More Of The Dream

I guess I can now officially announce that I am choreographing my first-ever theatre musical!

This is a HUGE step, one that I was starting to think I would never get to take. This is a major milestone on my journey to fulfilling my lifelong dream.

I've done a couple of 'assistant choreographer' things, but this is the first one that is both 1. all mine (not 'assistant' or 'guest'), and 2. not also performed by me, myself, and I.

I remember being seventeen and my parents, my extended family, and my church despairing when I told them I wanted to be a choreographer. How they told me it was a pipe dream and I would be wasting my life and should just get a 'real job' (side note: the real job is trying to kill me. It has destroyed my body more in three years than dance EVER did in all twenty years put together). How hard I had to fight to get anybody (including performing arts profs) to take me seriously. How everybody thought I was too stiff and graceless (and don't forget stubborn and stupid) to be a dancer and would never amount to anything in the performing arts.

Here I am, lead choreographer for a musical theatre production.

Are there other, bigger steps further down the path that I want to take? Absolutely. But this is an important one, and this is one that not one person was convinced I would ever take.

Years ago, back when I was only just beginning to admit to myself that I felt a calling to be a choreographer, I named my Instagram account 'dancer by grace.' I saw myself as a dancer who was called and equipped by God's grace. And there are many stories (many of which are on this very blog) of God's provision along the way. I have not paid out-of-pocket for tap shoes since my first-ever pair in 2012. God led people to gift me the money for all the shoes since then. That's just one example.

They say that the foolish things of the world would shame the wise. I guess I am one of those foolish things.

The Drafts Of Yester-Decade

Recently I went way back into my blog drafts folder... and I mean way back. I often scroll back about 2-3 years, but this time I went all the way back to the very beginning, to the first couple of posts I wrote back in 2010 and never published... probably for the first time since I wrote them.

There was a lot of little stories of my life written there that I had forgotten about. And in a way those made me sad. I knew I was a brighter, happier person then, but reading these posts has put into sharp contrast just how much Brittney's and my cousin's deaths destroyed who I used to be... and who I wanted to be.

I still miss that person.

The other day I contacted an old college friend who I haven't spoken to since 2020, when I was banned by my in-laws from anything I used to do or to be. I've been getting tired of being locked in the prison of my own mind, and I'm starting to rebel. I've volunteered for a local theatre. I'm starting to listen to music again. I'm starting to text people back. I'm starting to read the Bible and watch church services again.

I want my life back.

That may never happen. In September, I sustained a back injury at work, and seven months later, it is causing more issues than it did the week it first happened.

I have not yet brought up the subject of future dance endeavours with my physiotherapist. They know I have a history of dance, but they haven't asked for details, and I haven't mentioned it. I haven't needed to -- there are still no dance opportunities here anyway.

I am a different person now than I was fourteen years ago, but I'm not convinced it's a good thing. Perhaps I made some decisions that looked stupid -- but honestly, I made those decisions from a place of deep trust, and I never felt more free and 'whole' than I did back when I was living out on a limb every day of my life.

The freedom and joy in those old posts are palpable, even after sitting on a dusty server somewhere for well over a decade. I have not felt that since before my uncle left my aunt in January 2015. I was 21 years old.

All these tragedies I never asked for ate up all the best years of my life. My body was a well-oiled machine, and my mind was sharp and quick. But it was all wasted as I spent those years drowning in an endless ocean of grief. Now the grief has dulled, but both my body and my mind are no longer what they were. I wasted all of that potential, all those years... on something that wasn't even my fault and was completely beyond my control. It's so unfair. It's so unfair.

I'll never be able to get those years back.

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.

Music Day - She

Picture this.

North American Christian culture, 2003. At this time it was still a very common belief that video games of any kind were spawn of Satan himself. VeggieTales' Jonah movie was the only film that millions of Christian children had seen in theatres because all the others were demonic in some way (Harry Potter had magic, Star Wars had magic, The Lord of the Rings was simply 'too scary'...), and were you really a Christian if you didn't listen to Adventures In Odyssey every weeknight at seven o'clock?

Into this culture came a group of three women who found instant popularity with pre-teen girls with their inspiring, poppy, uplifting (in every sense of the word) melodies. Behind trendy, pop art album covers in bright purples, whites, yellows, and oranges, they sang catchy, bright songs with slick production. Were you really a Christian girl if you didn't have a ZOEgirl album in your CD wallet?

In 2003, ZOEgirl dropped their best -- sorry, third studio album, Different Kind Of Free. The pop sound had matured along with their listeners -- now solidly into their mid-teens -- and the record took on an acoustic R&B vibe (probably influenced by BeBe and CeCe Winans, Nicole C. Mullen, and Out Of Eden, who were all big names on Christian radio at the time). Even the bright colours of ZOEgirl's previous offerings were muted, with a palette of blues and greys decorating the album.

DKOF still offered uplifting, poppy lyrics in the first half of the album. The album kicked off with their trademark energetic songs of dedication to God. This is a simple goal, but difficult to execute well. Executing these well had always been ZOEgirl's strength.

But halfway through the album, the subject matter takes a wildly different turn. The electronic bass, staccato rhythm, and lower vocal register of Wait was the only warning the listeners got of the shift. It was skillfully subtle -- I doubt most people realised what Wait was about, as the topic of suicidal ideation was absolutely never touched in churches at the time -- but to those of us who knew, we knew. Those of us who already felt the cold tentacles of depression tightening around our souls and minds knew that song was for us.

In an artistic move both bizarre (given the subject matter) and necessary (given the parents of the target audience), the next song was perhaps the breeziest and most carefree song of ZOEgirl's entire career. Feel Alright was a stylistic, if less manic, throwback to Upside Down from their first album. It was also the song I skipped over the most (despite loving Upside Down when it first come out), because it was the least relatable and the least intellectually stimulating. But they had to put it there, because the following song was a doozy.

She was a slow burner for me. My best friend at the time, a year older than me and a pastor's daughter to boot, caught the significance of it immediately, but she had no way of expressing to me what she saw in her life and in the song. I found the song too slow and boring and brushed it off as album filler. But as our ways parted and I saw the absolute worst the evangelical church had to offer in the wake of my calling and my cousin's death, I began to see what she had seen... enough that when I found Daniel Amos' brilliant album Doppelgänger in 2013, I 'got it' immediately: the church of North America was extremely broken. In Doppelgänger, I could see the indictment of the church in the lyrics clearly. But ten years had passed by then, and I had forgotten about that soft little ZOEgirl song which had sharp teeth.

The other day, out of nowhere, my brain started feeding me lyrics: She's alone / Caught up in the undertow / Where it takes her no-one knows...

I started listening, and the rest of the lyrics arose from my dusty memories from over half my lifetime ago. Then I dug the track out of the bottom of my iTunes and listened to it for real.

What a ballsy song.

To release a song not only about teenage sex and pregnancy out of wedlock, but to also use that song to point the finger directly at the failings of the church on an album specifically targeted to young teenage girls would have been CCM PR suicide if not handled with kid gloves. So they tucked it in one of the 'filler' slots (it's track eight out of eleven), mellowed down the music so it wouldn't attract immediate attention, and trusted God would open the ears of those who needed to hear. My guess is that most listeners, like me, assumed it was a typical 'don't have sex before marriage' song (yes, those are a thing in CCM), and completely failed to see that they weren't placing the blame on the girl, but on the church that didn't have compassion on her.

She went to them for help

But blindly they cast the first stone

They could have taken her in

But instead they left her on her own

All alone...

And it worked. No feathers were ruffled, DKOF is still regarded as their best album, and ZOEgirl made another successful album before calling it quits.

I just... I am in awe if the finesse they needed to pull this off, especially at that time, and it worked. Nowadays critique on Christian culture in Christian music is more common (and still sorely needed), but at that time for a Christian band to make a song blaming the church instead of the girl was revolutionary. It was countercultural. It could have ended their careers. They could have been excommunicated from the church for a song like that, but they did it anyway. They hid a scathing critique in plain sight for those of us who needed the warning the most and they lived to tell the tale. And those teenagers in 2003 are now the ones calling out the hypocrisy of the evangelicals.

Maybe that's why I can never quite let this group go. I've always chalked it up to nostalgia (which is definitely a factor in my enduring love for them), but the more I listen with my jaded adult ears, the more I realise there was more to this little pop-vocal group than any of us realised.

Morning

I've never been a morning person. Even as a baby, my mother recounts stories of her staying up with me deep into the night -- not because I was crying, but because I was simply awake and wanted someone to play with. I was homeschooled and usually managed to push my wake-up time to ten or even eleven o'clock. College and work have both taught me how to get up early, but on my days off I've settled into a pattern of waking up at about nine... or, still early enough in the morning to actually call it morning.

And... it's not as bad as I used to think it was.

Mornings (on my days off) are peaceful. The cool light of morning is different from all other daylight, and it reminds me of the open skies and rolling fields of my childhood home (as well as that early-morning drive to dance classes). The desert heat is not yet at full force, so it's actually possible to breathe the air with little effort. My husband and I eat a calm, simple homemade breakfast -- sometimes eggs and hash browns, sometimes toast with jam.

I find myself most inspired to write in this light, with the music of decades gone by filling my ears.

After spending the morning and early afternoon on my creative projects, I have enough energy to do some household chores (I try to split these up over my days off, partly to conserve my very-limited mental energy and focus, and partly to lessen the strain on my injured back), and with those done early, I can actually focus on being with my husband for the latter part of the day rather than trying to cram creativity, housework, and relationship all into the precious few hours between supper and bedtime.

My desk has become my creative workspace. Recently I acquired a Croton plant and moved it along with the other two plants onto the 'shelf' above my desk. They won't be able to stay there through the summer, as two of them are desert plants and will very much NOT appreciate the air conditioning unit we put in this room at exactly their height, but for now, they are here above my head while I work, and they are reminding me of the colours and greenery of my childhood home (as opposed to the washed-out browns of this desert landscape). Our apartment doesn't get a lot of natural light, but the morning light seems to cover them well.

This desk is my morning sanctuary, whispering to me of a pink room (now blue, and my sister's instead of mine) that once cocooned me and let me fly quietly on the wings of creativity.

This morning is one of those mornings, and for just a fleeting hour or so, I am happy.

Tickling The Ivories

I recently bought myself a piano keyboard with some Christmas money.

I hadn't touched a piano in years -- not since I left Saskatchewan in 2019. I had taken piano lessons in both the first and last years of my degree, but since I had come into the program essentially without an instrument and since the program director was an opera singer, I had by default become a voice major. The worst and most detested voice major in the program, mind you, but a voice major nonetheless.

What I had really wanted to learn was piano. But I didn't advocate for myself -- I felt embarrassed that I couldn't even read music and here I wanted to be in the music program. At least in voice you could fake it without reading music. You should be better than this was the thought that constantly dogged everything I did -- dance, voice, piano, anything.

I took eight years' worth of music theory in the space of two. I learned enough piano to play my own melody lines in practice and to sight read new choir pieces. The rare time I attempted to play something on the piano in its own right, I noticed the peace that settled over my soul as I watched my fingers work out a recognisable -- and not unpleasant -- tune. But then the voices of everybody I knew would come back in my brain, shrieking and strident: you should be better than this.

When I left Saskatchewan in 2019, I was so tired of hearing that voice that I abandoned singing entirely. I celebrated my final day in the practice room, before my last show there. I would never have to set foot in those rooms again. I would never have anybody give me a failing grade on the voice God gave me ever again.

My piano skills died with it. Due to the absolutely insane schedule that school demands performance (read: voice) majors keep, the only time I really got to play piano was when I was learning a new song for my voice lessons. With my voice lessons firmly and definitely behind me, I also no longer played piano.

For a while, I forgot that I had ever known how to play. The pandemic came and took all the theatre opportunities away, so I lost my ability to sight-read music as well. I remembered the hellish hours of voice training during college, but the fleeting seconds of piano were lost.

This past Christmas, my husband offered to buy me a piano keyboard and showed me the one he had in mind. It looked great, but it was more money than I knew he could afford to spend on me and talked him out of it. But then a relative of his gave us both a not-insubstantial amount of money. Despite my pleas to put mine in our savings account for a house, my husband insisted his relative would have wanted us to spend it on something fun.

I have never in my life possessed a sum of money more than $20 with no option to spend it on the practical things of life. I sat on that money for literal months as I tried to think of something 'fun' to buy. I thought of a bass guitar -- something I had wanted to learn for years. But reading reviews on beginner basses overwhelmed me, and I wondered if I was really going to have the energy to learn a new instrument with my few remaining scraps of energy at the end of each day.

But then I remembered the piano keyboard my husband had shown me months earlier. I had some piano experience. I wouldn't be learning a whole new instrument from scratch. And I knew my husband would approve since it had been his idea in the first place.

So I ordered it, it arrived, and my mother and sister (an advanced pianist) sent me some sheet music my sister was no longer using. I found a copy of Michael W. Smith's Great Is The Lord is the pages they sent, and while that's not my favourite worship song or even my favourite MWS song, the memories of listening to it on my dad's vinyl copy drove me to pick that one.

The first week was mostly a rude awakening of just how much music theory I had forgotten. I spent days just trying to remember how key signatures worked (my theory books were all at my parents' house), and it took about as long to remember the notes of the bass clef (the treble clef was more hardwired into my soprano brain, but even that had taken a hit). But it began to come back to me, and I even began to develop some smoothness, then to play both hands together through some parts of the song.

And every time I sat down at that keyboard to run through the song, I felt a brush of... peace? maybe even joy? tickle my shoulders. It was so soft that I didn't even notice it at first. But after a few weeks, I realised it was the same feeling I get when I dance. That same peace, that calm, that assurance that all is right with the world, if only for a moment. And I began to remember having that same feeling the few times I played piano in its own right at college. Practicing voice had only ever been a source of stress and fear and frustration. Playing piano had been so lovely and calming that I had avoided it because it was 'wasting my time...' if I wasn't in a state of maximum stress while doing it, it probably was because I was using it to procrastinate on doing something useful... right?

But now, nobody is grading me on my voice or my piano skills, so I'm continuing to practice piano and relish the peace it brings me. I still don't have a space to dance in (and at the moment, I also do not have a healthy back to dance with), but at least I have this, this one modicum of peace in a world that feels increasingly and heavily against me. I'm only sad that it took me this long to realise that piano is what I should have been pursuing all along.

Set Apart - The Silverwind Album Nobody Talks About

21 June 2021, 12.39pm.

Today I'm going to show a little love to the bastard Silverwind album.

I'll be honest... I hated this album when I first heard it. Hated it. I had been a Silverwind fangirl for several years by that point, and fourteen-year-old me wanted nothing more than to be the next Betsy Hernandez. Her voice is still my favourite female voice ever, in any genre, bar none.

When I plunked Set Apart (1986) onto the turntable and heard thick alto harmonies coming through the speakers, I felt betrayed. It was like I'd been punched in the gut. It took me over five years to realise that actually, the hyped-up '80s tracks and the sweet, calming harmonies that balanced them were really quite good. Had the voice been Betsy Hernandez's, this would have instantly become my favourite album of all time, but the shock of the very different voices made this album a slow burner. And, from what I can gather online in all my music-nerd groups, I was not the only one who felt this way.

Certainly, the trio that replaced Hernandez, Banov, and Gramling were very talented singers who blended beautifully, but the change in sound was so sudden and drastic that it was hard to look past the change to the album itself, or even the strengths of the singers that replaced the original three. It's no surprise that despite the beauty of the songwriting, the harmonies, and the instrumentation, this was the last album to bear the Silverwind name -- the change was simply too great to overcome in one album, and in the music business, one album is all it takes to sink you as a recording act. The producers tried to soften the blow by having Betsy Hernandez sing guest vocals on two of the songs, but it was too little, too late.

And yet... this album is a banger. It was ahead of its time while keeping one foot firmly planted in the gentle Maranatha keyboard/string machine sound a CCM audience would be looking for. In fact, the production and arranging was so cutting edge for the time that if you were to play me this album for the first time with no background information and ask me what year it was from, I would guess 1989. The saxophone sounds, the woodwind-esque keyboards, the synth stings, the occasional squarewave bass, the very electric guitar -- all these were motifs that were not yet mainstream in 1986. The opening track (I'm Forever Yours) may have the biggest drums in CCM this side of Mylon LeFevre and Broken Heart's Crack The Sky. In fact, the drums are a huge part of the entire record -- even the mellow songs. Just listen to Heart Of Love and tell me you can't see that song in front of a live audience of thousands having the absolute time of their lives.

Lyrically, this is still very much a Silverwind album. Simple, honest lyrics of childlike wonder and heartfelt praise still abound here. Most of the songs were still written by the Hernandez and Hernandez husband/wife team -- in fact the clarity and quality of the lyrics here takes a marked leap. This album is full of striking lyrical gems, such as But once you've seen the sun, there isn't anyone / Who is able to persuade you it's not there... (I Believe In You), or  No manufactured fake or forgery / No counterfeit could make a fool of me / I've found a love so real / A power I can feel... (Heart Of Love -- this bit is just so fun to sing), or God's heart was broken to make me my own... (Crystal Heart) or They say you're wise as you grow older / But all I know is I've grown colder... (First Love).

As to the quality of the voices -- the harmonies are still catchy and dare I say addicting. They're just different, and once you get past that, they're truly enjoyable. Silverwind has often been called the 'Christian ABBA' due to the soaring harmonies, and that nickname is still relevant even with the personnel change. Even this is actually a step up from the previous album, By His Spirit. BHS relied heavily on Hernandez, with the other two members singing lead on only one song each (though to be fair, who wouldn't give in to the temptation to feature such an angelic voice so much?). In Set Apart, vocal duties are pretty much divided equally between the women, even within individual songs, and one hears some lovely male solos on Side B (First Love is a beautifully emotional performance). Older Silverwind relegated the harmonies largely to choruses, but Set Apart Silverwind used them everywhere, and it made their swan song truly shine. If you hold out through the initial style shock until the penultimate track (I Believe In You), you'll be rewarded with a strong and powerfully-sung glimpse of classic Silverwind.

It was really context that sunk this album. If it hadn't been released under the Silverwind name, with all of the sonic and vocal expectations that came with that name, I daresay this album would have blown up. This was the most rocking female-led album in mainstream CCM at the time (Leslie Phillips' magnum opus The Turning was not yet released, and Margaret Becker wouldn't make her debut for another year), and definitely the hardest-hitting worship record to date (Petra's Petra Praise... The Rock Cries Out was still three years away). Yet it remains the only album of Silverwind's catalogue that has never seen a CD release and consistently gets either hated on or not mentioned at all among fans of the group.

It's really a shame that this record didn't have a better chance at life. It's a really strong album in almost every respect, and I'm glad I stuck with it long enough to see that. I encourage you to do the same.

You can listen to it on YouTube here.

Brain Dump/Goal Update

Really lacking motivation, as usual. I keep trying to power through it, but I'm running out of reasons why I should be powering through. I'm trying to tell myself it's because I've been sick all month (had COVID immediately after Christmas, and now have long COVID symptoms so yay for that), but I know that I wouldn't be any more motivated if I wasn't sick. How on earth did I ever manage to focus long enough to get a Bachelor's degree?

So I thought I'd write a blog post, since nothing else is working. Maybe blogging about my problems will help me find the solution.

There's a scriptwriting contest nearby that closes on the 30th, and I'm trying to write something for it, if only to get my name out there (but hey, getting it produced would be a nice bonus). I came up with a theme, but it's supposed to be a one-act play. I've never even watched a one-act play in all my years of theatre, let alone written one. When you Google what a one-act play consists of, you get WILDLY different answers. Like literal opposite-ends-of-the-spectrum answers. So I just picked one and am hoping it's right. Self-doubt is not a great companion to have in a situation like this. I have no real pretensions of winning but -- man, wouldn't it be great if I did? It would look amazing in my portfolio.

I wanted to be writing articles and getting to a point where I would write an article draft one day and then editing older ones the next and repeat. I haven't written (or edited) a single thing in at least two weeks, despite really only working half-days due to ALL of the health issues. I just have absolutely no motivation and absolutely no ideas. How do I think I'm going to do this full-time when this happens all the time? It's so frustrating. I'm the only person in this household able-bodied enough to work (or at least I was before my back injury in September), and that's slipping away from me fast. I have always wanted to be self-employed and here's my chance and I'm just... doing nothing. I'm so frustrated with myself. Everyone else can do this. Why can't I? I know, I know, it's the ADHD. But that makes it worse. This only reinforces the idea that I am a dysfunctional human being and I'm too broken to bother being fixed. It's hard to want to try when you just feel so broken and forgotten.

I've submitted two pieces -- one to a magazine, and one to a flash fiction publication -- and haven't heard anything back. The magazine said it could be 9-12 months (yes, months), and the flash fiction should be announced in the next week or two. I have a half-decent draft I wanted to send to an online culture publisher, but I can't seem to pull the trigger on it. I'm so terrified they'll think my idea is stupid.

I have a vague idea of what needs to happen in Kyrie to fix the very-bad pacing issues in Act I, but I haven't figured out how to actually implement that... it's just a vague idea in my head at this point, but to actually write it into scenes? Pffft. No clue. No idea what those scenes would look like.

I've done some fine art -- mostly pencil crayon, actually, and I've almost finished a piece in marker. Those are fun and they've turned out decent. My main problem here is lack of ideas. I usually think in words (writer) and feelings (dancer), not easily-drawable images. The images I do think of are WAY above my skill level and I know it would just be an exercise in frustration to even try.

I haven't even touched dance. Not one dance thing. I want to make a trailer for Sottovoce so I can submit it to MDFF, but I just... can't, somehow. I want to type up the choreography so far for my (hopefully) next tap dance film to see where I'm at and what's left to choreograph, but again, I just... can't. I'm afraid I'll struggle with memorizing as much as I did with Inside Of You -- it turned out all right, but I've GOT to stop going into filming knowing literally none of the choreography. It just makes shooting take a thousand times longer and it makes editing so much harder than it needs to be. I dread starting memorization. I really do. I think me not typing up this choreography is me trying to avoid starting memorization -- which, of course, will make the problem even worse because then I'll have less time to memorise. I know this. I've always known this. But I can't seem to just DO it.

The one goal I've actually made a good start on is the reading. I've finished one book and read another cover-to-cover last night (it was a beta read, actually, and it was SO good. Will probably be talking about that book here a good bit when it's released -- the author accidentally hit all my special interests and it was really well-crafted).

Rehearsals for my show are going well so far. The cast seem friendly, but it's hard for this broken human to initiate conversations with them. They're a good group, and there's always laughter at rehearsal. It's also really nice to go on long drives again (it's a forty-minute drive one way -- about what I used to do four days a week for dance before I got married).

I still don't have any motivation or ideas (well, maybe one, but it's a baby idea and it needs to incubate a little bit), but it did feel nice to actually type for a while and have my thoughts organized like this.

If you've made it this far, thanks for reading.

The Annual Goalpost

I love and hate making these posts.

On one hand, I love dreaming up all the possibilities. But on the other hand, I hate trying to guess what kind of goals are reasonable and what aren't. After probably close to seven years of making these annual posts, I still feel that I don't know what I'm doing.

Anyway, here goes. It might look a little different this year.

- At least two new dance films.

I think I know which two. I just have to DO them (this includes memorising!).

- Create a long-ish (15+ minute) dance show.

- Audition for three shows.

- Make a plan of attack to rewrite Kyrie again.

First step is to reread the thing and make lots of notes. I already know Act I has severe pacing issues. I might try adding a subplot or something... I'm actually not quite sure how to fix it.

- Start pitching to magazines.

- Write at least four articles/stories a week.

- Enter a writing contest.

- At least one date night every two weeks.

- Read more (soft goal of nine books in 2024).

- More watercolour painting. I am deliberately not putting a number here.

- Sustainably cut back hours at the day job.

I am so burnt out with my current job it is not even funny. The management has been restructured, and now the workplace culture is so bad that I would literally rather die than work one more day there. I'm also not making nearly enough money there to cover our living expenses so every day I work there I feel I get farther behind. I'm really trying to grow my dance/writing network so maybe I can at least freelance enough to cut my hours at my current job even if I can't quit outright.

- Save $1000 for a house.

STRETCH GOALS:

- Apply for at least one festival (ideally with above longer dance show).

- Take at least three dance classes (or courses of some kind).

- Crochet myself a sweater.

- Make a third dance film.

This year's list is deliberately much shorter than previous years. It turns out it's just not possible to sustain the kind of creative output I was expecting from myself while also holding down an extremely emotionally draining full time job and being married.

The other thing is, the projects I'm undertaking now are a step up from the things I used to do. Ten years ago I was building a portfolio. I was making dances and honing my creative voice on small projects. But now I'm building on that experience to make bigger things. My goals used to be 'choreograph X amount of dances' -- small things that I could easily knock out in a week if I wanted to. But now the goals are more like 'make two dance films.' And learning, shooting, and editing a dance film is a lot more time-intensive than simply choreographing one on paper. Sottovoce took me 58 days -- nearly two months (granted, I am including the choreography time in this), and that was very much a speedrun. Inside Of You -- a much shorter and smaller-scale piece -- was still a solid month of editing even though I only filmed for an hour, and I'm not even counting the astronomical amount of time it takes me to memorise a dance piece nowadays. I'm looking to take some serious steps in this coming year -- bigger, more time-intensive steps, and those take up less space on the page.

This is exactly what I've spent the last ten years or so working towards. Last year I took some big steps. This year I'm looking to build on those steps and take bigger ones.

Tired

I'm tired of being a failure.

I'm tired of being broken.

I'm tired of everything I do being wrong.

I'm tired of being yelled at.

I'm tired of being told I don't know how to do anything.

I'm tired of waking up in the morning.

I'm tired of the same old, same old.

I'm tired of having nothing left to give.

I'm tired of looking into my future and seeing only pain.

I'm tired of trying solutions and having them fail -- often spectacularly.

I'm tired of trying to find purpose and meaning.

I'm tired of trying to find a reason to fight for anything.

I'm tired of losing those who are supposed to love me.

I'm tired of being somehow simultaneously 'too much' and 'too little.'

I'm tired of crying.

I'm tired of trying.

I'm tired FROM trying.

I'm tired of being broken.

I'm tired of being the black sheep

I'm tired of having nowhere to put this pain.

I'm tired of scrimping and scraping for every penny.

I'm tired of fighting.

I'm tired of having my 'friends' abandon me.

I'm tired of not being able to afford to get the help I need.

I'm tired of having to be strong all the time.

I'm tired of living.