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The truth about my biggest acting mistake

Posted on February 25, 2022
acting mistake

We all make mistakes. 

I’ve made plenty in my life so far, and I know there’s more to come.

It’s how we learn. It’s how we grow. 

But, as an actor and character movement coach, there’s one acting mistake that often comes to mind. 

It’s embarrassing if I’m being honest. 

But hey, it’s a great teaching tool now. 

So, what was it?

I created a character movement signature that wasn’t sustainable. 

Very briefly, if you’re not familiar with movement signatures, it’s basically your character’s physical baseline. 

It’s their default way of moving.

Such as they walk quickly or have a limp.

Slouch or gesture a lot. 

You can check out my post that delves a bit deeper here.

You can create a lot of trouble for yourself by constructing a movement signature that isn’t sustainable.

When a movement signature isn’t sustainable

So, some context. 

It was my first professional gig, a children’s show, back in 2015.

I played the role of a monkey and a wise old iguana. 

Other characters that inhabited this world were a spider, toucan, and turtle.

As you might expect, it was a high-energy show, full of chase sequences, bouncing excitement, and overexaggerated movements. 

It was a fun show, and I learned a great deal. 

Now, there are two facets to my mistake, the first being that during rehearsals, when experimenting with my character Monkey, I discovered an excellent baseline posture was to squat. 

It looked great, I felt good doing it in rehearsals, and even more, the director loved it. 

Not fully clocking that I would perform this, five days a week, two shows a day, for multiple weeks (it was five if my memory is correct.)

Often at 9am.

Maybe a week into performances, I realized that my energy on stage was lower, my squat wasn’t as deep, and I struggled to maintain the posture the director had loved and approved. 

I was having difficulty sleeping because of the degree of my muscles aching each night, and there were many days I didn’t want to perform. 

I thought about bringing this up to our stage manager and the director, as he was still present in the production. 

However, after much worrying, I decided to remain silent. 

I wasn’t in too much pain.

I could handle it.

Just needed to suck it up and do my job. 

Do it for the kids.

“The show must go on” after all, right?

The mistake of not speaking up

The second mistake I made was not speaking up about what I was going through.

See, I was new in my career, eager to please, and wanted to do what was best for the show. 

Regardless of what it was doing to my body. 

Every morning, “The show must go on” played in my mind like a mantra as I hopped on stage for a 9am curtain. 

Now, to be clear, I was never forced to continue the work that I was doing. 

What I was going through was ‘minor’ enough that I could mask the discomfort I was in day after day. 

To my knowledge, no one ever knew. At least, it was never brought to my attention. 

It never led to issues on stage, missing entrances, or an inability to walk or do the show.

And yet, my not wanting to speak up, for fear of being seen as ‘difficult,’ is what kept me from saying anything. 

After all, actors are a dime a dozen, right? And this was a place I had hopes of working with again. 

What made the situation worse for me in hindsight is that I never saw it as ‘major’ enough to warrant saying anything. 

Nothing was broken or strained to the point of not moving.  

Also, in hindsight, the issue would have been relatively easy to fix. 

I simply needed to ease out of the squat as Monkeys baseline. 

I needed to adapt the movement signature.

This is what I ended up doing, on my own, paranoid that someone would notice and call me out on it. 

No one ever did. 

It’s your body

Sometimes shows and productions need to pause, or adapt, to protect those working on them. 

Regardless of how minimal the issue may seem. 

And the truth is, you may be the only one who notices the issue.

I know that I would have enjoyed my first professional gig more had I spoken up.

An article posted at Theatre Art Life delves deeply into this, talking about safety standards for the actor and the entertainment industry as a whole, regardless of what your title is. You can read it here.

My relationship with the phrase, “The show must go on,” has shifted dramatically since my time of playing Monkey.

And I’m grateful for the experience.

I often question it when it’s used, and I find many other actors struggle with similar issues of not wanting to appear difficult. 

Using the phrase as armor or a way of misguided comradery to push through potentially harmful situations.

Just because actors are a dime a dozen doesn’t mean we don’t have a voice. 

So, please, protect yourselves.

Speak up if you find yourself playing a character that is becoming a struggle to sustain, physically or mentally. 

You’re worth more than the role. 

Is there an acting mistake you’ve made that led to growth?

I’d love to hear about it 🙂

Happy (safe) moving!

Character Movement Work Character study Labanotation Stories

Moving like a Victorian ghost: The Woman in Black

Posted on November 6, 2021
woman in black ghost

I know that it’s officially November, and a good chunk of society is quickly sliding into the swing of Christmas. 

Not here.

Not on my watch.

(No offense intended if you’re reading this and love Christmas. You do you 🙂 )

 I’ve got one last spooky character for you. 

At least for now.

(Side note, if you’re interested in spooky character movement studies, check out some of my recent posts where I delve into films such as Hocus Pocus and Alien.)

See, around Halloween (and most of the winter, if I’m honest), I reflect on one of my most memorable opening nights. 

It was 2012, and I was a part of a group of delightful people in Davis, CA, called Common House productions. 

This was the year we put on a production of The Woman in Black

It’s a Victorian ghost story. 

Very gothic.

A haunted house on the moors, kind of ghost story.

Kinda like this…

woman in black

But more foggy and dark.

It’s the story of a young lawyer sent to a remote English village to settle the estate of a recently deceased elderly and reclusive client. 

In his travels, he encounters a ghost named by the villagers as The Woman in Black.

As the story unfolds, he discovers a terrifying mystery and a woman’s loss so great, it seeped deeply into the very bones of the community.

So, a ghost that is terrifying an entire village, that never speaks, and only exists as a haunting afterthought, roaming the space at a slow and steady, spooky pace?

Challenge accepted.

So, this is how I used character movement work to scare the s*it out of our audiences and added my name to the long list of performers to have played a spooky specter.

The Woman in Black

To delve a bit deeper, for the sake of context, The Woman in Black is originally a book by English author Susan Hill, published in 1983.

Soon after, it was adapted into a stage play by Stephen Mallatratt in 1987. To this day, it remains one of the longest shows running in the West End, in London. 

You may have seen it cross the screen in 2012, in the film adaptation starring Daniel Radcliff. 

Now, of course, each adaptation is a bit different from the other, but I enjoy all of them independently.

Not talking about the sequel film, though. Nope, that one I can’t get behind.

The play, which is a play within a play, centers around Arthur Kipps, the lawyer.

An older Kipps is reading his dramatized accounts of his time in the remote village in Crythin Gifford. This is when he was younger, and where he came across The Woman in Black.

He hires a young actor to help him act out this story.

And the rest, well, I won’t spoil anything. I should probably get a move on and share my character movement signature, right?

But, if you’d like to know more, check out the BBC’s Bitesize series that gives a detailed summary.

A ghosts movement signature

For this specters movement signature, I used the tools of Labanotation, which is the dance notation work created by the great Rudolf Laban.

Now, if you’re not familiar with the work of Rudolf Laban or Labanotation, check out my intro post. It’ll help you get acquainted with this excellent building-block method for creating physically diverse characters.

There were two essential parts in my movement signature: sustained and bound. 

This is a ghost who is, in many ways is a moving part of the scenery. With very few lines (and only from the perspective of a letter written years before), the majority of what I had to work with was presence. 

One of the key Laban building blocks I used for my movement signature is sustained.

Sustained, meaning movements that have a longer acceleration and, therefore and longer deceleration. 

Movements that were fluid and gliding were vital for this character. Often moving so slowly that the focus would be on the other characters on stage that I’d be in a different spot when an audience member turned to look at me. 

Next on the building block list is bound.

Now, to appear as I was always moving ever so slowly meant I had to utilize the strength of my legs.

I used bound to ground the lower half of my body. By engaging the muscles in my legs (since I was wearing a long dress with a lot of layers,) I could balance on one leg, keeping it bound, as I slowly moved the other to step forwards. 

Combining these two, I could then explore other building blocks and move directly or indirectly, lightly or heavier, whenever the scene and direction required. 

Though I will say, being hyperfocused on my movements, led to an exhausting performance. But well worth it.

woman in black
Me as The Woman in Black: Common House Productions 2012

Opening night

So, it’s probably obvious why I think of this show around Halloween, being a ghost story and all.

But, there’s more to this story.

See, we’d built a stage in one of our director’s backyards and opened on Halloween itself.

And the most brilliant thing about it? 

About thirty minutes before we started the show, it began to rain. 

The ground, having been covered in leaves earlier in the day because ya know…autumn…were now wet and therefore silent to walk upon. 

I can attest, while playing a ghost, nothing quite beats sneaking up on a gaggle of frat boys in the audience. Hearing them s*it themselves as I silently snaked up the aisle to the stage. 

Their screams still make me smile. 

Music Stories

The mentor I didn’t know I had till 20yrs later

Posted on August 27, 2021
mentor

With the start of the school year (even though I’m no longer in school or teach at one), I usually find myself reminiscing on the few teachers that have made a lasting impact on my life. 

So, I wanted to share someone with you who I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. 

Now, for a bit of context, I stretch every day. 

Even if it’s just for a minute. 

Even if it’s one solitary position. 

I don’t share this to brag, it’s just a simple fact. My body not only requires it, it demands it.  

When I reach the butterfly stretch, which is nearly always because I love it, ya know, this one?

mentor

In my mind, I hear, “Put your thumbs in the thumb hole.”

So I smile and place my thumbs in the space created by the arches of my feet. 

It’s a particular voice I hear. The voice of my first dance teacher, Grace Butler. 

Creative Modern Dance

Grace ran a modern dance program for kids out of the WYCA in Palo Alto, Ca, where I grew up. My mom, a tap dance teacher at the time, also taught with Grace for a while. 

There’s pictures of me somewhere, lounging in one of those baby car seat carriers, watching with wide eyes a bunch of kids move around like crabs and gummy bears. 

Now, did I have any clue at the age of 5 or 10 that I would become a movement coach? My focus being on character movement work for actors?

Nope, not a clue. 

To me, Grace was my teacher at Saturday dance class, where I got to run around to music and imagine what it was like being a jellyfish.

She was also a dear friend of my family. The one who taught me how to play the recorder and would stop by unannounced for tea and treats simply because she was in the neighborhood. 

Real Quick…

So, what do I mean by modern dance?

Definition via Oxford dictionary, “Modern dance: a free, expressive style of dancing started in the early 20th century as a reaction to classical ballet. In recent years it has included elements not usually associated with dance, such as speech and film.”

So yeah, I think gummy bears fit right in there nicely.

From gummy bear to lobster

Each year, Grace would put on a show with her students. Without fail, there was one during the winter holidays entitled, The Night Before Christmas. 

So creatures such as bells, gingerbread people, stockings, rocking horses, garland, (you name it, we personified everything!) elves and Santa with his reindeer (I was Prancer my year) had their time on stage to strut their stuff.

The other was usually done every other year during the summer called Travels Under the Sea. Which, as you may have guessed, was compiled of dance and movement numbers of creatures associated with the ocean. 

Seagulls, kelp, swordfish, jellyfish, clams and lobsters, pelicans, and even an octopus.

As this was modern dance, right, the focus was on more organic movements vs. more classical styles, such as ballet, tap and jazz, which was not something Grace delved into much. On or off the stage.

I dunno, ballet, tap and jazz, from my experience, has more competition to it that modern dance doesn’t have. The focus in modern dance is more on individual expression vs. positions and form.

And as 6yr olds, we weren’t there to compete with each other. 

The focus was on characters, such as a swordfish or whatever character we wanted to be during class time. 

Little did I know that this is where my love of character movement work originated from. 

A love that was rediscovered many years later when I was in college. 

Not just a teacher

Now, mentor and teacher mean different things, right?

 Sure, a teacher can be a mentor, and a mentor can be a teacher. 

But, a mentor, by definition, is a trusted advisor, someone who advises and/or trains.

So, something I didn’t really understand until I was much older, even just a handful of years ago, was the core of what Grace taught. 

And the most wonderful thing to realize was that it wasn’t something she ever really spoke of. That I remember. She taught us by doing it. 

Dance, explore, create, play, and be wholeheartedly unique.

She’d created a safe space for kids to run around, to express themselves through movement, and learn to move together as a collective (that wasn’t sports) as a tribe of gingerbread people or jellyfish. 

We didn’t care about how silly we might look. We had one mission being in Grace’s classes: play. 

There was no searching for recognition, no: am I doing this right?

But, seriously, am I doing a seagull justice here?!

See, before each class, she’d hang these gigantic curtains to cover the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that existed in the multi-purpose/ballroom she taught out of. Because Gods forbid 6yr olds needed to be concerned about their figures. 

Let alone how they should move as a jack-in-the-box. 

Yep, a jack-in-the-box. 

It was a community. We didn’t know it at the time, we were too young, but we were learning to work together, as a team, through movement and choreography. 

Through structure and experimentation. 

When the kelp were frightened, they huddled and shook together. The crabs and lobsters walked/crawled in time together.

All that and keeping time with the music. We were baby musical practitioners too!

Music for movement

Anyone who’s participated in a movement class with me knows I find ways to incorporate music. I can’t help myself. Specifically, using an exercise I learned from another mentor in my life, Tom Gough, who I’m sure I’ll tell you about at a later date.

Grace used music as a vehicle for the creation of movement. Whether it was organic and improvised or for the shows we would put on that was choreographed. 

To this day, when I hear Funeral March of a Marionette by Charles Gound, probably better known as the theme song from Alfred Hitchcock Presents, I resist the urge to become that tiny purple gummy bear.

Oh, and she definitely left me with an odd affinity for xylophone music, ala Carl Orff.

A toast

Grace mentor
Grace and I after a Night Before Christmas performance.

Since working with Grace, I’ve moved on to play glorious other creatures such as goblins, monkeys, and an elderly iguana. 

And looking forward to many many more.

So, here’s to the mentors whose mentee didn’t realize their impact until decades later.

Before we understood what the word ‘mentor’ meant. 

As I was editing this post, I happened to get a call from Grace.

See, I had lost touch with her over the years, and I knew she’d be in her early 90s now. So, I decided to pick up the phone and see if her landline number would lead me to her.

I left a message, having no clue if I’d ever hear back.

We’ve got a tea date for next weekend.

And I can’t wait to tell her:

Yes, what you do makes a difference. 

I am the artist and human I am today because of it. 

Character Movement Work Stories

One great trick to body movement awareness

Posted on June 5, 2021
body awareness

There’s a lot of things in life we do that we’re unaware of. Our brains can only process so much at a time, right?

Have you ever been driving to work or home, someplace you know well, and suddenly it’s as though you’ve woken up and you’re already there?

You’re not alone.

Good ol’ autopilot.

Sometimes helpful, other times terrifying.

Our bodies are pretty big fans of autopilot.

We don’t have to remember to take each breath, tell our heart to beat or if we’re walking, work out the mechanics of each step we take. This then leads to other habits, sometimes inconvenient, to say the least, when we perform. 

Yep, I’m talking about happy, constantly moving feet, among other things.

Over the years, I’ve seen some more subtle ones: a head tilt, single-arm twitch, and the classic slouch.

These aren’t necessarily bad things. They’re the what makes you, you things. 

All I’m really looking to highlight in this post is body awareness. Being clued into your body makes it possible to choose to incorporate it or not. 

So, how does one become aware of their movement? 

But hang on, first let me share something with you…

My head tilt

My ah-ha moment of realizing the impact movement has on our performances was back when I was in acting conservatory many moons ago. 

Body awareness was not exactly my thing at the time.

So, we were given an exercise to stand completely still and deliver our monologue. The objective was to demonstrate the complex and connected relationship between body and mind. 

Without delving into a long story, when it was my turn, I got up in front of my peers, stood (what I believed) to be utterly still and in a neutral state.

I ran through the monologue once (I believe I’d chosen Benedict from Much Ado About Nothing) and felt rather good about myself.

No grand gestures…barely moved a muscle.

It mostly felt odd, but a moment or two felt rather natural. 

My mentor then asked me if I knew that I tilted my head slightly to the right.

I, of course, had no clue.

He then had another student stand behind me to hold my head straight. 

I then ran through my monologue again.

Instead, I should clarify…I attempted to run through my monologue. 

The smallest adjustment to what was my default…

THREW

ME

OFF

LIKE

NOTHING

ELSE!

Seriously, I couldn’t get through my monologue.

Like it was erased from my brain.

And that was the moment I realized movement work would be a cornerstone of my craft.

So, how can you become more aware of your movement ways?

Record yourself

The easiest way to become more aware of your movement is to get your camera, phone, iPad, any device that will take a video and record yourself. 

I know, I know, statistically speaking, as an actor, you hate watching yourself perform but hey, trust me, it works.

And for the record, I HATE watching myself on tape. I realize hate is a strong word, but it’s the right one to use here.

Now, watching a tape of yourself is not to beat yourself up because you move a certain way, or you can tell your posture isn’t as good as it was.

It’s to acknowledge where you’re at and what quirks make you, you.

Because once you’re aware, you can move on to mitigate or amp up said movement quirks.

So, put on your analytical thinking cap and get recording!

One last thing

For my friends out there with wandering feet, ya know, when you get on stage or set, and you’re feet want to keep moving?

Hey happy feet friend, *waves*

This is for you:

Find another friend and have them hold your feet down while you go through a monologue or scene. Your feet will want to move and then butt up against the resistance. It’ll feel strange but worth the exercise.

Because, honestly, when you’ve done something for so long, you just need to become aware of it to work on it. 

If you don’t have a friend conveniently available, try putting something heavy on your feet. Not too heavy, mind you, but something heavy enough makes it challenging to move your feet unconsciously. Books work, surround yourself with rocks or cinder blocks, get creative but don’t hurt yourself. 🙂

Here’s to body awareness!

May it empower you and inform your performances.

standardized patient work Stories

Acting out the same moment 24 times in a day

Posted on May 20, 2021
MMI acting out the same moment 24 times in a day

One of the most rewarding things I do as an actor is participating in standardized patient work. I’m currently in the middle of a huge month-long exam with the medical students, so safe to say it’s been on my mind a lot. 

So, briefly, a standardized patient is an actor who works with medical students. Or nursing, dental, vet, physician assistant students to give them a safe space to practice important skills. Such as listening, empathy, how to ask super awkward questions, build rapport, among other things, within a healthcare patient/doctor space. 

I’ve got a whole post about how being a standardized patient transformed my acting you can check out here.

Now, what’s this whole ‘acting out the same moment 24 times in a day’ thing about?

If you haven’t guessed, it’s not about doing camera work. 

Though keep reading, because it can be easily applied to camera stuff!

The MMI 

MMI stands for Multiple Mini Interviews. In the medical school space, it’s used as a part of the larger application process for potential students.

It’s in some ways exactly how it sounds.

It’s usually a series of 10 stations, each about 7 minutes long.

Some stations are interviews with, say, the Dean or another faculty member for more of a classic interview. Another station may be team building and communication exercises with other candidates to see if the applicant plays well with others. 

The third kind of station is where the actor comes in. 

There’s a scenario on the door the applicant is about to walk into. It says, your co-worker is waiting for you, and together you have to get to the airport for a flight to a business conference.

Now, the actor is playing a character who has a fear of flying. 

There are multiple kinds of actor scenarios, by the way. This is just the one I’ve done the most.

It’s the applicant’s job to engage in the scenario, to show their problem-solving skills as well as their ability to work with someone who is struggling. 

They by no means have to ‘win’ and get the actor/co-worker to agree to get on the flight. But rather to establish rapport, buy into the scenario, and hopefully express some of their own vulnerabilities. 

It’s a lot for the applicants. I mean, they’ve got at least 10 different scenarios they have to navigate through.

But, it’s also a lot for the actor.

Because, in this MMI process, they’ll be playing the same 7 minute scenario…roughly 24 times in one day. (Depending on how the interview is set up.)

Each one, guided by the applicant. 

It’s kinda like acting for camera and doing take after take after take. But, with a different character opposite you, every single time. 

Oh, and the other ‘actor’ doesn’t really wanna be doing the scenario.

There’s two main things I’ve learned by doing MMI’s. In a lot of ways, it’s great training specifically for camera work. But honestly, it really applies to all acting I’ve done.

It’s all about listening.

Actors who are great listeners tend to stand apart from those who don’t. 

We all know (rather, I shouldn’t assume…) You may know what it’s like to work with an actor who’s only waiting for their cue or who can’t wait to talk themselves. Perhaps even steal the spotlight or simply don’t think your lines are important. 

You may also know (hopefully!) what it’s like to work with a very giving scene partner who is hanging on your every word to react. 

Which would you rather work with?

Working an MMI gig is a great lesson in being a good listening scene partner, as the focus is always on the applicant. As an SP, you don’t want to go rogue and assume everyone’s focus is on your performance. 

Because it’s not. 

Nothing is more embarrassing than having a very clear idea of how you think the scene is going and the applicant throws a curveball and you don’t even attempt to catch it.

I like to call this working with an unwilling scene partner. They may go off-script, stare at you blankly, begging for help with their eyes, or may not buy into the scenario at all.

It’s a great ‘stay in character’ test.

After all, if it’s a really awkward encounter, it only lasts 7 minutes. 

Shake it off (thanks, Taylor Swift!)

Here comes the movement piece 🙂

I know, I know, you were starting to worry I wasn’t going to mention movement. This being a movement-specific blog and all. But, hey, the more general acting stuff is good too, right? 😉

Alright, now, regardless of how any individual encounter may go, you’ve gotta be able to start fresh with the next applicant. 

New applicant=clean slate.

The last thing you want to do is have a carry-over of, say, you had a really nasty encounter. Would you agree that it wouldn’t be fair to the next applicant to have all those negative vibes thrown toward them?

So, as I’ve been saying, it’s like camera acting different takes but your scene partner changes each time. 

And you’re NOT supposed to try new things as you normally would with multiple camera takes.

The goal is to present the same character and let the scene unfold with the applicant doing the guiding. 

What I love to do between students, as I usually only have a minute (literally, everything is timed and runs like clockwork), is I stretch and shakes my arms (and my legs if it’s student #11 and I’m ready for lunch break…though I refrain from this is I have to pee.)

Shaking and stretching my body as gently or aggressively as I see fit (might change depending on the applicant that just finished) helps gets my nervous system back to a more neutral state. This is key for not only long acting days but portraying high-stress scenes. Like someone who’s afraid of flying, and is facing having to get on that plane, for example 🙂 

Because let’s face it, once you get the hang of this, there’s still an element of nerves. You don’t know what’s about to walk through that door. 

Plus, trust me, the applicant is BEYOND nervous, even if they don’t show it.

The applicant is always more neverous than you are. 

So there you have it!

Now, you may never find yourself in an MMI situation as an actor, but you may find yourself having to go through the same scene time and time and time again. 

No matter what, it’s always a good reminder to stay in the moment, shake it off between each take, and listen, listen, listen!

Also, if MMI or standardized patient work sounds intriguing to you, I’d highly recommend checking out your local medical, nursing, vet, and even law and enforcement schools. Many work with actors to flesh out the student’s experience to help them better serve their communities.

Stories

Why I’ll never do a touring children’s show again

Posted on May 14, 2021
children's touring show

Ah, touring shows.

Let me paint you a picture. 

I’m not a painter, but I’ll give it a go.

It’s 5:30 am. 

It’s cold, and the sky threatens rain before sunrise.

You’re stuffed in a van, wedged between props, people and cans of energy drinks.

You sit, half awake while a dear castmate sleeps at your side, using your shoulder as a pillow. 

After what feels like somewhere between two minutes and two days, the road manager announces to the slumbering inhabitants of this clunky van, with trailer in tow, that you’ve arrived. 

Once locating where the performances will take place: most likely a multipurpose room where there was sometimes a stage, sometimes it was more of pointing and grunting amongst the team to figure out which corner of the massive gym will become the stage…then and only then can you begin the unloading process.

Unloading #1 of 3 of the day.

Now, let’s say the Gods smiled on you, and the multipurpose room is empty. 

(The alternative is a room full of screaming children as breakfast is being served, and you basically have to weave in and out of said children.)

You can take your pick. 

Now, the unloading process is a ritual, a routine and by week two, it’s down to an art in and of itself. 

You and the team are communicating via telepathy. And good thing, as the winds picked up and the rains have begun to fall, and you couldn’t hear each other well even if you tried. 

You’re about to perform, you gotta protect your voices, right?

Boxes of costumes (including that wig you hate…and it’s starting to smell), bins of props, tall door frames…(and will it fit through the actual structural school door frame? Nope. Have to go around to the back entrance.) 

Small set pieces and panels and panels of artwork painted by a lovely intern that help display various locations within the four skits the show is made up of. 

Oh, and the sound equipment. Heavy, bulky sound equipment.

All of these things have to be brought in, set up and organized in show running order.

Performance

Then you do the thing you’re really here for: performing. 

You’re not energized from adrenaline, or the caffeine you chugged 30 minutes ago.

You’re on autopilot. 

Sill slightly wet from the rain, knee hurting because you banged it on a prop box on the way in, and you still have that chase scene to do in about ten minutes. 

Though like all performances, there are moments you still love doing even after the 50th time, others you loath more and more each time you do it. 

Then, as quickly as it began, your 40 minute performance is over. 

You take your bows, the kids clapping and laughing (or not…middle schoolers are really rough crowds…like…really rough.)

Load-up #1 of 3 of the day

Sweaty, heart pumping, and enjoying the company of your fellow actors, because you’re all awake now, you reverse the process and get everything back into the van. 

Cue Tetris theme.

Then it’s off to another school to lather, rinse and repeat.

5 days a week.

Sounds like a lot, right?

It certainly was.

And for me, more than enough to last a lifetime.

Seriously, it was grueling to honestly the point beyond burnout, I just wasn’t aware that’s what it was at the time.

Now, let me clarify a few things…

Not all touring shows operate like this. 

This is me speaking to the specific experience I had, and I was blessed to be with a wonderful team, who all got along and supported each other. Which, I recognize, in and of itself, can be rare. 

So, for this tour, the actors were also the crew. 

It was a cast of four and our road manager who was stage manager, technician, light and soundboard operator, among other things, all rolled into one. 

Once we were on the road, we were it. 

We also didn’t travel anywhere overnight. So, that’s not an experience I can speak to. 

How to stay sane doing a touring show

I somehow managed to stay sane during the 5 week run of this tour. 

Often wonder how, really…looking back.

Cast and road manager aside, because, yeah they were a huge factor of awesomeness.

No question at all, I’ve never worked harder than I did then. Dunno that I ever will again. 

And, as the title of this post may insinuate: I’d be more than happy to never work that hard ever again. 

Got nothing against hard work, mind you, but when that teeter-totter of work/life balance gets knocked out of…well…balance…it’s really not ideal.

So, how did I stay sane?

A moment of me-time

Basically all days on tour the only time I had to myself was when I was in the bathroom. 

Seriously. 

Gotta stay hydrated and when you drink water you make water, as a mentor of mine used to say.

So whether I was peeing or changing in/out of my base costume, I learned to relish the moment.

This usually would involve a bit of breathwork.

It’s a calm before or after a storm kind of thing.

Pace yourself

Here’s the movement part of the post. 

Had to fit it in somewhere 😉

Pace your body.

Please, pace your body.

Especially if you’re also a member of the crew.

Children’s theatre requires a lot of physical energy. 

Grand gestures, chase sequences, and often layers of costumes. (What’s also called underdressing. Where you wear multiple costumes simultaneously to have changes be quick either on or off stage.)

The movement you employ, both on and off the stage, but specifically on stage, has to be sustainable. 

I talk a lot about the sustainability of movement on this blog, probably because I’ve seen enough performers wear out their bodies. 

In my experience, this tends to happen for two reasons: They do a thing in rehearsals, the director loves it, so the performer goes alright, but can I do that every day? No, but my director loved it so much, so I have to do it.’ 

OR the performer truly believes they can do a thing every day, and there’s either an injury or burn out. 

You need to know your body’s limitations. 

It’s imperative for any sort of physical theatre. And children’s theatre is definitely towards the top of that list. 

Driving time is for knitting, naps, and chats.

Alright, so maybe you don’t knit like I do, but this is the perfect time to do a quiet thing you enjoy. 

Reading, listening to music, and daydreaming while staring out the window.

Napping is also totally allowed. 

If you can sleep sitting up that is. Or in a car. Which I can’t really do either. Oh well, can’t have everything.

Or if there’s space in the van to stretch out, even if your legs are flung over a box of costumes, and you’re using your castmate’s lap as a pillow. (True story, it can work)

And as far as chats…I’m not gonna lie, the best memories I have by far, the only reason I’d consider doing something as insane as this again, was the people.

Camaradrie is a wonderful thing when the people mesh. 

The bonding through sheer rain-soaked misery, commiserating over a punctured hole in a fresh Monster energy drink, and kazoos will always hold special places in my heart.

It wasn’t all bad

Yes, being a part of a touring children’s show is incredibly grueling work, but it’s also really rewarding, especially when the kids enjoy the show. 

I remember performing specifically for a school where a girl, she was maybe seven, came up to us afterward as we were loading up and handed us all plastic beads as a thank you. She was too shy to speak, but the gift spoke volumes. 

Yep, still have that bead today. 

I hope this doesn’t discourage anyone from giving touring shows a shot if they one: have the opportunity or two: they’re genuinely interested in pursuing it. 

Give it a shot, don’t listen to me. 

I’m just one person and this was one person’s experience.

So, here’s to those who do this kind of work. Who did it once and said never again and to those who love it and continue to call it the home of their craft.

I still say never again for me and touring shows that ship has sailed…probably.