Climbing up from the end of the rope

It’s been a tough couple of weeks. Money is non-existent. I mean, truly non-existent. I had to take home toilet paper from work the other day to make sure we had a roll at home. Once again, can’t pay my rent. Haven’t paid for Bette, my new convertible, and the woman who sold it to me is so tolerant. I owe the wonderful Beth money she lent me over the summer.

Drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning.

On top of that, I’ve lost two classes a week, cutting my income by $400 a month.

And my father has been given three to six months to live.

Fuck.

Hard not to throw in the towel. All I could think is that this is how soccer moms end up having sex in their SUV for money because it gets that bad, that tight.

All I could think is that I don’t want to work at Starbucks. I don’t want to work retail. I don’t want another pay-the-rent job. I want directing (or writing) to be my pay-the-rent job. But right now, it seems so incredibly far away.

Once again, I find myself thinking, I’m 47 years old. I should have a better handle on my shit than this. I hear the voices in my head screaming FAILURE!

I had some hard decisions to make today. I finally broke down and called our landlord, who had offered us another two bedroom apartment in the same complex but it’s $200 less a month, which means Monica can afford to pay half the rent, dropping my rent to $725 from $1,000. And I need it because I can’t sleep. I’m incredibly stressed because I’m so behind on bills and payments and everything else. Luckily, our landlord is amazing and gets it. So we’re moving by December 1.

FAILURE!

I should be able to pay my rent. I should be able to make money. I type 100 wpm. I have mad skills. But I want my days to allow me to direct, otherwise there’s no point.

I’m frustrated that I don’t have the life I want. I hate constantly facing choices that seem to want to pull me away from what I feel I am destined to do. Maybe it’s what is supposed to make me stronger and make sure I am doing what I want to do. Maybe it’s just the universe fucking with me. I don’t know.

And on top of all of that, the shoes are still on my floor because we had to extent filming another week. (FAILURE!) So Brad’s shoes are at the end of my bed, feeding the longing to have someone fill them. It seems so far away to me that I might find someone to leave his shoes at the end of my bed. And right now, I could use someone like that. Arms to hold me, whisper good things in my ear, all that stuff. Make me feel not so alone.

The one glowing light is that the “Mastermind” shoot is going really well. The crew is amazing. I have a DP who knows what he’s doing, who I don’t have to explain everything to. He just picks up the camera and shoots these amazing pictures. The handful of folks who have come out to help have great attitudes, great enthusiasm and great passion for what we’re doing.

And my actors. This is my greatest joy.

Beth. Girl crush.



She looks like a movie star in this film. Her eyes are exquisite and she just leaps off of the screen with her honesty and her soul on her face. She is beautiful, she is talented, she is gorgeous. The chicks are going to be lining up for her after this. On top of that, she brings a core and a groundedness to Liz that is incredible. I’m so glad we did the show over the summer and that she had the time to really grow this beautiful, complex, wonderful character.

And Brad. His heart in his wondrous eyes breaks my heart.



Takes my breath away. His JD is so complex, so complicated, yet so incredibly vulnerable and fragile. He’s taken what he brought to the stage and deepened it and make the character even better, if that was even possible. I can’t wait to see what he does with the supervillain, Mastermind, when we start to shoot that next week.

And Brad and Beth together are breathtaking.



Monica watched some of the footage tonight and it took her breath away. Which makes me happy because that’s what I wanted. I want to have your heart touched by these characters, including Mastermind, when we get there. I’m very happy with my vision and happy that it’s coming true right before my eyes. It’s what’s gotten me through the past couple of weeks of pain and torture and stress and anger. It’s what’s gotten me to keep hanging on to the hope that I am doing what I should be doing. It’s what’s stopped me from just throwing in the towel and giving up and finding a “real” job and just living.



And Brad’s shoes at the end of my bed.

I’m hanging on to the knot at the end of the rope, hoping that this change today will bring relief and release, letting me focus on getting my life back on track. Hoping this change will move the energy and help me to bring someone into my life who will not only leave his shoes at the end of my bed, but maybe leave a little piece of his heart behind with me whenever he is not present. Someone who will want to leave his shoes at the end of my bed and leave the pieces of his heart with me.

The Power of Shoes

There are men’s shoes sitting at the foot of the bed. That was enough to send me into a really weird place last night.

I was shooting a web series/short film in my apartment all day yesterday. It’s based on “Mastermind”, the one act play I directed over the summer that I absolutely fell in love with. The original actors are returning, the writer has given his blessing and I have a fantastic crew involved.

The shoot went great. Had some issues, which every shoot has, but nothing huge or panic-inducing. Just ordinary production crap.

At the end of the shoot, my lead actor, Brad, was packing up his stuff. He asked if he could leave his wardrobe here since we’ll be shooting again on Sunday and he thought it would be easier to leave it at my place than haul it back and forth. Made sense to me.

Everyone packed up and left. I crashed for a bit and took care of a few things before finally hauling my butt to bed.

As I was getting ready for bed, I tidied up the production stuff left in my bedroom, because we had been shooting in there the latter part of the day. Once everything was cleaned up, I was left with two pairs of men’s shoes at the foot of my bed.

That stopped me.

Men’s shoes. At the foot of my bed.

I miss that.

Men’s shoes.

I opened my closet to put something away and Brad’s wardrobe was hanging in there - a button down shirt, pair of pants, a thermal t-shirt. Men’s clothes. In my closet.

I miss that.

Doesn’t help that I adore Brad, as does everyone who knows him. He’s a wonderful guy and has the best, most amazing energy. But he has a girlfriend so I just am glad he’s a part of my life and that he’s become such a good friend.

But his shoes were at the end of my bed.

I sat on my bed for a long time, staring at those shoes.

Yeah, sure, in another world, I’d love to think that this incredible man would be the one to leave his shoes nightly at the foot of my bed but that’s not gonna happen. But it made me miss having someone leave their shoes at the foot of my bed on a regular basis.

I miss that masculine presence in my life. I have amazing men in my life like Brad and Kerr and Ranger Smith and many, many others. But I miss that specific presence, that specific man, who will leave his shoes at the foot of my bed.

And it made me wonder if there will be someone in my life to leave their shoes at the foot of my bed. Someone whose shirt will hang in my closet. Not someone just to date but someone to bring that masculine energy back into my life.

I think sometimes I manifest that energy and am maybe a little more aggressive than I need to be because I don’t have that outside source of masculinity in my life. I love my guy friends but there’s something about having that specific, intimate energy that I miss.

I finally put Brad’s shoes in the back of the closet where they will rest safely until they come out to film next week. I had initially just meant to leave them on the floor but I don’t think I could look at them every day between now and Sunday. So they and their energy can hibernate until they need to come out.

I look forward to the day when the shoes of someone I love can live on the floor beside my Chuck Taylors and my Santana boots. Hopefully, they will belong to someone as amazing as the men I have found special in my life over the last four and a half years of my life. They’d have to be to stand up to my shoes.

Darkest days

The darkest days are these ones, the ones where I think it was all my fault and I deserved the treatment I got. The days where I have to fight picking up the phone and calling him, being casual, saying, hey, let’s get together, let’s talk. The days where I want to beg him to take me back, for us to be us again.

The days when I think maybe I made up all the bad things. Where maybe his treatment of me wasn’t as bad as I make it out to be. The days where I wonder if I just blew things out of proportion and turned him into a monster so I wouldn’t have to take responsibility for the things I did wrong.

The days where I think that there is never going to be a day where I don’t think of him, where I don’t wonder if I should have stayed, if I should have tried harder, if I should have… fill in the blank.

The darkest days are the ones where I am just simply and totally alone. Where I think being with the man who tormented me and verbally abused me daily and who made me come so close to no longer being here would be preferable to being alone. The days where I’m ready to just give up everything I’ve worked so very hard for just to have someone’s arms wrapped around me, even if they’re his arms.

The darkest days are these - full of creativity and projects I love and friends I adore. But feeling empty and hollow and shallow without someone - without him.

Embracing my dark side

It all started about a week ago. Brad, one of my favorite men, was sitting on my couch, talking to me about the “Mastermind” shoot coming up, working on translating the character from stage to screen. The fireplace was lit, it was very quiet in the house and our conversation meandered from the shoot to just whatever it is that two friends sit and talk about. Brad has the most calming personality yet he’s not afraid to talk about whatever is on his mind -- or mine. And we talked long after we were done with business. When he left, I could feel the absence of him in my living room.

And it made me miss having someone to just sit with, to just talk with. Just be with. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s very cute.

But I realized that the main reason I was lonely was that I had spent the better part of my adult life having someone on the other end of the couch. Dysfunctional, abusive, angry, bitter person but still a person who I talked to, who talked and/or shouted back and who, on occasion, actually listened and talked and tried to share to the best his ability. You’d think that four and a half years later, I’d be used to a metaphorical empty couch by now. And I thought I was.

But -- and I know this is going to sound stalkerish and creepy -- after Brad left, I just kind of wanted to curl up in the space where he had sat and -- I don’t know what. Remind myself of having someone? This is not a man who is available and we have a great friendship and a great working relationship that I wouldn’t want to fuck up. But I was just feeling so lonely after he left, after he took his presence with him, that I felt the hollow he left behind.

That really sent me into a nosedive over the last week. Feeling so alone and lonely. Feeling so absent from parts of my life. Feeling so incredibly empty. I kept looking at the end of the couch, trying to imagine what it would be like to have someone sitting there and I just couldn’t see it. I couldn’t imagine someone sitting there. The couch was empty and it was going to remain empty for the foreseeable future.

And I kept thinking about my ex this week. Feeling like I wanted to go by and see him. For what reason, I don’t know. I just sold my wedding rings recently for a whopping $35 and maybe it was residual sentimentality. But I felt like there were things I wanted to say to him, although I didn’t know what. And I know I could never say the things I wanted to say to him and I know I wouldn’t hear the things I wanted to hear. So his presence has been maybe metaphorically sitting at the end of the couch, taunting me, fighting with the positive energy Brad left behind. Making me wonder if R should have been sitting there, not Brad.

And through the past couple of days, I’ve been sad and lonely and depressed but couldn’t figure out why or what caused it. Yeah, post-show blues always happens and “Gross Indecency” was so wildly successful and beyond what I had ever expected for it to be that a let down could be expected. And I’m between projects, which is never good. But we’re working on Mastermind and just started work on “The Jamb”, a world premiere play opening in January, which I am thrilled to be doing. So the blues weren’t making sense.

Until tonight.

As I was driving home from teaching, I was thinking still about the empty couch and the seemingly empty life I was feeling. And I started thinking about R and our life. I realized that, sometimes, I miss that life. When it was good, it was good. He could be sweet when he wanted. We shared a lot and we created a lot. And I learned a lot. I missed our old apartment - this incredible loft space that never quite felt like mine. I missed the comfort of the dysfunction because it was familiar and it was known to me. And it’s always easier to be with what you know. It’s less scary. It’s less frightening. It’s less everything.

And as I thought about that life, I started to get angry. By the time I sat down to write this, I can feel this anger growing. Not in a wild, out-of-control way, but just a deep, seething anger that I don’t ever allow myself to feel. Because I’m not supposed to be angry. I’ve never been allowed to be angry. My family, my exes never gave me permission. R would mock my anger. He would diminish my anger. He would walk away from my anger, leaving me feeling powerless and pathetic and stupid and wrong.

Well, I’m angry.

I’m angry that for sixteen years, he made me feel stupid and lazy and weak and untalented and defenseless and unloved.

I’m angry that he said he would never, ever, under any circumstances, ever, ever let me go. And he let me go two weeks after I said I needed some time. Two weeks. Sixteen years together. And it took him a whole two weeks to figure out that those sixteen years weren’t worth never, ever letting me go. I got whiplash from how quickly he let go.

I’m angry that in a year of counseling, he was never able to let down his guard and say anything honest and real. It was always my fault, never his fault. Even the counselor acknowledged that in one of our last sessions. He became Spock and refused to participate emotionally.

Yeah, I know he has issues and problems and a side to this as well. And I know his family is fucked up, particularly his bitch of a mother, who laid the bread crumbs for his to leave his never-ever-leave-you wife behind. But he never really, truly tried. Because he didn’t love me enough. Because he didn’t love us enough. Because he didn’t have the balls to face his faults and really, truly fix things. And that makes me particularly angry.

I’m angry because it cost us a life. A life that could have been great. A life that had potential and that should have led us to success and beauty and wonder and all the goals we ever had.

I’m angry because I am terrified to ever let anyone get that close to me again. He left his mark on me as deep and as dark and as permanent as he would have if he had cut me or beat me or broken something on me. The scars and the bruises and the breaks are just buried deep inside where they’re hard to see. And I don’t know if I can ever let anyone get close enough to see those scars, to try to heal them because I’m afraid that those bruises and breaks will only be the beginning of another set of injuries, another set of punishments, another set of batterings. And I know I won’t survive that.

I’m angry because he left me with an empty couch when he could have chosen to stick it out and be on the other end of it. I’m angry because, deep down inside, a part of me wants him to be the one on the other end of the couch because he is all I know. I’m angry because the size of the hollow on the couch is immeasurable and I don’t know that anyone will ever be able to fill it.

And I’m angry because my heart still breaks over him and over us and over the life that has been lost.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

Meandering thoughts

I’m restless and moody tonight. Wow, how unusual.

On one hand, I’ve had the most amazing couple of months of my life. “Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde” was hugely successful, critically, creatively and financially. I have never had such a successful piece and something that was so well-received across the board. I had an amazing cast who took my basic direction during our extremely limited rehearsal period and ran with it. So much of the credit for the success of the show lies with them because of what they added to what I saw in my head. I couldn’t be more proud of the work I have done.

It was amazing to sit back and see all the things I had envisioned with this show over the past six years actually come to fruition on stage. And Kerr Seth Lordygan, who played Oscar and who shepherded this show through Eclectic Company Theatre with me, was a great partner-in-crime and a great Oscar Wilde.

At the end of the show last weekend, I realized that I wasn’t as sad as I had expected to be. I expected to be overwhelmed and depressed and blue because that’s what always happened at the last theater company I worked at. With them, I never knew when I would get a chance to direct again and I wasn’t really treated with much respect when I did direct, despite doing excellent shows. I realized, as we closed the show, that I wasn’t as sad because I knew exactly what I was going to be directing in the next year. And the joy of that knowledge is that I get to work with the actors/friends/people I love and people I respect and who respect me right back.

Next up - filming “Mastermind”, the one act play I directed this summer. It’ll be a web series and it will star the feisty and talented Beth Ricketson and the brilliant Brad Wilcox. We’re in blocking rehearsal right now and plan to start shooting beginning of November. And then I am directing “The Jamb” by J. Stephen Brantely, a wonderful New York playwright, and will be starting rehearsals mid-November. Oh, and I get to play with Kerr again and Brad again and Kenlyn (who did “Flawless” for me last year). Yeah, sure, make me work with two of my favorite men/actors on earth as well as a very talented actress and throw in another cute, talented boy and my head just may explode.

There are other productions as well but more about that as they fall into place.

Creatively, couldn’t be happier. This is why I changed my life. To create. To do what I want and be able to own it without having to share obligatory credit that didn’t really exist. This show is mine - good, bad or ugly, it’s all mine.

But with all that success, I find myself feeling a bit hollow. I had a great cast to share this with and good friends as well. But I missing that one special person to share it with. Someone to have endless discussions about the trials and tribulations, about my fears and my happiness. That one person.

I drove tonight to have drinks with a couple of the folks from “Gross” and found myself almost not wanting to go because there would be no one there to hold my hand and be the other half of me. To be the one beaming at me and just being there for me.

And I realized that I’ve never really had that at all. R had moments early on but even then, most of his praise was qualified. He could never just say, what a great job. I’m so proud of you. In fact, I don’t think the words “I’m proud of you” ever came out of his mouth. Maybe “I’m proud of you but”. Always a qualifier.

My family is a laugh. I sent them the reviews of the show, foolishly thinking there would be a response from them. Crickets echoing in the distance was the response. Yeah, I’m important to them. Yeah, I matter.

And S. Well, we were so young and so… young. And I hadn’t really done anything to be proud of or to share with him at that point. But I wanted his praise and his approval and I’m not sure I ever got it. I don’t know what I wanted it for but I wanted it.

And now, I’m trying to find the pride and the approval within myself and I got a little closer to doing this on this project. And the fact that actors I adore like Kerr and Brad and Beth are lining up projects to do with me fills part of that hollow.

But I wonder if I gave up having another part of me so that I could have this part of me. Does having this creative life and this creative joy and this creative everything mean I have to sacrifice having someone to share my life with?

And I’m not sure I’m ever going to be ready to really, truly let someone in ever again. How do I trust again after two men who were supposed to be the loves of my life destroyed my life and left me to find my way alone? How do I trust again when the one man I thought was going to be the next person to share my life with has faded out of my life without a word, without an explanation, without anything, taking a huge piece of my heart with me. And the others who I’ve thought, maybe this one, maybe this one, have turned out to not be the one.

Maybe there is no “one” left. I’ve had two that were supposed to be it but weren’t. Maybe I’ve used all my cards and there are none left.

Four and a half years alone. Four and a half years of wildly creative life. Four and a half years without someone tearing me down and making me feel so much less than. Four and a half years without someone.

Not really looking for an answer tonight so don’t feel obligated to post platitudes. I know, I get it. “There’s someone out there,” “just put yourself out there”, “give yourself time”, “you’re not really looking,” yada, yada, yada. I know the Oprah/Dr. Laura/Dr. Phil self-help bullshit crap that I’m supposed to know. And I don’t need that right now. I think my heart is still trying to heal and trying to put all the pieces back together, despite a few pieces still being MIA. And platitudes and encouragements and self-help logic won’t help fill in those holes. I’m not sure what will. A rotating group of OOMA’s (Objects Of My Affection) is obviously not the answer.

Maybe there is no answer. Just more questions, more seeking, more bitching and moaning.

At least my cat loves me. Mostly.

Reflections of...

I saw someone in the mirror yesterday morning as I was getting ready for a very long day.

It was the woman I want to be.

She is strong, confident, with a quiet power that doesn’t need to shout out, “look at me! See how amazing I am! Acknowledge how amazing I am!” She doesn’t need that because she knows who she is and what she is capable of.

She is mature in the best way. Knows she doesn’t have to prove her maturity by meeting others’ expectations. Knows she shows her maturity by pursuing what she wants and accomplishing her goals without compromise. She has the kind of maturity that allows her to laugh outrageously and not be embarrassed about it and play rigorously, knowing it doesn’t make her any less mature.

She is on the verge of beauty. Not the kind of beauty bought in a department store or the kind of beauty that comes out of an expensive jar with an unpronounceable name. But the kind of beauty that comes from deep inside. It’s not the kind of beauty that can be taught or bought. It’s beauty that comes from knowing who you are, what you want and knowing that you’re on the path to achieving what you want. The beauty that comes from peace of mind, from confidence in self, from letting go of fear and embracing life.

She caught my eye in the mirror, looking elegant and strong, watching me back through the glass. Her eyes were full of the knowledge I seek and level with the confidence I fake. Her eyes studied me for a moment, like looking backwards at her own progression. Her eyes and mine are the same but I saw, in that moment, where I could be.

Then she slowly faded away and I was left there, staring at my own reflection. But, for a change, I wasn’t critical of what I saw looking back at me. I saw the potential for who I could be, if I just stay on my path, if I just keep doing what I love and keep true to myself. If I stop using everyone else’s yardstick to measure myself against and just trust in the sound of my own voice. If I just trust that woman in the mirror and follow her example. Eventually, that woman looking back at me will truly be my own reflection.

Becoming Susan

I was talking to someone last night after “Gross Indecency”, discussing my vision for the show and why I chose to stage it the way I did. All very positive, all very wonderful.

And she asked me a simple question, something about where I got my vision and how impressed she was at my commitment to my vision. And somehow, we it seemed appropriate to say that this was why I had changed my life just over four years ago, to be able to be true to my vision. And it hit me in that moment, this play is the culmination of why I changed my life.

I read this play probably six years ago, when I was just beginning to direct at the Ark. I immediately put it on my list of plays I wanted to direct eventually.

When I started working on “Lloyd’s Prayer” at the Ark (one of my favorite all time pieces I have ever done still to this day), I started aggressively pursuing “Gross Indecency”. The rights apparently were not available, although I’m not entirely sure how aggressively the rights were being pursued on my behalf. I saw this play in my head, one particular moment especially, and never quite let it go. I was a baby director back then, just really beginning to find my way as a creative entity. “Lloyd’s Prayer” was the first time I looked at what was happening on stage and thought, that’s because of me. I made that. It was also the first production that my ex was truly not a part of. He didn’t attend rehearsals, he wasn’t producing it with me. It was mine, all mine. And he hated every minute of it. For the first time, I didn’t really care.

We were in therapy then, trying to save our marriage. I told him in therapy that I just needed him to be by my side, to be able to say, yes, I think she’s great and she’s done a great job, without bringing himself into the equation, without any qualifiers as to what I had done, without making it about him. That’s all I asked. Be supportive. Be my husband. Don’t be an asshole.

Opening night of “Lloyd’s Prayer”, he sat in the audience and said nothing. After the show, he gave me perfunctory appreciation and then literally sat in the house during the after-party, not at my side, because he simply couldn’t just be my husband, couldn’t just be supportive and couldn’t just say, wow, you did a great job. Instead, Carlos, my lead actor, and Chairman, who was such a dear friend at the time, and Peter were the ones at my side, singing my praises, telling me what a great job I had done. The supposed partner in my life, the supposed person who was supposed to be my rock, my love, my life chose to sit this one out.

Since then, I have grown as a director. I have done things I am so very proud of - “Afterplay” was one of my favorite because of the opportunity to give Chairman a beautiful role he would normally not be offered and his performance still warms my heart; “The Change-Up” short film because it was my truest Tarantino moment as a director and it placed top 5 on Famecast.com and I got to go to Austin to represent it; “Juche Rules” which won last year’s USC MPW one act playwriting festival, such a triumph because this was the third one I had directed and the previous two should have won; and, capping it off, “Mastermind”, another one of those very special productions that touched me in ways I can’t even begin to describe and the sentimental favorite at Hurricane Season one act festival this year.

“Gross Indecency” is the capper of my growth as a director. I feel like I went from a toddler to maturity in a matter of four short years. I could have never directed “Gross” without doing “Lloyd’s” and “Afterplay” and even the god-awful “Godislav”, possibly my least favorite production ever. I learned so much from each of those shows that led me to be able to tackle this scary, challenging and very difficult show.

But the biggest element that has led me to this success is the lack of my ex in my life. His ability to diminish me, his ability to make me question everything I did and everything I thought robbed me of my ability to create without him. I thought I knew nothing. I thought I was an amateur, a hack and that I could never do anything without him there to tell me what to do and make sure I didn’t fuck anything up.

“Lloyd’s” showed me I could create without him. And I don’t think I’ve looked back since.

One of the things I wonder about and ponder on the dark days is the fact that I feel like I had to choose my creative life over having a personal life. I miss having that partner, as fucked up as our partnership was. I did learn a lot from him, despite his inability to let me fly on my own. I miss having someone to sit with and discuss my thoughts and my choices and my concerns and my fears. I think that’s why I enjoyed coffee with Justin so much a week or so ago. It felt like talking to someone close, having a partner to share my thoughts, my feelings with.

Sometimes, in those dark, cold, empty days, I wonder if I chose correctly. Should I have stayed in my abusive marriage, tried to fix it, tried to make him see how he was hurting me, try to find ways to cope and re-configure our relationship so that I could stay with him and still live the life I wanted to live? Should I have just sucked it up and stayed with him so I wouldn’t be alone, I wouldn’t be just existing from production to production with no one in my life in between? Should I have made it work so that I wouldn’t be alone for the rest of my life?

On the dark days, I think, yes, I should have. Having a great show doesn’t make up for more than four years of life alone every single night. Having a great show doesn’t make up for not having someone there opening night, kissing me and beaming at me. Yes, he could do that for me - usually when he could take credit for something on the show. But maybe that was worth the sacrifice, give up some of my credit and accolades to have someone there for me. Creative freedom for an empty life, what kind of a trade-off is that?

It’s the best kind of trade off. This whole process with “Gross Indecency”, from committing to some very controversial choices such as casting Kerr as Oscar Wilde to the way I’ve staged it and going without a curtain call, has been very scary. Kerr has been a great partner in producing this and a great friend along the way. He trusted me, he trusted my vision, he trusts that I know what I’m doing and just gets out of the way. He’s there when I need him and not there when I don’t. He treats me with respect and treats me like a professional, something I am really not used to.

When the reviews started coming out, it was weird to see my name and see praise for what I had done. And there was no voice telling me that they were wrong, that I had somehow still done a bad job. There was no one telling me that maybe I should really look at the critical reviews and learning from them, which I do anyway. There was no one there to make me feel bad about my success and trying to take away any joy that I was getting from this moment in time of success.

And last night, while talking to this woman, who said she just wanted to meet the person who had such an incredible vision for this show, I realized that that person was me.

This production is the culmination of the two sides of my life finally coming together. Yes, I’m alone and that’s not likely to change soon. I’m a powerful, creative, successful, determined woman, which is attractive to men from the outside but most men don’t want to live with that. And I don’t want to be with anybody who can’t handle my success and my creative life. So if that means I’m alone, then I’m alone.

And I realized last night, for the first time in just over four years, that alone is just fine for now. Because by being alone, I’ve been able to shape my vision, sharpen my creative teeth and learned to trust those voices in my head that are not clowns, but are the creative muses who live there, whispering to me in the best and worst nights.

So if the trade-off means that I don’t have a date Saturday night and that I sit at home and watch “Snatch” on my 52” TV by myself or with my roomie, but I get to create things I am truly proud of and truly own, whether it’s a film or a play or a painting, then that’s the trade-off I’ll take. My heart is lonely and still in pieces but at least there isn’t somebody trying to hack it apart every time it starts to come together. And I have to trust that when and if someone special comes into my life, they will fill out my life, not try to take it away from me. They will know who I am and that will be what attracts them and they will become a part of my life, not make me fit into theirs.

And if it means that I get to create these amazing shows like “Lloyd’s” and “Juche” and “Change-Up” and “Mastermind” and “Gross” and get to step back and be proud of what I do, then it is absolutely worth the empty, lonely nights without someone. The pleasure and the joy and the pure sense of worth that I get when I step back and watch something I’ve created come together so strongly, so perfectly, is worth every moment on the couch by myself.

And I realized that last night, in talking to this woman, that I wouldn’t be here if I had not chosen to leave my life behind to find my new one. This show is the last of things to come back into my life that I tried to do in my old life and now its fruition maybe marks the true beginning of my new life. All the old debts are paid, all the leftover remnants are gone. After this, it’s all new, it’s all fresh, it’s all pure.

And it’s all mine.

Here's what critics are saying about "Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde"

This play has been my primary focus for about five years. I've been trying to put this production together for that long. Now, it's a reality and it's getting great reviews. I am very proud of this show and hope you get to see it if you're in LA. It is the most mature work I have done to date. I have an amazing cast and had a terrific production crew to help build it and a great stage manager, Amanda Peterson, who is half my brain most of the time. Please check it out.

Eclectic Company Theatre
5312 Laurel Canyon Blvd., Noho
Reservations (818) 508-3003
Tickets available at Brown Paper Tickets
Runs thru October 11 - Fri, Sat at 8 PM, Sun at 7 PM

LA Weekly
“Susan Lee directs with brisk, efficient clarity.”

“Darrell Philip and Dean Farrell Bruggeman score as the rival attorneys.”

“The notion of casting women (Casey Kramer, Allie Costa, Beth Ricketson, and JC Henning) as Oscar's "rent boys" seemed initially perverse, but they provide deft characterizations and sly comedy”


Stage Scene LA
“It is powerful indeed to see the broken man Lordygan (as Wilde) has become by play’s end.”

“As Lord Alfred, Grant does lovely, nuanced, deeply felt work.”

“Best of all among the supporting players are the superb Kramer and Henning, who zip in and out of costumes (and accents and gender) to stunning effect.”

“Lee’s direction is inventive, and she has a good visual sense.”

“(Andrew) Hagan is particularly good as the coarse, brutish Queensberry.”

SoCal.com
“Insanely well-cast in their roles were Kerr Seth Lordygan as Oscar Wilde, Joshua Grant as Lord Alfred Douglas and Andrew Hagan as the Marquess of Queensberry, Douglas’s indignant father.”




(Kerr Seth Lorydgan as Oscar Wilde)

“The chemistry between Lordygan and Grant as lovers was just as undeniably convincing as the hatred between Hagan and Grant as father and son.”


Review Plays.com:
“Wilde’s story is gripping and sad and “Gross Indecency” is worth seeing. “

“Wilde, who is brilliantly performed by Kerr Seth Lordygan.”

Edge Los Angeles:
Susan Lee, the director...has successfully managed a moving and involving production of this play with a talented cast capable of cutting to the truth of each character. Her approach seeks to answer the question of who or what dictates morality.

Although Kerr Seth Lorygan doesn’t resemble Wilde, his portrayal in this play is compelling so much so that his persona has you believing all that Wilde encompassed.

This production is worthy of a wonderful presentation that effectively serves Kaufman’s play wonderfully.

Are you lonesome tonight?

Feeling lonely in my tiny, self-centered world today.

I know, I know, I have amazing friends, incredible collaborators, yada, yada, yada.

I had coffee with one of my favorite guys, Justin, yesterday. Justin is an amazing director, a wonderful actor and just a terrific guy. And gorgeous. And makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world when he’s talking to me. Of course, he makes every women feel like that and that’s one of his charms.

We talked on and on about our projects, what we’re working on, what we’re excited about, challenges with what’s going on in our creative lives. I loved having someone to talk to about how scared I am of “Gross Indecency” and how challenging this production has been and to have him understand that and share it with me. And make me feel okay about my fears and not diminish them. And I have others around me who do that so it’s not just that. It was sitting with someone who I enjoy very much and who has a certain connection with me who makes me feel like we’re really talking, really connecting, not just doing the pat on the hand thing.

And I guess today I realize how much I miss having someone special in my life to share things with. The good things, the bad things. To share the fears and feel comforted. I think that’s what it is. Somehow, Justin made me feel comforted, not just -- I really don’t know what the word is I’m looking for.

I miss having someone to just be there, make me feel like I’m not alone in the world. That there is someone who hears me and understands me. Justin’s just a friend - a married friend - so I know it’s not that I think he’s the man for me and all that crap. I think it’s just that he listened to me in a way that not too many people have and it made me miss having someone listen to me that way.

So in the midst of being surrounded by an incredible roommate, good friends and great collaborators on “Gross Indecency”, I sometimes feel like I’m standing all alone in the center of the storm, people swirling around me, activity and motion, but I’m just standing still, alone, naked, scared, empty. And I just want someone to stop for a moment, wrap me in their arms and whisper all the things I want to hear in my ear. Make me feel comforted. Make me feel warm. Just make me feel.

But for now, I have to make myself step into the storm and try to keep up until I can find that person. Or get used to the wind and the noise and continue to try to find comfort in myself.

"Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde" opens Sept. 4th

If you're in LA and you're dying to see some great theater, join me for my new production - "Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde".

A co-production with Eclectic Company Theatre and Life On Its Side Productions.

An engrossing examination of the three trials of Oscar Wilde, "Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde" explores how not only was Wilde himself put on trial for his relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas, his art was a key factor in his prosecution.

Written by Moises Kaufman ("The Laramie Project" and "33 Variations").

Produced by Susan Lee and Kerr Seth Lordygan.

Directed by Susan Lee.

Featuring Allie Costa, Dean Farell Bruggeman, Joshua Grant, Andrew Hagan, J.C. Henning, Casey Kramer, Kerr Seth Lordygan, Darrell Philip, and Beth Ricketson. Presented by Eclectic Company Theatre in association with Life On Its Side Productions.

Opens Friday, September 4th at 8 PM
Run Friday, Saturdays at 8 PM
Sundays at 7 PM

Runs through October 11th.

Eclectic Company Theatre
5312 Laurel Canyon Blvd., North Hollywood, CA 91601

Tickets are $18
Purchase tickets at http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/77200 - choose "Discount" and enter the word "Wilde" for limited $5 off tickets.

Tickets also available at Goldstar.com.

Or call 818-508-3003 for reservations.

We won!

"Mastermind", a play I directed recently and one of the absolute favorite plays I have ever directed, won best actor (Brad Wilcox) and best playwriting (Michael Patrick Sullivan) for Block One of Hurricane Season at Eclectic Company Theatre.



Hurricane Season is an annual playwriting competition/festival at ECT. This year, nine plays were chosen out of more than 100. "Mastermind" was selected as one of the top six best plays and was sent (with the other five) to an outside panel of judges. Unfortunately, it didn't make the top three chosen by the panel of judges. The nine plays were then split into three sets of weekends (Block One, Block Two, and Block Three). The audience got to vote each night on their favorite actor, actress, overall production and playwriting.

I am proud that we won the awards we did tonight. Michael wrote a play worthy of Joss Wedon that had both clever, brilliantly funny dialog as well as deep, complicated personal relationship issues. He gave us plenty to play with!

And if you've talked to me at all in the past few months, you'll know how crazy I am/was about Brad's performance.



I think this role challenged him in new and intriguing ways and I loved his commitment and the depth he brought to a comic book character that could have just simply been played on the surface. But he was willing to dig below the surface and let me explore his inner villain as well as his inner self.

That being said, I also think that Beth Ricketson deserves credit for giving Brad a great foil to play off of. She stood toe to toe with one of the best actors I have ever worked with and never backed down, no matter what he threw at her. In fact, I think she threw some of her own back at him. The two of them humbled me with their talent and their performances.

I am proud of the work we accomplished with this play. I am immensely proud of the work that I did with this play.

And I am looking forward to the afterlife that "Mastermind" is going to have with a planned short film version as well as a series of webisodes, once we work out the logistics.

So stayed tuned... bwah ha ha...

Moment to moment

Depression can reduce your life to single moments followed by single moments.

I had a very bad day today. Nothing in particular set it off. Just kind of the usual - lonely, my family, my finances, lonely, missing someone I have no business missing, etc., etc., etc.

I could not get off the couch. I have a ton of things to do for my new show (another post on another day about that one - it is going very well), a ton of things to do for my life. But I laid on the couch.

Today got reduced to moments. I’ll get up some water when there’s a commercial. I get a glass of water, lay back on the couch. I’ll send the emails in five minutes. I send the emails, lay back on the couch. I’ll get ready for the Hurricane Season cast party when Mythbusters is over. I force myself to dress cute just so that I do something other than lay on the couch.

I could only go moment to moment because I couldn’t deal with anything else. The thought of trying to figure out tomorrow was not even in the picture. I figured if I survived today, that was accomplishment enough.

I know depression can steal your life away. It stole a few years of mine. I spent a lot of days just sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, unable to find the moment to moment momentum. Just stare. It ate my life.

So when I am engulfed in the lonely that is so deep and so hard that it seeps into my cellular structure, I know I have to keep myself moving, even if it is a moment at a time. Otherwise, there is nothing but pain and sorrow and sobbing and loss. If I can get through this moment, this half hour, this TV show and not get lost, then I’ll be okay. If I can keep myself from giving in for this moment, this minute, this hour, then I’ll be okay. If I can just keep myself going…

Today, I made it from moment to moment. I got a few things done, I even went to the cast party (small but that’s okay). Now I’m trying to keep myself focused on getting through the next little while to get ready for bed and face tomorrow. I can already feel the sucking pull of the black hole, trying to get me back. But if I can get through this post and wash my face and force myself to chant, then maybe I can get through the rest of the night and leave this all behind tomorrow.

If not, then tomorrow becomes moments and I hope for the day after.

Harden my heart

I have to take my heart off my sleeve and put it back in my chest, where it belongs.

It was pointed out to me tonight how obvious my recent affection is. And the fact that that affection could not/would not be returned.

And I was embarrassed to grasp that this was all to obvious to the entire world.

Except my little heart.

I need to learn to keep my feelings a bit closer to me, not let them run wild. And I’m not saying shut down every emotion I have and join the land of Stepford.

But when my heart finds itself drawn to someone, it tends to be a big, huge, loud beacon saying, look, I’m going over here! And I’m going to show the entire world how much affection I have for this person! No, really, I get that there’s no future and that my affection is probably not returned in an equivalent way. But that’s okay. I need to be stepped on publicly and share my torment publicly.

I need to learn to not give my heart away when there is no hope in it being returned. There is no heart out there, pining for me, and I have to learn to keep my heart where it belongs, safe and protected, quiet and silent, inside. Away from the public eye, away from the pitying look and sympathetic gaze of those around me, like the ones I got tonight. So I don’t have to apologize and feel shame at how I feel.

I knew I was making an ass of myself in the midst of this. I always do. But I just don’t seem to be able to stop myself. I convinced myself that really no one other than a few close friends could see what an ass I was. But I was wrong. Big old ass in front of the entire world.

A pattern that I have to break and stop repeating ad nauseum. Maybe this is the slap in my face I needed to learn this lesson. Maybe next time I lose my heart ridiculously, I can kill it before it makes an ass of me again.

These are the days...

My car broke down this week. Probably fried my engine. Woo-hoo.

Somehow, the car breaking down led me down a very dangerous road - wondering if I should have left him, wondering if this would have happened if I were still with him, wondering if I really am doing the right thing with my life.

The clowns have been very loud in this regard, as well as others.

The clowns in my head have been fairly tame lately, occasionally shouting out from their cages and their hot air balloons but I have been able to pretty much ignore them.

But they apparently have figured out how to escape.

I have circled the barricades but they seem to be able to heckle from a distance.

The heckling goes something like this:

You should have never left him. At least there’d be someone to hold when times get tough like this. At least there’d be someone to help out at times like this. At least there’d be another income. At least there’d be -- you get the idea.

What the clowns don’t seem to want to acknowledge is the other side of staying with him.

There would be anger. A great deal of anger. And accusations. And ridicule. And defamation about all of my personal attributes. I would be reduced to hanging my head in shame and tiptoeing around, trying to be the perfect wife and the perfect woman and the perfect whatever he wanted me to be.

And probably by this time, I would be dead. Either by my own hand or his. Okay, so I don’t think he’d kill me but his anger and his irrational lashing out would probably have led to serious injury at some point. There were many times when we were together where things flew and luckily did not connect. They were theoretically not aimed at me but sometimes aim doesn’t matter.

So the clowns change tact and tackle the other things I’m doing in my life. Chanting? Really? Buddhism? Really? You’re just trying to impress the Chanting Guy. And you know that’s a dead end so why are you doing it? It’ll just end badly with heartache and pain and… So just stop it. It doesn’t matter. He’s not impressed. He never will be. He has a gorgeous, YOUNG, THING girlfriend, things which you are not. He doesn’t care, just like all the others. You’re making an ass of yourself so stop it.

They don’t acknowledge the other side of that, which is, I have been interested in Buddhism since I could spell it. I’ve always wanted to explore chanting and see what it does and how it feels. My grandfather was a Buddhist, which has somehow seeped into my soul. And I choose to believe he cares, because he has shown me such. And it doesn’t matter what our relationship is or may be, I am glad he’s in my life for this moment, in whatever way he is in my life.

And then the money issue. You suck with money. You should be a grown up and stop screwing around with this directing thing. You should give up the art thing because, really, that doesn’t really do much for you because you don’t make enough money at it. Get a real job with real money and just do the directing thing when you can. After all, it’s ridiculous to think there’s a living to be made out of it. Be a grown up. Stop kidding yourself. And if you had never left him, you would not have been distracted by all this stupidity. You’d have a real job and a real life and a real husband and all of this would never happen.

But, again, we’re back to there would be anger and I would be dead.

But the hamster wheel in my head is hard to stop once the clowns get it spinning. You should have never left him is the litany that repeats over and over, all the other things splintering off of that.

And lonely times like this make me want to see him again, want to be with him again, want to just give up and admit that this life is not what I thought it would be. That maybe the biggest mistake I’ve ever made was walking away from almost 18 years of a relationship. Just because it’s familiar. Just because I know that relationship and because the clowns can be very convincing when they’re this loud.

I have to stop and check in with reality. Yes, it’s tough. Yes, I’m irresponsible with money. Yes, I don’t make enough money. Yes, I’m alone. Yes, Chanting Guy probably doesn’t care for me as anything other than a friend and, yes, I can’t compete with a young, thin, gorgeous girlfriend. And a lot of the other points that the clowns make.

But this I do know. This is my life, hard or easy, empty or full, heartful or heartbroken. I know what I love in my life - my art, my directing, my writing, my creative soul. A soul that was smothered and almost killed in my previous life. I have a strong, caring, amazing group of friends who have rallied around me to try and help me through this current ordeal so I am not alone. And they feed my creativity in a way that no group of friends has ever fed me before.

And, yes, while I may never have Chanting Guy in my life the way I’d like to, I think he’s going to be an amazing friend like Ranger Smith - someone I can love and someone who loves me for who I am, without trying to change me, without trying to qualify me. Someone who accepts my affection for them without running away and pushing me away.

So while I chant tonight before I go to bed, I’m going to focus on sending those chants to the clowns, to drive them back to their cages and their hot air balloons and replace their negative, angry “these are the days” thoughts with Keith Urban’s song --

My grandma was a wise old soul
Took me by the hand not long ago
Said, "Son, what's your hurry, boy slow it down
Taste the wild honey, listen to the sound
Of the wind that's blowin' through the trees
Rivers flowin' to the sea
Yeah they're all headin' home just like you and me
Life's for livin' child, can't you see?"

These are the days we will remember
These are the times that won't come again
The highest of flames become an ember
And you gotta live 'em while you can

These are the days we will remember
These are the days we will remember
These are the days we will remember
These are the days we will remember

So take 'em by the hand, they're yours and mine
Take 'em by the hand and live your life
Take 'em by the hand don't let 'em all fly by
C'mon, C'mon now

Ooo days go by
Yeah, just like a hand out the window wavin' in the wind as the cars go by
Days go by

Take that, clowns.

Take another little piece of my heart

I got to fall in love.

For a handful of weeks.

With an amazing man.

Who I can’t have.

So what else is new?

He makes me feel great. He makes me feel special. He looks at me and it’s like there is no one else in the world.

I’m sure his girlfriend feels exactly the same way.

And like all the men in my life that have taken a piece of my heart, he will probably fade away and vanish from my life, maybe slowly, maybe quickly. But, without a doubt, he will probably be gone fairly soon. I’ll have memories, I’ll have pleasant thoughts, I’ll have pictures from the amazing work we did together. But I won’t have him.

Because I don’t think I’m ready to have someone. That’s why the pieces of my heart vanish. Whether it’s their choice or mine, my heart seems to not be ready to get given away to someone who can do something about it.

I think because the years of it being battered and broken and trampled on are still imprinted on it. The wounds are still raw and bleeding, the bruises still fresh and purple. Sometimes, it still hurts to even breathe. The lingering effects of almost 20 years of having my emotions abused and bashed and negated make me unable or unwilling to let my heart be open for more than a moment in time, to let me let myself be open to someone who could hurt me that way again.

I don’t know when -- or if -- I’ll ever be able to let someone into my heart in a significant way again. Because I won’t survive another relationship where I lose myself again. Where my very being is taken apart and never put back together again.

I’d like to think I would make smarter choices now. I’d like to think I will draw someone to me who won’t kick me in the heart and stamp on my spirit. I’d like to think I’ve grown over these past four years and can see the red flags coming a mile away.

But to find that out, I have to be vulnerable. I have to be open. I have to be willing to let my heart off its chain and let it get broken a little bit.

But there are so few pieces of it left.

"Mastermind" opens this weekend!

My new directorial endeavor, "Mastermind", opens this weekend.

Part of Hurricane Season, the annual one act playwrighting festival and competition, "Mastermind" by Michael Patrick Sullivan, is a comic book style love story about a female reporter, Liz, trying to help her amnesiac boyfriend, J.D., find out who he really is. Of course, he could be a supervillain so that complicates things.

Featuring outstanding performances by Beth Ricketson and Brad Wilcox, this show will surprise you and touch your heart.





Also features new graphic novel artwork created by yours chumly.



Six performances only!

Friday, Saturday, July 10 and 11th at 8 PM and Sunday, July 12 at 2 PM.
Friday, Saturday, July 17 and 18th at 8 PM and Sunday, July 19 at 2 PM.

Eclectic Company Theatre
5312 Laurel Canyon Blvd., Noho
Tickets $15
Reservations (818) 508-3003
Tickets available at https://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/71273

Also playing with "Mastermind", "Lovely Day", an adorable children's fable, and "Master of None", directed by my dear friend, Kerr Seth Lordygan.

Join me, won't you?

Get "Gross & Indecent" with me this Saturday!

If you're in LA and you have $10 to spare, come by and check out this event!

"Gross & Indecent" - a 24 hour theater event
See what happens when writers and directors only have 24 hours to create theater!

What happens when writers have no time to write and directors and actors have no time to rehearse? Why, 24 hour theater is what happens!

Friday night, June 12, the writers get assigned a line of dialog and draw a cast out of a hat. They then scurry off to their local coffee house and tap away at their keyboards until early morning.

Saturday, June 13, the directors and actors arrive early in the morning, get together and go off and rehearse.

At 8 PM and 10 PM that night, the show goes on, ready or not. It's a fine line between train wreck and brilliance.

Admission - $10

TWO, COUNT 'EM, TWO SHOWS AT 8 PM AND 10PM.

C'mon, you know you want to see how it all turns out!

Make your reservation today at (818) 508-3003.

This event is a fundraiser for "Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde", which opens September 4th at Eclectic Company Theatre.

Saturday, June 13, 2009
8:00 pm and 10:00 pm
Eclectic Company Theatre
5312 Laurel Cyn Blvd.
North Hollywood, CA

Just needed to know

I just needed to know that you loved me. Not that you loved me because I behaved or because I did what you wanted me to do. Not that you loved me because I met your expectations or your unintelligible requirements. Not that you loved me because you had to or because we were married.

I just needed to know that you loved me.

Loved me.

Flawed. Failed. Floundering. Depressed. Ambitious. Determined. Fragile. Strong. Defeated. Difficult. Successful. Powerful. Weak.

Loved me.

It’s pretty simple, actually. Just love me.

I tried to love you that way. No matter how damaged you were, no matter how much you made me tremble in fear, no matter how much you hurt me and wounded me. Loved you.

Loved you.

Maybe that wasn’t obvious to you in the last few years of us but I did my best to just simply love you. As much as I could.

Maybe that’s what you did - loved me as much as you could.

But for all the times you said it, all the times you wrote it down, all the times you told other people, there were so very few times when I felt it. That you just simply loved me.

And in the end, I had hoped that that simple fact would win out - that you loved me. You told me over and over you would never let me go. You’d hunt me down, you’d bring me back. Because you loved me. Loved me that much.

But your pride won out over your love. And it showed me just how difficult that one simple request was. You couldn’t just love me. It had to have limits, it had to have rules, it had to have your mother’s approval.

It makes me wonder if that simple request is even possible.

Just love me.

Just me.

Just love.

Just love me.

Fundraisers in LA for "Gross Indecency"

If you're in LA and want to support my fall production of "Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde", check out one of the fundraisers below. Or go to my Paypal account and drop in your $10! susan@lifeonitsside.

-----------------------------------------


"GROSS AND INDECENT - A 24 HOUR THEATER EVENT"

What happens when writers have no time to write and directors and actors have no time to rehearse? Why, 24 hour theater is what happens!

Friday night, June 12, the writers get assigned a line of dialog and draw a cast out of a hat. They then scurry off to their local coffee house and tap away at their keyboards until early morning.

Saturday, June 13, the directors and actors arrive early in the morning, get together and go off and rehearse.

On June 13th, at 8 PM and 10 PM, the show goes on, ready or not. It's a fine line between train wreck and brilliance.

Admission - $10

TWO, COUNT 'EM, TWO SHOWS AT 8 PM AND 10PM.

C'mon, you know you want to see how it all turns out!

Eclectic Company Theatre
5312 Laurel Canyon Blvd., Noho

-------------------------------------



Join me for an incredibly fun evening of bingo and drag queens and help me raise money for "Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde".

Legendary Bingo in West Hollywood will be hosting the event, featuring one of their fabulous drag queen bingo callers. My special guest caller is Apollonia Kotero, an amazing and generous lady!

$20 buys you your cards for all 10 games. Fabulous prizes will be given away including an evening of wine tasting, free sword fighting lesson, tickets to Disney and Universal as well as a whole bunch o'cheesy crap.

Hamburger Mary's
8288 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood

Wednesday, June 17 at 9 PM

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Thanks for all your support!

You can't take that away...

I have spent my life trying to do/be what others want me to do/be. Well, I’m done.

I’m done trying to impress you all with my dazzling skills and all my accomplishments because you just don’t care. You don’t see it. You think I’m wasting my time with all this “stuff”. You think I’m being indulgent and ridiculous. You think I’m playing at my life because it’s not the life you chose for yourself. And you resent me because I chose to live the life I want, and not to live a life that is ordinary.

You can’t take anything away from me that hasn’t already been taken. You can’t possible undermine me anymore than you already have. You can’t make me stop and do things your way because, frankly, your way is as ridiculous to me as my way is to you.

If I were an athlete, a position that is acceptable in your eyes, then you would appreciate and understand all the work I am doing and that I have done. If I were an athlete, the hours of rehearsal and study and practice would be worthwhile because it would lead to me being a better athlete and maybe to something more. If I were an athlete, you’d leave me alone.

Or if I were 20, you’d roll your eyes and tolerate what I’m doing because I’m young and I’m exploring. If I were 20, you’d pat me on the head and say, go, explore, but you’d always end it with, but make sure you can get a job when you’re done. If I were 20, you would just pretend I had a future doing something useful once I got done with this silliness.

But I am an Artist. I have always been an Artist. And an Artist is an athlete in many ways. I have muscles I have to train, I have strategies I need to learn. I have game plans and goals and injuries, just the way an athlete does. My end goal requires just as much time and dedication and sacrifice as any professional athletic endeavor requires.

And, no, I’m not 20 but I am starting my life over again. And I’m only four years into it. But one thing I have learned in those four years is that I will not give up being an Artist for anyone. It is my life, it is my soul. It is what I excel at, whether you can see it or not. It is what makes my heart beat and my lungs breathe. It is what drives me and keeps me awake in the middle of the night It is what I wish I had embraced when I was 20 and was listening to too many other voices that told me to deny that Artist, to be something ordinary.

So do your best. Take away everything you can from me because you can’t take away the one thing that I live for - my art. You can’t take away my writing because, as long as I have a pen and a piece of paper, I can write. As long as there is one actor willing to stand in front of me and let me tell them what to do, I can direct. As long as I can find a crayon and an surface, I can draw. And you will never, ever be able to take that away from me.

Virtual fridge - new oil painting

Finished this the other day:

The Ugly Part

I teach fine art to children at Mission Renaissance (http://www.fineartclasses.com). I love my job because it allows me to teach, which is something I’ve wanted to do since I can remember. But, occasionally, I find that these kids teach me.

I have an eight-year-old girl I teach, I’ll call her “F” to protect her (that’s why I also won’t put up a picture of her here - too many freaky people out there). F is a funny, shy, smart little girl. She’s just moved into “master duplication” at my studio, which means she is learning not only how to reproduce master painters like Manet and Monet, but she’s also learning why they painted the way they do. Teach them how the painter painted so they can learn techniques they can apply to any other kind of painting as they grow older and figure out what they want to paint.

So, the struggle with F has been the struggle most of us have. She would get to a certain point in the drawing/painting where it was just ugly. There’s always that point, where what we’re creating is just plain ugly. It’s usually about the middle point, before the fine tuning has happened and while the whole thing is funky-looking. F would always break down at that point, crying, frustrated because her art wasn’t perfect yet. In the end, she always ended up liking what she drew/painted, once she got through the ugly part to the polished, pretty final part.

Working with her during spring camp, I finally got her to stop breaking down at the point where she usually did. We talked about how the artwork always hits the “ugly” part. I made her laugh while we talked about the ugly part and she ended up letting me take a picture of her making an ugly face when her painting hit that ugly part. She has, in fact, kind of embraced the ugly part. Today, as she was working on a Manet duplication (eight years old, remember), she hit the ugly part. She had a moment of starting to choke up but I saw her catch herself. Then she kept painting. When I came up to her a few minutes later to check on her, she smiled up at me. “I’m at the ugly part,” she said, “and that’s okay.” She continued her painting, not noticing how much it touched me to hear that. Then, when her mom came to pick her up, she told her mom, “Look, it’s at the ugly part. But it’ll be all right next week when I get past the ugly part.”

I’ve been struggling today with nothing big. Just the usual. Money is beyond tight, as in, I have about $6 until next payday which is a week from Friday. I’m overwhelmed with projects, which will sort themselves out shortly but a bunch of things are happening with all of them right now and it’s challenging keeping everything straight. I’m alone. I’m overweight. I’m (fill in the blank). So today has been a tough mental health day.

But as I was driving home, I was relishing the revelation of F and the fact that she’s embraced the ugly part of her art. Then I realized something.

I’m at the ugly part.

I’ve begun the work of art that my life will be. I’ve spent the last few years getting the sketch in, making sure the lines are correct and that everything relates the way it’s supposed to relate. I’ve laid down the tones, making sure that it all fits together. I’ve even done the scrub (the paint under everything that tints the canvas to the right tone) in preparation for the painting. I’ve started laying down the colors and starting to flesh out the painting.

And now I’m at the ugly part. The colors aren’t quite right, the tones are a bit too bright, the shape of my original drawing is getting wonky and out of proportion. When I step back to look at it, all I can see are the things that aren’t right, that need work. The edges are harsh and rough, nothing blends together, everything crashes together in a riot of colors and angles and brushstrokes without making anything recognizable.

But beneath the ugly part, there is a masterpiece. The foundation is solid and it just needs some adjusting and cleaning up. I need to remember to step back to take in the whole thing and appreciate the elements that are right and correct. Find the lines that are clear and clean and the tones that make the shape of the painting itself. Know that, eventually, the ugly will yield a masterpiece, if I can just keep going.

So, for right now, I will accept the ugly part, as much as I don’t like it. I’ll let you know when the masterpiece starts to emerge.

Missing a part of me

I spent the early afternoon watching one of my favorite movies - “White Knights” with Gregory Hines and Mikhail Barishnykov. Directed by Taylor Hackford, who is currently directing some friends of mine in a show about Louis Prima and Keely Smith, which will probably be a feature film very soon. But that’s another story.

This film has always been a favorite of mine because of the sheer passion and joy in the dance numbers between these two men. If any guy ever says anything about dancing being “gay” or not athletic, just check out the dance number with both men, competing but sharing, just brilliant choreography, physical, powerful, athletic.

And there’s an amazing “folk” number Barishnykov does to express his pain and anger at being trapped back in Russia, while Helen Mirren watches, her pain evident on her face. Makes me sob every time I see it.

Okay, the point. The point is this.

I was dancer once upon a time. What feels like a hundred years ago. I studied ballet and jazz. I taught ballet to five to ten year olds. I got on pointe. I loved every single second of it. Couldn’t get enough of it. I loved the way my body felt when I danced. I loved to just let go and let the music fill me up and make me move.

One of my teachers told me (as happens again and again in my life) that it’s a shame I didn’t start dancing as a young child instead of as an adult because I had talent. I had skill.

Ballet was my favorite. I could dance jazz effortlessly but I loved the feeling of stretching into an arabesque, unfolding my leg into a developpé. Feeling every muscle respond to unconscious commands, reaching, pushing, going past where I thought I could do and stretching a single inch further, bending a single inch lower, reaching a single inch higher.

I can’t watch dance anymore because it breaks my heart that I don’t dance anymore. And not just dancing, like, hanging out and dancing. But really, truly dance.

I first gave up dancing because of my first marriage. My first husband seemed to be very threatened by my ability and constantly made me feel like I was doing something wrong when I did something I loved so very much. Somehow, I convinced myself that dancing had something to do with our marriage ending. I know, don’t know why that seemed important then but it did. I danced for a while after that but because of the negative connotations, I never enjoyed ballet as much as I did before I made that weird, irrational leap.

I danced a bit when I moved to LA, took some classes. Again was told I should have started when I was younger as I apparently had some skills. What good does that do when you’re 25? I also am a bit broad and a bit tall for ballet, although I could have gone into music videos and stuff, I guess.

But then I danced in “American Tail”, a live show at Universal Studios, and that ruined my hip and my knee. I couldn’t take any kind of dancing for a long time. I continued to dance in the show long after I should have and really ruined my already stressed hip and knee. An injury when I was puppeteering on the show tore all the muscles in my back and added to the pain and problems.

After that, I never really danced again. My second husband never encouraged that part of me to re-emerge. When I did try to dance again after years of therapy and acupuncture, he discourages me from continuing because he was afraid I was going to hurt myself again. Valid reason, although I resented it. But I could have chosen to continue. I didn’t.

I pretty much stopped dancing altogether. RJ didn’t like to dance socially. He didn’t like to go where people danced, like clubs and such. Didn’t like to dance at weddings or anything like that. So I didn’t dance. I longed to go country line dancing for my birthday year after year as I thought it’d be fun. We could laugh at others making fools of themselves as we did ourselves. But he would have none of it so I had none of it.

My body ached every time I saw a movie that featured dancing. I stopped watching anything like that because it made me long for something I left behind so very long ago.

Now, I’m 47. My hip and knee have long recovered from their injuries, thanks to a brilliant acupuncturist who saved me from a hip replacement. I haven’t had any pain or problems in more than 10 years.

And I still don’t dance.

I think part of me is afraid. Afraid I won’t have the skill anymore. Well, duh, it’s been 20 years or more since I’ve really danced. Haven’t taken a class in that long. I’m afraid I won’t love it the way I did. Afraid I’ll hurt myself again if I try to take a class.

I just know, watching “White Knights”, the 20-year-old in me cried out, wanting to know why I left her behind, why I ignored her all these years. Why I let her become dormant and atrophied. Wondering why I gave up something I loved so much and that I was so good at.

And I have no answers. I can only say I won’t ever give up something I love so much again. No man, no woman, no person is going to stop me from doing what I want, what I love. I don’t want to look back in another 20 years and say, I wish I had never given up (fill in the blank).

Maybe I’ll be foolish enough to try a ballet class again. See if I still have a move or two in this old body. Maybe just a simple ballroom class. My friend, Shelley, has been encouraging me to tango and that sounds like a blast. Maybe it’s time to find that 20-year-old again and let her loose on the dance floor, see what she can do 20 years later.

Are we there yet?

I was talking to someone tonight who I’ve just gotten to know through the Eclectic Company Theatre (www.eclecticcompanytheatre.org) and giving him the mini version of the last four years of my life.

And this thought occurred to me:

Am I there yet?

I don’t know where “there” is but I’ve been wondering lately if I’m ever gonna get there.

Yes, I know, I’ve done amazing things, I have a great life, yada, yada, yada.

But do we ever get “there”? The “there” that is what we changed our lives for. The “there” that is the dream life - the significant other, the perfect abode, the perfect job, running on the beach without sunscreen, eating but not getting fat. That “there”.

I do know how much I’ve grown and changed in the past four years. Talking to someone new and giving them the Reader’s Digest version of things almost always puts things in perspective.

I think I’m at a rest stop on the way “there”. Maybe about mid-way. I can look back and see where I came from. Yikes. I can feel how many miles away that other life is and can look back at it with some perspective and some fondness now. I’m pausing to pee and get something to eat and just take a breath, maybe pull out the map, see how far behind me the other life was and check out how far ahead of me the new life is. Make sure I know where the next rest stop is so I can make sure I don’t run out of gas and know when I can pee again.

The map is sometimes easy to read. The broad roadways jump out and I can figure out which way I’m supposed to go.

But sometimes the map is like the Thomas Guide we use here in California. It’s an encyclopedia of different areas, different freeways, confusing symbols and the teeniest, tiniest writing ever. The freeway I’m on starts on page 2 but ends somewhere at the cross section of E4 on page 138. That’s a lot of pages to flip to play connect the freeway dots. Those are the times when I have to pull over and ask for directions because I can’t figure this stupid thing out.

But sometimes, it’s like it is now. I’m between two crazy projects that have and are going to eat up my time and my life, in the best way possible. I’ve been driving at 90 mph for the past three weeks and now I’m stopping at the vending machine, laying the map out on the hood and making sure I’m not in Alaska instead of LA. No right turn at Albuquerque for me.

And I’m looking down the road into the sun, which blurs the road in front of me. Yes, there’s the map and, yes, the AAA trip ticket. And even a full tank of gas and a bag full of goodies.

But that sun-blurred road is a bit scary and I wonder if I could live at the rest stop for just a little while. Just until the sun goes down and maybe makes the road easier to see.

Although that’s no fun.

So, after I’ve caught my breath, used the restroom and checked the map one last time, I’m climbing back into my imaginary Mustang convertible (hey, it’s my fantasy, I get to have the car I want), shift into first and aim towards “there”, wherever that may be.

And maybe getting “there” really, truly is about the journey, not the destination. Without the journey, there is no “there”, just endless alleyways and turnarounds. And there are wonderful sights on the way “there” that we may never see if we don’t try to get “there”.

So, I hope to see you all at the next rest stop. Grab a Coke and hang out with me for a bit. And we’ll figure out where “there” is for you.

Tonight's fundraiser

Too tired to write much. Will write more tomorrow.

Had a great fundraiser tonight for "Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde". Didn't sell any paintings but had a good turn out of folks. Raised $200. Yay! Only $3,200 to go (initially, anyway).

If you want to donate, you can go to my Paypal account, enter my email address and donate your $10... or your $20... or your $100... I can keep going, you know.

Photos to come soon...

Art show/fundraiser this Thursday

If you're in LA this week and want to help me out, come out and see some fantastic artwork by some of my friends, have a glass of wine, maybe buy a piece or two, and help raise money for my fall production of "Gross Indecency, the Three Trials of Oscar Wilde". Oh, and maybe wish me a happy birthday!

Featured artists include:

Myself - you can see some of my work under the photo albums on my profile here

Rachel Pitler - http://rachelpitler.com - fanciful, whimsical and delightful!

Micheal Hsiung - http://www.michaelchsiung.com/ - quirky, off-beat, old school editorial inked work.

Jacqueline Myers-Cho - http://www.myerscho.com/ - Unique, collage-inspired artwork

Also featuring abstract artist Chris Baylor, sketch artist Justin Baylor, and fine artist Maria Galloway.

All artwork will be for sale. 25% of all sales will go towards funding "Gross Indecency".

$10 suggested donation at the door. Wine and cheese will be served.

If you can't make the fundraiser but want to contribute your $10, please go to Paypal and use the email susan@lifeonitsside. I'll take your money any way I can get it.

Eclectic Company Theatre
5312 Laurel Canyon Blvd.
North Hollywood, CA

I painted my heart out tonight…

…because I didn’t know what else to do.

To look at the painting, you’d never know that my heartache and my heartbreak went into it.

Tonight, all the heartbreak, all the heartsick, all the emptiness overwhelmed me. Not surprising, with a birthday only days away. Birthdays with seven are always hard for me. Too many questions about where I am and what I’m doing and why I’m doing it haunt me. At 17, my parents struggling to stay married, being in a relationship with someone I knew I didn’t want to continue to be with, one more year of school. At 27, between relationships, had met my now-ex-husband but wasn’t sure where we were going, unsure about what my life held and about having moved to Los Angeles. At 37, knowing something was wrong but not ready to face it (that would take six more years), beginning to really embrace my directing career but uncertain about what to do about it, beginning to drown and not yet understanding it.

Tonight, the seven struck again. At 47, where am I, what am I doing, all that stuff.

I was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, sobbing over “Sex and the City”, the movie, at the moment where (SPOILER ALERT) Miranda and Steve get back together. Wishing my ex would have done that, come back for me, say he would do anything for me, wishing that great love I thought I had had been true.

I made myself get up and put on my painting apron and pick up my brush. I have an art exhibition and sale in less than two weeks and wanted to finish a couple of paintings before then but work and rehearsal for “Gothmas” (wait, here’s the plug for the show -
http://www.plays411.com/gothmas) have gotten in the way. So I stood for a moment, not really feeling like putting brush to canvas but willing myself to just paint for an hour. Then I would give myself permission to climb into bed and wallow for the rest of the evening.

Every stroke of the brush contained all that hurt and all that pain. I painted the deep reddish orange, imaging that this must be the color of my heart right now. Okay, so it’s actually water surrounding an Irish castle, but it made sense to me. The dark mountains were the memories of my marriage, the years of anger and rage, the years of silence and stifling. As I dipped my brush into the turpenoid, it washed away the memories of that hurt, that sorrow.

As I painted, I began to accept that this is what 47 is about - this painting, that painting, this play, that short film. As I painted, I saw my talent and saw that every stroke brought me closer to my soul, to who I really am. I saw that I couldn’t have painted like this without all the pain. I couldn’t have discovered this without the previous difficult “seven” birthdays. I couldn’t have found the life that truly is what I think I’m destined to have without all of it.

So I painted tonight and let my tears turn from tears of sorrow and anger and loneliness and everything else into tears of joy that God blessed me with this talent. Tears of appreciation that I can put brush to canvas and pour out all that emotion and turn it from the negative to something elegant and beautiful and, in truth, simple. Simple because a painting doesn’t require explanation or justification or logic. It just is. You like it, you don’t like it, you get it, you don’t get it. That’s it. Hopefully, the emotion put into it touches someone but the important thing is that it touched me.

So here’s to 47, the year I embrace and enhance my life, the year I accept and enjoy my talent and my gifts, the year I just let go and wait for 48.

BTW, here’s the painting.