If you will be in the NYC area this evening, please drop by the Bowery Poetry Club, where I will read along with other fiction writers published by Wising Up Press.
FAILURE!
This semester, we are scheduled for two performance voice classes, rather than the usual one. Monday night was the first, and we were each supposed to sing two of the four songs we had worked on during the semester.
I was prepared, but I wasn't ready. I had practiced my two songs into the ground, but I was tired and distracted. I've been fighting off a cold, and I've been overwhelmed with work and with welcome, but exhausting, social events. Even more dangerous, for me, I'd had an upsetting experience that I hadn't found (or taken) the time to process. My emotions fuel my singing (and my writing), and when I disconnect from them in order to plough through the tasks at hand, instead I tend to plough into a ditch.
Which is sort of what happened on Monday night. I've been doing this long enough now to be able to push the melody out automatically, but, as I told a friend afterwards, I might as well have been singing about paper clips and shoelaces for all the focus and passion I brought to my songs. This was especially disastrous in the case of "Night and Day," which demands concentrated heat. It just wasn't on tap. Everything felt off.
So I panicked, and started doing all the things we're drilled not to do. I winced when I wobbled on a note. I turned to the accompanist when I forgot a word. I shifted idly from one foot to the other, detached from my body.
About halfway through the song--at the point when I heard myself sing "the roaring traffic's boom" as "the boring traffic's gloom" (my unconscious is no fool)--I realized that I was living out my worst fear about taking this class. I was letting myself down, looking foolish in front of an audience.
And I thought, so what? I hadn't robbed a bank, or punched someone out. Cole Porter might be turning in his grave, but that probably happens a lot. What was the big deal? I messed up a song. There was no big deal.
Suddenly it struck me funny. When I reached the climax, I faced down the audience, lifted my arms, and belted out, "And this torment won't be through!" in a clear reference to my own singing, and everyone cracked up, including the teacher. Then I was able to finish the song with the energy and force it deserves.
I plan on doing much better this Monday, but it is good to know I can die up there and still live.
A few editors have given my novel "rave rejections" and offered to look at it again after I've made certain revisions. I've noticed lately that I'm much calmer about it all. My main source of angst is cordoning off the time to work, but when I am writing, I'm writing well, and when I think maybe I'm going off in a wrong direction, I remind myself, There is no big deal. I'm doing my best with what I have right now. As a classmate sang on Monday night,
Sometimes your dreams get broken in pieces,
But that doesn't alter a thing--
Take it from me, there's still gonna be
A summer, a winter, a fall and a spring.
And I, for one, am grateful. I've got enough to contend with. I don't need the added worry that I've altered the seasons by screwing up in my work. I'm human, I make mistakes, and the world goes round and round.
Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog , and she is a regular monthly panelist on Litopia After Dark. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.
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