Nachmo, Day 19 - Unreality

It's been tough.

 

Things has escalated with the other show. I've been accused of being out of touch with reality and was told I have done nothing for the show. The exact words were: 'calling you a choreographer is generous given how little you've done.' While it is true that I was quite sick for a long period of time and the assistant choreographer had to take on a lot of extra work as a result, I didn't do nothing. But here we are, I guess. Once again I've busted my butt on something I loved and wanted very badly only to be told I wasn't even trying. Why do I keep trying at all if nobody can tell anyway?

 

Of course, this bleeds into my solo choreography work. I'm reminded now why I consistently stop short at asking others to perform my pieces. I'm reminded that none of those glorious 16-dancer pieces I've choreographed in the past will ever see the light of day, because I'm too selfish and lazy and inflexible (that's another one I've heard before) and socially inept and broken to work with other people. I am apparently only capable of choreographing solos for myself.

I tried advocating for myself like my industry friends suggested, but they only doubled down. Inflexible. Lazy. Demanding. Selfish. Out of touch. You don't deserve to be called a choreographer.

I'm trying to use this feeling of rejection and inadequacy to inform the work I'm doing on Smaller, but it's hard to feel that the choreography for Smaller is any good. After all, my work isn't even good enough for community theatre. How can I make a whole show about memory loss with no studio space to bring it to life and (apparently) no business calling myself a choreographer in the first place?

Ten years ago this would have fueled my resolve. I would have sworn to prove myself.

But I've spent those ten years proving myself, and it hasn't made the smallest speck of difference.

Back to the show. I finished the last song of Act I last night. I'm now just over 26 minutes of completed choreography -- only four minutes away from my goal for the month, with 12 days to go. I think choreographing the full 54 minutes of the show in 31 days is still a tall order, but I might be able to get somewhat close.

 

As long as nobody else comes at me telling me what a failure and a fraud I am.

I really don't know how much longer I can -- or should -- keep trying.

Film, Musicals, And Teaching -- A Performing Arts Update

I suppose I should do an update about the thing that drove me to start this blog in the first place -- the arts. Specifically, dance and writing.

 

Right now, I'm actually choreographing my second full musical. This one has a much larger cast (50 people), so I finally get to do big group numbers, like I've wanted to do ever since I first started making up dances in my head in the early 2000s.

 

There's a certain level of fear that comes with choreographing for a group that big in real life. You simply are not going to please everybody. In a group that large is that the gamut of dance experience/ability is quite wide. This is further complicated by the fact that the show is double-cast... and they double-cast all the best dancers. Which means I can't rely on them, as they will only be in half the shows.

 

My husband and I were also in a short film, which was shot this past month, with a tentative release date of next spring. This was our first time on a real film set. It is very different from live theatre, and it does move a lot slower, but the other cast and the crew were all great people, and we had a great time. It's surreal to actually put a real film credit on my résumé after 24 years of almost-exclusively live performance credits.

 

Both of us also just finished up a live show this week, and I have a readthrough on Monday.

I'm also still working in the theatre industry (on the front end), and that has helped my mental health and peace of mind SO much... knowing that my career and my dreams are no longer completely out of alignment. The only wrinkle is that once this theatre's Christmas show wraps, I will be laid off until the end of March, when the 2025 season starts up. I have a very part-time/casual substitute dance teaching gig, but it will be once a month, if that.

As for my own choreography, I have a film in mind that I want to make and I've already cast the dancer for it, but I just have to carve out some time to actually finish choreographing the piece. This is a piece very much made for the dancer and her abilities (that is to say... way too complicated for my own abilities). I am considering having this piece be the first to bear the name of the dance company that I want to start.

There are some teaching opportunities that I am thinking about pursuing, and I have gotten wind of a potential dance space where I could rehearse pieces (lots of things still need to fall into place for that to work out though).

And still I am afraid. I'm afraid that I'll mess it all up somehow. It was so much easier to create when I was the only one taking the fall if it was terrible. But if I start actually choreographing for other people and start making bigger works, then other people's names and reputations are also on the line. It's so easy to look at myself, at my neurodivergence, and think that I have nothing whatsoever to offer this neurotypical world, and how dare I rope other people into this who could have better chances with a neurotypical creative, who has all her emotions in order and a more consistent stream of motivation and is not constantly sidetracked by worrying about money (because for some dumb reason we have to eat food, which costs money, to survive).

My Lack Of Social Skills Screws Me Over Yet Again

I'm stuck on Kyrie again, so I'm writing about it here because somehow writing stuff on my blog helps me process things (even more than writing them in my literal journal sometimes).

To recap: in February/March, I redid the entire timeline for Act I. I added subplots, I moved stuff around, I added quite a few scenes. (I am largely happy with Act II as-is, but Act I was... awful. I had trouble slogging through it during re-reading, and I wrote it.)

This weekend I finally made some real progress on the thing for the first time in ages. I wrote three whole scenes, which amounted to just over five thousand words of (hopefully) new and improved storytelling.

But now we are in a scene where multiple characters (as in more than three) have to socialise, and I am freezing up.

Before I was diagnosed with ADHD, this wouldn't have been a problem. I would probably have just made something up and assumed that was exactly how people socialise. But now -- after years of merely feeling vaguely out of place in social situations while trying to convince myself it was probably nothing -- I know that my brain is broken and that I am Not Like Other People.

This means I Do Not Know how Other People actually socialise.

At this moment, this scene feels like the literal scariest thing I will ever write. It's still early in the book, so readers might not be invested and willing to forgive mistakes yet. But here is where any semblance of normalcy will end, where my inability to be a Normal Person will be revealed in all its cringy starkness. This feels like no matter what I do, all the neurotypicals (you know, the people who can focus on reading books for any length of time) will feel all the awkwardness and feel immediately that this is not a 'normal' situation, and it's off-putting, and that I am not Like Them and am no longer worth their time, energy, or attention. Just like in real life.

Can I tell myself I will revise it later? Sure, but I won't believe myself. This is the second rewrite, and I know if I suck at writing this social situation now, odds are good that I'm still going to suck at it in a years' time.

I don't know to get through this. Even if I go work on something else first, at some point I am GOING to have to write this scene.