Where The Roses Bloom

I almost didn’t write this post. The information hasn’t really sunk in yet.

Today in my treatment session, I got an amazing surprise.

I was due to finish in mid-June, and had two more appointments booked.

But the wonderful nurse who was looking after me checked their system.

They had counted wrong. The next time I come is my last treatment session.

I almost started crying. I was so happy and excited, but also in shock.

It has been such a long road to make it to this point, and a bit of a surreal experience to be finished in the midst of a pandemic.

I had wanted to have a big party bringing together all the amazing people who have been part of this journey. Obviously that isn’t a possibility now. I’ll need to find another way to say thank you to the incredible people who loved and supported me – and another to create a real sense of celebration that I’m still here!

When my birthday came this year, it felt a bit in the shadow of this milestone. This was the moment I was waiting to celebrate. And now it’s almost here – sooner than I had expected.

I wanted to make big plans of elaborate thank you presents – none of that is probably reasonable with the time frame I’m working under, especially with how unbelievably full quarantine days are trying to work and look after a little one.

But oh my goodness, the gratitude just fills my heart.

I keep catching myself, giving reminders that there is still a road ahead. At least two more surgeries, increased hormone therapy that will span the next decade, and the strange process of putting together a ‘normal’ life in a world that has turned upside down.

The joy and relief is so profound, I almost can’t process it.

Maybe it will feel more real in the morning. Or maybe I’ll find myself thinking it through in the wee small hours when I should be sleeping. But at least this insomnia will be tinged with excitement – like a little kid waiting for Santa Claus to come.

Almost there.

When undergoing any intensive experience (like cancer treatment) there’s a decision to be made: are you going to fight the tides, or ride them?

I was reminded of this today. It was a treatment day. They have to give me a whole lot of premeds when I have Herceptin, because I had a reaction during my first infusion, so they pump me up with steroids and Piriton. I don’t feel bad afterwards – but I am pretty groggy and fuzzy for the rest of the day.

Normally, I come home and go to bed, but work time has been so scarce, I really wanted to push against this tendency.

More importantly, I know that when I sleep after treatment, I have a much harder time going to sleep that night.

But what is the cause and what is the effect?

Zach turned this on its head. He said, “you normally have insomnia on treatment days – you should rest up while you can.”

And he was right. Even though at the moment I could barely keep my eyes open, the combination of the medications (probably the steroids) or just the experience itself does tend to mean a lot of difficulty sleeping that night.

It was my tendency to push towards productivity and harsh scheduling.

Zach said ‘listen to your body.’

I took a nap, and I felt wonderfully refreshed afterwards.

I probably will have a hard time sleeping tonight, but that’s okay – the rest during the day helped shore up my reserves.

It’s so hard to remember to be kind to ourselves. We’re lucky if we have people around to remind us, during the times when we can’t locate the gentler path for ourselves.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Yesterday I had a great interview for a wonderful opportunity.

It surprised me that I was able to think this. Because the ultimate deciding factor is whether you get selected.

Right?

Well, I’m not necessarily sure this is true in the arts.

It made me think a bit about this experience, and what I’ve learned from doing it over the years.

‘Normal’ vs ‘artistic’ job interviews

Not too long ago, I went on an interview for a job opportunity in an admin role. And it was startling to be reminded how different these processes are.

The kind of prep you do for a standard job interview isn’t necessarily going to help you in an interview for an artistic opportunity. In fact, it might even hold you back.

In a ‘normal’ job they are looking to assess your skills and experience. I have never had this happen in an artistic job. They are not looking for you to tell them why you are qualified and capable by listing out what you’ve done. They want to understand what drives you as an artist and makes you feel passionate about your work.

In a ‘normal’ job they are looking for culture fit. The goal is to seem enough like the other people in the company that you will fit in seamlessly. In an artistic job role, they are looking for what makes you stand out or different.

In a ‘normal’ job there is usually, well, a ‘job’. For artistic interviews, often it’s a little more amorphous. There are lots of times I’ve been invited for a vague coffee – but this is really important relationship building and the opportunity to meet some pretty cool people. If you go in with too strong of an agenda of wanting to get something, it’s really easy to sour this connection. Better to go in with an open mind, just keeping your eyes peeled for what you can take away to enrich your practice even if nothing further comes of it.

How to prep

For a theatre interview or chat, it’s good to walk in having thought through what to talk about in the following areas:

1. Tell me about yourself. This is deceptively hard. You might want to practice this so you don’t wind up waffling on about stuff that has nothing to do with where you’re at in your practice now.
2. What story does your work tell? You probably won’t be asked this question directly, but this is what you want to get across if you talk about your work. What is the through line that has gathered your work? Or if things have taken a sharp turn, why? You aren’t looking to show them lots of different things, you are looking for continuity and connection, creating a cohesive story.
3. Why are you the person you are / how do you see your identity? You art comes from who you are – so who are you? What identities or experiences have shaped you? I understand worries about discrimination – there have been times I don’t want to talk about being disabled. But if you are making work with your whole self, you can’t hide – better to be open about this.
4. What have you seen? I have been asked this question in interview and felt my mind go blank, to the point where it feels like I have never seen a theatre show ever. Think in advance about two or three things you have seen recently that might be useful to talk about. Bonus points if this is work at their theatre. It’s a pretty good idea to find a way to keep a list of what you’ve seen so this is easy to do!
5. How do you think your work fits into what we do? You really want to familiarise yourself with their previous work – even if that just means a quick look over their website. This shows you’re informed, but more importantly it shows you care.
6. Which artists inspire you? Be prepared to say why. Be honest, but it’s alright to have an unconventional answer. Try to make sure you don’t just pick dead white men. Speaking from personal experience, it’s amazing what an automatic default this is even if you yourself are not white or male!
7. Why do you want this now? ‘Why now’ is the question you will get with every commission or funding opportunity. Get comfortable talking about why the work you’re interested in is important or speaks to the present moment.

During the interview

These are the things I’ve found make a difference for me in having a good experience:

1. Try to have a good time. If you can find a way to have fun, it’s more likely your interviewers will as well. This is the kind of attitude that brings out the best in collaborators, so tap into this whenever possible.
2. Be present. It’s a good idea to do a bit of prep, but sometimes these interviews take weird and wacky turns. If you go in with expectations, it’s easy to be thrown. In my experience, arts interviewers tend to have a kneejerk reaction against trying to take control of the interview. Allow room for the unexpected.
3. Expect nothing. We’re all hungry for opportunities to make work, and want to make a good impression on people who can help us. I find it helpful to remind myself that most of these will not turn into anything other than an interesting conversation. It helps take the pressure off, and can help you lose that desperate edge that programmers can smell a mile away.
4. Look for what you can learn. I’ve always come away from these conversations with something rewarding – even if it isn’t what I had in mind. These are usually interesting and connected people, and you will find something enriching from the conversation, whether it’s experiencing a different perspective on making work, or learning about a new artist to check out.
5. Keep a sense of humour. It is inevitable you will end up in a conversation with someone who is a bad match, or where you just crash and burn. Humour will help you handle this with grace instead of panic.
6. Remember: you don’t ‘need’ these people. There have been opportunities I thought I would die if I didn’t get, I wanted them so badly. You know what? In the long run, it didn’t matter. Would it be nice to make the connection or get the opportunity? Yes of course! But you were making art before the conversation. You’ll be making art afterwards. You are there as an equal and an artist, so remember your worth, and that this is just one job or opportunity in what will be a lifetime of practicing your craft.

After the interview

Arts interviews are a popularity contest even more than normal jobs. It can feel really personal to be judged on these qualities – and therefore even more devastating when you don’t get it.

With yesterday’s interview, I came out feeling really inspired and good – to the point where even if I don’t get picked, I still feel really happy about the interview.

Why? Because it was fun!

I really enjoyed the connection. I liked these people. I felt inspired by what they were trying to create and pretty darn honoured to have made it to the stage of an interview.

The more of these interviews I do, the more useful I feel they are – for me and my artistic practice.

Why?

Talking to people in your field, making work is an amazing opportunity to take stock of your own process.

It’s all very well and good to write in your journal or prepare questions in advance. But there is something about being face to face with another human being and having to talk about what you do that can actually help you learn about yourself. When you are under that spotlight, what does feel important? Who are you right now as an artist? Which ways are you growing?

Sometimes we don’t really know these things until we are in a live environment, so this is an amazing opportunity to get to know yourself better. And chances are you’ll come out feeling a lot better going in with this attitude than trying to impress people.

A final thought

Lastly, say thank you. Do it in the interview, and send a note.

Most of the people doing this interviews are working incredibly long hours for very little pay with a lot of artists who want things from them all the time.

These folks keep the arts world running, so reminding them their work is seen and appreciated is just the right thing to do.

Photo by Daniel McCullough on Unsplash

The days keep going by. Those of us who are fortunate enough to be able to self-quarantine are have spent weeks inside.

It’s a strange sort of life. Every day starts to feel the same. There’s some interesting research on this – talking about how new experiences make time expand, or conversely how repetition can make time seem to drag.

We’ve found that keeping to a routine feels important, especially for Rosie, to help the days keep some sort of shape. But the consequence is that they all start to feel the same.

We’ve had some lovely times – with laughter and time together – and also some stress with work and other projects. But not being able to go anywhere or see people has made time feel static.

Today, I found myself dreading the thought of the chain of days that lay ahead. I imagined these carrying on exactly the same, particularly not knowing when this period of time will come to an end.

I thought, there must be some way to add a bit of sparkle back in.

This question popped to mind:

“What makes today special?”

I’ve held this in my thoughts all day. It’s been lovely.

It’s a helpful reminder look out for the moments where something lovely happened – and to let that moment’s magic colour the rest of the day.

Even little things – cooking a meal or watching a show – seem to take on a new significance where we try to savour and emphasise the ‘specialness’ of the events within a given day.

Today actually is a special today – I’ve got a song appearing in an online concert organised by some truly wonderful people. I realised that I was looking at this as a single bright spot in a day that was otherwise the same as any other, thinking of this as a bit ‘blah’ instead of using this as a focal point to help the whole day feel special.

We have to find our own ways to mark time during this period where the weeks pass, but life remains strangely frozen. Focusing on the sensation of novelty or differentiation is so important – this mindset shift helped change how the whole day felt.

Every day can have something special if we’re willing to look for it.

Photo by Skyler Gerald on Unsplash

I’m going to be honest: when I was first working on the writing job that is my primary focus at the moment, I had to google ‘how to format a radio play’.

I never dreamed that my first radio project would be a two hour feature to an audience of millions.

To my credit: I worked hard for this. I have lots of prior experience working with a huge array of artists across different mediums to shape their stories, both as a dramaturg and as a writer. I also jumped through a lot of hoops to get this gig, including writing the sample pages that helped the project to get the green light for commission.

But this project is also stretching me. There are lots of things that are unfamiliar to the point of discomfort.

Such as:

Writing for radio. Working in long-form documentary-drama. Crafting story for an episode-based format. Working with an array of new collaborators and hierarchies I haven’t encountered before. And all on a very tight and inflexible timeline.

I was thrilled to get the opportunity to take this on.

But if I’m being honest with myself – I’m out of my depth.

I’ve thought this more than once on this project.

Luckily, I already know this feeling. I’ve spent a lot of time here over the years on various projects. Which means I can recognise it as an experience to work towards rather than an all-out crisis.

I encountered this ‘out of my depth’ experience with my first commissions, where I was still working out the mechanics of how to write a play alongside trying to meet the needs of the companies that had hired me, and tell a story that I cared about.

At times it felt overwhelming – even a bit impossible.

When you’re in the deep end, there are two choices: you can sink, or you can swim.

Sinking is, in some ways, the easiest choice. You give up. You let the water take you. You let the weight of your own fears and self-doubt drag you down, or paralyse you into a tense and hopeless cycle of treading water.

It’s normal to spend some time here. It’s a common part of the creative process. We all struggle, there is no shame in that.

But when I ask myself this question in these stark terms: “are you going to sink, or are you going to swim?” I feel my survivor instinct kick in. (Try it – it’s exhilarating to feel how powerful this is.)

I’m going to swim, damnit!

What does that look like?

Not giving up. This is a given. Finding some way to persist, to move forwards, to make an effort in spite of whatever odds you are facing is the main thing. Even a small amount of progress is bringing you closer to the goal, and the little bits really do add up.

Hard work – making time to focus on the problem. The more we do tasks, the better we get at conserving effort, which can make it a rude awakening to re-encounter the amount of work required to do something for the first time. Making the time to allow for ‘first time experience’ instead of expecting your normal efficiency or seeing this as a problem is essential.

But it’s not just sheer hours that count. It’s focused work. It’s easy to estimate just how difficult this is to do – to train our minds on the task at hand rather than letting letting them wander. Like meditation, it gets easier with practice, but even just a pure desire to make this your primary focus for a fixed period of time is a great starting point.

The last ingredient is the hardest. Looking for help. This is the equivalent of reaching for the life preserver, and the further out you are, the more important this becomes. You’re not going to make it from the middle of the Atlantic to Florida by swimming alone.

Doing this can be a painful process. When I had to share my first pages since formally coming on board the project, I knew they weren’t strong enough. The feedback that I got echoed that, even though my collaborators were kind enough to share their thoughts diplomatically. (And fortunately, I also find this easier to hear when I’m already aware there is an issue.)

But this opened the door to a really valuable discussion about what was missing, what was needed, and what might help me in unlocking the next phase.

I haven’t always had people who are as kind or as clear. But there are usually still clues in the conversation about what will put me on the right track, if I’m able to put ego aside enough to look for them.

It seems counterintuitive, but the worse you’re struggling, the better off you are sharing. If you’re waiting for a lightning stroke of genius, you are taking a pricey gamble. The sooner you get a steer, or sounding board, or commiseration from another person, the less likely you are to waste energy.

I’ve got most of these pieces lined up. That still doesn’t mean it’s easy.

I just completed a rough draft of part one of an eight part series. I know it still isn’t right yet. And I have a really long way to go in quite a short space of time.

I had anticipated taking this project on with full time childcare, instead I am in coronavirus lockdown with a toddler. The deadline isn’t going to move, so I have to innovate.

I’m determined not to fall into old habits of staying up too late and wrecking myself to get this done – because given that the release valves of childcare or other support are out of the question for the forseeable future, burning out and then recharging is simply not an option.

I have no idea how I’m going to innovate under such unusual circumstances with such tight time pressure. If I’m honest, it is a little bit scary. I’m trying to balance making room for those feelings without letting them overwhelm me.

When it really all feels too much, I’m reminded of what they do to help ‘drown-proof’ people in the military. You’re trained to sink to sink to the bottom, then use your feet to push you back up to the surface, conserving your energy.

A well-timed, small push can be more powerful than hours of pointless thrashing.

You just have to keep doing it over and over until the life preserver arrives.

And eventually, if you keep choosing to swim, you find you have made the perilous but rewarding journey to shore.

Photo by Silas Baisch on Unsplash

Rosie is allergic to cow’s milk and eggs. We’re hopeful she will grow out of them but it’s not something we have any interest in experimenting with in the current climate. (The last thing we need is an allergy emergency!)

This presented a bit of a conundrum for an Easter egg hunt.

Real eggs were obviously out. Pretty much all of the chocolate ones have milk in them, so that was a no-go.

I was feeling pretty stumped, and thought the Easter Bunny might just need to leave a note. But that clever little rabbit found these…

Chalk eggs!

Let’s be honest, this was pure luck – I was searching for sidewalk chalk for Rosie and saw these and realised I could solve two problems at once!

As a bonus: this shape is really good for little toddler hands.

If you have a kiddo with allergies, it is well worth reminding the Easter Bunny about these – it’s a great way to have the fun with none of the danger. And the Easter Bunny can always hide a separate goody bag filled with safe treats.

From our family to yours, Happy Easter / Passover / Spring!