Looking back at my last post I see that I may have de-emphasized one of my primary reasons for collecting my thoughts, putting them to paper (so-to-speak) - and sending them out into the great void of cyber-space. The fact is....it has been very therapeutic to express my personal thoughts using this means of communication.
I remember that one of the first things I had to do upon meeting with my first therapist (the first of many!) was to answer some very personal questions in writing. I remember that I found it to be a very difficult to do. To talk about myself. What I want. Need. What makes me happy. Or sad. What I yearn for...what I may never have. Talk about my feelings? Why - I'll be laughed at. Or dismissed. It took much work and many, many years of therapy to overcome the natural compulsion to shut down. Some of the reasons I may have already touched upon in prior posts...others I may discuss another time. My objective is two-fold....to unburden myself. (It is a never-ending process.) And to potentially help others who have the issue, who have difficulty communicating on such a personal level. So...if I frequently inject myself and my intensely personal remembrances into these posts (whether the subject be politics, social interaction, popular culture, sports...music...) please understand why I approach my writing in such a manner.
All of my hard work has yielded a much more communicative and confident person. That's true. But there are still hurdles to overcome and this is one way to do the necessary work.
My music and my acting - such as it is - are two additional ways that I work on my ability to express myself.
My newest collection of original folk-rock music ("Stony Brook") is delayed yet again. I delayed its release. I am functioning as my own producer, utilizing rudimentary computer programs, and the process is often frustrating. The vision of the song that I hear in my head doesn't always correspond to the finished product...varying in large or small ways due to technical constraints...and I want the song so badly to sound the way I want it to sound. I want it to be the way I want it. Why can't life be like that? On my songs I can get very close to achieving my vision. But it's not going to sound as if the music was produced using the most expensive and modern recording equipment. It can't. It can't. Then comes that damn inner voice: why can't it? I am going through what I desperately hope will be final revisions on all of the music. I want these songs - my other children - to be given some kind of a life. Although all of my songs are extremely personal and many are either autobiographical or semi-autobiographical, the songs that make up "Stony Brook" deal directly with my journey from dysfunctional adolescent - someone with a complete lack of ability to communicate or even to know why I had become a certain kind of person - to the person I eventually became. And central to this journey were the feelings. friends, women, casual acquaintances, and events summarized in the fourteen songs that make up "Stony Brook". My one year at that university turned out to be one of the pivotal episodes in my life. Writing the songs was a catharsis. As well as work of love. I need them to be released publicly. Self-expression goes only so far when it's done in private. Songs in the attic. or in some desk drawer. A metaphor for what was...
And then, in the last week, as I work not only on these songs but also perform in a community theatre production of "The Crucible" - my first time onstage in three years - my past overtakes me. Flashback to a young boy who cannot communicate or relate to his peers. Receiving a school assignment to write a play to commemorate George Washington's birthday. (A pre-"President's Day" assignment.) Most of the kids submitted simple one acts plays. Devoid of character, conflict....uninteresting. A mundane re-telling of the Washingtonian history they discovered in their textbooks. One child submitted his play in the form of the largest run-on sentence in history....several pages in fact.
I wrote a three-act play. With a relatively complicated plot (for a young child!). An organized presentation...the protagonists were children my own age. (You have to "hook" the audience with experiences they could relate to!) The first act was the set-up, the children playing somewhere after school, wondering how to fulfill the their teacher's request to "write a play about George Washington". The know-it-all, the bully, the misfit, the intellectual...each character had a distinct and interesting identity. Then...a sudden storm...a great wind...a tree falls. The misfit is knocked unconscious....and miraculously transported to various events in Washington's life in Acts Two (you can guess what they were: the "Cherry Tree Story", the Revolution...crossing the Delaware...the first Presidential Inauguration) before regaining consciousness in Act Three and returning to the present to write his play for school.
My teacher went to the Principal and suggested that the students perform the play - my play - for the entire school, one grade each day for an entire week. My play! And she cast me as one of the protagonists of the story (although not the lead.) Years later I still remember the rehearsals, the hustle and bustle back-stage, changing sets quickly during scene changes, standing in the wings and waiting for one's cue, and - of course - the thrill of performing. And, taking the curtain call as one of the actors. And finally - being summoned alone back to the stage to accept public recognition as the author of the play. I remember. I still get a chill thinking about it.
These wonderful memories never completely disappeared - and now come roaring back each time I go onstage. This last week - after I made my final exit near the conclusion of the final act of "The Crucible" and took my place in preparation for the curtain call - the memories were particularly strong. Wonderful memories!
And then immediately I had another thought: the reminder that then stuff happened...leading to the personal situation I found myself at the time "Stony Brook" begins. Stevenn could not have written a play, let alone go on stage and perform in front of an audience..."Stony Brook" is the story of the journey of self-discovery and growth that ultimately led to my performance as Reverend Parris in "The Crucible".
I need to finish those damn songs! As best as possible...
More to follow...in the meantime, "The Crucible continues.
Until next time, be safe,
Stevenn
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