All That Jazz (part 1)

When people tell you to write the first thing said is always "Write what you know".
And if anyone ever has met me what i know is...*drumroll*....THEATRE. So here is the prologue of the book I'm smack dab in the middle of about the cut throat life of the theatre.


All that Jazz

My dad never sang. He played the piano. There was no sound I was more accustomed to coming home to every day than those black and whites creating a sweet melody. My mother never sang either. She’d hum to the radio in the summer or strum a guitar and accompany my father. We were a musical family but no one ever sang.

The only time I ever heard my father sing was in the car on those Saturday ‘road trips’ to the hardware store or to pick up more milk. He sang theme songs from 1950-era TV shows. Growing up, I was the only kid who knew the words to the Brady Bunch, Green Acres, and Beverly Hillbillies theme songs. I could whistle the Andy Griffith tune in my sleep and knew exactly how to say ‘scre-am’ for the Addams Family. But my absolute favorite was Gilligan’s Island.

Subsequently, when I was eight years old and told I had to audition for a musical the only song that came to mind was, “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale…”.

I didn’t know, at eight years old, that that was silly. Or cute. Or unprofessional. I didn’t know, at eight years old, the reason I had to audition was because my mom was concerned that I never wanted for playmates – only books- and she was worried I’d grow up anti-social. I didn’t know that the minimum age for this show was ten and I was only eight. I did not know, at eight years old, that the only reason I made the show was because my mother’s best friend owned the community theatre.

I didn’t know what stage fright was. I didn’t know how it would feel to sing to a full house. I didn’t know the feeling of a warm spotlight on my face or the adrenaline that would run through my veins during every opening night. I didn’t know the tears I would cry every time I would take a final bow for a show. I didn’t know the kinship I’d learn in the wings or the love interests I’d play. I didn’t know then that I was a mezzo or that I could slip in and out of accents of places I’ve never been. I didn’t know the heartbreak I’d feel when I didn’t get the part and the elation I’d feel when I did. 

I didn’t know then.

But I know now.