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When I was a kid, 1st December was a milestone every year, because I knew Christmas was properly approaching. The run up to Christmas was brilliant. At school, the classrooms took on an air of almost cheerfulness, there was the prospect of the much anticipated 'school dance'. At the age of 11, I spent the whole of December wondering if I might get the chance to 'Gay Gordon' with Barry McLeod. The hours I spent pondering over what to wear, how I might get my Mum to let me try make up, and whether Lynn McLeod could work as a name.
On the night : I wore my Sunday dress, and embroidered cardigan (it's cold in Scotland. She said no. Barry and I never did the 'Gay Gordon' or any other dance together, and by May I'd decided I was going to marry Donny Osmond, even though I wasn't American or a Mormon.
Anyway, the point is, I always always loved the run up to Christmas, and then guiltily generally found Christmas day a bit of a let down.
And it's not that I was deprived or anything: We had presents and family and food and I wasn't at all unhappy, but it's just that nothing was ever as exciting as the anticipation.
And it's definitely not that I spend it with people I don't like.
It's just that there's too much pressure to be having a good time, and the one thing I do know about myself is that if I'm asking myself if I'm having a good time, the answer is that I'm not.
Over the years I've concluded that I may have a packaging bias, or at the very least that I was the kind of person who liked the idea of what MIGHT be, rather than what actually is.
This idea was further reinforced approximately 20 years after the Barry McLeod Christmas, when a friend of mine asked if I'd consider directing a troop of professional male strippers.
(Don't you judge me.)
In terms of work, I've always liked to vary what I do. From time to time, I like to cross fertilize (get your mind out of the sewer.) For example, even though Heart and Sole is a play, I constructed it with the idea that it should work in bars or random spaces if need be.
(Quick plug: you can see it at the Sidewalk Theatre, which is a lovely wee space, this month)
And though I've tread periodically the boards in a pretty traditional manner, for a while I was a part of a comedy double act, that would periodically support rock/Indy bands.
I've had some really incredible experiences that way.
I've also discovered that you should never perform anything to any audience in fancy dress in a tent type venue ever.
Anyhoos, back to the male strippers (like your mind was ever away). I liked the idea of combining theatre and variety with what they were doing, so I went to see them, and sat amongst a throng of ladies drinking white wine, and eating fried chicken and chips from individual plastic baskets.
(which was awesome.)
When 7 dancing fireman filled the stage, I was interested. I thought of the possibilities, routines, schtick (in the old fashioned sense) but by the time they were down to their underwear and gyrating over a lady's basket (not code) I was kinda over it.
Though the rest of the room were undoubtedly loving the vision of scantily clad, muscle men writhing over their chicken to Tina Turner's 'What's love got to do with it?", I found myself asking myself the fatal question: 'Am I enjoying myself?' and in the act of doing so, already knew the answer.
I concluded that it might be that I am kind of shallow, in that I seemed to generally prefer the packaging to the practicality, the premise of 'what might be' to what actually is, the joy of possibility rather than reality.
But working on storytelling, I've realized that's not true.
When it comes to what people have to tell, the reality is pretty much always more fascinating than the possibility.
Sometimes I know the student beforehand. Sometimes we have never met before, but I NEVER fail to be surprised by the stories they tell.
I've been married to Mark for 15 years. You'd figure I'd know pretty much all there is to know. But when he did story class there were honestly quite a few surprises. You know that old phrase, "You never really know a person..." It's true, you don't - not until they tell their story.
Obviously storytelling class isn't like Christmas:
For a start it happens more than once a year.
And stories don't often come gift wrapped - or perhaps they do..*cue intruiging music*
Over the last 12 months, quite a few of you have written asking if I ever do story outside my snuggly Sidewalk base (loving the e mail by the way. I do like a chat.)
So, first we built an online class that was just a straightforward, 'me telling you what to do' course, but after your requests (downright bossy, some of you) we've actually finished our interactive course.
The way it works is that you do a lesson and send a video to me, and then I watch the video and e mail back the feedback. It's pretty much the same structure as the Sidewalk course, but you don't have to travel to Burbank and tell a five minute story live, to Graduate.
Anyhoos, as it's Christmas we've made a gift package, so if you can send it as a present to yourself, or send to your nearest and dearest, or you can give it to someone who intruiges you. (Barry Mcleod, if you are out there, mail me. I want to know your side of the story for the Christmas Dance 1976)
If you're coming to Heart and Sole this Thursday or next, do say hello, and feel free to e mail me with your questions or comments (even the bossy ones). Have a great week.
Peace and love,
Lynn
xox
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