Lemme know what you think.
How do you define success for yourself? How has that changed?
(Read my anxiety about putting up this episode here!)
“I’m afraid I can’t explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?”
― Lewis Carroll,
NOT YET, anyway. I’m working on it. I’m preparing a solo podcast episode that will launch on Monday and it’s scaring the shit out of me.
Episode 029 of Artist Soapbox will begin with “I’m scared!” It’s not me speaking, but the sentiment is absolutely mine.
The title of the episode is WHAT I LEARNED FROM FORTY YEARS OF NOT BEING FAMOUS: PART ONE and it’s based on a lil’ talk I gave in April for Honest Pint‘s HOME BREW. Home Brew was a wonderful opportunity to try out material and capture the words of audience members in their own voices. Big thank yous to George, David, Beth, Carissa, Will, Megan, Brian, and Susannah for adding their voices and their thoughts about defining success. (You’ll hear all 8 of them speaking in the podcast episode.)
In PART ONE, using a bit of my own story, I throw a flag on our culture’s messed-up definition of success, our preoccupation with ‘getting famous’, and how local artists are marginalized as a result. It’s me and my voice, insecurities, flawed thinking, aspirations, missteps and…words. I don’t know if that’s ok or if it’s weirdly narcissistic or me being artsy-fartsy or the start to a conversation that I really want to have. Maybe all of those things. All I know is that this solo episode was really really scary to write, to present, to record, and it’s scary to release. And gosh, I’m doing it anyway.
Will you take a listen on Monday and let me know what you think? I have more episodes planned that will dig into this topic. I’d love to know if those might resonate with you.
Stay tuned for Episode 029 going live on www.artistsoapbox.org Monday morning and in Apple podcasts/iTunes.
How do you define success?
[Scroll down to read an actual excerpt from the talk I’m planning to give]
I’m speaking live on April 13 at 9:00 pm, after HONEST PINT’S performance of THE ABSOLUTE BRIGHTNESS OF LEONARD PELKEY!
THE PRESS & INFO:
Tamara Kissane is presenting for HOME BREW, “a series featuring NC artists, writers, musicians, and actors sharing stories and works in an intimate, social atmosphere. The goal is to showcase the incredible local talent in our area and provide an opportunity to hear what’s brewing in the NC arts scene.” HOME BREW is free and open to the public. See the show at 7:30pm and stay for the HOME BREWed conversation. Info and tickets for THE ABSOLUTE BRIGHTNESS OF LEONARD PELKEY.
WHAT I LEARNED FROM 40 YEARS OF NOT BEING FAMOUS: PART ONE is the first installment of a multi-part series planned for the Artist Soapbox podcast. In this 30 minute podcast-like conversation, Tamara considers how we might love the artists we are and support the artists we love even when….especially when….we feel like we’re falling short. PART ONE is a shot in the arm for people who are trying to craft a life of creativity and art-making and feeling like WTF.
In PART ONE, using a bit of her own story, Tamara throws a flag on our culture’s messed-up definition of success, our preoccupation with ‘getting famous’, and how local artists are marginalized as a result. What might our lives look like if our community reimagined success and then affirmed and cherished our local art-makers? What might our lives look like if each individual artist loved their own creative gifts? What can arts supporters do to help?
AN EXCERPT FROM THE TALK TO WET YOUR WHISTLE
Here’s a problem: in our society, we have some real mixed-up attitudes about fame and success — giant hurdles that artists must overcome in getting to genuine and long-lasting satisfaction.
So, let’s take a moment for some thinking. Think in your mind about the answers to these questions: What are two or three words that come to mind when you think of someone successful in their career (any career)? How would you finish this sentence, A successful artist…? What would an artist need to accomplish at a local level to be successful (in your opinion)? Hmmmm.
Here’s WHAT I LEARNED FROM 40 YEARS OF NOT BEING FAMOUS — #1 Each artist needs to define success on their own terms and figure out if fame is what they’re really aiming for. #2 We can help reframe success for local artists by helping those artists feel valued, appreciated and resourced.
Here’s a secret: I have been a very unhappy artist for most of my adult life, which is a pretty long time. And much of my unhappiness has been in response to feeling like I have failed by not being more famous and not achieving more as an artist. This is ridiculous and embarrassing to admit, but there you go.”
[Note: THE ABSOLUTE BRIGHTNESS OF LEONARD PELKEY opens April 6. If you can’t get to the performance on April 13, then please go see it another night. It’s going to knock your socks off.]
My adaptation of Ibsen’s classic play, MASTER BUILDER, opens this week. Here’s hoping the snow stays out of North Carolina and doesn’t derail our schedule!
The incredibly endearing Mara Thomas interviewed me about the writing process for Master Builder, the Artist Soapbox podcast, and various other life topics. I’m grateful for the conversation with Mara and for the opportunity to reflect on this process. Take a listen, and let me know what you think. Also, Mara is rad.
Compared to my experience adapting Chekhov’s THE SEAGULL, this production experience was different for me. I wasn’t able to attend more than one MASTER BUILDER rehearsal, I wasn’t able to reflect much, and I wasn’t able savor it in quite the same way. Holidays + life + other project commitments = a time crunch. That’s how it goes. The excitement is still there though and the gratitude and so many big emotions — those are all still there sitting in my chest like so many birds.
Podcast interview guests always tell me that they think of “things they should’ve said” during their drive home after interviewing on Artist Soapbox. My experience was no different.
Missing from my podcast interview is the long list of thanks that I wish I would have included. Thanks to Little Green Pig Theatrical Concern for producing my play, which is a gift that I cannot find the words to describe. Thanks to the actors, designers, director, crew, and the LGP team for the support. And most importantly, the biggest one: THANKS to everyone who took this play SERIOUSLY…even when I didn’t or couldn’t or down-played it. It’s such a gift to be taken seriously as an artist because the Imposter Syndrome looms large. It’s a beast. When other people interact with me as though I am an ACTUAL playwright, it’s weird. It makes me feel super weird and super hopeful. That attitude is a warm and gentle invitation for me to become better at my art-making and take creative risks…which are goals I strive for every day.
I’m thrilled and grateful. Thank you for sharing in my excitement. Sending you love.
Master Builder is showing January 18 – February 3 at Mystery Brewery (437 Dimmock’s Mill Rd, Hillsborough). GET TICKETS!
If you live in the Triangle Area of North Carolina and you identify yourself as a mother, then I have a request for you.
I’m gathering creative fodder for a new project, and I’d love to have your contributions. This project, tentatively titled MOTHER OF THE YEAR, has no shape or performance date, or anything at all specific. Like most artistic endeavors, it’s a creative trust exercise in the spirit of “let’s see what happens”!
Below, you’ll see the details (such as they are) as well as the caveats. If you’re game, send me something by the deadline. If this isn’t your cup of tea or you don’t have the brain-space at the moment, then that’s totally cool too.
I’m looking for writing in any style and of any length based on your own experience. As much or as little as you’d like to send.
The focus: Your experience of being a mother right now. What are you going through/involved in/wrestling with/enjoying/struggling against/embracing/striving for/questioning/etc right now? What’s top of mind? What’s in your heart?
It could be profound or trivial. Focused broadly or minutely, globally or locally, politically or artistically or domestically, or personally or publicly or bodily or spiritually. Light, heavy, serious, comedic….of any emotional tone. It could be a poem, a conversation, a song, a speech, a monologue, a jingle, a list, a letter, a sentence, a stand up routine, a paragraph, a journal entry —whatever— pour your experience into a document and send it.
Deadline: Wednesday, Feb. 1. I’m setting this first deadline to assess interest. If I get zero contributions, then I’ll reassess the project and take a different tack. If I get a pile of emails, then I’ll rejoice, set a course for development and probably put a call out for more text!
Feel free to share with people in the Triangle Area (NC) who identify as mothers. For now, I’m limiting the geographic area to our smallish corner of the world.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with the writing that I receive. It could be broken up, combined, or used solely as inspiration. Your writing could be completely unrecognizable to you in the finished piece or it might be used word for word. If you send me something, please release it with the understanding that you are giving it away to be used TBD.
Everything that you send to me will be anonymous. If the project goes public, then your name will be listed as a contributor (unless you don’t want that), but no one will know what text is ‘yours’.
WHY AM I INITIATING THIS?
This project won’t let me go, so I’m giving into it. I don’t know what it will be or if it will be, but I hear the call to use the actual words of those who mother as the foundation and springboard for a piece of art. An exploration of contemporary motherhood, as told through local voices….perhaps….?
If you are like me, sometimes you need a ‘reason’ to write — I’m hoping that this will be a good reason for you, and an opportunity to voice some of the mothering-related thoughts that you’re carrying around in your heart and your head. Send me questions if you have them. No pressure. No judgment. Love. Love. Love.
With deep appreciation for all you do…
And Happy New Year and hugs,
There are a lot of gifts that accompany a show opening. Everything has come together and is soaring. It’s a celebratory time. The New Colossus has opened! The cast, the direction, the design, the stage management are all amazing. Hurrah!
For me, one of the gifts of TNC‘s opening weekend, is a more personal one. And I feel a little embarrassed admitting it. The opening of the play has given me the opportunity to talk about more than just my kids. It’s strange, but that’s a real gift for me. Like, I’ve got other things going on that make me a multi-dimensional person and that feels really nice.
I’m so much a MOM these days. I’m MOM-ing constantly and vigorously. Leading up to the opening of TNC, I was on antibiotics for mastitis (Again. Sigh.) Most nights, I was pulling ice packs out of my bra before entering rehearsal. And my usually chilled out baby had major sleep issues. He. Would. Not. Stay. Asleep. Argh. So I was even more sleep-deprived than usual. At the end of rehearsal (and now, after the show), I rushed home to get friendly with my breast pump. No one wants engorgement, nope. Then there’s the end of school year chaos and piano lessons, swim lessons, etc. etc. Anyway, you get the picture. I felt my MOM-ness very much, even though I had sweet pockets of time when I was in rehearsal and felt my creative-self assert herself, and my mom-self take a little rest. My mom-self needs a rest sometimes, you know?
Please don’t get me wrong, I am crazy-grateful for my family. I love my kids, and I love to talk about them. Go ahead, ask me, you won’t be twisting my arm. It’s easy and often necessary at this time in their lives to make them my everything. It’s very special to witness the growth of such wonderful spirits. So, I’m in love with my life, but there’s not much space for me in it right now. I’m MOM before anything else. I’m a “A mom who….” — A mom who writes, A mom who works, A mom who acts, A mom who makes theatre, A mom who is always mom-ing.
But now! But now, the show is out there in the wider world and people are coming to see it and wonderfully, amazingly, they are talking about it. And this past weekend, for a few days anyway, I really felt like a writer first, an artist, “A writer who moms….” And it was cool to have that experience, and I’m grateful for it too. Honestly, I think it was a damn f-ing miracle that I was able to write TNC while I was pregnant and then continue to work on it with an infant. I’m really, really hoping for another miracle as I start work on the next project too. (Writing with a toddler and an 8-year old — hold onto your hats!) Since I don’t know if I’ll get that next miracle, I’m enjoying the ever-loving sh!t out of this one. I really am. I don’t feel my usual murky mix of anxiety and awkwardness about my art. I just feel grateful and present and happy.
Please come see The New Colossus if you can. I’d like to talk with you about it. After that, I’ll tell you a funny story about my kids. Hee.
*Speaking of children, this Thursday, May 26, is Red Nose Day for TNC. Come support this worthy cause and get yourself a ticket discount. If you attend wearing a red nose, pay just $6 (half-off regular price). Good for door sales only the night of the show. Read more about Red Nose Day.
This is the second of a short series of posts about my upcoming play, The New Colossus. (Here’s the first.) In the spirit of gratitude and reflection, I’m considering some of what it took to stage this sucker (from a playwright’s perspective). We open this week!
Generally, plays require an enormous amount of collaborative and collective work to put up — way more than you would guess unless you do it on a regular basis. As a world premiere, The New Colossus required an even larger than usual dollop of investment, commitment, and risk-taking from everyone involved. It’s a brand new beast.
The New Colossus (TNC) would not be opening this week without a theatre company willing to take the risk to cultivate the script over the last two years, then put in the time/money/energy to mount a production. Thank you, Little Green Pig Theatrical Concern. Thank you, Manbites Dog Theater, for access to the venue and support thru the Other Voices Series.
It often requires years of preparation to bring a new play to the stage. This was the case for TNC. Research, several drafts, then readings, rounds of feedback, and more drafts, and then more drafts after that. It’s a long-game approach. It was a gift to have a producing company, like Little Green Pig Theatrical Concern, that invested in TNC before we even entered the rehearsal room.
Even a script based on a beloved classic, like this one, is still untested. It’s untried and probably still a little unfinished. By the time most plays really pick up steam geographically, they’ve been workshopped and produced multiple times, so the first production is really the infant phase for a new play. And you know it takes a village to raise a child….
Dana Marks, the director of TNC, has been a superb detective, problem-solver and imagineer — reading the text closely, discovering moments I didn’t know were there, conducting the pacing, arc and emotional tone of the production, as well as folding in all the crazy technical elements written into the script. (Yikes, videos and live feed!) Dana, Jenn Evans and Erin Bell, our stage managers, and the cast have been upbeat, flexible and supportive as I made numerous script edits throughout the rehearsal process. We’ve been able to collaborate and brainstorm solutions for moments that didn’t quite work once we got the script “on its feet.” Bless the amazing cast who jumped in enthusiastically, and tried to make even the most awkward lines work. They breathed life and dimension into their characters in surprising and wonderful ways. Together with the stellar designers, all of these folks created a world that I never anticipated.
And of course, in order for TNC to happen, I needed lots of support from my friends and family (hi, honey!) — from the people who read and discussed drafts with me, and the people who’ve worked with me in the past. Kevin Ewert and Jaybird O’Berski were crucial readers and script advisors. My friend, Cheryl Chamblee, and I wrote and produced a dozen plays together in the last 20 years; without those experience with her, I wouldn’t have been able to bring this play to life. Same thing goes for my work with Rachel Klem in Summer Sisters, and lots of other experiences with folks who have built new work in the theatre.
As a theatre-maker, new works are my jam. I love creating them. I love experiencing them. Happily, this community is rich with theatre companies who are commissioning and growing new work. Support them! Love them! They are laboring hard against the odds to bring you new art. Here are a few examples: Little Green Pig Theatrical Concern, StreetSigns, Archipelago, Common Wealth Endeavors, The Performance Collective, DIDA, Haymaker, Manbites Dog Theater, Duke University Theater Studies, The ArtsCenter Carrboro, Paperhand Puppet Intervention, Common Ground Theatre, and more.
As an audience member, I’m thrilled by world premieres. Watching a never-seen-before-play is a special treat. It’s a secret discovery that no one else has access to yet. It’s opening up a surprise package. It’s watching theatre being born. I hope you feel that way too.
The New Colossus runs for three weekends. It’s about 90 minutes with no intermission. Rated R, so not for the kids. Get your tickets.
This is the first of a few posts that I’m writing about my upcoming play, The New Colossus. Opening on May 19th!
A tiny bit about The Seagull:
Anton Chekhov wrote The Seagull in 1895, and it was performed a year later in Petersburg. In 1909, the play was translated from Russian to English. During the past 100+ years, there have been dozens of additional translations and adaptations, and countless productions of The Seagull. It’s one of those plays that continues to capture people’s imaginations. Wikipedia can tell you more.
I first read The Seagull in college (eep, 20 years ago!), and I remember thinking that it was an amazing but odd little play where not much happened. Mostly, people sat around and talked about….I don’t know….life…whatever….? And I totally didn’t get the whacky obsession with the dead seagull (Weird metaphor alert!). At that point in my theatre-making life, I was most excited by Shakespeare’s style of overthrowing kings and brandishing swords and epic drama and chest-pounding. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still into that, but these days I really dig the subtle dramas of everyday life and the undercurrent of emotion that bubbles below the surface of our interactions. Our days are thick with feelings, dreams, aspirations, and disappointments. Maybe those interest me most because that’s what I have in my life right now. Not much epic drama or brandishing swords, thank goodness.
SparkNotes describes Chekhov’s writing this way:
His plays marked a new movement in the theatre with their use of subtext, intimacy, colloquialisms and realism. His comedy-tragedies were unlike any plays that audiences had seen before because they made drama out of everyday circumstances, such as love and longing, instead of portraying the grand gestures of heroes and heroines of earlier plays.
Two years ago, I was re-introduced to The Seagull in a Chekhov class taught by Jaybird O’Berski. The play blew my socks off. The themes and conversations felt remarkably fresh and contemporary. The characters were damn deep. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I read different translations and adaptations and various essays and reviews. Then I got the zany idea to write a new play inspired by Chekhov’s Seagull. It’s an homage, really, because I’m so fond of the original.*
I wrote an adaptation with the help and support from a whole lot of people. (More on that in another post.) Little Green Pig Theatrical Concern, of which I am a longtime ensemble member, was kind enough to produce it. In less than two weeks, The New Colossus, produced by Little Green Pig Theatrical Concern, will open at Manbites Dog Theatre in downtown Durham. I’m weak with excitement and gratitude.
This is the teaser description:
A family of frustrated, attention-starved artists flocks to the seashore. One of them has a gun…what could possibly go wrong? A darkly comic reboot of Chekhov’s classic, this rollicking tale examines the pitfalls of making art and making love in modern day America.
Hopefully, people who don’t know The Seagull will enjoy The New Colossus as a stand alone play and be inspired to read the original. Hopefully, longtime Chekhov fans will enjoy the ways we’ve reimagined this work. The basic story elements remain — they are the reasons I fell in love with the play in the first place. However, I did make some noteworthy changes. Some examples: one character never comes on-stage, two characters merged into one, the scene order is different, music and dance and video are more pervasive, and there are several new and transformed scenes. In particular, I added two new scenes so the female characters can talk to one another. (Those interactions were missing from the original and I was curious to consider them.) Most surprising to me, setting the play in 2016 had the biggest ripple effect on the entire project. It seemed pretty straightforward at first — just dress the characters in modern day clothing and sprinkle in some modern words! — but the ways in which we interact with art, fame, community, family, technology, health, and success seem different than they were for Chekhov’s Russian characters in 1895. The tools are different. The love and the longing are still there, but we manage them differently today, I think.
I’ll be curious to hear what you think.
And there’s still the dead seagull. What’s up with that?
THE NEW COLOSSUS opens May 19 and plays for 3 weekends in Durham, NC. Get some tickets.
*Regarding the use of the word ‘original’: I didn’t read The Seagull as it was first written in Russian. I’m sure that limits my understanding of the play in some important ways.
Seven months ago, I had a(nother) baby. So, I’m a mother of two now. Mind boggling.
Since I haven’t posted in a year, I thought I’d take a quick minute to post an update while the baby naps and before I pick up the seven year old from school.
Parenting, yes. My sweet spouse and I are doing a lot of parenting. A lot. And that is very challenging and very joyful. Even more so with each passing day.
Art-making, not as much. In the first 180 days of the baby’s life, I went out by myself TWICE at night and then raced home before the baby woke up to eat. Breast-feeding is tough, man. It’s cool, but it’s tough. However, in the last three weeks I was able to attend a few plays and even a few rehearsals, and I started writing again, and now the birds are singing and I feel more like myself.
Is my art compromised by my children? Yes, in many, many ways. Is my art made richer as well? I hope so. I think so. I guess we will see. I certainly appreciate any opportunities that I have to make art now — way more than I did before having kids. I work faster and smarter and with a better attitude. Going to rehearsal or having 15 minutes to write is like the best hot fudge sundae ever. It’s like pure oxygen.
So, it’s spring. I’m happy.
The baby is awake and it’s time to go. That’s the scoop. I’ll be posting more soon. Sending you all the best on this day and all the days that follow.
I’ve been thinking about an audition I had a few weeks ago — a fun group-audition focused on building ensemble, listening, playing, and following impulses (Yippee, my favorites!). It felt more like a workshop than an audition which left me feeling grateful, inspired, and relieved. The people in the room were super. It was fun. I’d like to say that I was great/totally nailed it/surprised myself/did my best/really went for it, but the truth is I was ok. I was fine.
So, in an effort to move myself closer to great/totally nailed it/surprised myself/did my best/really went for it, I’ve been mulling over the audition and considering whether I fully engaged in those so-called favorites — building ensemble, listening, playing, and following impulses.
The short answer is: I didn’t. I didn’t fully engage.
I almost did. I often did. I wanted to. I tried, but I didn’t quite get there 100% all the time.
Yes, it’s hard to do those things. Especially in an audition setting. It’s hard to just be — authentic, in the moment — rather than perform what I think is desirable, cool, clever, funny, interesting, easy, whatever. But I want to ‘be in the moment’ more. I want to be more consistently authentic. I don’t want to perform myself, I want to be myself.
(Here’s the part where my internal child falls in a heap on the ground and rolls around dejectedly until she gets distracted by something shiny.)
I’m been thinking about a particular moment during the audition when I tripped over my ego instead of following my impulses as I was invited to do (Ok, there were lots of moments, but I only have time to describe one today).
It was the moment when I wanted to take off my shirt, but I didn’t.
(If this sounds titilating, then you can go ahead and un-titilate yourself, cuz this ain’t a sexy thing.)
During the audition, our group performed several rounds of a sound and movement exercise. We sat in a circle and individuals took turns moving into the center. The task of the group was to support the individual in the center by making sounds. The task of the individual in the center was to move in a way that authentically embodied whatever particular concept we were working on during that round — without premeditation or pre-choreographing the movement.
During one of my turns in the circle, I stood up quickly and took off my fleece jacket. My next impulse was to take off the shirt underneath as well (leaving me in my bra) and strike some grimacing, muscle-y poses like the Incredible Hulk.
But my shirt stayed on and my pseudo-Hulk never appeared. Instead I performed goofy fleece-tricks like swinging the fleece over my head and passing it between my legs and pretending to throw it at people and stuffing it up my shirt. It was fine. Whatever.
During that microsecond between taking off my fleece and deciding not to follow my first impulse, a zillion thoughts zipped thru my head (One of the problems = too much thinking! Right? If you are thinking, then you are doing it wrong.)
In that microsecond between trusting/not trusting my intuition, I questioned whether my impulse was weird and off-base and nonsensical and whether it would seem gratuitous or show-offy (Look at me! Whee, I take off my clothes!).
In that microsecond between does-shirt-come-off-no-shirt-stays-on, I tried to remember what bra I was wearing, if my underwear were peeking up over the top of my yoga pants, and if I was looking bloated. (Would everyone notice that I haven’t gone to the gym in a looooong time? In this situation, would taking off my shirt make me a bad ass or a fool?)
Never mind that I was wearing a bra on the poster for a previous show. In the moment, I freaked out.
In one tiny microsecond, my concern over what people would think of my creative contribution + my body anxiety knocked me off-kilter. I fretted about how I yearned to appear rather than just stepping into who I was in that moment. I was Incredible Hulk in that moment! Then I killed my Incredible Hulk. (Sad face) I didn’t trust that my 15 second contribution to the circle would be accepted and appreciated no matter what it was. I knew we were all just playing, just trying stuff, just being ourselves, just trying to have fun — I knew I was in a safe space with a group of warm and welcoming artists, and that this was no big deal — but I still couldn’t shake off THE JUDGE. I missed that luscious and rare opportunity to be in the zone, ride the wave, surprise myself, drop into lizard brain and just be. Bummer.
Also, those people in that audition really missed out because I can rock a bra. (JOKING! Seriously, joking.)
So that was 15 seconds of an audition, right? That was one kinda silly-hopefully funny-a little embarrassing moment in my life. Really small beans in the scheme of things. But it did make me think about regular ol’ daily life and the number of times I stop myself, squelch my impulses and pull myself back from being fully present. Do you extinguish your creative sparks? How often? What is the result?
Look, I know we can’t walk around all the time without our filters, just like we can’t walk around shirtless all the time. That would be inefficient and impractical and inappropriate. But maybe we have more leeway than we think?
I’m trying to do the calculation here….I’m trying to determine when the small beans become big beans. Because I suspect we all do this, right? If so, then what’s the effect of our widespread short-circuiting of creativity? What is the effect of so much not-being-present? What is the long term effect of discarding our impulses and intuition? What do you think?
I wonder how much we lose while straining to be too-cool-for-school rather than acknowledging our shared awkwardness and vulnerability. We’re all just working to make art and make life, right? Forget being cool, let’s just be real.
I wonder what is lost…. when I stop myself from reaching out, when I stop myself from taking risks, when I see others second guess their honest reactions, when I see adults reject the invitation to play even though their hearts yearn to be childlike.
I wonder what would happen if we all took a chance and whipped off our shirts once in awhile (I’m speaking metaphorically, but whatever floats your boat). I wonder what would happen if we were brave and creative and vulnerable and intuitive more often. Perhaps it’s worth some practice? Certainly, I need some more practice. And practice and practice and practice.
So, the audition….
In the end, it was all fine. It was fun. It was clearly thought provoking. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and I hope to have more. I’ll learn and grow and do better next time. If I keep practicing, then I will.