What's going on today, everyone?
Time to bore everyone rigid, but it's not as though they have to pay me any attention. Walls of text don't seem to be enticing for most.
I went to a storytelling class today, and it was the first step in my path to become an actor and a better writer. You had to learn all about story structure and the bodily gestures that best help convey what is going on. Against all expectations, I had to participate in that. They told me to convey how I felt with a gesture, so I did a mortifying dab. Think Fortnite, but a mangled version of the move. I looked retarded. Then I was assigned to a stranger, and we had to take turns - one of us would say a sentence, and then the other would act it out. She did brilliant. I sucked. She said I was exquisite but yeah, you gotta take compliments with a grain of salt because... you're
you. In my world, that's often a very confronting and inconvenient truth.
And we were assigned three random cards with the option to act out all three, or just pick one. I got Dislike, Fury and Regret. Grim. Needless to say, I did Fury. At first I was blank, and then I remembered something pretty personal and violent from a while back. Internally violent, of course. But yes, that did it. I basically just punched the air, but the dynamism was amplified somewhat because my hair pitched forward and my hat flew off and decapitated someone. Or nearly. It hit the door at the side.
It was my first time doing anything like this in front of people, and in a week's time I shall be performing a short story of my own live in front of an audience of thirty.
Bit sudden, isn't it. I've just got to get something off my chest...
I haven't got a story yet, and I have never written a
short story in my fucking life. Did I mention I have to tell it in five minutes? Five? Five?! Five?!?!!!!!!!
I'm overdue for an anxiety attack. Knowing me, I'll have it just before I go on. But the idea of going up on that stage, the youngest performer there, and
wowing them... sounds bloody brilliant, doesn't it.
