hunt. peck.

The first of two nights of casting auditions is happening tonight. I am headed over to the theater in just a few hours, crossing my fingers that the swelling of buzz around the show causes a multitude of people to come out.

I tossed and turned a bit last night in anticipation of this first round of monologues, meetings, and meandering artist types. One of my favorite aspects of working in the arts is the recidivism of that first day of school anxiety. Every new show, every hurdle therein, every opening night, and every finale is rife with creatively charged nerves. There's little else like it.

Each of the plays I selected to direct have been desperately demanding on everyone involved. The first show had two nights of auditions and then a week and a half of waiting to finalize the cast, since I was holding out for my preferred pick who was busy deciding whether or not our theater shone the right color on her resume. That show's follow-up took three open auditions to cast, and it involved me taking an extra special gamble on a couple of weaker actors. With the work we put in, everyone was quite able to hold their own by show's open.

This new play again asks a ton of everyone involved, at every level. I suppose I have some semblance of a sadistic streak in me, at least when it comes to what I expect of others, and certainly an audience. But many know that I put just as many demands on myself, so I hardly get away scot-free. What's the point of waking up each day if you're making no effort to stretch yourself and strain the limitations of your disposition, your perspective, and your core being? As much as this show is an intensely twisted comedy that edges farther and farther, pushing the proverbial envelope more and more, at its core there is a relatable story of mortality and meaning.