It's the post-work hour and I am as brain dead as can be. It is theatre week and we perform Thumbelina this Friday night with two shows on Saturday. Last night we were at the theatre to 11 and it had been an overall emotional day with a lot of tears and headaches. These are the weeks when I say that I will never do another show again. This year I have found some emotional supporters in my camp. I don't know if that will make it easier for me to swallow the reality of company life and Queen's Court. The dance world is one tough cookie out there with a lot of girls who have the mettle of NBA stars. I have never had quite that much emotional grit and usually end up in tears pretty easily. I am the one every director laments, which is probably why I have never had a lead role in my life. Perhaps someday I will have that kind of grit, but I probably won't be a dancer by then.
Still I have been productive during the long stretches between my frog dance in Act I and my jitterbug and fairy garden dance in Act II. I have completed the draft of Alaskans for Albedo, a short satire on combating global warming by painting everything white. I read it to Ivan this afternoon and found a lot of mistakes that I will need to take care of once I am done with shows this weekend.
In my post-writing, lack of sleep, coffee-drinking hours I have picked up reading again. *Gasp* because it is the essential soul of a writer, the way watching ballets are to a ballerina, yet it seems as if both have fallen out of fashion. I attribute my ability to dance better this year to the fact that I went through a four week study of several Balanchine classics, La Sylphide, Giselle, and the Firebird. I got to study the way they used their arms and the technique of their feet. I examined their posture and expressions. No I did not get a lead role, but I have improved much and to the point that I have gained many compliments during the jitterbug and Fairy Garden dance.
And so this goes with writing. We used to discuss in writing classes and during meetings how writers don't read. Often I fall into this category because I am working on other non-writing projects. Yet, most of the websites are built, or at a point that I need blocks of time to finish them, all of which will come post-Thumbelina, or even as soon as Sunday and Monday when I get to celebrate the Memorial day weekend. Yet, I have found long stretches between Act I and Act II when I can read shorter works by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes of course). I am half way through the Memoir of Sherlock Holmes, which does little to make me want to write a mystery as much as refreshes me for another day of writing. I've also started perusing everyday articles about the writing world, most recently one called The Death of the Critic featured on Salon.com. Here we have two people trying to assess if the death of the professional critic is a reality; and if so because people don't read; bloggers have taken the place of professional critics; or because academia is too stuck up for the common public. In my previous blog I argued this with myself many times. It is good to see someone else pick up the pace.
Well, I'm off to the theatre. I'll write more when Thumbelina is at its end.