Then dance if you dare

To the Devil's snare
And the Gypsy's pipe
And the hangman's drum....

Warning: The following uses poor grammar and worse antecedents. I claim residual stupidity from proctoring the SAT's.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalleluia! Rough, rough copy of Man without a Face now available on-line. It's just a voice recording (bask in DJ's golden tones), which I can then put over the picture itself. Yippee! Editing tomorrow, please God and my back. (Have been sitting in Dad's cushioned chair with a heating pad on my back all evening. Mucho Advil.) I need to figure out what to do with the musical intro - but considering all this is a MINOR consideration. I'll come up with something.

Ah, bliss! I can't express how gleeful I am to, right this second, listen to DJ singing this song on repeat. I mean, I've sung it a lot - I sang it to him after the second night of Fiddler in my attempt to woo him into this role (attempt, what do I mean attempt? Full-fledged throttle. Obvious obtestation!) - but I am a soprano. This is not a soprano song. It sounds so much more visceral when sung by a guy, and magnificent when DJ just lets go!

I know I've written it elsewhere, but this was the first song written specifically for Bearskin. Ergo, it holds a very dear place in my heart. Annie fleshed out the song with the middle verses - oh great lyricist! And consequently this song really sums up the entire conflict of the play. My only sorrow is that it isn't longer - and that our audiences weren't...hmmm...up to speed on how to be an audience, so the applause weren't as huge as they ought to be.

Tonight, Mom and I chatted quite a bit. It was loverly. Jules was out with Tarra and Renee, being silly and taping Granny Orcs who stopped off by Victory et al in a Leaf Peeping Tour from Georgia. There was a full moon, they had a new tape and...well, I've yet to see the documentary, tonight's creation. ;) Anywho, so among all the different things we were discussing, I sang for Mom Che fiero costume which I want to use in Galatea. So I was explaining the montage of John, Galatea & Paul's story lines, and how they would interweave visually, while the aria sped up over it and became more and more frantic. And as we were speaking, Mom pointed out to me that I really don't tell stories like other people do.

This is comforting to me. When I was in Hollywood, I felt really, really stupid because I couldn't figure out how (or perhaps why) I ought to make something commercial, something pitchable - at least, along the lines that pitches have been done. Really, I think if ever I want to pitch a product I'll need to make a trailer for it first, or show off a bit of it, rather than SPEAKING about it. Because, as I'm discovering, as much as I love writing, and as super thrilled I am that I found my 1938 humungo dictionary (it's about 9 inches thick!!! :D:D:D), when doing theatre, etc. I'm most interested in visuals. How can one pitch the Mona Lisa? How can one pitch a dance without performing it? The traditional forms simply do not aid me. *sigh*

But it's good to know that I'm not crazy. There's something there that I should keep going after. (Oy! I sound so...thirteen years old again. Gah! I am the weakest, most woozly person ever. I know God uses that - keeps me painfully thickheaded and obtuse - and thank God because it's the only way He gets me to do these risky things. If I knew what I was getting into really - not just intellecually - I'd petrify.) Right, anywho, so this is good. I'm not as tired as I ought to be. Comes from sleeping this afternoon.

Lord, thank You for the opportunity to edit! Please bless Sh.&Mt. and may their party have gone well! God bless Jules at her sleepover. And Mom and I this weekend. And keep Peter and Dad safe at camp. And thank You thank You thank You for all You have given me today, despite weaknesses of back muscles! May I praise You, Lord, in all I do! Increase my faith, please. I tend to look down at the water. St. Peter, please pray for me, and for your successor. Mother Mary, please teach me to be like you, ever pointing to your Son. *snerk*

Mood: "This is my kind of happy."
Music: DJ singing Man without a Face, of course!
Thought: "Summer is coming, and the roses are blooming, and the autumn is passing, and the winter is, too...."