The Bloody Doors Off

And in the blink of an eye, the staged readings are done.

I’m satisfied, and extremely emotional at the same time. This has been an incredible journey, from the first lines of dialogue I wrote:

MARY:You have a healthy glow. My mother smoked a pack a day. The only glow that surrounded her came from a match.

RACHEL:
A healthy glow. (snorts) I like you, Mary.

to the final moments of the Q&A this afternoon.

The best compliments received? I was told the characters felt authentic; despite the mature subject matter, it felt ‘warm’; and the director wanted to block more of the story (usually staged readings involve actors standing and reading from scripts). Constructive criticism? That I need to flesh out the parents; to take things a bit slower off the top (it ramps up pretty quick); there are a couple of ‘inappropriate’ moments (from Robyn, our 10-year old Rachel, who is smart beyond her years); and that, with the proper work, this could be an excellent ensemble piece. There are a few more takeaways for the script to make it better, but I won’t list them here.

Both performances, the actors made me choke up. There were a few moments I had to hold back tears. It became so real for me.

The next while is going to be difficult; I need to redouble my efforts to get my life on track. But the story won’t sit on the sidelines while I do this. There’s more work to be done. And, thanks to Jaclyn and Ron, the director and dramaturge who graciously agreed to help continue this process, A Song for Rachel will live on.

I’m too tired to write tonight. I have to be up at 9am to get ready for the second showing of A Song for Rachel.

Tonight was… there aren’t words.

There will be words. Both on the process and what I’ve learned, and words for a new draft of the play. The feedback so far has been awesome. But I must sleep soon and that means stepping away from the computer to wind down.

Be kind. Rewind.

Yep. The countdown is on.

Went out earlier to get a few grocery items. Saw there was an envelope from the bankruptcy trustee in the mailbox. Too much panic in my head (needlessly) over what it could’ve been. Then waited 30 minutes for a streetcar. Put me in a shit mood. And when I headed back, I stopped off at Tim Hortons for a coffee to warm up. And waited another 20 minutes for a streetcar. In rush hour.

Fuck, I’m reaching for something to write about tonight.

Tomorrow’s the play. I don’t know if it’s any good. There.

I don’t know if it’s nerves, or the weather. Something environmental. Or just chemical.

Bouncing. Mentally, emotionally. In the height of the snowstorm yesterday I was compelled to go out and run errands. Like I was issuing a ‘fuck you’ to the weather and my mental state. It happened last Saturday when it snowed heavy too.

I need to channel it into getting other stuff done. Collating the material for the school/grant application. Calling a case worker to get help. You know, stuff that’ll actually improve my life.

To believe I deserve the help.

Yeah, that’s the root of it. Accepting assistance, swallowing my pride and asking.

Today was okay. Not great, but not horrible. No dips, no rollercoaster.

I need to do more though.

I need to learn better swear words. Because fuck just doesn’t cover it sometimes.

Mels decided she loved being in heat soooo much, three weeks later she’s going through it again. She’s scheduled for vaccinations tomorrow, which means I can get her fixed at the end of February. But for the next 5-6 days, I’m in hell.

Although for the next couple of months, it’ll be the same. Construction on the above floor of the house started up today. There’s a giant trash bin blocking 90% of the entrance to the driveway. And I’ve got 3 more days to kill until the staged readings.

It’s going to be a long, painful week.

It’s less than a week before the staged readings take place.

I sat in on the rehearsal again today. I’d added 3 pages earlier in the week. Expanded the ending. I think it plays much better now.

One of our actors is 10 years old; she’s amazing. Her mother was there to pick her up after the rehearsal and told me she’d read the new pages, and it made her cry (in a good way). Getting feedback like that, it floored me. Yes, I am hoping the story resonates, but to be told that by a neutral party? Wow.

On my way home, I crumbled a little bit. Because yes, this is almost over. A week from now and I’ll be wondering what’s next. Will I be working on expanding this further? Will I be satisfied and put it to rest (or, gasp, try to get it published)? (Chances are, it’ll be the former.) I’m already thinking about the story, and how I found so much more to tell since it was dramaturged in November. Deep down, I suspect there’s more narrative to mine.

I’m going to ask Ron (my dramaturge) if he’d consider continuing working with me on this afterwards. If I ever had the opportunity to produce this, I’d ask Jaclyn to direct it as well. I see her vision in the script reading, and love what she brought to the table. And I take it as a compliment when she said earlier today, “I so want to block this out”.

So, that happened earlier this week. I’m hugely supportive of it; I’ve been discussing my issues in this blog, identifying and working through my issues. But I realize I didn’t exactly make a big deal of it last Tuesday.

Because for me, just talking about it for one day isn’t enough.

But sadly, it seems to be one of the only things I’ve been writing about. I’m not punishing myself for this. It’s obviously needed. I just hope I’m not sounding like a broken record.

I’m watching the Super Bowl. Yes. Me.

Wasn’t planning on it. Not a fanatic of the sport. Give me a ticket to watch a game live and I’m there. But I realized as I walked in the door after rehearsal that it was airing, and I put it on. Just realizing now why that is.

Every year, either Kevin or Wayne invite people over to watch the game. And while I’m not invested in it, I enjoy the company. And with everything that’s happening right now, that’s what I’m seriously missing. They’re both in Florida until next Saturday, visiting my mom and step-father. I couldn’t afford to go, obviously. No job, going through bankruptcy. I accepted it early on. And yes, it also (sadly) means they won’t be back in Toronto to see the staged reading. I’ve also made peace with that.

But I’m missing their company tonight. The jokes we’d share. Wayne screaming at the television, as if the referees would hear his complaints. And I kick myself (almost daily) because my roommate is a great guy, but I haven’t been able to open up to him. I feel like such an asshole. I need to work on this.

It’s not even 9am. Why did I think I needed to be up this early? I don’t have to be at Yonge and Finch for the drive up to rehearsal until 11:15am.

Just making this day that much longer. I don’t like it.