Day Thirteen

Little Shop of Horrors

Last night I auditioned for W;t. I doubt I'll be cast, because Ben and I would only want to do it if we could do it together, and Ben's schedule is so all over the place that the director probably won't want to chance casting us and then discover that the Air Force is sending Ben TDY for a month. That's an unlikely scenario, but it is a possibility, so it's probably not in the director's best interests to cast us.

A melodrama, '07

But I have to admit, it was fun. I haven't auditioned for a straight play in more than a decade. Ever since I started doing musicals, I've become a bit of a theater snob. I love musicals, and regular plays just don't do it for me as much anymore. So generally, I don't even audition for shows that aren't musicals. I made an exception for this one because the director is a friend of mine and I would love the chance to work with him. Also, I hear it's a great show.

Spitfire Grill, photo by John Hitt

Can I just say, though, that it's way scarier to perform a monologue than it is to sing a solo? I would much rather get up in front of a director and sing than perform a monologue. Music by its very nature lends an emotion to stories, whereas a monologue gives you no help at all - you have to perform completely on your own. It makes me feel kind of exposed, and naked. Singing, I can hide behind my voice. Emoting is easy, because you can feel in the music where the emphasis and emotion needs to go. Monologues are way harder.

Little Shop of Horrors, photo by John Hitt

What I'm saying is, I had fun last night, but musical theater is still my passion above all else. There is nothing so exhilarating as having a spotlight shine in your face as you belt out a ballad with a captive audience hanging on to every note (or at least, keeping one eye on you as they gossip with their neighbor).

Scarlet Pimpernel, '04

As a person, I have a fair amount of confidence. I don't have particularly low self-esteem (most of the time). I try to be a good person. I have a good number of friends who I know care about me. And my husband makes me feel beautiful, even when the mirror is telling me otherwise. I'm certainly not the best, kindest, smartest, or prettiest person on the planet. I probably don't even crack the top billion. But, overall, I'm not bad. I think I'm pretty okay.

Robber Bridegroom, '07

When I'm singing onstage, though... I feel amazing. I feel powerful, and beautiful, and desirable. I'm not saying that every single person in every single audience is going to love me or my voice, but I do recognize that I have some talent. So my confidence skyrockets when I sing. It's the one thing at which I feel truly gifted.

Little Shop of Horrors

Most of it is training. I don't have a bad voice, in its raw form. I don't know that it's anything to write home about, but it's a decent voice. Added to that, though, is over a decade of vocal training in various styles. That training has developed my voice from something nice to something beautiful. Again, I'm not the best in the world - or even in my family! Ben is a better singer than I am! - but it's definitely my greatest talent.

Spitfire Grill, photo by John Hitt

So I'm incredibly grateful to have the opportunity to perform in musicals. I'm thankful that directors enjoy my singing and truly want me in their shows. I'm blessed to have met so many other talented theater buffs in the community, with whom I can share this passion. I'm so glad that I discovered musical theater in the first place, because it's my very favorite hobby. If I could perform in a national tour of some show like "Les Miserables" or "Wicked" or "Ragtime," my life would be complete.

Scarlet Pimpernel

Granted, the time where that might have been even a remote possibility is past, now that I have a husband and child to take care of. But I can still perform in local musicals, and continue to develop my talent and enjoy the world of musical theater. It's an exhilarating pastime, and one that I hope I never have to leave behind.

Little Shop of Horrors, photo by John Hitt