of true confessions, leaps of faith...

I used to write letters. Long letters. Not because I had a long distance pen pal. In fact, most of the letters I used to write were to people who lived within 10 miles of me. I wasn't trying to recapture a lost art (although now that seems oddly worth doing). The thing was, my shyness used to make it impossible for me to tell people how I felt. What I couldn't imagine at the time (though now it seems so obvious) was that people, for the most part, were not generally interested in hearing it...or reading it.

People never seemed to fit my expectation of what a Friend was supposed to be. And I suppose that I didn't fit people's own idea of the same. I was terrified of the phone: what if I interrupted something important? What if I woke them up? What if I dialed a wrong number? And if we happened to meet somewhere, I would either clam up and be a total bore or else I would unleash this explosion of pent up feeling, like I was in a shrink's office, leaving the other guy to feel like he had to dispense some Wisdom, which he didn't really have to give.

So I never got out much. And whenever I felt drawn to a person, I would write to them. I knew it was strange and probably unwelcome. But I just couldn't help myself. There was a time that I just felt a desperate need to reach out like that. What would I tell them? Well, I'm not going to relive all that here. Sometimes, it was something that they did not want to know, or should not know, or did not need to know. Sometimes, I just felt like I needed them to know for my own peace of mind. But I was lying to myself, because it didn't give me peace of mind. When people didn't respond, or when they responded badly, it just brought more sadness, confusion, loneliness and desperation. Sometimes it would become a cycle and I would write again and again, even though it was obvious that it was the wrong thing to do. In the midst of revealing heavy emotions, I would also just talk about normal friend things. I would talk about songs I liked or movies, books, other culture. I used to quote a lot. When I could not think of what to say, I let Tori Amos or Smashing Pumpkins or Foetus say it.

And what did I hope to gain from all this? Writing a long, heart-felt letter is like a leap of faith because you're investing time and emotional energy into the idea that this person you're writing to is going to read what you've written, and that it will affect them in some way that is favorable to you. I wanted people to understand me. I wanted them to like me. In some cases, I wanted them to help me. Because a lot of these letters were written in a very dark time when I didn't know what to do.

There's really only one person that I still write letters to. He resides in a prison a long ways away. I've never met him. I think I've mentioned him here before, but I haven't identified him, and I won't. (I have a feeling that people would judge me for wanting to correspond with this person.)  But it's amazing to me how much my motives for writing him seem the same as when I wrote those letters to all those other people years ago. I seem to be looking for a friend, for understanding, for love even. And here's a captive audience, although that's not really true; he doesn't have to read them, and if he told me to leave him alone, I would. But he's written back only a few times in several years, and it's very hard to keep it up. It's that leap of faith, a faith that seems to grow weaker as time goes on, because I never know if I'll hear from him again. Do I really want to spend the time and energy on this? Do I really want to feel things for someone who is really not accessible to me? How do I know when to stop?

Some of what I used to write in letters, I put in blogs like these. It's not the same. It's still a leap of faith because who even reads this? But it's not personal. It's not "from me to you". When I wrote letters, it's like I was trying to touch a person's soul. But this here is just...food for thought, followed by forgetfulness. Go back to Facebook, go back to your emails, Twitter, your online games, your porno, whatever. I don't try to touch people hearts because I don't think they want that. I have to find a sexual partner for that. And that has always been exceedingly difficult for me.

As I've grown older, I've learned about boundaries. I can say whatever I want here because you chose to open this document. But if I send a letter...If we're talking and I say something deep or emotional, I know it tends to be off limits. When I was growing up, I was guarded (shy), and then I found a way to be unguarded (letters) but then I realized it went too far, and now I'm guarded again. I don't say what I want to say. I feel things, and I keep them to myself. It's how you're supposed to do. It's what's expected.

I still don't get out much.

flow

Okay, here's the thing: I love you, but I want more followers. Gotta figure out how to promote this thing. Of course, I shot it in the foot by taking away its central focus, so now even I don't know what the heck it's supposed to be about, so that doesn't help.

I think that what will come in the future is a new blog that focuses on my work as an artist. That way, it can appeal to other artists, who can relate and comment about their own similar experiences. But that will probably be on the Wordpress Book of Dreams site, which is technically up but not updated since the failed production of last fall's What Connects Us.

I've been keeping pretty busy, more so than I have in a long time. I worked on a monologue for Part Time Playhouse. Their summer series, In Theater, focuses on work written by and/or performed by military veterans. The piece I did was a 7-page monologue, which was very well written and well acted. (I withhold names of people in this blog to protect their privacy if they don't want to be blogged about.) But I had trouble directing it. First, I felt like a fish out of water in two ways: 1.) I was not a vet, and could not relate to a lot of the experiences discussed among the playwright and actor. And 2.) This was for a filmed public TV production, which was new to me, and I didn't know all the ins and outs of how that worked. Both elements made me lack confidence in my abilities to both direct and be respected. Very early on, the actor nailed the performance of this piece, with a real understanding of the character, and for most of the rehearsals, I just kind of sat there, not knowing how to improve upon it, which left me feeling redundant. But then the broadcast day came, and the finished product was wonderful. I don't know how much credit I can take for it, but it felt good to see the piece succeed, because it was really solid. I also had a chance to hang out with an actress who I directed in a show a couple years ago. She was starring in a different monologue, also very good.

So it's been nerve-wracking, getting things arranged for my project grant that I'm applying for. You have to try to figure out when and where you're going to perform the piece that you want to do, but often to do that, you have to pay a deposit to reserve the space. I have assured various people whom I love that I will be careful about taking financial risks. And so I have to really watch what kind of arrangements I make with people. I have to know that I'll be able to follow through. I have to either have an escape clause in case I don't get the funding, OR I have to have a plan B for how to fund the project. I already know I'm gonna be doing other types of fund-raising in addition to the grant, even if I get it. But the pressure is on; the complete application and supplemental materials (whatever those turn out to be) are due before the end of the month.

Tonight was a very significant night for me because after a few years of working on my new play, "para physin", which I wrote with a good friend of mine, I finally had it read in a public setting by PDX Playwrights. Mostly it was a good experience. Even when people are trying to make your script better, their suggestions are made in such a way that is thoughtful and considerate of your hard work and your feelings. I know that all my work comes from a place very deep within me and it's really hard to stick your neck out there for people to chop it off. But this is a good group, a thoughtful group, and I appreciated the feedback. I hope to be able to showcase it in Fertile Ground 2014, but there are some changes that need to be made first. Again, money is an issue. And rehearsal space. Last year's attempt was such a miserable failure, I don't know if I can bear trying again so soon.

So in the next weeks, I'll be working on the grant and helping out in a play for Wilsonville Theater Co. Been trying to find some nice people to date online, but it's not been very successful. The guys that seem great tend to be con artists. And I used to be gullible, but not anymore. The day you realize you've become a realist is worse than the day you realize you're a man and childhood is gone.

If you're reading this, I want to know who you are.

When I was shamefully attending voc rehab sessions twice a week, I would sometimes have to go "upstairs" to talk to one of the counselors. It was very irritating the first time I started to walk that double flight of stairs, and I heard this loud yell from up above: "ANNOUNCE YOURSELF!" It was a man's voice. I didn't know who he was, but obviously in charge. At first I wasn't sure if he was talking to me. How could he even see me? I didn't see him. Then he yelled it again, so I sheepishly said my name and stated my business. Then I was allowed to come upstairs. I learned this was always necessary, no doubt for security reasons. Maybe there were some whacked-out druggies at the voc rehab. I sure didn't feel like I belonged there, but I did because...well, I was afraid of work. (I don't mean that in the same way you say a lazy guy is afraid to work; I was afraid of it like some people are afraid of heights or closed-in spaces.)

Well, anyway, the point of that whole opening paragraph is that now I'm the guy saying to you (saying, not yelling): announce yourself. If you read my blog, subscribe to it, comment on it (please keep it friendly), let me know who you are so that I don't just think I'm talking to myself. I mean, I realize that above all, that is exactly what I'm doing, but I'm also trying to connect here.

Thank you.