The Girl with the Red Hair, Bonus Interview with Alexandra Rooney

The following is a bonus interview following the 3-part series of interviews on the forthcoming play, The Girl With the Red Hair. Written and directed by Anthony Laura, and featuring Casey Hartnett as Hayley Jones, Vivien Cardone as Doctor Watkins, and Samantha Yestrebsky as Courtney Dawson/Azura, The Girl With the Red Hair will begin a two-week run tomorrow, December 5th, at The Alchemical.

Sometimes, life offers you unexpected blessings. Like a fourth part in a three-part interview. After discussing the inner-workings of The Girl with the Red Hair with three members of the play’s standout cast, I got word that one more cast member had some thoughts on the play, on acting, on starring alongside a dog, and on playing Anna in Frozen Jr.

(cue record scratch)

Honestly, there’s no way to turn that down, is there? So, what follows is an interview with Alexandra Rooney, the young actress who plays Young Haley Jones in The Girl with the Red Hair. Her enthusiasm for the role and for her career are palpable, and her credits speak to her commitment to, and passion for, the craft and profession she loves.

So, sit back, enjoy, and try to remember what you were doing at this age. My guess is it involved more paste and troublemaking than this. It certainly did for me.

Starring Casey Hartnett as Hayley Jones, The Girl with the Red Hair, is an exploration of the damage rendered by abuse, of a mind in turmoil as it attempts to cope with experiences far too extreme to process. In the ever-deepening shadows of the girl she once was, who is Hayley Jones, and will it be enough to simply be a survivor?

With The Girl with the Red Hair, Anthony Laura captures the true struggle of Hayley Jones in a troubling yet empathetic light. With the added insight of Casey Hartnett’s approach to portraying Hayley, they remind us that a victim’s experience never ends. That the struggle of coping is a solitary and difficult journey that pits the mind with the heart in a fight neither can truly win.

An Interview with Alexandra Rooney


Alexandra Rooney is an actress, known for Mr. Robot (2015), Donna (2019) and Snow Queen (2018). You can find her full list of credits here.

What has been like working with Casey? Can you talk about the process
of meeting her at the audition and how that’s developed?

It’s been so much fun working with Casey. When I met her at the audition she
seemed nice. Once we started rehearsals together, right away we started to
have fun together doing our scenes. Now it feels like she is one of my friends.
Sometimes when we are rehearsing together, I just look at her and we start to
laugh together. She is such a great actress too. I hope when I get older I can
be as good as she is.

Do you have a favorite play that you’ve acted in?

If I had to pick, I would pick Frozen Jr. I performed in a local summer
production this year, and I played the older Anna. That is one of my dream roles
on my list so it was amazing. I love the character of Anna because she is sweet
and funny and I love all the songs from the show. I was so sad when the show
was over. I hope I get to play Anna again one day.

You have a few moments in the play where you are dancing and
singing. Have you had a lot of fun with that in the rehearsal room?

Yes! So much fun. I love to sing and dance so it’s amazing to just be myself
and do what I love. We have so much fun with it in rehearsal. I got to listen to
the songs and improv. Sometimes the cast dances along with me in rehearsals.
It’s the best.

Have you had any favorite moments working on the play so far?

I really can’t pick because all of the rehearsals have been so much fun. I always
look forward to them.

Though all of your interaction takes place with Casey, are there are other
characters in the play that stand out to you?

I would say Azura because she has a really lively and fun personality and she
has a really positive attitude.

Have you ever played a younger version of someone?

Yes, two times before this. The first time was the first short film that I ever
auditioned for. I was 8 years old. I think I got lucky because I didn’t have any on
camera experience yet, but the director thought I looked just like the lead actress
so I got the role and my first film credit. Last year I did a film about a girl’s
relationship with her father. I played the child version of the lead. There was not
only an adult version, but a teen version of the lead as well so it was fun to have
three actresses playing the main character at different stages

You also do a lot of film acting. What is one of your favorite roles you
have played on film?

That is a tough one because I love each film role I’ve done for different reasons.
If I had to pick, I would pick two of the short films I’ve done. One is “Moose”
directed by Gabriele Urbonaite. In that film I played the role of Jenny, a girl
whose dog goes missing. I got to act with a dog named Bowdie and it was so
much fun. Bowdie is a trained acting dog and he’s been on TV in Peter Pan Live
and Elmo. He was amazing and I love dogs so it was the best to have a dog
costar!
Second, I would pick the film “Cut” directed by Emily Hason coming out next
year. I was cast as Julia, the “mean girl” in school. I love the challenge of
playing a role that is the opposite of my personality and I have to say that
playing mean was a lot of fun.

Have you always wanted to act?

Yes! I always liked to use my imagination and play different characters in
pretend play. My one brother and I even used to make up our own musicals and
perform them for fun. I loved to put on shows in our living room. I even made
paper tickets that I would hand out to my family to attend. I would make my
own Playbills too. When I was five, my parents finally realized that I should try
performing arts classes. I started with a school called Performers Theatre
Workshop. The first year I performed a duet in a NYC cabaret at Don’t Tell
Mama. When I got on the stage I thought it was amazing and right after that I
started asking my parents all the time when I could do more shows.

What do you do when you’re not acting?

I like to hang out with my friends doing makeovers, tik tok videos, and going to
the mall and park. I also enjoy drawing, playing the violin and taking care of my
guinea pigs.

What has been your favorite scene to work on with Casey?

I like the singing and dancing scene. A couple times Casey and I did the
dancing together in rehearsal and we laughed so much.

What is something over the years that always makes you laugh?

I love animals so I would say something that always makes me laugh is funny
animal videos.

I heard you are returning for the play next year with Casey and
Anthony. What excites you about coming back to play Young Hayley
again?

I can’t wait to return to the play next year! I love working with Casey and
Anthony and the rest of the cast so I’m looking forward to more fun times with
them. I love young Hayley and I can’t wait to see if there is more to learn about
her in the show next year.

What do you like about playing Young Hayley?

I love playing young Hayley because she is just like me. She likes to have fun
and she loves to sing and dance. The audience will also see that she is kind and
compassionate.

What kind of working are you looking forward to doing in the future?

I look forward to doing more theater, films, and TV. I love them all. I hope one
day I get the opportunity to be on Broadway! Right now I’m really happy to be
part of this special show and I’m really super excited for our performances. I
really hope everyone comes to see it!

The Girl with the Red Hair, part 3: An Interview with Samantha Yestrebsky

The following is the final part a 3-part series of interviews on the forthcoming play, The Girl With the Red Hair. Written and directed by Anthony Laura, and featuring Casey Hartnett as Hayley Jones, Vivien Cardone as Doctor Watkins, and Samantha Yestrebsky as Courtney Dawson/Azura, The Girl With the Red Hair will begin a two-week run on December 5th at The Alchemical.

The opportunity to explore the inner-workings of a play, as it transitions from table read to stage has been one of the more fascinating explorations of the art I’ve made. Special thanks to Anthony Laura for offering me this opportunity. The Girl with the Red Hair is heartfelt, brilliant in scope, and has left a lasting mark on my perception and perspective of mental illness.

To close out the series, we delve into the characters of Courtney and Azura, the girl with the red hair, both roles played by Samantha Yestrebsky.

If you wish to revisit Part One, featuring actress Casey Hartnett and Anthony Laura, can it be found here. While, Part Two, featuring actress Vivien Cardone and Anthony, can be found here.

Starring Casey Hartnett as Hayley Jones, The Girl with the Red Hair, is an exploration of the damage rendered by sexual abuse, of a mind in turmoil as it attempts to cope with experiences far too extreme to process. In the ever-deepening shadows of the girl she once was, who is Hayley Jones, and will it be enough to simply be a survivor?

With The Girl with the Red Hair, Anthony Laura captures the true struggle of Hayley Jones in a troubling yet empathetic light. With the added insight of Casey Hartnett’s approach to portraying Hayley, they remind us that a victim’s experience never ends. That the struggle of coping is a solitary and difficult journey that pits the mind with the heart in a fight neither can truly win.

An Interview with Samantha Yestrebsky

Samantha Yestrebsky hails from Owasso, Oklahoma and moved to New York in 2016 to train at The American Academy of Dramatic Arts where she received her Associate’s Degree in 2018. During her time at the Academy, she performed in Blood at the Root, written by Dominique Morisseau and directed by Kareem Fahmy, and Shakespeare’s Henry VI Part 1 as Charles and Somerset, directed by Lisa Milinazzo. She also side hustles as a librarian and dog walker. Samantha was recently nominated for Best Actress in a Drama for Mosaic at the New Jersey Webfest.


As an actress, you need to dig deep into a character to completely understand who she is. Who is Cortney Dawson, and what does her connection to Hayley say about her?

Cortney Dawson is a young woman who has been through a traumatic event and is having a hard time coping with it, hence the behavioral health facility. The specific reason she’s at this facility is not mentioned, but from what we can gather throughout the play, she is extremely intelligent and empathetic. I believe during her time at the hospital she hasn’t had much luck with getting a diagnosis, or getting help, which I believe leads her to shut herself off emotionally from the doctors and other patients. Hayley Jones is the only person who seems to understand her, and for some specific reason I don’t think we can palpably dissect, a small part of her feels vulnerable and free around her.

The Girl with the Red Hair delves deeply into depression, mental illness, and sexual abuse. How has the journey of Hayley Jones altered your view of these issues in your life?

Hayley’s story hasn’t necessarily altered my view on mental illness, but has actually validated it. I’ve always believed these stories need to be told in an unbiased way, without projecting any kind of political stance to the audience. I think it’s refreshing to read a play like this that encompasses all aspects and ranges of mental illness.

What appealed to you about the role of Cortney? What did you feel you could bring to the character?

I think many reasons why I took this role, and why many actors feel connected to roles in general, is that they see a part of themselves in a character. Cortney is extremely intelligent, honest, compassionate, and just so happens to have been living in a behavioral health facility for the last year of her life following a traumatic event. Cortney’s story deserves to be completely free of judgment, and I feel like I’m able to share her story from an unbiased perspective.

Toward the end of the play, Cortney tells Hayley a story about her grandmother. What do you believe she hoped to convey to Hayley in that moment?

In the scene, Hayley tells Cortney that she wishes people understood her. Cortney decides then and there that she’s going to allow herself to be vulnerable in order for Hayley to realize that sometimes it doesn’t matter if people understand or believe us, because, at the end of the day, we alone are the only people who fully comprehend exactly what we’re experiencing.

In addition to Cortney, you also take on the role of Azura—the girl with the red hair. How does your preparation differ for multiple roles?

Anthony made it incredibly easy to differentiate these two characters. The writing alone is usually all I need to prep for these scenes. Many times, when playing two roles, I want to make sure these two people are different in terms of physicality, the tone or pitch of their voice, their style, their hair—and I make a conscious decision about each aspect. The writing of this play honestly made all of those pieces come together naturally.

Azura mentions the sadness in the song Puff the Magic Dragon. She says Hayley is like Puff without his roar. What do you think she’s trying to say to Hayley?

Azura sings this song to Hayley because she believes there’s a fire inside Hayley that has diminished, and she knows that Hayley needs to get her wildfire back. In reference to a line Tabatha says in the play, “Some of us are supposed to be at this hospital, waiting for princes, and others aren’t.”

Both Azura and Cortney seem happy, yet aloof, both with their own memorable lines. Is there one line for either—or both—that sticks with you?

The most important line Azura says that sticks out to me is, “You really are a superhero, you know?” Although this is one of her more serious lines, I think it encompasses everything you need to know about Azura—she truly believes in the good in people, no matter what.

What about you? Do you believe in the good in people?

Truthfully, sometimes it’s really difficult. I want to! I really do, but living in a big city, you see a lot of bad things, and believing in the good in everybody can sometimes get you in some not-so-great situations. That’s why I really love playing Azura, because she’s so extremely different from me! It’s really refreshing to see the world through her eyes.

 The art of writing and performing a script requires a great deal of collaboration between actor and director. In what ways did the collaborative effort affect the roles of Courtney and Azura?

I’ve worked with Anthony on a couple of different projects and I really respect and admire his approach to the work. The number one reason is because he trusts his actors. He allows me the freedom to explore my character (in this case, characters) and let me do my work. I feel free to make new choices with him, and he trusts me to pick whichever ones feel best to me.

What do you want the audience to take away from the roles of Cortney and Azura?

This is such a hard question for me because I believe a character’s purpose is to serve the story, and my job is to serve the character and tell their story as truthfully as I can. There are so many themes and motifs and images that are being expressed here and I believe it’s up to the audience what to take away from the play. With so many different themes I think each person is going to take away something different that they personally connected with. I’m so excited to talk with people who see the show to hear their thoughts and opinions on what they think the play is about!

The process of staging a play takes considerable time—from the first table read to the first performance. What about this process do you find most enjoyable, and to that end most frustrating?

My favorite part of putting on a show is absolutely the rehearsal process. Second to that is the table read because those are where the first genuine moments and reactions take place, but the actual rehearsal is my favorite part. We get to play around so much with these different characters and find choices that work and choices that don’t work and that’s where I find the most enjoyment. There is so much that happens in rehearsal that the audience will never see and to me that’s really special. On the opposite of that spectrum, I can’t think of anything I find frustrating about the process at all! I really do love everything about the process.

 Tickets for the upcoming run of The Girl with the Red Hair are available now. For those considering the idea of attending, what would you tell them?

I would tell them they need to see it! This show is just genuinely good theatre, which I think sometimes is hard to find. It will leave you asking questions, discussing moments, and creating theories about the end of the play. We’re a cast and crew of passionate people who believe in telling good stories, and that essence shines throughout the whole show.

The Girl With the Red Hair, part 2: Interview with Vivien Cardone and Anthony Laura

The following is part 2 of a 3 part series of interviews on the forthcoming play, The Girl With the Red Hair.  Written and directed by Anthony Laura, and featuring Casey Hartnett as Hayley Jones, Vivien Cardone as Doctor Watkins, and Sam Yestrebsky as Courtney Dawson/Azura, The Girl With the Red Hair will begin a two-week run on December 5th at The Alchemical.

_________________________

On the heels of an interview with Casey Hartnett and Anthony Laura, I’m thrilled to dive further into the inner-workings and dynamic of The Girl With the Red Hair. This time, in addition to Anthony, I had the privilege of interviewing Vivien Cardone, who takes on the pivotal role of Doctor Watkins.

Starring Casey Hartnett as Hayley Jones, The Girl with the Red Hair, is an exploration of the damage rendered by sexual abuse, of a mind in turmoil as it attempts to cope with experiences far too extreme to process. In the ever-deepening shadows of the girl she once was, who is Hayley Jones, and will it be enough to simply be a survivor?

With The Girl with the Red Hair, Anthony Laura captures the true struggle of Hayley Jones in a troubling yet empathetic light. With the added insight of Casey Hartnett’s approach to portraying Hayley, they remind us that a victim’s experience never ends. That the struggle of coping is a solitary and difficult journey that pits the mind with the heart in a fight neither can truly win.

An Interview with Anthony Laura and Vivien Cardone

Vivien Cardone began acting at the age of 3 months in national campaign commercials for Pizza Hut, Sears, Pillsbury, Sherman Williams, and Prudential, to name a few. She had her first big screen role as Marcee Herman in the Academy Award winning film, A Beautiful Mind and played the role of Delia Brown on the WB’s Everwood. Additionally, she starred as Belle in the film All Roads Lead to Home and had roles on Law & Order: Criminal Intent, Law & Order: Special Victim’s Unit, and One Life to Live.

As a matter of professional necessity, Doctor Watkins keeps an emotional distance from Hayley in their sessions. As an actress, this requires you to keep a measured hand to the sensitive and important issue of an individual struggling with her mental health. How did you prepare for this aspect of the role, and did you agree with her approach?

Vivien: Part of the character development I worked on with Anthony involved discovering who Dr. Watkins was underneath her role as head psychiatrist. We worked on discovering her values and belief systems, as well as her personal life, and from there we were able to build on how she applied those values to her work. I think when a therapist is working with individuals who are struggling with their mental health, it is important to keep a measure of emotional distance, so that you are able to approach the issues at hand in a calm and collected manner. I think Watkins tends to take this to the extreme, and, as a consequence, struggles to look at the patient individually, which may hinder her ability to offer Hayley the type of treatment and rehabilitation she needs. Watkins is all about order and protocol. She goes by the book. And that isn’t always a good thing when you are dealing with people who are in a vulnerable situation.

The Girl With the Red Hair delves deeply into depression, mental illness, and sexual abuse. How has the journey of Hayley Jones altered your view of these issues in your life?

Vivien: Mental illness is an extremely relevant issue right now. Society has come to embrace invisible illness as valid and serious. However, I think it is important for society to not place labels on those of us who struggle with our mental health. Having depression, anxiety, mood disorders, eating disorders, that is only a small part of what a person truly is. We need to learn to look at the individual in their entirety and accept all the parts of them. And I think that applies to the person who lives with the illness. It took me a long time to be able to embrace, and even love those parts of me. Being in this play has helped me to be kinder and more patient with myself. I no longer approach my mental health as something that needs to be feared or fixed, but rather as something I can allow to walk beside me throughout my life. It’s the little monster on my shoulder that I need to protect and nurture.

With Hayley, that little monster has clearly taken hold of her life. What do you think we can do better as a society to help protect and nurture that monster, so that individuals like Hayley get the attention they need before things spiral out of control?

Anthony: I think, firstly, we need to listen. A lot of people who suffer from any type of mental illness are not looking to be given advice, they just want to be heard. It’s difficult for some people to understand that listening can be just as powerful as trying to help someone solve a problem. Sometimes, depending on the case, when dealing with mental illness, it’s not something that can be solved. It’s amazing what a simple ear can do. Secondly, we need to start getting rid of stigmas. As a whole, I think we need to cry more, we need to show our emotions. If we found a way to be more open and let ourselves show who we truly are, we would accept others and ourselves more. Shame is debilitating and we need to eliminate it.

Vivien: I think it really comes down to acceptance and unconditional love. In so many of today’s relationships, there seems to be this consistent theme of “I love you as long as….” And I think that to truly love someone, you have to be ready to accept all of them, not only the parts that are convenient and beneficial for you. Everyone has some form of trauma, everyone has a pathology. All of it is valid, and all of it is worthy of love. And when we start to approach people with the love they deserve, choosing to see that person in their entirety, we allow that person to start to love and accept themselves. Mental illness doesn’t mean you are less of a person. It is a journey that sets you apart from the rest, and adds to the beauty that comes with being a unique individual. So be open, be patient, and above all, be kind and loving.

At one point, Nurse Janice offers to Hayley that “People are hard because life makes them that way.” Given her comment is regarding Doctor Watkins, do you agree with her perspective?

Vivien: Absolutely. Life can be very difficult, and people’s hearts can be hardened by the trials and traumas they have experienced. And that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s a way of protecting yourself from further pain. The mind is incredible at guarding itself. I think Watkins has had her fair share of trials in life. But she is a fighter, and she is not one to give up easily. She has very thick skin, and I believe that is what has helped her make it so far in her life and her career at such a young age.

Doctor Watkins aside, what character do you resonate with the most and why?

Vivien: I don’t feel like there is any one character that I resonate with more than the others. And I think that is what is so special about this play. Every character is a reflection of either a part of you, or a part of someone you know. I connect with Hayley’s stubbornness, strength and moments of denial, Tabitha’s nurturing warmth and patience, Nurse Janice’s bluntness and empathy, Courtney’s bubbly energy, Coury’s devotion, Eve’s confidence and sensuality. People are constantly evolving, and there are many aspects that make up who we are. So I truly believe there is something to be gained and taken away by anyone involved in this play, both on or behind the stage, or in the audience.

It’s typical for a writer to empathize and connect to their characters. How did the process of writing Hayley’s disintegration affect you?

Anthony: I think I love Hayley more than any other character I’ve ever written. I’ve spent the most time with her and every time I write more in terms of her disintegration, it feels like a betrayal to someone I love. Yet, there’s a beauty in Hayley that exists despite what she’s going through and that’s really what I admire about her. She never plays the victim. Often times, she doesn’t even ask for help. It’s hard not to admire someone who comes out on the other side of a struggle, who fights to make others better when they need the comforting. This is also the beauty in having someone as talented and open as Casey playing Hayley. There are moments you get lost when watching her move from scene to scene because you are overtaken by this force of nature. I think that’s why this particular story gains something from being told through a theatrical medium. To be in the same room and feel that energy Casey is giving off as Hayley, the way she looks out into the audience, it takes you by surprise. It’s not something you can feel in a movie.

Vivien, you’ve had the opportunity to play a variety of roles on both screen and stage. What challenges did the role of Doctor Watkins offer that differed from previous roles?

Vivien: Watkins is a very guarded and tough woman. But she also has a vulnerable side to her that she tries very hard to hide. I think trying to find that balance between strength and vulnerability has been quite a challenge. Also, there are many characters in this play, Watkins included, that I resonate with on a personal level. So, immersing myself into such a heavy character and world can be emotionally and mentally draining. But so very rewarding.

If Doctor Watkins could leave the audience with one message about mental illness, what would it be?

Vivien: There is no such thing as a lost cause. Every person is deserving of help and healing. You only need to be open and ready to heal. If you are willing to reach out and receive help, people are ready to guide you and support you. You are not alone.

The collaborative effort between writer and actor is on-going from draft to stage. How has working together influenced The Girl With the Red Hair?

Vivien: The best part about working with Anthony has been the amount of trust we have built with each other. On top of that, we are both very like minded in our approaches to, and passion for, storytelling. Anthony is an incredible director, and a wonderful writer. He truly values his actors, allows us the freedom to explore our characters, and is incredibly receptive to the discoveries we make in the process. This play has truly become a collaborative effort between the actors and our director, and that has allowed us to develop a very raw, authentic story that carries so many important messages.

Anthony: From the very beginning, Vivien has played an integral role in the development of Doctor Watkins.  Together, we were excited to discover who she was outside of being a doctor.  Through Vivien’s empathetic and vulnerable performance, Dr. Watkins became one of the strongest relationships that Hayley endures throughout her stay.  Vivien is an extremely collaborative actor who is always open to trying anything in the room, and that was an incredible benefit when we workshopped in late summer.  Through the way she talks about Watkins in the rehearsal room, it’s evident how much she cares and protects the character.  I found that to be key in the development.  Often, authoritative roles in stories like this tend to be caricaturish or only exist to provide conflict, but what I feel we were able to achieve, particularly with Vivien in the role, is to illustrate the care a doctor has for her patients, while understanding that doctors are often patients themselves.

With that collaborative effort in mind, how has the character of Doctor Watkins changed from inception to her current state?

Vivien: I think the most change that has occurred with Watkins would be the level of vulnerability and personal investment she has in her patients. Initially, I had played Watkins as a woman who is trying to gain control of her life throughout the overwhelming pressures she faces both at work and at home. As Anthony and I continued to work together, we began to discover the softer and more emotional sides to Watkins that she fights so hard to keep hidden. Watkins has good intentions. She wants to help her patients. She wants to help her family. And she is currently feeling the frustrations and fear of the limitations that come with being human. There is only so much one can accomplish on their own.

Anthony: There’s a new scene in the play that takes place in Act 2. There’s a big shift in the relationship at that point between Watkins and Hayley. I wrote this scene for a workshop and I felt very strongly about it, but I didn’t know how it would play. I remember the first time Vivien and Casey read the scene together, I was floored. I almost lost my breath. It’s a powerful moment for Watkins, but there’s something equally as powerful for Hayley. I don’t want to give away the scene, but I personally feel this scene is a prime example of how the evolution of this character came to me between the two of us. I wrote it knowing Vivien’s talent, but still couldn’t have imagined the depths she would take it. In my opinion, Watkins is no longer a doctor treating Hayley. She’s a woman working in a hospital who cares so deeply for all the people around her. The distinction of her being played as a woman and not as a doctor, which is solely because of Vivien, is the reason you leave the play thinking about their relationship.

Anthony, through Doctor Watkins you had to take a more clinical approach to addressing Hayley’s mental struggles. What challenges did that present in your writing?

Anthony: I found the challenge to lie more in creating that relationship rather than through her clinical approach.  Both of these women tend to hold back more than they reveal, and though at the start of the play they seem to be very different people, I think as we understand what Watkins is going through, we are able to see how similar they are.  It was also important to me that the clinical aspect be accurate and that all the medication that was referenced would be medicine that coincided with what Doctor Watkins viewed Hayley’s symptoms to be at that particular moment.  From the audience’s perspective, we are able to see Hayley’s disintegration happen before us.  However, what we don’t witness is the effect that Hayley’s disintegration has had on Watkins due to the way her treatment has remained unsuccessful.  We catch glimpses, and again this is what Vivien illustrates so wonderfully, being able to show us these small moments of heartbreak for someone she truly cares about.  I think balancing her professional care for Hayley versus her personal attachment to this particular patient is something that took some time to arrive at.

Throughout the play, Hayley sees a younger version of herself enjoying the spoils of being young. What inspired you to include her in the story?

Anthony: I wanted to explore the differences in the places we reside pre and post trauma.  In the last run, we were able to experience how Hayley had changed from the moment we met her, but I thought it was important to understand visually how she had changed from the last moment she felt true happiness.  I think there’s a difference in how we relate and feel happiness as children versus as adults.  It’s rare we can move into adulthood and keep such a carefree and unguarded nature and I think, through Hayley’s disease and what she experienced so many years ago, she’s trying to find her way back to a place where she didn’t need to hide, where she didn’t question herself or her instincts and lived out in the world instead of inside her head.

Like any script, The Girl With the Red Hair has undergone a number of changes. During edits and rewrites, in your eyes, in what ways has the play improved?

Anthony: I really enjoy that addition of Young Hayley.  I think it opens up the play in a way I didn’t even foresee when I spoke to Casey originally about the idea.  In this new version, I feel the characters are more vivid and we get to explore deeper truths with each of them.  Two of my favorite additions come in the form of monologues.  One is delivered by Cortney (played by Samantha Yestrebsky) and one is delivered by Hayley.  They both exist in the second act and I think the incredible ways that Casey and Sam execute these monologues brings us so deep into the minds of these characters that your heart breaks for these people you’ve come to really care about.

Anthony, at what point did you know Vivien was a fit for Doctor Watkins? And Vivien, at what point did you know you wanted to be a part of this play?

Anthony: I knew before I picked up the script to revise it that I wanted Vivien to be part of the production. Beyond being a talented actor, she’s one of my favorite human beings. I knew whatever this new draft turned into, it would benefit by having her on board. However, in the original play, Doctor Watkins was written and played by a man. As I went through certain revisions, I realized I felt the energy of a male therapist didn’t align with the story I was telling anymore. I knew Vivien was perfect for the role because it required a mix of strength and vulnerability. I spoke with her briefly about what the role was and she agreed to do it blindly. Vivien’s involvement has meant such a great deal to me because the research we’ve done together and the emotional investment she’s made in Dr. Watkins has pushed the character into territory I never would’ve imagined.

Vivien: I began my journey with Anthony when I was cast as Natalie in his upcoming film “The Rabbits.” I had also performed in his short play “The Purple Room” this past summer at the Theatre for the New City. From the start, I have deeply admired Anthony’s talent as a writer, so when he told me about this play, I already knew I would love the storyline and the characters. So I jumped right on board to play Dr. Watkins before I had even read the script. However, during our first table read, the script far exceeded my already high expectations. I was blown away with the raw emotion, and how well Anthony displayed the humanity behind Hayley and the other patients. I remember having to walk out of the room a couple of times to gain my composure, because so many of the monologues resonated with me on such a deep, personal level. I thought to myself “This is exactly where I am supposed to be. This play is going to be something special.”

The process of writing and directing or performing gives you both repeated runs through the entire script. What is the one scene, monologue, or line that sticks with you, or stands as your favorite?

Vivien: For me, that would have to be Hayley’s monologue during the final scene in act 1, after her altercation with Dr. Watkins over her medication. There are so many statements throughout that I have personally felt, as I am sure many others have, at one point in my life. This is one of the few moments in the play that we see Hayley being upfront and honest with her feelings towards herself. It’s a powerful, emotional, and raw dialogue. And Casey delivers this monologue with such heartfelt emotion. There have been many times where I have walked off the stage during that scene with tears in my eyes.

Anthony: I don’t think I can reveal my favorite line as it gives away an important moment. However, my favorite monologue has come to be the roof monologue in Act 2. In the midst of a manic episode, Hayley speaks about her teenage years and going up to the roof of her old house. It’s a four-page monologue that’s told through a flight of ideas. I don’t even know how many full sentences there are in the monologue. I wrote it fragmented and the moment Casey spoke it for the first time in workshops, she hit every fragmented pause, every bit of language I was going for without us ever having had to speak about the way it was written. I’ve never had that happen with an actor before. It’s an emotional monologue, dealing with her past and how that ties into her present situation. There are a couple of monologues in the play where we deal with one speaker and very rarely an interruption but coming in Act 2 very close to the end of the play, this has different meaning. There is so much pain inside this one cry for help. One of my favorite lines in the context of the monologue is, “Because all of this hurt, every moment that I’ve ever felt so alone, which has been more times than I’ve ever felt, I dunno, loved, I guess, it just doesn’t make any sense why someone would be willed into existence only to never be loved or understood.” I think about that a lot. The total amount of times in our lives we’ve felt loved versus alone and how that can take a toll on someone if the math doesn’t add up in your favor. There’s so much buried in this monologue that Casey uncovers every time she performs it and I think, even outside of experiencing a manic state, I think we can all relate to such flight of ideas about things that eventually bubble to the surface.

Part three of this series, featuring Sam Yestrebsky, will run in November.

 

An Interview with Writer/Director Anthony Laura and Actress Casey Hartnett

As a writer, and as founder and Executive Director of the Broadleaf Writers Association, I’m often given the opportunity to preview work before it reaches the public. Generally, that means a manuscript that requires editing before it’s sent out on submission, or an advanced copy of a book to be published. But I’m also fortunate to know a number of writers, producers, and directors working on either plays, screenplays, or both.

One of those is writer/director Anthony Laura, an artist I have come to admire both for his emotionally provocative scripts as well as the passion in which he brings them to reality. One of those works, The Girl with the Red Hair, is a play currently slated to premiere this winter, and I was honored to not only get the opportunity to read the script, but to interview both writer and lead actress.

Starring Casey Hartnett as Hayley Jones, The Girl with the Red Hair, is an exploration of the damage rendered by sexual abuse, of a mind in turmoil as it attempts to cope with experiences far too extreme to process. In the ever-deepening shadows of the girl she once was, who is Hayley Jones, and will it be enough to simply be a survivor?

With The Girl with the Red Hair, Anthony Laura captures the true struggle of Hayley Jones in a troubling yet empathetic light. With the added insight of Casey Hartnett’s approach to portraying Hayley, they remind us that a victim’s experience never ends. That the struggle of coping is a solitary and difficult journey that pits the mind with the heart in a fight neither can truly win.

An Interview with Anthony Laura and Casey Hartnett

 

Writing about or portraying an individual suffering from the ramifications of sexual abuse requires both accuracy and a gentle, yet firm, hand. How did you both prepare for this sensitive subject?

CASEY: We talked a lot about Hayley’s backstory and the specifics of what actually happened when she was nine years old. Then in my own crafting, I thought about the specifics of what happened right afterwards. Did I tell anyone? What did I say? How did those words come out of my mouth at such a young age? Who did or did not believe me? What became the dynamic in my family after all of this happened and how I did I deal with that as a teenager? All of these specifics had to be well-thought out in order to be as truthful as possible. The scariest thing is the idea that someone in the audience could really relate to having something as traumatic as this happening to them, so being as truthful and specific as possible with every little detail was really important to me.

ANTHONY: In both preparation and execution, we wanted to honor the specific difficulties of experiencing and continuing to live with such trauma.  The seeds of Hayley’s suffering with the abuse is sprinkled throughout the play, but the reveal happens quite late.  Due to this, Casey and I spoke about the physical manifestations and how the emotional repercussions were specific to Hayley.  I think what was most profound about Casey’s portrayal is how deeply you felt her pain, yet it always remained a bit at bay and hidden.  Many survivors suffer silently for years, whether it be from shame or fear, and continue to relive their trauma internally.  We wanted to illustrate the debilitating effect that repression can have and how much courage it takes to make the decision to speak it aloud.

The girl with the red hair is a pivotal character in Hayley’s journey. What does she represent to you?

CASEY: The girl with the red hair represents everything that Hayley wishes she could be. She represents this fantastical perception of perfection that no matter what Hayley does, feels so far away from being able to be achieved. There’s a hopefulness but also a hopelessness all at once in the girl with the red hair, and that combination is really heartbreaking.

ANTHONY: Azura has always felt like a bit of a guardian angel to me.  Through her optimism and innocence, a sense of hope is ignited in Hayley.  It’s one of the few times in the play that we’re left with Hayley at the end of a scene feeling at peace.  However, Hayley winds up putting her on a pedestal, believing her life would be better if she existed as her, until Coury accurately points out “Why can’t you just be yourself?”  It’s a feeling I think we can all relate to in viewing people in terms of their best qualities and assuming we are defective for having problems of our own and not maintaining our own expectation of perfection.

Despite the sensitive and emotionally raw nature of the script, there remains a good bit of humor. How do you manage to convey a sense of comedy in moments that are so deep in despair and pain?

CASEY: I think sometimes we have to laugh and find the humor in unsettling situations in order to maintain our sanity. I guess it’s almost like a defense mechanism that Hayley uses to hold onto what little control she does have of her situation. If she can tease Dr. Watkins maybe she’ll start speaking to Hayley as an actual person rather than a patient. If she jokes around with Nurse Janice, the time might go by a little quicker. I feel like in Hayley’s case, humor is used as an escape mechanism; an escape from the mania and the depression and the utter sadness that has enveloped her entire being so harshly for so many years. Sometimes laughter is a better cure than any medication.

ANTHONY: For me, levity tends to exist very often in the most painful of situations.  In fact, in my experience, the more painful the situation, the more we yearn and strive to make people laugh or help us laugh through the hard times.  We crack jokes to ease the tension every day.  Dolly Parton’s character in Steel Magnolias always had a line that stuck with me.  “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.”

Actors and directors both work to interpret a script into their vision of character, which is ultimately a collaborative effort. What have you gained the most from working with one another?

CASEY: Honestly, I think the biggest thing I’ve gained from working with Anthony has been a greater sense of trust and confidence in myself as an actor to go out there and tackle heavy material like this play. I’ve always been so subtle as an actor that being driven out of my shell to truthfully portray those moments of Hayley’s mania and heightened emotional life has given me the confidence to expand on the types of roles I want to play; and the roles that I actually believe I can play now. Because of this, when working on script revisions, if he asks me if I’d feel comfortable trying something new with Hayley, I have no reservations against saying, yes, yes let’s try it!

ANTHONY: I remember the first time I sat down with Casey and she told me her interpretation of Hayley.  I recall being in such awe of her empathy.  In the past two and half months, she has shown me a world within Hayley I never imagined.  A lot of that comes from how open and vulnerable she is on stage and how deeply invested she is with Hayley, but more importantly how giving she is with the other actors (and characters) around her.  Overall, what I continue to gain from working together with her is trust.  I think we both listen to each other with full attention and when that happens, the possibilities are endless.  There’s absolutely nothing more thrilling than exploring a character or situation together with a new and exhilarating idea that only comes from wanting to hear each other’s input and make the best possible product.  She always makes the work better.  Plus, she’s one of the kindest actors I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.

Azura, the girl with the red hair, visits Hayley at one point and mentions the sadness in the song Puff the Magic Dragon. She says Hayley is like Puff without his roar. What do you think she’s trying to say to Hayley?

CASEY: When Azura tells Hayley she is like Puff without his roar and that she needs to get her roar back, I think she’s trying to tell Hayley to not let her current situation get her down and to embrace her flaws and her past because without all of those facets of Hayley, she wouldn’t be Hayley and that’s what makes her so unique and special. Maybe embracing all of these parts of Hayley instead of trying to bury them away will allow Hayley to feel whole again. I think Azura is just reminding Hayley that despite everything that has happened, it is possible for Hayley to feel happy again.

ANTHONY: Going back to the guardian angel comment earlier, Azura is letting Hayley know that everything she needs to be her best self exists inside of her.  Sometimes, especially through trauma, we lose a part of ourselves that even we forget existed.  Azura wants to assure Hayley that whatever she seeks in right within her grasp if she allows herself to fight.

Writing a play of this emotional magnitude is a challenge. What challenged you the most?

ANTHONY: I think the biggest challenge was in balancing and withholding.  I wasn’t interested in telling a story about these issues that would be too operatic.  I wanted it based in reality and, for me, in real life, we hide instead of show.  The other challenge, which I still strive for in the new run, is accuracy.  Many people who suffer from mental illness, whether it’s on a large or small scale, continue to feel inadequately represented when the portrayal is romanticized or emotionally inaccurate.  I think it further adds to the stigma that only elicits more shame and fear in those who suffer.  Maybe this is an obvious statement, but I think it’s important to treat everything as a documentary and show realistic portrayals so people suffering feel seen.

Bette Midler makes several appearances to Hayley. Was there any particular reason you chose her for the script?

ANTHONY: One reason is the difference in Ms. Midler’s presence on and off stage.  She always puts on a great show and makes you laugh with everything she does.  Yet, if you watch more of the intimate interviews with her, you’re overtaken by how candid she is with her struggles and how different her personality actually is from her stage appearances.  I think Hayley responds to the comfort of Bette, what she wants her to be, and that further enforces the theme of controlling ourselves and others.

Hayley has endured experiences that pushed her beyond her breaking point. Through her suffering, you tackle the issue of mental illness. What message did you hope to convey?

ANTHONY: We all know what it’s like and how easy it is to isolate when we feel others can’t understand how we’re feeling or what we’re going through.  I’ve experienced depression to the point where I would stay in my room and not eat for days.  As hard as that is, it’s also hard on those around you.  We want people to feel less alone.  We also hope that people who are on the outside of the disease can see this and understand that sometimes all you need to do is listen, that your support is all anyone needs.  I hope that we are able to articulate what people suffering have gone through and continue to go through and make them feel like the heroes they are for fighting this fight everyday of their lives.

Each character holds a key to unlocking the truth of Hayley’s journey. Was this something you planned, or did it come about through the writing process?

ANTHONY: A little of both.  There was definitely a lot of discovery during the writing process and the rewriting process.  I know that in my life, a lot of the truth I’ve learned about myself has come from the people closest to me and I wanted to show how each character had an effect on Hayley, whether that was manifested or based in reality.  The story is essentially about Hayley’s growth and acceptance of herself, but the underlying theme for me was that it’s never weak to ask for help.

What advice would you give other writers interested in writing about characters suffering through mental illness?

ANTHONY: I have always found that the most honest writing comes from finding a way in, knowing what your personal reason is for telling the story.  I don’t think that means you have had to experience mental illness but understanding the reason behind why you want to tell the story and who you want to reach can help in always having a foundation when the writing process takes its crazy turns.

As an actor, finding a sense of empathy for the characters you play is an important facet. What was it in Hayley that you were able to connect to?

CASEY: I was actually able to connect to a lot of parts of Hayley, including her sense of feeling misunderstood and her longing to be heard and believed. That’s probably a common thing for everyone, this desire to be understood and not judged for who you are and what you’ve been through, but I have both seen in others and personally felt a strong desire for that sense of understanding firsthand so I felt like I really wanted to take care of Hayley right off the bat. I wanted to let her know through my portrayal of her that hey, I see you and I understand what you’re going through and I’m going to protect you.

If Hayley could leave the audience with one message about mental illness, what would it be?

CASEY: I think Hayley’s message about mental illness would be just to not judge others or act like you really know what someone else is going through but to just be there for them and support them. To allow them to feel normal.

How has portraying Hayley adjusted your view of others, especially those suffering through despair, pain, and mental illness?

CASEY: Portraying Hayley has definitely made me more cautious of the way I speak to and about others. I’ve worked with very vulnerable populations like the homeless, so knowing those people and now knowing Hayley, I am just much more aware of when I am having judgmental thoughts and how to push those thoughts aside and really try to see and hear what other people have to say and learn about their perspective.

The progression of Hayley’s journey takes her further into paranoia and delusion. When dealing with portraying a character falling deeper into a broken mind, how do you walk the line between reality and parody?

CASEY: As Hayley falls deeper into her broken mind, everything feels real to her so by living in her world during the play, it’s portrayed as if everything is actually happening because the distinction between reality and fantasy has been blurred. So, if Hayley believes that this is all a reality, then I wanted to portray those instances as if they were real and not overdo them or make fun of them in any way.

What has challenged you the most about playing Hayley?

CASEY: I think the biggest challenge has been giving an ultimate truth and honesty to Hayley’s illness. It was really important to me that I understand mental health and sexual trauma as thoroughly as possible because it’s one thing for a character to feel misunderstood, but it’s another thing entirely for an audience member who identifies with Hayley to see a play and feel even more alone than when they walked into the theater.

Hayley struggles with sexuality on many levels, including her own sexual orientation. Given what you know, and have learned, of Hayley, how do you portray that sense of exploration beyond her dialogue?

CASEY:  Portraying Hayley’s sense of sexual exploration goes beyond her dialogue in the way of subtle hints in the underlying emotions during her interactions with several characters. She and Cortney have a few unspoken moments of attraction that act as saving graces for Hayley in a way; they comfort her and scare her all at once. With Coury, she is trying to find her sexual desire again but she has become numb to intimacy and can’t really understand why. Since she can’t explain it, it can’t be explained through the dialogue but Coury seems to acknowledge that it’s okay without ever having to say those exact words.

At one point, Hayley has a literal knee-jerk reaction to being touched. In another scene, she rebukes Eve’s advances by asking her to view her as a nine-year-old girl. How do you convey those moments to the audience, so that they see the connections to her past?

CASEY: Conveying those moments of Hayley still being affected by her past sexual traumas to the audience comes through in the emotional preparation of the work. I could ask Eve in a hypothetical, playful way to think of me as a nine-year-old girl, but that wouldn’t necessarily lead the audience to believe Hayley has actually been abused. Hayley’s quick temper and the way she gets so upset by Eve’s hyper-sexuality is evidence in itself for the audience to (hopefully) understand that something terrible happened to her when she was so young and it’s still greatly affecting her today and is most likely the cause for Hayley being in a psychiatric ward in the first place.

In Act Two, Hayley says, “Everything is so far away,” a perspective to which many can relate. What makes this perspective unique to Hayley? How is her “far away” different than everyone else?

CASEY: When Hayley says, “Everything is so far away,” her perspective has been radically shifted from feeling in control of the people around her during her manic phases to a total loss of control after Eve points out how she has betrayed all of them without her even realizing it. It’s like everything has taken a 180 degree turn in the wrong direction and Hayley feels completely lost and confused with no sense of an explanation as to why this happened. I would say that Hayley’s “far away” is different from everyone else’s because her mind literally cannot recall the exact details of what got her to this point. Her mental illness has created these blocks in her brain, it’s as if she blacked out and did a lot of regretful things that she can’t remember and therefore can’t apologize for.

The Grief Monster

Often, I feel alone. Not lonely, but alone. A great bit of this is my own fault. I’m a solitary creature, an introverted writer drifting in and out of the space-time continuum. I spend a great deal of time in my head with worlds and people who are very much real, albeit without any physical nature to them. They are, to me, no different at the heart than the people and places I see in this world. Imagination and reality are the same. There’s a comfort to it. Not an escape, but a pleasant dynamic of creation and satisfaction in discovering people and places that inspire me. It allows me to feel more human. More whole. Less alone.

In my everyday world, it’s a different story. I work alone 90% of the time. I’m not much for chatting on the phone. Texting is communication, and I prefer it, but it hardly leaves one feeling accompanied on a journey of any sort. Social media offers an opportunity to connect, to be a part of something, and certainly gives me the daily chance to broaden the Broadleaf community of writers. But, in the end, the world gets quiet, the sound of the fridge running filling the void when the air conditioner doesn’t. Whether on the patio or at the dining room table or sitting at my desk there is an abundance of silence.

Then, I am truly alone.

My only solace during these times, as I have not been so fortunate as to have children, is of the furry four-legged variety. For the past six years, the constant love and attention I’ve received from the ever-present Molly the Cavatese Muppet Dog has given me a healthy dose of what it might be like to have a mini-human in my life. For thirteen years, my cat companion Maggie has been by my side. Through the closing of my bookstore (long live Wordsmiths Books!), to divorce, to break-ups, loss, and moving from one rental property to another. More moves than most cats could endure, I’m sure. Mix those two in with the friend and family member (and mother to the fur babies) that the Moss has become and there is something daily to remind me that I am not entirely alone. They keep me balanced, humored, and moving forward through the worst life has to offer.

But now Maggie is gone. In a flash. Bone cancer took her one week ago. In retrospect, I can see she dealt with it for far longer than I knew. But from diagnosis to the end was a mere ten days. Ten days. The last three of which were filled with dread and horror, sadness and disbelief. I feel cheated. Stunned. Above all, heartbroken. Finding my way through the days that have followed has been challenging, with more breakdowns than I should probably admit.

Some, I know, don’t understand how losing a pet can rival the loss of a human. All I can say (and have said) to those folks is that, aside from believing that all life has equal value, Maggie was never a pet. She was a friend, a confidant (though I’m sure she spilled the beans to Molly far too often), and a loyal and loving companion through my everyday attempts to live. The void that remains is profound. It is intense. I can’t brush my teeth without staring at the spot on the vanity she would perch, tail driting in and out of the sink, not so patiently waiting for her next round of food or treats (and, I like to think, ensuring I wasn’t left alone). She’s not there to keep me company at night, sprawling out on more bed at my shoulder than I should allow. She’s not there in the morning to climb upon my chest, work her claws into my skin as she makes biscuits, and give me a slice of joy to start my day. She’s not there while I work, while I write, while I sit on the patio and take the world in for a few minutes. There’s no chirpy greeting when I come home, no soft tick, tick, tick of claws on the floor as she moves from room to room hunting her next spot to nap.

She’s just not there anymore. And I feel more alone for it.

Grief often carries one into anger. I can’t feel angry about it. Weird though it sounds, I’ve actually tried. She was suffering, in pain, her liver and kidneys failing as the cancer spread, as she quit eating. She’s at peace now, and I can live with that. I’ve quoted Albus Dumbledore more times this week than is reasonably sane, but it speaks to my beliefs on life and death: “Do not pity the dead. Pity the living. And those who live without love.”

That doesn’t make it hurt less. That doesn’t curb the unyielding waves of calm to agony in the blink of an eye. That doesn’t bring her back. But it helps.

As it happens, I’m working on a project now that this experience broadens. About a young boy dealing with the loss of his older brother. I understand the character far more than I did a week ago. Much like him, I would do just about anything to have Maggie here again. To fill that void created by her absence. And to ultimately come to terms with the fact that she’s gone. That life goes on, just differently.

There will never be another Maggie. In the physical world her uniquness lives only in memory, in picture, in video. In the other world within the walls of my mind, in the realm of imagination that houses worlds and people that keep me company, she prowls and talks and sleeps and plays as she did here. She watches over me, fusses when I’m not attentive enough, gives me that whisper of a meow when I wake her up kissing her head, and stays by my side always.

It doesn’t take the hurt away. It doesn’t remove the fact I’ll never be able to pet her, to pick her up and put her over my shoulder, or to watch her sleep by my feet while I write. But it’s something. And, somehow, that will have to do.

20190617_111335

The Manic’s Guide to Connections

 

The moment he took the taser out of the case, I sat down and waited. I knew what came next. In that inexplicable sense of destiny, or fate, or the complete and utter understanding of my best friend/meta-sibling’s personality, there was nothing I could do to stop it. It took only, “I wonder what it feels like?” to inspire him into action. For three seconds, he held the charge against his arm, smile twisted in a blend of shock and amusement. Anyone else and I’m running to stop them. But this is the guy who covered his face in shaving cream in order to act like, I don’t know, a rabid Frankenstein or something, then wound up screaming his way down the hall because he hadn’t expected it to burn so badly. This is also the guy who filled a plastic container with butane, stuck his hand through the opening, lit a lighter, thereby (shock!) rendering his arm hair to curled, horrible smelling, reminders of what once was.

This is the smartest guy I know. No, truly, he’s brilliant. In fairness, this all took place over twenty years ago, so perhaps his judgment merely lost its battle against youthful curiosity. A fight we all remember losing more often than not.

I, myself, have lost that battle numerous times, predominantly in the pursuit of the ideal connection (a.k.a. Twoo Wove, a.k.a. Aphrodite, a.k.a. Zach’s Insane and Somewhat Naïve Quest for Completion). The trick—the part I always lose myself within—is getting beyond the initial connection and immediately attempting to translate that into some state of permanence. Some might call this a, “relationship”. I have called them, “oops, nope”. Still, I persist. After all, life can be whittled down to nothing more than an ongoing series of connections, right? Like the charge through my friend’s arm, we absorb the shock and it fills us. It enlivens the mind and heart; and, sure, it scares the hell out of us, but we do it anyway because stopping seems as likely as travelling through time in a DeLorean.

Speaking of which, I read an article regarding the activity of particles in relation to time. The prevailing theory the scientists presented stated that particles show behavioral patterns based on future events, working then backward through the complexity of what we know as “time” in order to reveal their true nature. Now, I have neither a chalkboard, chalk, nor Doc Brown’s manic energy to explain any of that; but it did get me thinking about the connections (and disconnections, for that matter) I have experienced in my life.

Perhaps, in this context, connections are actually echoes from the future. Perhaps we know we’ve met someone important in our lives because—as with the nature of particles—we’re seeing the result that will be instead of the emotion of the moment. Perhaps all of this is utter nonsense and merely an escapist means by which to avoid the reality of the patterns in my life.

Until recently, that pattern has gone like this: I find a connection, I feel alive. I have a sense purpose, completion, and a dingle-dangle twinkle of the ever-elusive surge of happiness. I dive headlong, the connection following my lead. The connection is strong, the pairing complex yet thriving on simplicity, the bond like, I don’t know, every metaphor for love ever stated. Something with flowers and sunshine, probably. Or waves across an otherwise silent beach. I could probably invent one that has to do with tacos, but it might make me hungry and then I’ll spin off into some tangent on cheese.

Mmmmm…cheese.

Anyway.

The point. Right. The non-cheese point is that every new connection thrives on the euphoria of discovery. The newness, the elation of two people sharing commonality and dreams. Ultimately, this wanes in favor of reality, personality, behavior, and the truth that some people just like to shock themselves with tasers to see what happens. And that’s okay. I didn’t know that. I was under some deluded impression that every connection required permanence. It had to last forever, otherwise what was the point? Not quite a shock to the arm, but I did do it to myself and marvel at the results.

Sometimes you meet someone, you share a connection, it feels ridiculously good, then the river of life leads you to drift you apart. Or, sometimes you meet someone, you share a connection, it feels ridiculously good, then no matter how much you want it to continue, the one you’ve connected with drifts away on their own, leaving you to wonder what in the hell of hells you did wrong.

And that’s okay too, I suppose. Everyone deals with this stuff in their own crazy ass ways.

I’m no atomic particle travelling backward through space and time, but regardless of outcome, I’ll take the connection, no matter the result. Sure, I have wants, needs, dreams I can’t shake no matter how hard I try; but I can’t be without connections. Which means I might need to fill the container with butane and burn my arm hairs off from time to time. I might need to shock myself just to see how it feels. I might even need to act like a rabid Frankenstein just to see who runs away first.

Life’s a crazy thing. May as well be a little crazy with it.

I Have No Idea

Let me just hit you with a bit of shocking, unedited, truth so we can move on: I have no idea what I’m doing. Ever. I’ll give you a moment to digest that. It’s big, I know.

All good now? Maybe keep a glass of the bubbly handy, if not. In testament to my general lack of direction and understanding, I’m just winging this. Kind of a stream-of-consciousness type thing, if you will. That can be problematic for me.

I make no secret of the stupid things I’ve done in life. I’ve listed many of them here over the years and had a good laugh at myself in the process. Should you wish to know more about me and the stupid things I’ve done, take some time out of your busy schedule, keep the glass full, and have a read. I don’t know whether that’s a wise recommendation, or not; but as that keeps with the theme of the day, we’ll go with it.  Have fun. I’m a bit of a likable idiot, in that, “Oh, my, what brand of stupidity will he be a slave to today?” kind of way.

I don’t plan much of anything. Sure, I dream and fixate, handle my desire as if it were the most valuable gem in existence, then fall apart when it drops and smashes into cosmic dust; but I never truly have what one might call, “a plan”. As I understand it, life takes a good bit of prognostication, should one wish to excel within it. Ask me how the Braves will do this year, and I’ll give you a prediction. Ask me how my latest book, venture, or attempt at a relationship, will go and you get ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. My father asked me, after I graduated high school, to draft up a five-year plan for life so he could go over it with me. I moved out the next day. Not a plan. Just a reaction. Pure gold.

There is a reason I identify with Tigger

So, as we sit here together, please do keep in mind I have no actual plan for this. Any of this. I tend to operate better at this stage in my life if I cling to each word and watch where it takes me. Any effort to create a visual end point will only carry me off track. We don’t want that. Well, I don’t want that. I can’t presume to speak for you. You’re not here. I can’t see you. I have no idea what you’re thinking at this moment. Perhaps if I did I might consider my words more carefully, or generate something more akin to a point. Something like a plan, maybe? A loose sort of dangly string of a point? Something you can wrap your fingers around, just as a reminder there is a point to it somewhere? I don’t know. Just spitballing.

I’m a patient person. I can’t say this developed from my lack of planning, or if my lack of planning developed out of my patience. There’s a link there, I’m sure. One seems as connected to the other as an appendage to the body. You’d think they would work in concert at all times, but it wouldn’t be true. Truth is my patience is more like this … whatever it is I’m doing now. It has an end, somewhere. Could be the next sentence, could be another 1,000 words from now. Depends on what fuels it, how the line of Reece’s Pieces leads it from the shed and into the house. I would prefer the line of candy, honestly. Hell, I guess I’d prefer anything to nothing.  It’s a great deal easier to be patient with something guiding it, right? Regardless, I am patient because I want to see the point of it all. I want to watch the sunset to the day, to feel the warmth of the sky as the horizon blankets the light, as the clouds blush, as night takes the stage. That’s why I wait. Who needs to plan for that? In the moment, you just get to be in it. Sure, there’s the potential for clouds to move in, for the sky to diffuse the brilliance of the sun’s farewell, for any number of distractions to prevent full enjoyment of the moment; but I’ll take any chance on the potential for a glorious sunset I can find. The payoff is worth it, even if disappointment and life’s persistent clamor can occasionally blunt the joy.

That may best sum me up, actually. I’m looking for the perfect sunset. I believe it will happen at some point, but I may need to see far more sunsets than I can process to get there. I have no idea how many. For that matter, I have no idea what ‘perfect’ is. I have no idea what I’ll do in the moment I realize I’ve found it. I can wait, however, because the sunset keeps trying. I can be patient because each day I know it will return and try again. I can put effort into waiting on it because I know it will put effort into setting. And when the moment comes, when the sun and I find perfection together, it will own me and every ounce of my passion for it. That’s as much planning as I can muster, and in the end it’s less planning than it is a fait accompli. In the context of time and space, it’s already happened. I’m just bumbling my way toward it.

I tend overthink that which I do not know. It’s a product of an imaginative mind contemplating a path to the perfect sunset. I’ve tried to stop it, but the theater of dreams won’t close. I’m not sure how I afford it. The power bill is staggering. Most of my life I’ve overthought situations, emotions, interactions, you name it. Anything and everything beyond the bounds of what I know as fact. I don’t profess to have the answers. I have no idea what will happen next. I only know I want to find that perfect sunset; and when I do, I’m willing to make the most of every second it offers.

In the meantime, until I know what I need to know, I’m going to patiently do and say a lot of stupid things.

Just so you know.

Ruminations of the Reluctant Superhero

Recently, I was dubbed the Man of Zeal by a woman who is, by her actions and heart alone, a superhero. I thought it a comical title for a good three minutes until it occurred to me she wasn’t all that far off. I am, by nature, a zealous person, running around half-cocked on a mission to salvage some sense of purpose in this thing called life. Some times the quest pursues the fantasy list of happiness and dreams only an idiot–this one in particular–would dare expect to realize, the rest to serve those around me. The two entwine, often, but generally I find the latter balances out the failures of the former. In the end, though, I just like to help people. I like to be there when they need an ear, a voice, a shoulder, a heart, some muscle, whatever. It’s what I do.

I never stopped to consider why. I never questioned if I should let someone else handle it. I just did what my heart told me and hoped to hell it didn’t break me. I have no idea if this is healthy, if this is sane, or if it even matters. I know I’ve been taken advantage of. I know it’s blown up in my face from time-to-time. I know I’ve overreached when help wasn’t necessary. And still, I trudge on, zealous in my quest to do something, somewhere, anywhere, for anyone I can.

I imagine that sounds a bit braggadocious. I’m certainly no superhero. As far as I know it, superheroes tend to succeed more often than fail in their endeavors. That alone disqualifies me. However, that isn’t the bait on the hook here. The above is merely a train of thought leading to the station ahead. To narrow the field a bit: It’s only just now in life occurred to me that I never looked for any return of this way I have. I wanted it, somewhere within. Some quiet place where my brain sat idle in its desk, hand raised, patiently waiting to be called upon. Could very well be why my relationships have blown up, or why I don’t have a deep circle of friends to visit or hang out with regularly. No idea. I guess it’s irrelevant to me.

Truth is, I don’t worry about it. It doesn’t inherently change who I am. This is the way I’ve chosen to live my life, and I’m good with it. I’m at peace with it.

But it got me to considering the others out there. You know them. They’re in your life. The people who do, not for gain or reward but because someone needs to. The people who call, text, message, visit, invite you to coffee just to see how you’re doing. The people who aren’t asking for anything in return. They just want to help. Some will consider their motives suspect. Some might find annoyance in their do-goodery. Generally, however, they are beacons of light in an otherwise dim moment. You know exactly who they are.

So, should you actually be one of the ten or twelve people who read this, I ask of you a simple task: Find the superhero in your life. Thank them. Ask them how they are doing. Ask them if they need any help with anything, or need to talk life and its myriad challenges, or would just like to sit silently with someone and have some coffee or food or whatever and not feel as though they fight the good fight alone. Don’t let them turn the conversation on you. For one day, one moment, one blink of an eye, be their hero. It will fuel them more than you know.

It’s Only Funny When You Don’t Die

I once drove 7,500 miles in a circle.

Technically, it was only a circle if you’re two-years-old, have a box of crayons and a whole lotta wall awaiting your art. So, maybe it was more circle-esque, in that the start and end both coincided and it offered some sense of a looping line in between.

I had a number of wild ideas in my twenties. Most of them resulted in generous face-plants into walls inconveniently placed where doors should have been. Or it could have just been I had no directional awareness of where doors where supposed to be and a strange affinity for pain. On occasion, however, my wild ideas bore fruit. Bananas, mostly. A lemon or two. Nothing as exotic as a kiwi. Of course, I don’t really like kiwi. My associations with kiwi coincide with a time in which I thought dating a not so sane ex-stripper a fancy idea. That’s another kind of fruit altogether, however, but a decent explanation of both my dislike for kiwi and for running into metaphorical walls.

Where was I?

Oh, bad ideas. Right. So, I had this idea once that I should drive around the country in thirty days. Ambitious writer-type stuff. See what I see, live the life, draw words from the nectar of experience, write bold provocative words for the world to behold, stand proudly in fists-to-hips superhero pose. Not quite Jack Kerouac, at its core. More like Clark Griswold with a video camera instead of a family, and more ambition than actual plan. I didn’t so much as work on the logistics of the trip as dig my hands in the Lego box, toss things around, and scream OH MY GOD LEGOS YOU GUYS!

So, with the help of my Uncle Charles, I converted my pickup into a mobile hotel–complete with shelves, bed, topper that resembled the top of a square igloo, road atlas, all the sci-fi soundtracks any good sci-fi geek should own (yes, shut up), and left. I may have bought food. I can’t be certain. I don’t recall starving, so somewhere in there rest assured that Pringles, peanuts, or Combos made an appearance. Quality nutrition to fuel the soul of any spirited traveler. I figured I could find my way to various campsites along the unmarked, unplanned, who-the-hell-knows path and save a good bit of money avoiding hotels. REAL WRITER STUFF!

See, the thing is … the thing about “planning” that makes so much sense is you take the time to work out logistics, so that when you head out on the road for a month long trip around the country, you do so knowing whether or not you’re driving into the path of an oncoming hurricane on the first day of your journey. Small detail kind of stuff. What’s that? Oh, nothing. Just your average Category 4 nightmare bearing down on you. Hey, I made it six hours into my trip before needing a hotel. That has to count for something. All that prep and money invested on Hotel Truck really paid off! At least my vehicle had some height. Owners of the cars I passed, floating in their lagoons on side streets as they were, seemed terribly displeased with the situation. I probably would have been too, but I was too white-knuckled and desperate for a hill to pay much mind. Fortunately, not too far off I-10 I found a hotel, conveniently located at a higher point of elevation–for Florida this would be measured as ten to fifteen feet above People Level, since Sea Level is nothing short of a hopeless dream–where I watched the water level rise from the safe confines of a second-floor room.

By the way, have you ever seen a river flow from the sky? I have. It’s really fun.

Despite it all, and the odd dreams that night of being a fish trying to swim its way to Heaven, my truck did not float away. By a few inches, it managed to not get flooded, which is more than I can say for the guy in the Audi parked next to me. He was a sweet guy, for a man whose face flared with the focused rage of an insolent beet. I felt bad driving away as he tried to encourage his Insurance company that he didn’t drive into the pool this time.

The trip held it’s share of memories, not the least of which involved me, a couple of hours, a pig pen on the side of the road in the middle of Kansas, and a very one-sided conversation. Pigs really don’t have much to say, as it turns out. Fortunately, they fry up well.

Around Day 20, I found myself in Montana. At the time, my meta-dimensional secondary brother Jim lived in Livingston with his family. It was a long way from their previous home in Georgia, but with one look at the mountainous landscape, open sky, and brilliant Fall foliage I understood why they did it. Actually, that’s not true at all. I just wanted to talk about how beautiful it was. I’ve still never seen anything as majestic and breathtaking. But their reasons for moving were completely removed from the serenity of nature and more centrally fixated on the complete and utter lack of people. It was hoped that less people equaled less stupidity. Unfortunately, the equation doesn’t work that way. Though it would seem more people equals more stupidity, the truth is the percentage of stupidity in any group is always a constant. Spread fewer people out over a larger area, and they’re simply harder to find. They just account for a greater percentage of the required Stupid in the equation, and are therefore increasingly more stupid. Something like that. I don’t know. Jim’s father can explain it better. He rants on Stupid like know you’ve ever met.

Anyhow you rant it, I was there. Wanting to make the most of it on my behalf, Jim suggested we go hiking. Nothing extreme (that 10,000-foot peak came on the next trip). Just a small climb to the top of a waterfall. Didn’t matter that it was snowing. All the better even. More picturesque. Good for the trip’s documentary. So we headed out of town, camera recording the drive and the subsequent climb. Actually, it was great fun. Particularly the holy-hell-we’re-still-alive journey back down. After all, Jim did almost die at the top of the waterfall.

Funny thing about holding a video camera from the 90’s. They were big, heavy, and difficult to balance on your shoulder. Like holding a 24-pack of water bottles on its side. With one hand in the grip, and the other bouncing around in a vain attempt to offer support it could never manage, you were pretty much at its mercy. Sure, nostalgia is great, but the risk we took to record it was kind of, well, dumb. Especially when you’re trying to balance on an icy rock surface at the top of a waterfall. I give Jim credit. Both for offering to put my stubbly face on my trip documentary–of which it had not yet been–and also for maintaining a perfect cradle on my expensive equipment as his feet slipped out from underneath him and his body was suddenly no longer a part of the solid part of Earth. The recording went beautifully. After all, it was a really nice camera. One moment I was there, being the absurd and awkward fool I am in front of a camera, the next there’s a wonderful shot of the moon in daylight as Jim gives a subtle “oop” as he went airborne and a less subtle “oof” as he collided again with Mother Earth.

Here’s the kicker. What you should hear at this point is absolute panic. Screaming, calling Jim’s name, rushing to his side. Me, in frame, concerned for my best friend and meta-dimensional secondary brother. What you hear, instead, is me laughing. Hard. Jim, despite the ordeal, didn’t quit recording. A real trooper. Pure dedication. It’s just life after all. Better record it while you have it. He managed to sit up, find me, and then recount the harrowing tale of something that just happened as if I had not been there to witness it. To which, through my continued laughter, I offered in defense, “It’s only funny because you didn’t die.”

What still disturbs me to this day is how genuine my words were. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t sugarcoat it. I just said what I knew as a truth at that moment. Because Jim didn’t propel himself off the waterfall, instead falling flat on his back and in notable pain, I could laugh. Because his choice to protect my camera over an effort to brace himself during a fall didn’t result in horrible splatter death … funny. And I wonder what that means about me. About my perspective. Life is only funny until you die? A joke is only funny until it’s over? A hurricane is only funny unless it’s carrying you away kicking and screaming? Does this indicate derangement? Have I been on some type of lifelong psychotic bender?

Or was it just really funny?

It’s a fair question. I mean, America’s Funniest Home Videos made a living off poor schmucks whose kids accidentally whacked them in the nuts and people laughed at that. On some level, isn’t possible that children who might have been born will no longer? It’s not death per se, but a lack of opportunity at life. In fact, the Christian Coalition should look into whether or not it’s some type of pre-meditated sex-free abortion.  Not so funny anymore is it? If these poor schmoes died of testicular raculation it wouldn’t be funny either. Why? Because they died. See? It’s only funny when you don’t die.

An Accidental Identity Crisis

Twenty-three seconds into the accident, the nascent writer Joshua Alexander jumped for joy. Concentrating on the significant damage to the bumper of my Explorer proved challenging amidst the ever-maddening screams of “THIS IS MY MOMENT! I HAVE ARRIVED!” The poor kid who pulverized his car with my bumper, some student from George Washington University home on break, apologized repeatedly for his lapse in attention; though to be fair, I’m still not sure if he directed it to me or to the crumpled remains of his car. I consoled him, insomuch as I was capable with all the celebratory screaming coming from Joshua. To his credit, the kid remained stoic, clearly at war with the beside-himself-father in his head, taking complete blame when the officer arrived, while I stood at the back of my vehicle analyzing the damage.

“This is great. Fantastic. The best thing that could have happened.”

I countered that, citing that car accidents are not great watermarks of joy for anyone. Not that Joshua cared.

“This will pay for the conference. You should thank that kid.”

I hadn’t considered that. Granted, my bumper looked a bit as if the horrors of life had consumed its soul, leaving its remains to melt into a perpetual frown.

“It’s just a bumper. What do you even need it for?”

As far as I could tell, the moment offered an example as to the primary reason bumpers existed. If I learned anything from Bumper Cars as a kid it was to never play Bumper Cars with my older brother. He had this fixation on ejecting me from my car, or better, the entire ring. Of course, he also had a fixation with swinging me in circles from an arm and leg until my glasses flew off and I started crying, so maybe the Bumper Cars weren’t the issue. In the moment, however, I found my first appreciation for the lessons those ricocheting cars offered.

Still, I had a hard time arguing the point. It was just a bumper. What’s a bumper in comparison to a week’s worth of writing education that would certainly land me a contract with a publisher? Three days later, when the Insurance adjuster handed me a check for $1,100, Joshua’s elation caught up to me. The internal war began. Bumper vs. bills vs. writing conference. Bumper lost in the opening round, if for no reason than it shut Joshua up for a while, and the worst it could do was follow me wherever I drove, its downward slope of sadness perhaps warding off any other unwanted visitors. Bills … those were a trickier obstacle. Apparently, those are supposed to be paid? That’s what I’ve heard. Somewhere.

I guess I should probably mention I had quit my job three months prior in order to write a book. That seems important, in context. Bills and all. Sudden money at hand and the like. A lack of employment certainly made income a pestering nuisance in relation to actually paying for things. You know, the important things like bills. Food. Collectible Star Wars figures. Even writing conferences. Especially those lasting a week long and costing a thousand dollars. An amount I happened to have in my bank thanks to a careless kid fiddling with his radio at forty miles-per-hour as his car rudely greeted the stopped Explorer in its path.

Maybe I shouldn’t have quit my job, I thought for the one-hundred and thirty-first day in a row. As decisions went to this point in life, it ranked up there with the best of Not Good. Sure, I finished a first draft of the book (two if you count the less than stellar 1st person draft I finished in 21 days), and by the time the conference rolled around two months later I would have a good edit complete. The timing fit. The conference–my first ever–would offer me a chance to pitch it to agents and New York Times bestselling author David L. Robbins, who would be the judge in a fiction contest. My book, Anointed: The Passion of Timmy Christ, CEO was good, by my estimates. Okay, so I thought it was perfect. Something to behold. To cherish. To love and to squeeze and to call George. Surely the agents would agree and the whole suffering for my art thing would be worth it, just as I had envisioned. That singular dream in which I quit my job, wrote a book, went to a conference and BLAMMO … agent. Agent would become Publishing Contract. Publishing Contract would equal Advance. Advance would balance out Voluntary Unemployment. Success would follow.

THIS IS MY MOMENT.

Did I have a choice? Sure. I had many. Many, many, many, many of which began the day before I quit my job. Did it feel like it? No. No, between Joshua’s screaming and my inability to see the world of possibility as more than a single light at the end of a short road, the Universe basically sat on my head, declared itself the Master of My Destiny and urged the chariot onward. All of this wouldn’t have happened otherwise, right? Everything happens for a reason, after all.

RIGHT YOU ARE UNIVERSE!

Fueled by the need to risk it all, to bypass sanity in favor of chance (LIVE NOW FOOL!), I registered for the conference and submitted the first fifty pages of my manuscript for the contest.

Sort of.

Technically, yes? Officially … not so much.

The thing is … the thing I should mention is how incredibly tired of me I had become. I saw myself every day. In the mirror, staring back for that brief flash before looking away, lest I thought myself some kind of creepy pervert offering longing glances from the other side of the glass. I talked to myself incessantly daily (yeah, yeah talked … that’s the ticket), whether I wanted to hear me or not. I cooked for myself, cleaned for myself, got sick of my needy self and needed a break.

So, I sent Joshua Alexander to the conference. I’m not sure if I thought he would generate better results, or if it would simply be nice to not be me for a week. Truthishly, I can’t really recall a specific thought of why I should do such a thing. Maybe I took a back seat to the process and Joshua jumped in. I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’m just weird like that, I suppose.

Regardless of reason–and likely absent it as well–I made my way to the conference full of cheer and lofty dreams, toting my completed manuscript in a wooden box as if it were the lost Ark of the Covenant. I checked in under my name since Joshua, for all of his robust enthusiasm, still lacked both an ID and a bank account, settled in and made off for the Opening Remarks with another hundred plus writers. All of whom were likely themselves because they were smart that way. I sat next to a behemoth of a figure–a tall, muscular man stretched out across two chairs. As I have established, socializing is not my strong point. Joshua, on the other hand, seemed to have no issue with the complexity of Hello and jumped right in.

“Hi. Joshua Alexander.”

Good for you, Josh. Well done.

The man shifted, shook my hand, introduced himself as David L. Robbins and immediately launched into praise for my submission, about how he had planned on finding me to discuss it, and stating his wonder at the luck we would sit next to each other.

It’s possible, at this point, I considered dropping the Joshua persona to ensure Mr. David L. Robbins, New York Times bestselling author, knew who I really was. I offer the possibility of such a though only because I don’t particularly recall if I though much of anything at all. Not with Joshua in charge.

THIS IS MY MOMENT.

So, I let him run with it. Let him talk throughout the Welcome, carrying the conversation onward into my work, its strengths and weakness, the nuances of the craft of writing, echoing David’s belief that conferences were vital to the growth of a writer, and I don’t know, tacos or something. It went on for hours. The next day David even invited me to go watch him golf in between sessions. I became the envy of the entire conference, buddied up to David like a excitable, loyal, puppy. Everyone knew my name, curious about what I wrote, how I had managed to so quickly win the favor of such a notable author.

They were the best two days of Joshua Alexander’s life.

They were, in fact, the only two days of Joshua Alexander’s life.

On day three, David woke up and decided to invite good ole chum Joshua to breakfast. Strange thing though. The front desk had no room for a Joshua Alexander. David insisted they were wrong. Had them check and check again, taking potential misspellings into account. Nope. No Joshua. Confused and slightly embarrassed, David fell into full research mode, following the trail of Joshua Alexander to one Zachary Steele, in room whateverever. He called me. He grilled me. Questioned what reason a man with my name would possibly have to go under any other name, then laughed at me. For the rest of the week. As he told each and every person about the ludicrous tale of Zachary “Joshua Alexander” Steele. For the next few months, as we kept lines of communication open. For the next few years as our friendship grew, as he became a mentor to me as a writer. To this day, some sixteen years later, as the memory pops up and he needs a good laugh at my expense. His last words on this planet to me may very well be, “Tell Joshua I said hi.”

I will always accept life as a never-ending ride of Cause and Effect. For instance, I make really odd decisions, the effect of which tends to rail off into the deep recess of Shitsville. I get to relive them, marvel over them, and perhaps even grow from them, but damn. Just damn.

Every once in a while, despite myself, I get to follow a train of Cause and Effect that isn’t all bad in the end.

I quit my job to write a book, with the express purpose of getting said book published, thereby jump starting my career and minimizing the damage caused by Voluntary Unemployment. In order to facilitate this, I decided I should go to a conference to get noticed. Unable to afford said conference due to having no job, I made use of accidental money to fund my way. I changed my name for no reason, met the author I wanted to meet, made a sizable impression both due to my work and the fundamental identity crisis masquerading as me, and made a friend of David L. Robbins. David created James River Writers in Richmond, Virginia, invited me behind the scenes, to their conference, gave me time with other notable authors (um, hi there Tom Robbins) and awesome people, and taught me the craft. All of which made me a better writer. Fueled by the need for more, the hunger to be better in all aspects of life, I made other questionable decisions, one of which netted me a bookstore I called Wordsmiths Books. During my tenure as owner of Wordsmiths, I met a publisher interested in Anointed. She published it. Publisher’s Weekly gave it a good review. My career as a writer found first gear.

THIS IS MY MO … oh, wait. No.

SEVEN YEARS FROM … is that right? Seven years? Sevenish years, you say? Right.

SEVEN PLUS YEARS FROM NOW WILL BE MY MOMENT.

Sometimes the wrong way can be right. Just, like, way longer.