And in her own way, she did write something great, and she became both a journalist and a writer.

I know I can't speak for them. But I feel certain that the real Otto and Edith Frank, that the real Mr. and Mrs. Van Daan, that the real Peter, the real Margot, the real Albert Dussell, and the real Anne Frank would be honored and pleased by HCTO's production, even if they would be surprised by it. I'm sure none of them expected their story to become so widely known, but I feel as though the universe gave Anne and each of her Secret Annexe housemates a gift. They get to have their story told, and they stand as voices of the millions whose stories we will never know. I left the production filled with gratitude for both Anne and her diary, and the world of theatre that brought it to life.

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"Because paper has more patience than people."

Reminder: Walk Towards Your Mountain

It's been a while since I did this, but I've given the ole blog a little bit of a re-vamp. Partly because I like designing things, and partly because it used to state on the sidebar that I was a secretary, and that's no longer true.

After I lost my job at Alianza, I experienced this beautiful outpouring of love and support and kindness. I felt like I was grieving the loss of a loved one, and unexpected friendships showed up to help seal the cracks that formed in me when the school closed its doors. And now that I've had some time to mourn, I've also had some time to decide what to do next.

And here's what I've decided. I'm financially set for a few months--until December or so. And when we moved here to Utah, we moved here to pursue acting.

So...*deep breath*...that's what I'll do.

Full-time.

I'll audition like crazy--for things I couldn't previously audition for, just because my day-job got in the way. I'll do background work where I can get it to keep paying the bills, and to keep learning from being on set.

And I'll write. I'll learn more about how to get paid for my writing, and maybe publish an article or two.

I don't know when in my life I'll have another chance like this. When my circumstances are simply handing me an opportunity to pursue my dreams full-time, with so little risk. If, come December, the money runs out, I'll have a chance to re-evaluate, and maybe find something else to help make ends meet. But I want to, in the words of Neil Gaiman, "move towards my mountain."

In his 2012 commencement speech, Neil Gaiman talked about this great idea. He says:

"Something that worked for me was imagining that where I wanted to be – an author, primarily of fiction, making good books, making good comics and supporting myself through my words – was a mountain. A distant mountain. My goal. And I knew that as long as I kept walking towards the mountain I would be all right. And when I truly was not sure what to do, I could stop, and think about whether it was taking me towards or away from the mountain. I said no to editorial jobs on magazines, proper jobs that would have paid proper money because I knew that, attractive though they were, for me they would have been walking away from the mountain. And if those job offers had come along earlier I might have taken them, because they still would have been closer to the mountain than I was at the time."

And I've got multiple mountains, I think...but I know that acting is one of them. Writing is another. So the other thing I'm doing, come January is...*deep breath*...going to grad school.

I found a great, 2-year, online MFA in writing program at Lindenwood University. So before I could talk myself out of it, I applied. And last week, I was accepted. I'm vaguely terrified about the commitment (in time, money, effort). I'm actually still not even sure I'll be able to pay for it. So part of me feels crazy even posting this--what if it doesn't work out?! What if I can't afford it?! IS THIS A HUGE MISTAKE?!?! But I'm giving myself permission to go for it. And if it turns out that it IS a mistake, I can take time off, or drop out, or whatever. But this degree will give me two things: 1) a chance to improve and grow as a writer, to the point where I can maybe make money writing on a more regular basis, and 2) give me the credentials I need if I wanted to teach at a university level. Which would be pretty awesome.

So, uh...here's to diving headfirst off cliffs, and to building wings on the way down.

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Reminder: Walk Towards Your Mountain