Whew. In the middle of intense week as writer-in-residence in the beautiful community of Dunsford Ontario. Smell of farm (yes, that's a euphemism) very prevalent. Enthusiastic and hilarious children all clamoring for more of me, and, since I am no good at saying No, I am feeling knackered. Back home I study my lines and songs whenever I can. I'm in an amateur production of Into The Woods, and our show goes on in two weeks. I love amateur theater. There's something truly moving about group of people getting together to sing and dance and act their hearts out, and then going home to become nurses and police officers and butchers and teachers and high-school kids. No one is making a career out of this -- we're doing it because we love it. We are amateurs. And, darn it, for amateurs we are pretty good. Some truly excellent voices, and a couple of the ensemble numbers work a treat. Which is why I have to practice more. I don't want to let the team down. I'm the narrator, and I have a crapload of lines. Many in the cast are note perfect, and I am not even note-worthy -- yet. Busy juggling life -- writer, father, mentor, actor. Can I keep them all in the air? Watch this space and see.
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