Random thoughts from an older perspective, writing, politics, spirituality, climate change, movies, knitting, writing, reading, acting, activism focussing on aging. I MUST STAY DRUNK ON WRITING SO REALITY DOES NOT DESTROY ME.
Showing posts with label performing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label performing. Show all posts
Saturday, March 09, 2019
Speech!
I do wonder why I say "yes" sometimes. It sounds fabulous at the time, can you do such and such, can you speak, can you perform, can you sing, we'd like you to......
The immediate reaction of course is self-flattery, a complacence almost (ahem, seriously, I'm that good!) followed by terror, self flagellation, endless streams of internal criticism, fear, anxiety, a search for a believable bailout of the commitment and on it goes.
Oddly enough I don't have the same kind of fear when speaking about my personal addiction recovery journey, reading from my work, singing in my now shaky tenor voice or performing a set piece.
But this latest is a talk on my life, my journey from Ireland to Canada and my own life lessons, highlights and struggles and darkness, until finding myself and my long buried spirit on the Edge of the Atlantic in Newfoundland.
To reflect on my life is an interesting journey when it comes to an audience. I can be funny, but not forced funny, it usually happens spontaneously. So much has to do with the audience. I can always "feel" a room or a hall or a theatre. Warmth, chill, approval, judgement. I remember speaking once to a hall full of men, middle aged men. They all sat with their arms folded across their chests, waiting, watchful, grim, as I faltered and stuttered in the arctic atmosphere. I remember speaking to a crowd who loved me from the moment I said hello and howled and applauded at every word I uttered while I glowed and plumbed a wit I wasn't aware was in me. And all in between.
And yes, I'm preserving my anonymity on the poster though I know a few of my readers know my full name. So today I am working on the speech and along the way someone will record me and maybe, if it's anyway decent, I'll put it on here on a podcast.
And yes, it's a thrill, to be given a chance to share my life story from a completely different angle, so to speak.
Meanwhile throw the odd kind thought my way.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Jackets and Gooseberries
"It wouldn't buy a jacket for a gooseberry" was one of my mother's phrases when observing a pittance of cash offered for some bauble or other.
Well, that was me last night.
I got paid to perform. And the lovely audience there bought some of my greeting cards featuring my photos and my poetry.
And all the big bucks were added up and there wasn't a jacket to be had for the poor gooseberries.
But was I thrilled to pieces?
Unbelievably.
So I stroked the wee cheque. And counted the cash and put it into an envelope and tucked it away.
And I tell you: There's nothing better than getting paid for something you'd do for nothing you love it so much.
Labels:
Newfoundland,
performing,
thrill,
tiny paycheques
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Rejection
A famous writer said this to me a long time ago: "The more material you send out the more you'll be rejected and you know what? The pain of rejection lessens."
It does. Seriously. A short 2 hander play I've been trying to get staged for a while now was scheduled to be performed in February. But cutbacks. Now the powers-that-be inform me that they can now only put on 3 plays for the festival rather than 5 and mine didn't make that particular shortlist.
Next.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Lessons from Mabel
Mabel the Maple - picture taken just now.
Sometimes I worry. Don't we all?
And I fret.
Mainly about money.
Lack of.
Fear.
Of the metaphorical poorhouse.
And then I remember Mabel the maple. Who lives with me. A few of you might remember Mabel who technically "died" completely bowled over by a storm, her branches all lopped off for firewood. And then as her trunk was denuded of branches she rose again, she righted herself. And sprouted like a mad thing.
Much like me lately after my fretstorm.
In rapid succession (seriously, in a week!):
Lots of little branches.
Just like Mabel.
Sometimes I worry. Don't we all?
And I fret.
Mainly about money.
Lack of.
Fear.
Of the metaphorical poorhouse.
And then I remember Mabel the maple. Who lives with me. A few of you might remember Mabel who technically "died" completely bowled over by a storm, her branches all lopped off for firewood. And then as her trunk was denuded of branches she rose again, she righted herself. And sprouted like a mad thing.
Much like me lately after my fretstorm.
In rapid succession (seriously, in a week!):
One of my stories is being published in an anthology coming out in the fall.
My tigeen is renting out quite nicely.
I was booked for more elder abuse sessions around the island.
Last night I gave a seanachie performance for one of the bigger Canadian magazines. Fingers crossed: a feature.
I sold a great whack of my cards to an inn.
And I was asked to conduct a (paying) writers' workshop in the fall featuring memoir writing.
Lots of little branches.
Just like Mabel.
Labels:
Mabel the maple,
performing,
The Seanachaí,
writing
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)


