Tips for the Socially Awkward Dancer

It's no picnic being socially awkward. You tend to say the wrong thing at the wrong time,  inadvertently hurt people's feelings, walk into stationary objects, have no idea when to stop (or start) talking, and get excited at inappropriate moments. It feels like you missed a day at school and, while you were gone, everyone else learned how to communicate with each other.

I started dancing so I would be cool.

Because I wasn't cool.

I saw people dancing and they seemed cool, so I figured I'd dance and be cool, too.

But you can't chase your own dorkiness away with a few hitch-kicks and a pirouette. As a matter of fact, the further your average awkward human gets into the world of dance, the more they might feel hamstrung by their social limitations. Dance is about communication. It's about collaboration. It's about moving with confidence. It's about being able to hold 1000 different conversations with your audience.

There's also an ingrained hierarchy to much of the dance world, which means you have to be able to network your butt off if you want to get ahead. Not the easiest task for the socially awkward amongst us.

Here are a few tips that have worked for me:

1. Don't take it personally.

There are all kinds of people in the world. Chances are, a lot of them aren't going to "get you". Taking it personally can cripple your progress. Brush it off, keep working on your chaine turns and find a positive mantra you can repeat to yourself. Negative thoughts are easy to dwell on. Don't get lost going down that path.

2. Find your tribe.

No matter how alone you might feel, there are others out there like you. Maybe they're in dance class. Maybe they aren't. Maybe they're online. Maybe they aren't. You might have to put some effort into those relationships, but they can be invaluable. Not just for the support and validation you get out of them, but for the support and validation you can give. Which leads us to our next tip…

3. It isn't about you.

Self-conciousness is often at the root of social awkwardness. You grow overly aware of every little thing you're doing or saying, subscribing too much weight to those moments, and allowing them to crumble beneath an artificial importance. You don't have to do this. Instead, ask a question. Ask a follow-up question. Allow yourself to think about what you're being told. (Normal people out there might laugh, but this doesn't come naturally to everyone.) If you can turn the spotlight softly onto someone else, that means you don't have to burn beneath its light.

4. Fake it till you make it, baby.

Dancers hear this a lot, but it's true. Pretend you're a bad ass and, not only might you trick a couple of people, you might also convince yourself. Keep putting yourself in challenging positions and don't let discomfort or fear stop you from giving it 100%. If dancers only danced the way they felt at any given time, we would end up with a lot of tired, hungry, cranky dances. It's the same way for conversation.

5. But don't sacrifice your authenticity.

"ARGHHHHH," you're probably saying. "How am I supposed to fake it while I make it, and be authentic at the same time?"

Beats me. I'm still working on it.

If you figure it out, let me know.

Here's the good news:

This is the best time in history to be a socially awkward dancer. Our culture is embracing nerds like never before, the internet gives us previously unheard of opportunities to connect with like-minded people and there are a million fun, wacky and weird things going on in the dance world. Being different allows you to contribute to dance in a way that is wholly unique. Eventually, if you stick around, the awkwardness that haunted you so much early on becomes a gift.

Show us the world from your point of view.

You can't have it all… but maybe you can have more than you think

Shame is such a persistent element of this modern life. Perhaps it is because we have so much constant input coming in from every angle, a million how-to books, a million blog articles offering advice, with think pieces on productivity, maturity, parenting, spirituality, career choices, nutrition, social justice, politics, and more.

They may be well-intentioned, but it can create a lingering suspicion that we're always doing it wrong. Even if we correct our behavior or opinions in response to a convincing argument, there's an opposing viewpoint one week later. It's good that we're listening, it's good that we're evaluating and challenging our own beliefs, I think it's a sign of positive change, but it's also an awful lot of noise. With time, it can become an awful lot of weight.

Or, maybe that's just me. Perhaps I'm uniquely influenced by guilt. I kept taking piano lessons for years because I thought not playing piano would make me a bad person. I feared I'd end up regretting my choices.

Many times I don't even realize guilt is influencing my behavior.

All of this leads into a book review…

I recently read "The Renaissance Soul: Life Design for People with Too Many Passions to Pick Just One". The title says it all. This is a book for people who are always finding themselves pulled in a million different directions, by a million different interests.

Our culture preaches the importance of choosing. This is especially pervasive in the dance industry. How often have dancers heard variations of the idea, "Dance requires everything"? There's a lot of talk of sacrifice and focus. Dedicating yourself completely. Not doing so makes you less of a dancer. It means you don't love it as much as the next guy.

It isn't only true for dancers. The further you get in any career or field of study, the more focused you're expected to get. I believe it discourages a lot of people. It's easy to get depressed looking at a future of doing one thing forever if that isn't ingrained into your personality.

I've learned that love doesn't always requires exclusivity. Each time I crack open a history book, sit down at the piano (yes, I eventually went back to piano), create a unique design element, or take time out to work on my novel, it isn't making me less of a dancer.

Maybe that sounds obvious and silly to you, but it was a major illumination for me. I needed permission to love a lot of things, even if permission only came from a book. I needed someone to tell me that my art wouldn't suffer if I widened my scope a little. I wanted to be set free of the guilt I didn't even know I was bearing.

The author, Lobenstine, uses the example of Leonardo da Vinci, who followed his curiosity down many different paths. The guy is credited as a painter, sculptor, architect, musician, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist, and writer. Would anyone dare to criticize him, telling him to focus his interests and dedicate himself to one field? No, because he's frickin' Leonardo da Vinci. For all the paths he took, his Mona Lisa is still one of the most celebrated paintings of all time. I'd argue his diverse interests made him a better artist than he would have been if he limited himself to one field.

That isn't to say I'm anywhere near the level of Leonardo da Vinci, but I do think I have some similar wiring in the way that I approach art. Lobenstine does a great job outlining practical strategies and plans for those with a Renaissance Soul personality type. Though I didn't fill out all the worksheets, they got me thinking in a more productive way and enabled me to create a few of my own plans.

If you think you might be a Renaissance Soul, I can't recommend this book enough. The career plans are great, but the best part is finding permission to embrace your own curiosity.

Crossroads

It's a potent word, isn't it? "Crossroads." Brings to mind an image of a lone man (or woman) paused at the intersection of Robert Frost's infamous two roads, trying to decide which one to follow. When I was nine years old, I had to make a decision whether to enroll in dance or synchronized swimming. As you've probably figured out, I went with dance. Sometimes I wonder how drastically different my life would have turned out if I made a different choice. Not that I regret my decision, but... it's interesting to wonder.

If you can believe it, I think that Choose Your Own Adventure books conditioned me early on to believe that decisions come in one particular flavor. Remember those books? You'd read one chapter, then, at the end of the chapter, you'd have to decide whether to a) explore the scary house in the woods or b) go home and read. Sometimes the choices were clear and obvious, with the wrong answer ending in a gruesome death scene. Other times it wasn't so easy and the only way to avoid getting disemboweled was to cheat.

These days I face many of my decisions with the same intensity that I used when reading those books. Clearly, there can only be one right answer and one wrong answer. I must follow the correct thread of fate, otherwise I'll find myself dangling from the neck above a curious crowd of onlookers. Sure, this intensity can be helpful when making big life decisions but, when making smaller decisions, such as where to eat lunch, it can be overkill.

See, that's the thing. It's easy to fall into the trap of thinking that there's always a clear right choice and a clear wrong choice. If one choice is true, than the other is false. Good and bad. As if life is a mathematical equation that we're all trying to get right.

The most effective thinkers, the ones who are able to build truly exciting lives for themselves, are the ones who are able to see beyond a) and b). Because there isn't always a choice that will kill you and a choice that will let you live. Sometimes there are eight million different choices and it isn't as much a matter of choosing between them as it is of molding a new answer for yourself.

This is why arts education is so vitally important to our society. Creating art isn't about finding one correct answer, it's about learning to build new answers in order to create a completely unique conclusion. How often do kids get to do this in a traditional school setting, as opposed to searching out, identifying and remembering one answer? The arts introduce a completely different way of learning, one that is going to be much more valuable to employers in the long run. Do you want the employee who is going to memorize and quote procedures back to you? Or, do you want the one who will build new solutions to old problems? People who can think creatively, who can make eight million tiny choices at the same time, are the ones who will push the world forward.

If you're reading this blog, you're probably an artist of some sort and the creative process is familiar to you. While writing a novel, you make hundreds of tiny decisions every moment in service of originality. If you choreograph, you probably have the ability to look at a dancer and choose between the hundreds of different movements you could give them to perform at any given time. Photographers, animators, musicians, and designers practice this style of thinking on a daily basis.

But, it isn't always easy. Sometimes it can be crippling (especially if you let yourself think too hard about all the options you're continually discarding). It doesn't come without practice. And yes, sometimes it can go horribly wrong. I don't mean to say that there aren't situations where there is definitely a wrong answer. Running with scissors is a wrong answer. Killing your spouse is a wrong answer. But it's also remarkably freeing to exit the pages of those silly Choose Your Own Adventure books and enter a world of limitless possibility.

I do an exercise with my modern dance students from time to time. One at a time, they each pick a random place in the room to stand, creating a constantly evolving formation with the other dancers in the class. There's always at least one student who freaks out.

"How do I know what to do?" they ask.

"You can do whatever you like."

"But how do I know what is right?"

Today, whatever you choose is right.

I Am Batman

My husband thinks it's hilarious when I assert that I am Batman. After all, I'm just a girl. I'm just a writer and a dancer - someone who makes pretty things. I don't have awesome, flying fists of fury (or do it?).

Still, I'm Batman. I have to be.

Let's go back about... 13 years. (Man, I'm old). 13 years ago there was a young, idealistic dancer who believed that she was on her way to, not only a professional dance career, but possibly lots of money, fame and fortune. Sure, money, fame and fortune are not the normal rewards of a dance career, but this dancer truly believed that she was special. She was going to be the exception.

In her first year of university, this dancer got cast in multiple "high profile" dances. In her head, this only validated her awesomeness. All her friends were so impressed! It was going to be great!

But, the rehearsal process ended up being harder than anything she'd ever undergone. Every night her body screamed, aching and seizing up horribly. She was always a little behind the other dancers, who were more experienced than she was. She couldn't seem to get anything right. Every triumph was followed by ten struggles. Every day, more rehearsals were scheduled. Three quarters of the way through the process, she injured her back. It hurt all the time, but she kept going.

She kept going because, not only did she have the ingrown sense of masochism so many dancers possess, but because she really believed in the dances she was doing. She knew they were complex and meaningful - richer than anything she'd ever been a part of. They were beautiful, and she was willing to wreck her body in order to be a part of that beauty.

But, she wasn't Batman, yet.

Eventually, performance week arrived. The young dancer gave it everything she had. She danced to the best of her ability and beyond. She probably would have given a limb, or at least a finger, for those dances. She knew that all her experience and hard work had led her to that point.

And.... everyone loved her! Her friends and family were so impressed. Finally, she'd done it! She'd lived up to her potential!

The next week, she was sitting at lunch with a few people she didn't know well. Expecting more praise, she asked them what they'd though of the show. They said it was okay for the most part, but them they started trashing her dances. Her dances. She wasn't sure whether or not they were aware that she was in those particular dances, but their comments were brutal. They were mean. They were downright evil, but, if you squinted and looked at it from a different perspective, they might have been legitimate.

It hurt. It undermined all the work, all the pain, all the strain, and even the tears. How could they? How could they casually disregard all of her effort? All her years of work to get to that point? She'd bled for their pleasure, after all!

Why dance, if she wasn't going to be respected? Why perform, if people wouldn't understand? What if she was just a sideshow, or a diversion? Wasn't she worth more than that?

But, even though she didn't always know why, she kept dancing. She kept putting herself out there, even though she knew people wouldn't always get it. She'd look like a fool sometimes. Heck, she'd be a fool sometimes.

That was the beginning. That's when I started to be Batman.

Don't bleed so that people will love you. There's not enough blood and there will never be enough people. That's not to say that you shouldn't bleed - just be a little wiser in where you spend it. People will hate you. Even worse, they'll be indifferent. And it will hurt more every time. And sometimes the hardest thing in the world is to keep going. Keep fighting.

I'm still fighting.

That's why I'm Batman. For now.

That's why all writers who keep writing, despite the growing pile of rejections, are Batman. That's why bad reviews shouldn't matter, at least, not in the break-your-spirit kind of way. There will always, always be bad reviews - some eloquently stated, others unfair. That's the cost of doing what you love. That's why you gotta be Batman. Learn what you can and move on. Write. Dance. Grow. Take the punches. Maybe you win and maybe you lose. Doesn't matter. Be Batman.

Hiya Strangers!

You'll have to excuse the dust; I've been doing some updating on the blog and things are shifting rapidly. Hopefully my readers are okay with change and won't run away shrieking. (Actually, I kind of think it would be awesome if a blog redesign could inspire that kind of reaction). Why the change? Well, I just felt like going for something sparser, yet more personalized. There will be more changes to come.

I also went through and cleaned up the tags. Now you can actually use them for navigation, as opposed to before when their purpose was more ornamental/snarky.

Summer is a bit of a catch-up time for me. I'm still working during the day, but teaching eases off while the kids are out of school. Chimera, the company I direct, is also on hiatus for a couple of months in order to give me time to prepare for next year's show. Next year we'll be incorporating actors into our show and putting together an experimental theater piece with text and dancing. I've never done anything like this before, so it's a huge, scary undertaking. At the same time, I'm so thrilled by the idea of a new challenge. I don't think I'm happy unless I'm a little bit scared and I have so many ideas! It will be amazing. Or awful. Whatever it is, at least it won't be boring.

Hubby and I went to New York about a week ago and it was pretty amazing. This was my first trip to New York and it was an amazing, crazy, hot whirlwind. I've dreamt of visiting New York every since I was a kid and hooked on films like Fame and A Chorus Line. So glad that I've finally walked those streets. :)

While in New York we were fortunate enough to get to see The Book of Mormon, which was irreverent, sacrilegious and hilarious (as expected). What I didn't expect, was the amount of thought and care that went into the music, staging and actual plot of the musical. This wasn't just a show build around a few jokes. It was an honest-to-goodness theatrical experience with a wonderfully committed cast and creative production team.

We went to another show, as well. This one is a little harder to sum up, as it was one of the most unique and memorable theatrical experiences I've ever had. If you're a fan of Gossip Girl, you might have heard of it, since apparently it was featured on that show. It's a production by Punchdrunk called Sleep No More and it is outstanding. If you have the opportunity (and don't mind things that are a little traumatic/messed up) you should not miss the opportunity to experience this. I'll try to elaborate without spoiling too much, because this is the kind of show that should not be spoiled.

Basically, it's an interactive theatrical experience. The production took over three abandoned warehouses and used them to build the most elaborate set I've ever seen. Called the McKittrick Hotel, guests are invited to explore all six floors on their own, drifting through graveyards, shops, cabarets, sanatoriums, and more. The rooms are endlessly detailed and filled with clues. As the night wears on, a modernized version of Macbeth, with elements of Rebecca thrown in, starts to build all around the hotel. Action happens simultaneously on every floor, even in adjoining rooms. Putting the whole story together is next to impossible, but that adds to the appeal. Even though guests wear masks and are discouraged from speaking, they still play a part in what occurs, shadowing performers and sometimes stepping into the story itself. Here's a great, somewhat spoilery review: New York Times.

It was the most immersive show I've ever attended. Sleep No More felt like something I'd been hoping to experience my whole life, though I didn't know it until I was there.

What about you? Any big projects in the works, or summer trips planned? Seen any interesting shows lately? How are things? :)

Creativity vs. Originality

Lately I've been putting a lot of thought into the difference between creativity and originality.

Creative people tend to have a certain intelligence with the way they approach art (and life). They know how to look at it, how to solve problems, how to develop an idea, how to find patterns and inspiration between disparate sources, how to change perspective, and how to fit things together in a logical fashion. Often, they also have the drive and impulse to create art.

Originality can be an aspect of that, but I would argue that many people are creative without being original. Some people are also original, without ever honing their artistic skills. Originality is that way of looking at the world with unique eyes, of finding words no one else would ever think to use. It involves ideas that seem to come out of nowhere - random and powerful like lightening. Maybe that's why originality occasionally disguises itself as craziness or eccentricity.

So, here's my question, from the perspective of a creative person who would like to be more original: do you think originality is a skill that can be developed, or is it innate? If it can be developed, how would you go about increasing your own originality? Or do you believe that originality is a sham and is no one truly original?

An Odyssey

This will be my last blog before I disappear for a while for extremely secret reasons. If you must know what I'm up to, imagine me in a bat cave somewhere up to my ears in utility belts and high-tech grappling hooks, working hard to SAVE MY CITY from the THREAT OF EVIL.

Ahem.

So, last week was the big dance showcase I've been neurotically tweeting about for the last few weeks. I get really nervous about these things, because there are eight million aspects that can go wrong and only a small handful of us to fix them.

Things do go wrong. It's the only thing I can count on. Every year I nurse the hope of a calm, stress-free experience. I organize and plan ahead like a maniac. I think that maybe, just maybe, this time everything will go right. Bwahahahahaha!

This year it was a small audio glitch. The cd player in our venue decided part-way through the evening (and in the middle of the performance) that it didn't like our cd. It expressed its displeasure by hiccuping at us every few minutes. Ugh. Sometimes there's nothing you can do to prevent this stuff. We ended up switching to ipod for sound and everyone lived happily ever after in a pool of contentment, but that hiccuping continues to haunt me.

I guess the important thing is to stay calm and not let the small stuff overshadow the fact that we had an excellent turn-out, lots of positive feedback and excited audience members, no injuries, and a very cleanly performed evening. Seriously, my dancers rocked it out. They were beautiful, committed and focused. I am an extremely fortunate choreographer to work with such professionals.

When I return to blogging, I'll try and remember to post a short video of the night.

I really am quite proud. :)

Are you a fan of live dance? What memorable shows have you seen and what makes them memorable to you?

Permission to Fail

When I was a young choreographer I struggled with a lot of insecurities. My biggest fear? That I was doing it wrong and someone might find out.

As a result, I walked into every rehearsal with the attitude that every step I created was a... I don't know, a rainbow made of pure gold. I had to be so certain of every detail, because if I wasn't, someone might find out I didn't actually know what I was doing. I'd be unearthed as a fraud. I couldn't let that happen. I had to have answers for every question and I had to have them immediately.

After a few years of choreographing dances, I started working on one in particular. Now, this dance was giving me a really hard time. Even though every minute was agony, I kept forging ahead. I tried to clean it and fix it and figure out what was wrong. But, the truth was that the whole dance was wrong. It wasn't working. I knew it wasn't working, but, even worse, my dancers knew it wasn't working. They knew that the dance I was creating for them was not, in fact, a rainbow made of pure gold, but more akin to a turd made of tin. Not that anyone said anything, but I could tell by their lack of passion.

I had to do something. The more I thought about it, the more I realized this dance was never going to be good, no matter how I tried to fix it. This realization was followed by a tremendous collapse of self-esteem. What could I do? I couldn't admit that I had created something horrible, could I? Everything I made was supposed to be amazing. I was supposed to be amazing. How else could I expect dancers to stick around and people to come see my dances? How else could I justify my career path?

Ah, silly, inexperienced me.

Finally I swallowed my pride and fear and went to rehearsal. I admitted that I had made a bad dance and made an announcement that we were going to start over. We were going to try something different. Something new. And, we did. And, it turned out okay.

And I learned something. First of all, I learned that everyone makes bad art from time to time. It's okay. Making bad art doesn't make you a bad artist. You can't let your bad art defeat you. You just have to leave it behind and keep working.

But, more importantly, I learned that it isn't always about me. I can't choreograph to my own ego. I can't create to justify my right to do so. I can't let my fear stand in the way of what is best for my art. Because, really, it isn't my art. It's art I happen to make. It deserves to become more than a stressed out tribute to my ability to make a dance. It should get to breathe and live beyond what I can give it.

What about you? Have ever come to a point where you've had to start over? Was it a hard decision to make?

Analogies

Hubby and I were having a conversation the other day about how every profession develops a unique language over time. I've found this to be especially true within the dance world and with dance instructors in particular. Within my own teaching style, I use a ton of analogies. Some are borrowed from my own instructors (who borrowed them from theirs and so on), others pop into my brain at the strangest times. I've learned that you can explain something until your brain explodes, but with most students, until you can get them to really picture it, it won't sink in.

Here are a few of the more vivid analogies I've used, (my dancers might recognize these):


-Pretend that there are hooks behind your ears, pulling you up to the ceiling.

-Your pelvis is an enormous bowl. Pretend that it is filled with water. You have to keep the bowl steady, as you don't want the water to spill out the front or the back.

-Your abdominal muscles are like a corset, wrapping around your midsection. If you aren't using them, then your corset is loose and floppy, and it won't support you. Instead you want the muscles laced up tight.

-Banana! Do it like a banana! (Really)

-Similarly: Piglet in the wind! Pretend that you're Piglet in the wind! (Surely everyone remembers Piglet in the Blustery Day. The wind picks him up and tosses him backwards. It's a pretty close approximation of a jump that I teach.)

-Pretend that your hip bones are flashlights. You don't want your flashlights to be flying off into different directions during your plies. They should create parallel beams pointing forward.

-Remember, where you look is where you end up. It's like when you're driving and you see a cute boy. Suddenly your car swerves in that direction. The same thing happens when you're turning. Watch yourself in the mirror too much while going across the floor and you're going to crash into your reflection.


What about you? What analogies or unique language do you find yourself using in your day to day life?

What it is.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Ninety-five percent of it is in regards to this weird bruise I've had on my leg for the last month that won't stop hurting. That's unusual, right? Having the same bruise for a month? I don't even remember hitting myself or running into anything. Granted, I run into things all the time (dancers are clumsy), but I think I'd remember injuring myself to this extent. Wherefore art thou, bruise? A bruise by any other name would still smell as sweet... Ack. There goes my train of thought again.

Anyhoo, the other five percent of my brain that isn't currently obsessing over weird bruises is thinking about what it means to love something. I hear about people loving things a lot in my line of work. I can't tell you how many of my students have boldly and passionately declared their love of dance. They love it so much they can barely express it. They'll never love anything else as much. All they want to do, or think about doing, is dance.

The first time I heard the spiel, I got really excited. I expected great things from these students who so passionately expressed their love of dance. I expected them to have perfect attendance. I expected them to apply critiques and grow quickly. I expected them to stand first in line, to show up on time and to perform with emotion.

But, often I was disappointed. Not always, but a lot of the time. They were late to class, or didn't show up at all. They were more interested in gossip than learning new choreography. Sometimes they quit. And, I blamed myself. They loved dance so much, but I didn't make it exciting enough for them. I didn't encourage them, or give them enough attention or feedback. Clearly, it was my fault. I destroyed their love.

Except, there were other students. Students who showed up on time, who worked hard, who didn't quit, who were willing to try something over and over again until they got it right. They didn't talk a lot, but they paid close attention to everything I said. When the studios were empty, they snuck in and started practicing on their own. Year after year, they continued to show up, even when they had other, more exciting things they could have been doing.

And I realized. Love isn't words. Love isn't emotions, or passion, or excitement, or grand proclamation. Yes, sometimes it starts there, but in the end it is something much less romantic. Much less glamorous.

Love is work.

Love is showing up, even when it's hard. It's perseverance. It's working when you're exhausted and forcing yourself to give it just one more try. And one more try after that. It exists in the absence of glory, the absence of fireworks. The absence of praise. It's a series of actions, not an emotion. It's a choice.

You can be entranced by the idea of dance, but that isn't love. The idea of writing can capture your imagination, but that isn't love. Love is the toil and the grind. The steps that get us closer to our goal. It's sitting down in your chair and opening a word document. It's the most boring, common, beautiful, rare thing I've ever seen.

So, yeah. Sorry for the cheesiness, but it's what I needed to write today. Keep being awesome.

Reality television is after me

My response to the Dance Moms show on Lifetime:

Yes, I know no one else cares about this. It's just another stupid reality show trying to hitch a ride on the Real Housewives' star. But this time they've come after my profession. Much as I hate to give more publicity to these kinds of things, I've heard so many defenders of the show state, "That's the dance world! If you don't like it, don't participate!" Not true. Abby Lee Miller does not speak for all dance teachers. There's more to be gained from enrolling at a dance studio than tears and abuse.

The first thing to remember is that this is scripted entertainment. Scenarios are introduced by producers and all the people involved are under contract. What you see on your television is not reality, or, if it is reality, it's such a small sliver of the elephant that there's no point in even treating it as reality. I'm aware of this. Still, the show likes to pretend it's giving us insight into the mysterious and crazy world of dance. It doesn't let its viewers know the amount of scripting and scheming that goes on behind the scenes. We're supposed to believe everything presented is genuine. We're supposed to believe that the behavior onscreen is indicative of dance studios everywhere. Let's examine that idea, shall we?

"When a parent opens their mouth, they ruin their child"

Believe it or not, I understand the impulse behind this one. By the time you've had the hundredth parent ask if their five-year-old is ready for pointe, or get angry for not allowing their injured child to practice her fouettes in class, or suggest rescheduling the entire recital so they can watch the game at home, the average teacher might be tempted to utter these words. The truth is, anytime you deal with clients or customers, there's going to be a certain amount of crazy. This gets amplified when you throw something as foreign as dance into the mix. Dance is a culture and if you're outside that culture, it can be difficult to understand how things work. So, yeah, sometimes dealing with parents can be stressful.

However without them we'd be lost. Aside from the obvious, the fact that they enroll their children in dance, they help us in so many ways. They volunteer at recitals and sometimes even sign up for roles onstage. Not because they want to perform, but because they know how much their kids will get out of being in the same show as "Mommy and Daddy". At conferences they try to understand the intricacies of technique, because they want insight into the work their children do. They tell their friends about our studio. They carpool. They help out with costumes. They write positive reviews online and, when there's trouble, they rally on our behalf. Sometimes they even bring us veggies from their gardens. And, at the end of every recital, they wait for their kids, flowers in hand, ready to give them a huge hug. Seeing a daddy beaming over his little ballerina is about the cutest thing in the world.

I'm not the only one who knows this. A studio that doesn't value its parents is not a healthy place to dance. There are plenty of teachers and studio owners out there who appreciate their dance moms and dads.

"Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing."

Now, I'm as competitive as the next guy. Probably more. I really like winning. Back when I was a competitive dancer, I used to do visualization exercises where I imagined myself walking onstage to pick up a trophy larger than I was. But, even as an obsessed teenager, I knew all the hours logged at the studio weren't merely in service of winning. They were about learning to tell a story, to strengthen my body, to work with my classmates, to apply criticism, to present myself with pride, to do things that most people would consider impossible. Many students don't continue dancing after high school. They do other things with their lives. The trophies get donated to thrift stores and are soon forgotten. Winning is a temporary joy. If all we can give our students is trophies, we don't deserve their time.

"You're wearing two-piece costumes. Either sit down and do 100 sit-ups or paint on the abs. One or the other."

This particular quote comes from an episode where the girls (8-10 years old) are given a "sexy dance" to do. The idea is that dancing like the older girls will help them win at competition. Some of you might be familiar with the "Single Ladies" fiasco. I'm guessing that's where the producers got the idea for this particular episode of television. Here's the thing: yes, the sexualization of children in order to win trophies is wrong. I don't think I need to explain why it's wrong.

However, a lot of watchers seem to be under the misapprehension that this kind of thing is normal in the dance community. It is not normal. Do some research and look into the values of your local studios, because there will be ones that share your values. Dance does not equal the sexualization of children. Dance reflects the values of its makers. There are dance teachers out there (many) who are protective of their students and want them to grow up at their own pace. Parents can also change policy. If you are a parent and your son or daughter has been assigned a costume or dance that makes you uncomfortable, speak up! You have the power to create change. In many cases, teachers and studio owners are reasonable human beings willing to listen to your concerns. We're not all like Miss Abby.

Dance is hard work. It takes a lot of time, effort and sacrifice. Even if you are a brilliant dancer, dancing for a living is rough. It's one of the most impractical and unforgiving lives any human being can chose. Yes, there are rewards, but they come at a high price. An eight-year-old is incapable of understanding what this means. There's time to make those choices later. They shouldn't be so focused on their careers at this age. Children who are at the studio every day and competitions every weekend are missing everything else the world has to offer.

Kids need to play. They need to develop outside the studio. They should have friends and enough time at night to do their homework. Dance is a worthwhile pursuit, but it shouldn't be the only pursuit. Not at eight. I understand this. Other dance teachers understand this. Many of us only want the best for our students. Please, don't judge us by the crazy things that come out of Abby's mouth.

The Big White Paper in the Studio

At the end of the school year we cover the studio mirrors with large sheets of white paper so the students can practice their dances without the benefit of their reflections. We also put a basket of crayons on the floor. You can probably imagine what comes next...

Two Harry Potters

Three Justin Beibers (one crossed out)

A slice of cheese (with cheese misspelled)

Eighty million kitty cats

Two Spongebobs

A herd of rainbow-colored puppies

A lot of bubble-faced smiling girls with bows on their heads

A zombie

An octopus (this is mine)

Way too many floating eyeballs (One proudly proclaims "I see you")

A piece of toast

A narwhale

etc.

By the time I left work last night, there wasn't much open space left over. The most notable thing about all of this is how excited the kids get when they enter the room and see all the drawings. They can't wait to make their mark, add their character to the vast sea of faces. Then, in classes to come, they proudly point out their drawing to anyone who will listen.

No grand conclusion. Just that it's really inspiring to see how excited they get over the mere act of creation. A crayon and some white paper. It doesn't matter if they're 5 or 18. Everyone goes immediately for the crayons. I think there's hope for us.

Reader's log:

45. Chime - Franny Billingsley

The Writing I Accomplished Today

Flap (r), step (l), 2x maxi ford, step (l), rock out 2 ct, brusk bk (r), (l), shuffle (r), hop, step, [shuffle, pullback, & switch 2x] flap (l), hell, toe (r), flap, heel (r), heel (l). paddle & roll, 2x, double p&r, repeat, digg, riff, drag. Chaine, turning leap. heel (l), shuffle (r) 2x, other side, step (l,r,l), riff up (r), brush (r), ball change, hines riff (r front), turn slowly. Ball change (r,l), brush & pullback, ball change, brush pullback, 4 pullbacks switching.

Step, scuff, step, scuff, ball change, step, step, 4 pullback flaps, 1 maxiford (r), passe, step plie, click turn. riff fnt (r), heel (l), brusk bk (r), ball change (r,l), step (r), wing (r), ball, heel (l), paddle & roll (r,l,r), heel digg (r,r,r), toe (r), shuffle, ball, heel (r), heel, toe (l) 2x, step (l), turn, toe stand, land.

etc.

That's gotta count towards my overall word count, right? Right?

The Other Kind of Dream

You know that moment between dreams and waking? That moment when realities are shifting and you can't pin the truth down? Sometimes there is an intense sadness cutting through, because in your dream someone you love died and in your head they are still gone. Or, even worse, you dream someone alive, then wake up to discover they were dead all along. Last night I dreamed that one of my friends said something hurtful to me and I woke up feeling miffed at him. 

Go far enough back and memories are interchangeable with dreams. I remember both with the same clarity. A few of my childhood dreams were so vibrant that I don't know if they will ever leave me.

Dreams are often a tool for writers and filmmakers to reveal a character's subconscious state. I have to be honest, much as dreams fascinate me, most of the time I don't connect to their portrayal. They feel like a cool thing thrown in there because the creator thought it would be nifty. But, they end up taking away from the propulsion of the story. I just want the character to wake up so that they can get on with things! It can be a lazy way of explaining your character's feelings to spend a couple of pages describing some bizarre dream. Brilliant as you may be, I'm looking at you, Agnes De Mille.

I can't help but feel like Oklahoma! has some of the laziest storytelling ever. Sure, the Zeitgeist is fabulous, choreography stunning, music legendary, etc. But, the pivotal moment of the story comes about because Laurie takes some drugs that a peddler gives her and falls in love with Curly in a dream. Really? That's what caused the main female character to decide she loved the main male character? A drug-induced dream? Not any moments of truth based on things the character might have actually said or done in real life? Of course, it has been set up since the beginning that these two characters should end up together, so that makes it alright. Oh Rogers and Hammerstein, you make me want to laugh and cry, and not for the reasons you might think. Don't even get me started on Carousel.

Now, to compare one of the greatest classic films of all time to a television show about slaying vampires.

In the finale of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, season 4 all the big bads were gone and the whole episode revolved around the scooby gang crashing on the couch post-slaying. Each character nods off and has a dream.

Remember the guy with the cheese?

Why does this particular dream sequence work? Some might argue that it doesn't. Okay, why does it work for me? 1.) Unlike in Oklahoma!, the whole momentum of the plot does not depend upon it. 2.) The truths it reveals are foggy and open to misinterpretation, as in most dreams. Lots of other disjointed information weaves through the plot. 3.) The universe within which the show takes place has already established the fact that dreams can be prophetic. Because characters are running around killing vampires, it is easier to believe that a dream might have real significance. 4.) There is an intention behind the dream. It is driven by something other than chance and that is clearly stated. 5.) The story does not depend on the dream to do all of its character work. The decisions characters make in regards to each other are based on actual, real-life experience, not moments within the dream. Waking returns them to their conscious state.

The buffyverse uses dreams many times with varying levels of success.

As writers, if we're going to devote a lot of page space to dreams, I think we have to consider whether there is good reason to do so. Can we do it differently and meaningfully, or are we just looking for something simple and cool? Because dreams are fascinating. They tend to mesmerize our waking minds and we forget to use our analytical talents to consider that: yes, this has been done many, many, many, many times.

Our characters, ultimately, are going to be more interesting when they are awake. That's where the consequences and rewards exist.

Unless, as in Inception, you can figure out how to raise the dream stakes.

What dream sequences work or don't work for you?

Reader's log

5. Fire - Kristin Cashore

Impossible Dreams

I can't be the only one who does this.

When I was about nine years old I got it into my head that I wanted to build a robot. Never mind the fact that science was never my strongest subject and I didn't know the first thing about robotics. I'd build a small radio for a school project (with lots of parental assistance) and I had been reading a book about a kid my age making a robot. So, if this fictional boy could do it, why not me?

I had a foolproof plan that involved collecting lots of mechanical-looking parts and reading my dad's collection of science books from the sixties. My robot was going to be awesome. He was going to talk and move around and have lots of different flashing lights. I read the book on electricity first, because it seemed like the best place to start. By the time I got to the book on biology, things started looking a little, well, impossible. I don't know exactly what I expected to find. Maybe a recipe for making a robot. Something as clear as a recipe for banana bread. Add this, and this, and this, bake for a while, and presto! Robot!

I gave up.

If you think I outgrew this particular quixotic tendency... you would be wrong. It happened over and over again. I was going to sew myself an entire wardrobe of highly fashionable clothing. I was going to learn to speak elvish. Meet and learn something about every single person on campus. Whatever the goal was, I threw myself into it with relentless enthusiasm.

Then came the inevitable backlash. The moment when I realized that whatever I was working toward was either a) too difficult for me, or b) probably not worth the effort. Months later someone would ask me how I was doing with my goal and I would mumble incoherently and walk away.

Those were the little goals. Bigger goals I tend to stubbornly stick with, but, as of yet, I'm still not sure if they fall into the category of "impossible." How do you know? How do you know if the thing you're trying to accomplish is truly impossible, or just really, really, really hard? I had one teacher who insisted that if we want something, then we can make it happen. It's just a matter of trying hard enough. I don't think I believe that. I believe that even if you want something with all your heart and work as hard as you can to achieve it, you still might not. Dreams die and hopes are crushed. The world is bigger than us and it does not always conform to our whims.

Sometimes at the studio we have to give a certain speech. A student will announce their desire to be a prima ballerina, or express a dream to make dance their career. We have to tell them how impractical this is. We have to explain exactly how difficult dance is - that it is probably the most difficult and impractical career they could choose. They probably won't make it. They'll wait tables through their twenties until they realize they have no money set aside for retirement and decide to do something profitable. Or, they might get injured right off the bat and find themselves with no college degree in a merciless economy. Even if they do get into a top tier company, money will always be tight. Relationships will always be hard. Most of the world will have no understanding of what you do. Anyone with an ounce of practicality should do something else. Anything else.

But, sometimes you can't. Sometimes you don't care. Sometimes you go for it anyways. And, you probably will fail. But, something makes you try. It is more than the complete and utter love for what you are trying to do. It is because there is a 0.000001 percent chance that you'll succeed, and you know that is enough.

Because you know no dream is impossible.

Thanks for reading!

Reader's log:

4. Graceling - Kristin Cashore

Currently listening:

Byzantium Underground - Jesse Cook

Making Dances

The totally awesome momentum I'd gained working on my rewrite has petered out a bit. This isn't due to lack of motivation, but something a little less controllable.

It's recital season at the studio. Technically, recital season doesn't start until the end of May, but actually, for me, it starts in January. Why? Because that is the point at which I start working on choreography for all of my classes.

I thought I'd give a little insight into the often mysterious process of creating dances. Everyone goes about it differently, but, for me, it is like rotting. Rotting backwards.

I'll explain.

At the beginning you are faced with nothing but empty space. A big old box of it waiting to be filled. The wind whistling across an empty desert.

1) So, the first thing you do is create a skeleton. Decide where the high points and the low points will be. Which bones are big and which are little. Try to determine what kind of an animal it might be. This means picking out music, deciding on a structure for the dance, figuring out whether you're going to tell a story or go with something more abstract, picking out a primary movement quality or progression of qualities, and knowing where it will start and where it will end. In an ideal world this is all done before ever working with any dancers.

2) Then, there are the tendons and parts of the animal that scavengers prefer not to eat. You start to build those. At that point I start figuring out how things will attach. I start playing with actual movement to get an idea of various bookmarks within the dance and more specific qualities and themes that I want to expand on. Sometimes this is done before meeting with dancers, sometimes it occurs in class. Generally, the less advanced the class is the more I prepare ahead of time. More advanced dancers are more capable of experimenting and working on the fly.

3) Then, the scavengers attach all the bits of flesh. Suddenly the dance has a personality and the structure becomes clear. It is something that you can actually look at and understand. Layers are added onto it and vaguenesses become clarified. Granted, it is usually still a big mess, but if you squint your eyes you might be able to imagine how it will look onstage, or running free across the savanna.

4) Then, the dance dies. Or, rather, begins slowly to live. This is the point at which your students actually get it. The structure is in place and you begin having conversations about motivation and story. The students come to an understanding of where the dance exists and what it feels like to be in their character's shoes. Some delving is done. Real life examples and imagery are drawn upon to give them a tangible sense of what they are portraying.

5) Then, the big moment comes. The dance gets up on its own four/two/whatever feet and walks away without you.

I'm not going to pretend that these steps don't ever occur out of order. Sometimes I'll get obsessed with one aspect of a dance, maybe its eyes, and build the whole skeleton around them. This can make for some odd, but interesting characters. Sometimes step four is a fail. The dancers never really connect to the choreography and you lose that sense of life. Then, the dance is just an exercise or an obligation. It never really takes off.

You might be thinking, "Gee! That sounds a lot like writing a novel." Cept, here's the thing. Imagine that you have to work on... oh, let's say fifteen writing projects within the course of six months. A couple are novels, five are novelettes, and the rest are short stories. Not impossible. Now, imagine you can only spend a half an hour on each project, then you have to switch to another project. So, you're constantly flipping between various Word documents, feeling like you're just getting the flow of one project, before you have to switch to another. To make it worse, the words you're using aren't really words, but twitchy, jumpy, crazy human bodies.

So, if I seem a little strange at times, this is why.

Currently listening:

Baby Blue - Martina Topley Bird

Black Swan

Nina is under an enchantment. She has been held by a sorcerer and kept innocent, alone and pure. She lives in a world that is white and pink, trapped in an eternal childhood. Her sorcerer is not Von Rothbart, but a mother who keeps her close through webs of guilt and control. Nina is a “sweet child”. She isn’t allowed to be anything more.

In many ways Nina is the archetypal, romantic ballerina. She is so thin she could balance on a rose without breaking the stem. She looks as though she was born to play the sylph, the wili or the white swan. She is so wrapped up in everyone’s conception of her that she has no voice of her own.

In these tales is usually a prince who arrives to rescue the princess, but for Nina there is no prince. Instead, her hope of salvation lies in the role of a lifetime, the lead in Swan Lake. Though she is perfect for the white swan, one senses that it is the more difficult role of Black Swan that allures her. Her restraint, her timidity, and her inexperience prevent her from being able to fully embody the Black Swan, but Nina persists in chasing after the character. All she has to do is let go, but letting go means loosing the identity that has been created for her.

In many ways the film is about control. Nina’s choreographer wants to control her transformation. If he yells at her enough, plays with her, and pushes her in the right direction, maybe he can take credit when she finally flies. Nina’s mother wants to control her daughter and keep her as a portrait of innocence and a symbol of success. Nina thinks that if she can control her body, then she can control her life. All are desperately scrambling to maintain control, but in the end each is powerless. Only Lily seems to have any semblance of power and that might be because she doesn’t care as much as the others. She is the Black Swan and she leaves a darkly illuminated path for Nina to follow.

Nina does follow. She finds her prince. She gains her perfect moment and finally transforms into the role of the Black Swan. The darkness was underneath her skin the whole time. That was why she had spent her whole life scratching to get down to it.

But, the Black Swan leaves Nina just as the prince betrayed Odette. Nina’s body and mind cannot maintain the level of intensity and psychosis required to hold onto the character. The world shifts around her and she cannot separate reality from fantasy. Horrors unfold, fears loom, she defeats them all, breaks the enchantment, and then collapses. At the end of everything, her face is a mask of wonderment. She knows that she has achieved her goal. She is willing to accept the cost. One wonders if she knew all along what it would be.

The tragedy is that, even at the height of her accomplishment, the greatest praise her choreographer can muster is to call her his “little princess”. Not so different from a “sweet child”.

Black Swan is a smart, well-cast film. It is a bit of a melodrama, but once you step into the world it creates, all of the drama is well placed and vital to the story. Black Swan is a Jekyll and Hyde version of a dark fairytale where every room holds the potential for a nightmare. The dance scenes are beautifully and intelligently filmed. It is clear that Natalie Portman spent her training time focusing on port de bras and epaulement. The audience didn’t have to watch her stumbling around trying to create a clear facsimile of extension and hip placement. Instead, her upper body told the story and (from someone who has seem many films with actresses trying to dance) this was a smart, smart choice. Even if it was hard to watch in many places, I really enjoyed the film and loved seeing how respectfully all the details of the dance world were portrayed.

The journey to becoming a well-balanced and powerful dancer is not a painless one. It is a road filled with sacrifices, where it all too easy to become obsessed or dejected. In my time as a dancer and teacher, I’ve experienced the struggle and seen many battle their personal demons in the classroom and onstage. That’s why a supportive community is so important in the dance world, as is a healthy dosage of the real world.

Terrible Things - April Smith and the Great Picture Show

Opening the door

This year I completed my first novel, a young adult fantasy that takes place in the fictional country of Parnear. It took me over a year to complete the first draft (which seems embarrassingly long) and probably about another year to work through all of the revisions. I tend to overcomplicate and obscure things, so a lot of the work was geared towards keeping momentum in the story and characters. In the process I learned a lot about writing, and a lot about my own weaknesses and strengths.

Mostly, I learned that I can do it. Like many who claim they want to be writers, my hard-drive is cluttered with unfinished stories and concepts. But, I decided to apply the same mindset to writing as I do to choreographing. There was a time when I couldn't imagine creating more than one full dance a year. Now each year I choreograph hours and hours of movement. All it takes is practice, persistence, and a willingness to believe in the power of your work. And you know what? I really, really like the book that I've written. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm proud of the work I put forward. I've accomplished something that I always wanted to do and I've done it with flair. So take that!

Now I'm going through the agonizing process of querying and... (don't tell!) I've started on a sequel. Because I know exactly what I want to happen next and how I want it to happen. The door in my brain that enables me to do this has opened wide and I don't know if I can ever shut it again. Now I'm addicted to writing stories, the same way I'm addicted to making dances. Only two of the most impractical career choices ever, right? Ah well. Those who know me will recognize the following quote: "I must obey the inscrutable exhortations of my soul."

Welcome to my blog!

Rambling Man - Laura Marling