Back in the Game
Today I made my tentative (and utterly humiliating) re-entry into the world of auditioning. As Orphannie and I were saying on the phone earlier today, its been a week of taking risks and somehow surviving the ensuing embarassment.
I've been wanting to and needing to excercise the auditioning muscle and get back into the whole habit of putting myself out there on a regular basis, so I finally forced myself to go out this morning (yes, not only did I wake up in the morning, but on a Sunday morning no less!) and sign up for an audition slot. This has come on the heels of several weeks of self examination culminating in the realization that I have been spending way too much of my energy on other things and nowhere near enough on what I love most. A lot of this is due to fear, both of failure and of success; a dichotomy, as usual.
After mustering my guts, balls, chutzpah (and all other terms of that ilk), I marched off to the battlefield for my scheduled 2:50pm audition, fortified by the positive outcome of the critique and coaching session the Lone Star Talent gave me working through with my had-not-been-looked-at-in-over-a-year monologue.While working at home with LST, I felt very good about the monologue and my work; I was having fun, making bold but committed choices...it was looking great.
Too bad that didn't necessarily carry over.
I entered the audition room already nervous (I hate auditioning, and remember it had been a while) and the complete lack of pleasantries and hellos threw for a bit of a loop (again, it had been a while). I was completely unfocused and launched into the monologue without giving myself that tiny moment to focus; the ensuing crap that came out of my mouth and body can only be described as bad high school theatre at best. I redeemed myself somewhat, managing to pull it together about 1/3 of the way through the monologue...that is until I fucked up a line towards the end of the piece.
Did I mention it was Shakespeare? Umm, yeah. The good 'ol Bard. The good 'ol Bard whom everyone knows and who happenms to write in fucking iambic pentameter so that when you fuck up a line, even if you seamlessly run right through it it is alarmingly obvious. Yeah, nice one.
I somehow managed to finish the piece - the ending being the one time anyone laughed (it was a comic piece and when done right, really quite funny...the stress, of course, being upon when done right). They politely thanked me for coming in; I thanked them in return for seeing me and then tried to fly out of the door but had to humiliate myself further by backtracking to pick up a piece of paper I had left on the floor. Lovely. Huge points for professionalism there.
The really stupid thing is that I am very comfortable and at home with Shakespeare. Hell, I fucking studied it at the Oxford School of Drama in England (as did Orphannie, before me and for grad school). Yet I walked in almost begging to fail.
But at least I did it. I'm back in the game. I took that first step of re-entry, humiliated myself greatly, and now I can move on from there. There is a certain freedom that comes with humiliation, because you have nothing left to fear. You've fucked up, you've survived, and now you know that fucking up won't kill you.
Yay! I fucked up!
I've been wanting to and needing to excercise the auditioning muscle and get back into the whole habit of putting myself out there on a regular basis, so I finally forced myself to go out this morning (yes, not only did I wake up in the morning, but on a Sunday morning no less!) and sign up for an audition slot. This has come on the heels of several weeks of self examination culminating in the realization that I have been spending way too much of my energy on other things and nowhere near enough on what I love most. A lot of this is due to fear, both of failure and of success; a dichotomy, as usual.
After mustering my guts, balls, chutzpah (and all other terms of that ilk), I marched off to the battlefield for my scheduled 2:50pm audition, fortified by the positive outcome of the critique and coaching session the Lone Star Talent gave me working through with my had-not-been-looked-at-in-over-a-year monologue.While working at home with LST, I felt very good about the monologue and my work; I was having fun, making bold but committed choices...it was looking great.
Too bad that didn't necessarily carry over.
I entered the audition room already nervous (I hate auditioning, and remember it had been a while) and the complete lack of pleasantries and hellos threw for a bit of a loop (again, it had been a while). I was completely unfocused and launched into the monologue without giving myself that tiny moment to focus; the ensuing crap that came out of my mouth and body can only be described as bad high school theatre at best. I redeemed myself somewhat, managing to pull it together about 1/3 of the way through the monologue...that is until I fucked up a line towards the end of the piece.
Did I mention it was Shakespeare? Umm, yeah. The good 'ol Bard. The good 'ol Bard whom everyone knows and who happenms to write in fucking iambic pentameter so that when you fuck up a line, even if you seamlessly run right through it it is alarmingly obvious. Yeah, nice one.
I somehow managed to finish the piece - the ending being the one time anyone laughed (it was a comic piece and when done right, really quite funny...the stress, of course, being upon when done right). They politely thanked me for coming in; I thanked them in return for seeing me and then tried to fly out of the door but had to humiliate myself further by backtracking to pick up a piece of paper I had left on the floor. Lovely. Huge points for professionalism there.
The really stupid thing is that I am very comfortable and at home with Shakespeare. Hell, I fucking studied it at the Oxford School of Drama in England (as did Orphannie, before me and for grad school). Yet I walked in almost begging to fail.
But at least I did it. I'm back in the game. I took that first step of re-entry, humiliated myself greatly, and now I can move on from there. There is a certain freedom that comes with humiliation, because you have nothing left to fear. You've fucked up, you've survived, and now you know that fucking up won't kill you.
Yay! I fucked up!
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 8:41 PM
2 Comments:
congratulations on living!:)
it's just like riding a bike, luv; you never forget. In your case, the bike may be a bit rusty, but give it a couple of go-arounds and you'll be back to snuff in no time! Hang in there!
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