The Beauty of Improvisation

Sorry it's been awhile everyone.  I know you've been waiting on pins and needles. 

I'm coming off a nasty bout with a cold and a November 2013 that pretty much blew, so I don't have a whole lot of clever musings to share.  But something did happen last week that I thought I'd pass on. 

Dane Arts, formerly the Dane County Cultural Affairs Commission, grants out money to local arts organizations three times a year (though soon it will be two).  The last cycle, which was due October 1st, had decisions made about funding last week.  MTM applied for our upcoming revue "You're The Flop", which is an original piece we're writing about the history of musicals that "flopped" on Broadway, and how commercial success doesn't always equal artistic success.   

Anyway about 5:30 Thursday night my Facebook feed had a few posts show up indicating "Yay! We just got a call from Dane Arts! We got $X,XXX for our project! Hooray! Huzzah!"  

I immediately pulled out my phone.  A missed call! Checking my voicemail I heard the message: 

"Hello Meghan, this is Doctor Shandley's office reminding you that you're due for an eye exam.  Please call us at your earliest..."

. 

What I did next was kind of a rookie move.  I lost my cool.  After a devastating month this just was the straw that broke the camel's back.  I immediately began to doubt myself, my contribution to the local arts scene, my ideas, my financial planning capabilities and my ability to sell people on my ideas.  I was passionate about this project,and I thought it had showed in my proposal.  I followed the rules.  My budget was incredibly detailed.  I answered the questions thoughtfully, clearly outlined our project goals and evaluation tools, and asked for an appropriate amount of money relative to the project's budget.  And it was a really unique idea.  So why? Why hadn't they funded it?

 In my somewhat irrational mindset I decided it was clearly because I suck at life and the panel did not believe in what I was doing.  (We'd gotten many grants before but that wasn't important right now.) 

I arrived at a place that I come across probably once or twice a year: The "what's it all for?" As Mama Rose sings in Gypsy: "Why did I do it? What did it get me? All your life and what does it get you? Thanks a lot and out with the garbage."  Why bother? Eight years of getting kicked in the gut time and again.  Why? 

I thought about 2011, a year in which we'd had a poor showing for a show that meant the world to me, john & jen.  I was damn close to shutting it down at that point.  Perilously close.  But then we started work on a show called The Glorious Ones, about a commedia dell'arte troupe in the 16th century and their passion for what they did.  And working on that show (which did do well), pulled me out of one of my deepest ruts.  A lyric goes like this: 

I've gone without bread. Lived close to the bone.  Got into deep water and sunk like a stone.  But now and again I have risen and flown like a kite.  And God help the people who don't get the joke.  Who won't risk a failure, who won't go for broke.  I dare them to stand in my boots in the mud for one night! But do what they do, or say what they say, I'd rather be me at the end of the play. For what is this life but the beauty of improvisation?

When I started this company I was an artist and not a business person.  (As you may have noted, occasionally my reactions dictate that I might have a touch of the dramatic in me.) 

While I am incredibly thankful to have acquired so many skills on the business side of this, at moments like these I'm glad to have an artist's heart, and a connection to music and theatre that reminds me of why I do what I do and inspires me to find solutions.  

I've improvised so many times in this crazy endeavor.  Like the time I was told we'd have a piano for a concert and we didn't so we went knocking on the door of a church down the street and asked to borrow a keyboard which we then hauled down Jenifer St.  Or the time my stage manager passed out backstage and I ran the light board on a show I'd never run the board on before at an incredibly important special performance.  Or the thing with the hay.  Or the bathtub.   Or the ducks.  (Oh yeah, haven't gotten to that yet.) 

So last week, after a tirade and my Associate Artistic Director talking me off the roof of my house, I pulled myself up, dusted myself off,  put down the wine and started planning how we would raise the money we needed. (I may have picked the wine back up a couple of times).  I remembered how many times funding had fallen through before and how, somehow, we'd always made it work. Wallowing at this point would do me no good.  It was time to move to plan B.  

The truth of the matter is that while we must be so careful as arts managers, and think as business people, we are all a little nuts to be doing this in the first place.  The principles of business do not always apply in the arts. We don't measure our progress purely on a balance sheet.  When things get rough we have a very real, passionate, inexplicable NEED to keep going.  So, we improvise. 

Monday I got an email.  We got a grant.  They forgot to call me. 

 

 

 

 

 

Get it in writing

Verbal agreements simply don't cut it.  How, you ask, would I know that? From several experiences.  I'll share one...which is sort of linked with another one. 

In 2006 I met a guy doing one of our first shows, Violet. He was very charming, sweet, and helpful.  His father owned a construction company.  He and I began dating that fall.  In the process he both loaned me $100 to pay my credit card bill, fixed the brakes on my car (about $60 for the parts), and offered his father's huge stock of lumber and his set design services for our 2007 production of The Sound of Music. 

Fast forward to winter 2007, when I found out that this guy was a sociopathic monster. Nonetheless,  I offered to pay him back the money I owed him, which he refused.  He said his father would still loan the materials for the Sound of Music set, and that he would design it.  He assured me this was the case.  I believed him. 

Good question.

Shocker: He disappeared and suddenly was completely unavailable to answer any calls or offer the services he had promised. Money was extremely tight and I didn't have enough to buy any kind of decent set, since we had been promised lumber and set design services.  And by the time I figured out he had bailed, it was too late. So the set for the show left something largely to be desired. 

Why, you ask? Did I not have a backup plan?  Did you not have other resources? DID YOU NOT GET A CONTRACT? Nope, nope and nope.  I'm not proud of it.  It was one of the hardest lessons I had to learn. 

 If you get a promise from someone of a donation of goods/services: A) Get it in writing.  B) Have a backup plan in case they bail. This means making what I call a Worst Case Scenario Budget (or a People Sometimes Suck Budget).  

Look at your show budget and figure out what would happen if this person's promises fell through.  What can you move around? Where can some corners be cut? (Do you need to spend that much money on printing? Can you shop around for some less expensive paint?  Does that opening night reception have to happen? Can you hit a thrift store for some of your props or costumes instead of renting them?) 

I have had to be extremely frugal, usually not by choice.  Over the years I have learned how to do things on a limited budget while not sacrificing quality (for the most part).  Part of this has come from Worst Case Scenario budgeting, which gave me some budgeting techniques that then crossed over into my actual budgeting.  I will talk about all of that another time. 

But the moral of the story is I didn't get it in writing and I got screwed.  Would I have had time to take it to court and fight him for it? Probably not.  But when you write something down there is at least paper proof of the legality of the arrangement.  So (again, worst case scenario), you can pursue these people if they screw you over.  And if they sign something, they know you've got them and are more likely to follow through.

A few years later we had our costumes donated for Edgar Allan Poe's NEVERMORE. This wonderful business, Ravenworks at Westgate Mall, totally came through and would have no matter what.  But you can bet we had a contract. And I also had a Worst Case Scenario Budget and plan, outlining where I could get the elaborate period costumes we needed, and the money for them, if in fact this arrangement did not work out. 

Funny story: Same guy reappeared after the show was over (and after MTM had gone through some serious problems and I was utterly devastated). He reappeared because he was suing me for the $200 he loaned me during our relationship.  This process included repeated phone calls and emails, threats of sending the police after me, insults, offers to babysit for his new girlfriend's daughter to "make up the cost", calls asking me if I wanted to go on a TV judge show, a humiliating experience where I asked for a restraining order and the judge denied it because he had not physically threatened me or hit me. Finally we went to court, at which point a much smarter judge told him he didn't have a leg to stand on.  He appealed.  And then didn't show up to the hearing. 

All this happened because it was a verbal agreement between the two of us that he would loan me the money for a couple of personal expenses.  And remember, when I offered to pay him back, he declined. 

Moral of the story? Write. It. Down.  Outline the terms of any arrangement that could affect you or your business (and yourself, for that matter) explicitly.  

If nothing else, get commitments in an email and save everything you ever receive.  (My email inbox is up to over 100,000 right now.  Still hanging on.  And trust me, I've had to go back and nail people.) 

Also, don't date sociopaths. 

OMG you guys. You should soooo come to this show. It's super good.

It's a super rainy, dreary day here in Madison and leaving my house sounds like the worst idea ever.  So I got to thinking about marketing.  Because winter is coming.  In Wisconsin.  And on top of people being super busy, it also sucks outside in the winter.  No one wants to drive, walk, talk, pay for things or do anything at all that involves taking off their Snuggie. 

(Snuggie night.  A marketing idea.  It's yours.  Just give me the credit.) 

Actually I think about marketing a lot.  It's the part of running a theatre that I most enjoy: The challenges, the ideas, creating the materials and watching the results. (Which, for the last couple of years at least, have been positive.)

Gone are the days of putting up posters and hoping that alone gets people to the show.  Also gone, mostly, are the days when an ad in the local newspaper would send people flocking to buy tickets.  The world is getting their information in a different way now.  I see a lot of theatres sticking to the same old, tried and true marketing initiatives they've always done, and it bums me out.  

I learned about marketing as I learned about so many other things: The hard way.  For several seasons I relied on the old fashioned methods: Posters and cast members inviting their friends.  As you can imagine, this did not work so well.  

We did The Sound of Music in 2007.  (This was before we started focusing on lesser known shows.  Clearly).  I ended up over committed and with not enough assistance on that show.  Because of that, I forgot something important.  I forgot to tell Madison that the show was going on.  

Looking back I'm not sure what the hell I was thinking.  It's the Sound of Damn Music.  If I had developed even a mediocre marketing plan of any kind I would have gotten people in the door.  But I didn't.  I was too busy trying to create a show that I was proud of.  Which happened...but not very many people saw it.  That is the worst. 

That happened for several years actually.  When we switched to lesser known musicals I knew it would get tougher and I at least was prepared.  But I didn't really have much idea of how to go about getting the word out on weird shows. After a lot of trial and error, and several utterly crushing performances for teeny audiences, I figured it out. 

I work with a small theatre company in Monroe, WI.  It is a wonderful organization, full of volunteers who do what they do because they love theatre and the community in which they live.  Recently they had a show that did okay audience wise, but not as well as they had hoped.  It the first show they'd done since I started working there so unfortunately there was a bit of a learning curve.  

The company had taken to following a pretty standard list of publicity tactics that were only working with shows people were familiar with.  So as a plan for going forward, I presented them with the following list of marketing questions to consider when marketing any how, but particularly one that may not be a household name: 

1) Who is the target audience for this show or event? Age? Demographic? Interests? 

2) In addition to general publicity, how do we make contact with the specific 

demographic or demographics to whom this show or event will appeal? 

3) Who are people we have established relationships with who can help us to reach the demographic we need to reach? 

4) What is the “hook”? Can this show/event be sold on name recognition alone? If not, what is the angle we can find that will cause people to pay more attention? Is there a live animal in it? Is there a film version? A familiar song or character? An interesting design concept? A fun theme? A modern/current event relevance? 

5) After the “hook(s)” are established, how are we going to promote that hook? Is there a special interest group that may want to hear more about it? Can we do anything at the library to promote the show? Would a live performance help us? 

6) What should the graphics for the poster and postcards look like? We need to make sure of the following: (NOTE: This is applicable for organizations who do not have professional graphic designers working for them...although sometimes you get a professional who doesn't follow these guidelines either. So it never hurts to check. Also I have feelings about posters.  But I'll get to that later.)

a. Design is eye catching and colorful, with the name of the show prominently featured. (Would you stop to look at it in a sea of other posters?) 

b. There is a tag line to help attract interest.  Ideally this tag line is funny or suspenseful, and leaves the reader wanting more. (For The Wild Party our tag line was a lyric from the show: "By tomorrow morning we could be dead drunk...or just dead.") 

         C. All pertinent information is included and visible, but not as large as the title of the               show.  Oh, how it sucks to have something printed and realize that important info is                  missing.  Every time I design something I go through and make sure it's all on there:                Who, What, When, Where, Why, How, and How Much?

          d. A hook has been established and incorporated into the design.

           e. For captive audiences where you have more than one second to get the idea                      across,, such as on a postcard or Facebook post, more information can be included                like summary, reviews and other details as appropriate.  

7) What local businesses might be willing to offer a deal revolving around our show? (Coupons, promotions, similar demographics, etc.) 

8) WHAT ELSE?

Here's the thing.  You are not special. 

Sorry. 

I'm not special either, don't worry.  None of us are.  You can never operate under the assumption that people will come to your event because it'll be good and they'll like you.  This is the age of Facebook, Twitter, Kindle, YouTube, Instant Video, Netflix, Hulu, Redbox, Reddit, online gaming, Spotify, and a whole bunch of other stuff I'm too out of touch to know about.  Entertainment is quite literally at your fingertips at every waking moment of the day.  And then there are aaaallll the things that are also going on at the same time as your event that require people to put down their smartphones and buy a ticket. 

The million dollar question: Why? Why should I come to your thing? ("Because it's good" is not an acceptable answer.) 

More on this, my favorite arts management topic, in further posts.  But bottom line we have to get creative.  And we have to create a great product on top of that.  "Come for the gimmick.  Stay for a great show." It's an ongoing challenge that we all must embrace.

Theatre company=hard. 

Fundraising. Part One of Nine Thousand

The dreaded F word. 

You, as an arts manager, have to ask people on your board (and sometimes staff) to help solicit donations. This is typically the answer. 




I'm not judging.  It's an understandable reaction.  The truth is, asking for money is 1) Difficult.  2) Uncomfortable.  3) Humbling.  4) Ballsy. 5) Unnatural. 

With this entry I'd like to talk a little bit about why I feel soliciting donations from individuals has become so difficult...and it comes full circle because the reason it has become so difficult stems from the fact that it is difficult in the first place. 

Here in my hometown of Madison and cities surrounding it, we have had our fair share of companies over the years that have run into financial trouble.  This is not uncommon anywhere and the recession a few years ago certainly didn't help.  What becomes frustrating is that when these organizations get into trouble and go to the press, the story that comes out is inevitably "Mayday! Mayday! Such and such company will close in fifteen minutes unless we get $500,000!" 

Often those appeals to the press end up working out, because pleas for money and threats of organizations shutting down are often met with donations that save them.  (That was, sadly, not the case of the Madison Rep in 2009.) 

I'm not here to pass judgement on those companies or say what they did wrong because I wasn't there and I don't know the whole story.  And I certainly know about financial troubles. What I CAN say is that it becomes frustrating when these are the only types of fundraising efforts that are made public on a broad scale.  It makes it seem as though we ask for money only when we're desperate  The public hears about yet another arts organization that "couldn't manage it's money." (Soooo not that black and white.)  

A few years ago, after our production of The Wild Party, we came up a little short, mostly because I had given away a lot of ticket discounts to get butts in seats. It ended up being worth it because it expanded our audience long term, but in the moment we needed a little cash. So I started a  fundraising initiative. And quite honestly I probably would have started it even if we hadn't come up short.  The whole gimmick was "What can you get for $10?" The idea was to encourage people to give $10 and that that seemingly small amount could in fact make a difference. ($10 is a prop, costume piece, set of paintbrushes, a few 2x4s, etc.) 

I was contacted by a member of the press who claimed they wanted to help.  Alright, I said.  But please understand, we are not closing.  I just need to raise some money, like all arts organizations do at basically all times. 

The person proceeded to publish an article stating that we were making a "plea" for donations.  There was some questionable wording in the article too that I won't get into but it was not flattering and was largely inaccurate. The editor of the publication that ran the article received a strongly worded email. 

I realize they have to sell papers/online subscriptions, but unfortunately it exacerbates this problem.  If people assume that any organization asking for donations is on the brink of collapse, then it will have devastating long term effects. "You're asking for money again? Why? Because you can't manage the money you're making now?"

 I'm not saying the press is not a vital tool to raise money, whether you're in crisis or not.  I just wish the publicity was not always a doomsday message. It gives the wrong impression.

The truth of the matter is fundraising is vital to survival.  And yet it is incredibly difficult.  And as a person who is relatively shy and pretty new to this whole arts management thing I am continuing to learn what works, particularly in a very saturated market. 

We as arts managers have a three part challenge: 

1) We have to first come up with fundraising initiatives that are innovative and different, and we have to inform the general public and the press about what we're doing and why it's worthy of their attention.  (The press may not bite, but if the public does that's a big part of the battle.)

2) We have to continue reaching as many people as we can in creative ways that are personal and interesting and make the donor feel like they're getting something, even if it has to be intangible for tax purposes.  The hope is that someday the public will shift its perception of the purpose of fundraising. 

3) I may get some argument on this, and it mostly applies to smaller organizations like the ones I manage.  I very very strongly believe that we need to make sure people understand that even a small donation can make a difference.  This is not typically true of mega charities that ask for you to donate a dollar when you're checking out at the grocery store.  Your $1 donation goes to their paperclip fund, if you're lucky. But in a small organization with low overhead, a little bit of cash can go a long way. Those of us running smaller companies need to convey that. I have worked with a couple of organizations not much bigger than mine with board members that feel that requests at the $1000 level are not worth their time.  You simply can't think like that, particularly if it's costing you nothing to ask for the donations.(And now, with Kickstarter, Indiegogo, etc., you can run a fundraising campaign for a small administrative fee directly proportional to what you raise.)  

One thing I was proud of that MTM did for a fundraising initiative was to build up our costume budget for Parade in 2012.  We ran a fundraiser that allowed people to sponsor a specific costume piece. For a small amount of money people could put their name on a certain item in the show.  So the program said "The Confederate Soldier's uniform is sponsored by...."  We weren't raising huge amounts of money with it, but it's an approach to fundraising that does not indicate desperation AND makes it a personal experience for the donor. 

This can work on a larger level as well. It gives an opportunity to the donor to see something tangible, even if they don't personally get anything. We know the typical name on the building, plaque with your picture tactics.  What else can we do to personalize these experiences, and in more interesting ways? My company plans to pursue some more major fundraising in the coming years, and with that I want to get as creative as I can.  

I would love, in (hopefully) many more years of doing this, to see the image of fundraising change, both in the eyes of the people who are solicited and in the eyes of the organizations who need the donations to survive. As part of that I would love for people to recognize the impact they can make with donations of any size on small, locally run nonprofits. 

How do we get there?

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I don't claim to be great at this....yet! But I've picked up a few tricks.  Share your thoughts below please, I'd love to hear them. 

Resources are resources

Sometimes as a producer you need something really really specific.  And sometimes you have to do things...dark, sketchy things...to get that something. 

In 2010 we were doing The Wild Party, which called for an antique bathtub for the "Let Me Drown" scene.  I checked with my theatre contacts in the area to see if I could borrow one, but no one had anything even remotely resembling one.  We were super poor so I couldn't afford to buy or rent anything too fancy.  What to do, what to do. 

In an act of desperation, I posted on Craigslist. (Is there really any other time to post on Craigslis?)  I don't know what I was expecting.  

About a day after the post a gentleman called me.  "I have an old tub, you can use it for free if you'd like, as long as you return it." Commence profuse thanking, offers of comp tickets, etc.  The guy said he would be out of town during the show but wished us the best of luck.  When I asked how to get the tub, he said "Oh, it'll be on my lawn." 

On you lawn, huh? Okay.  Well I guess you'll be getting it out and putting it out there for me before you leave, so as not to have to give a stranger a key to your house.  Makes sense. 

On the day of load in, my teenage brother and a college aged cast member and I headed to the address the guy had given me.  My instructions led me to what I can only assume is the seedy secret industrial underbelly of our fair city of Madison.  It looked like the scene from the Lorax after they've torn down all the truffula trees. 

We arrived at the guy's house.  We couldn't find the bathtub. 

Why? Well not because it was hidden, per se.  Mostly because this gentleman's lawn was basically the Island of Misfit Antiques.  It was a wasteland of, among other things, half chairs, a rusty refrigerator, creepy dolls staring at us from the windows, a child's wagon missing the wheels, statues, tires, garden hoses, wheelbarrows, shoes, towels, birdbaths, and more gnomes than anyone should ever have. Anyone. 

In fact after we risked our very lives and likely contracted tetanus, we still weren't sure which bathtub it was we were supposed to take.  Several things could have passed.  Finally we found one and flipped it over.  Inside were bugs, dirt, cobwebs, and what I'm pretty sure was fecal matter of some sort. 

"Welp, it's free!" I said.  "Let's go." 

Good thing I had those boys with me because it weighed approximately eighty two gazillion pounds. 

Oh, did I mention we were driving the Edible Arrangements fruit delivery van? (Again, free.) So picture us on this guy's driveway loading an antique bathtub into a refrigerated van with a big picture of fruit on the side.  

I don't remember how we cleaned that tub. Maybe I was lucky enough to have someone do it for me.  But I likely just blocked it out. 

There it is.  That's me sitting in it.  I guess that was only fair. 

When we were done with the show we took that tub back and put it right back where we found it.  

Moral: If you're resourceful enough you can come up with just about anything...perhaps at the expense of your dignity, but this was the show where I snorted cocaine out of a necklace during my big number anyway so whatevs.  You do what you have to do.  

Thank you, strange man.  I hope eventually you were able to move to the far end of town where the Grickle Grass grows.  (Come to think of it I'm pretty sure there were some Thneeds on that lawn too.) 

The first time that I probably should have said "Screw it."

Well we might as well start with the best one. 

Something happened very early on in MTM's life that sort of defined how things were going to go.  So it's probably a good place to kick this off. 

Our first production in 2006 was an outdoor production of Hair, directed by yours truly.  Awesome concept, right?  Diane Paulus totally copied me.  Anyway we did it outdoors in a park at the Lussier Family Heritage Center (except Saturdays, when we had to move to nearby Lake Farm Park...but that actually was the least of our issues.) 

We went to see the venue and I was like "Holy crap, this is awesome! There's a fire pit! We can actually have them burn their draft cards!"  I proceeded to stage the entire show with the fire pit as a center piece.  It was cool.  I loved it.  And I still love that they were able to light a fire and then burn their cards for real. 

Side note: Some other things I loved about that show: The outdoor factor and it getting dimmer outside as the story got darker.  We had, for the most part, a very strong cast and an outstanding band.  And while there were some issues, for a young director I thought my concept was pretty good. 

Things I did not like about that show: The mosquitoes.  The plethora of sound problems.  The generator issue.  The mosquitoes.  Rain.  The ducks. The mosquitoes.  The nearby music festival in the same park that no one told me about.  The park ranger.  And what I'm about to tell you. 

Don't worry, I promise to tell you about the park ranger another time. 

So anyway, we had our first weekend of shows and things went...well the show was fine but behind the scenes was nutty as is probably to be expected for a first time theatre company with an inexperienced manager trying to run it.   But we had three weekends of shows, and I was optimistic that our crowds would get better and we'd continue to get into a groove. 

The shows were Thursday-Saturday.  The Wednesday before the second weekend,  I got a call. 

Lady: Hi, this is (I forget her name) from the Lussier Family Heritage Center

Me: Hi. 

Lady: Listen, there's something I need to alert you to. 

Me; Okay, what's up?

Lady: Well, earlier this week the Parks Department did something that was not approved by the board but they did it anyway. 

Me: What did they do? 

Lady: Well, they dug up the fire pit and moved it five feet closer to the building. 

Me:  .......

Lady: Yeah it was very odd-there is a gentleman running the Parks Department who gave the go ahead for it to be done, even though the board hadn't approved it, and I got here today and saw it like this. 

Me: So....it's still there though right? 

Lady: Yes.  It's just five feet closer to the building. 

Me: So...they actually dug up the cement fire pit from under ground and moved it five feet closer to the building for absolutely no reason? 

Lady: Yes. 

Me: .....Okay. 

So alright.  Well, we had adjust a few things spacing wise, and there would be some dirt but whatever.  We'd deal with it.  We had no choice. 

The next day on my lunch break I went to do a TV interview at Channel 3.  When I came out, there was a monsoon.  

This is the gist of the parking lot.  Some creative liberties may have been taken. 

Wow, I thought.  I hope the show doesn't get rained out.  Because that's the worst thing that could happen.  The very worst. 

Well come 6:30 we had nice clear skies and were getting ready to do the show so that wasn't a problem at all. 

What WAS a problem was that typically in the process of digging a cement fixture out of the ground and then reburying it, there tends to be some dirt.   And, see, when it rains...

You see where this is going I assume. 

Figuratively...  I think. 

I had about an hour to figure out what to do, otherwise it would have been Hair with a mudwrestling concept thrown in.  Not to mention my actors could have easily slipped and smacked their heads on the fire pit (BUT IT'S OKAY IT'S FIVE FEET CLOSER TO THE BUILDING AND THAT'S SO MUCH BETTER!!!!) 

 SO I found a barn.  Inside the barn was some straw.  I took the straw, a wheelbarrow and a pitchfork and covered the muddy part of the "stage" with straw.  This took awhile but that's because there was quite a bit of area to cover-you know, the place where they dug the fire pit out and then the spot where they dug up a new space to put it back in. 

It looked like outdoor Oklahoma but it was fine.  Picking up the straw they tracked through the downstairs of the Heritage Center was not fine.  That blew. 

Epilogue: Eventually all that straw had to be picked up.  For whatever reason, I decided it would be a good idea to do it right before the show, during which time we had local bands playing.  (I guess it was very important to me that there not be straw on the stage if there didn't have to be). So I got out the pitchfork and the wheelbarrow and proceeded to start cleaning it up.  (Why did I not do this before everyone got there? Good question.)  My parents laughed at me.  But while I was picking it up, there was a band playing.  It was called...wait for it....Jammin' With Jesus.  They had a blind piano player.  So picture if you will a 9 piece church band standing on a bunch of straw and me maneuvering a wheelbarrow around them trying to pick up straw, including trying to make sure I didn't knock over the blind lady. 

Moral of the story: Well it's twofold.  Part One: Be explicitly clear with your venue, particularly venues that do not normally accommodate theatre, about what your needs are.  If you are doing anything even the slightest bit unconventional, get both parties confirmed in writing so all are on the same page.  Do not assume anything. (Including that the venue will look the same way every time you come to it.) Sit down with people and make sure they understand what you need and what you will be doing. 

In this case I'm not sure it that would have worked.  So Part Two: Figure. It. Out. Go into problem solving mode immediately.  (I should have gone to the venue first thing after the rain let up to assess my options. I should have bounced ideas off of people. And I should have figured out a way to save face that did not involve me endangering the blind.)  You do not have time for freakout mode.  Sometimes I still forget this and sometimes I still need the time.  So I allow a five minute swearing, punching, throwing things window (if there are five minutes to be had) and then I move on.  The most important thing to remember when having your freakout moments is to do it out of view of the cast and crew, and NEVER take it out on them. 

In the meantime, no more outdoor shows. 

Stuff I learned the heard way

How can you become an accidental Arts Manager? Follow these easy steps: 

1) Leave behind any potential for a performance career in New York City after not really having tried that hard, vowing that you'll be back just as soon as this super awesome project of yours is underway, probably in a few months. 

2) Move to a city where you know nobody, are fairly unfamiliar with the arts landscape, and where you think of people as uncultured, and assume that your theater will change their lives. 

3) Assume you know what you need to know after six months of research and dive in, even without any grants or decent amount of funding.  You'll figure that out later. 

4) Proceed to realize you are in completely over your head but keep going in order to save face. 

5) Watch while ridiculous stuff happens around you.  (This part you really didn't have any control over.  This is shit you can't make up). 

6) Repeat. 

If you'd like to make it even more interesting you can also get romantically involved with several of the people who work for you. 

This is my patented system for becoming an accidental Arts Manager.  That's all you need to do to become one, that is.  To stay one, or moreover, be good at being one, however, is another matter.  Should you get through steps 1-6 several times while making small changes but never really assessing the important things facing your organization (money? You'll deal with that later), proceed to Part 2: 

1) Alienate a lot of people, not out of malice or deliberate wrongdoing, but because people don't know you and you messed up some things. 

2) Assess your life.  You have no money, are working a terrible minimum wage job, are not using the thing you've trained your whole life to do, and are stuck in a city populated by artists who have heard through the grapevine that you have no idea what you're doing. 

3) You are now at a crossroads.  You can either give up, or make a big change.  Select the latter.  Admit your mistakes.  Stick to your guns on the things you truly believe in. 

4) Work harder than you ever thought possible. You're not starting at ground level.  You're starting from six feet under.  So dig your way up. 

They tell me there's an easier way to do all of this.  Apparently you can go to school, do an internship, start in a lower level arts job and work your way up to a management position.  

What? Who's got time for that? 

Okay you can't hear me talking but that was sarcasm. 

But these are not the stories of someone who followed the tried and true path.  This blog is a mix of stories of the way I got where I am, and the things I learned while I got there.  They are significant in number.  They are hilarious, heartbreaking, sentimental, mind blowing, inspiring and freeing. And depending on what day you get me they might be bitter.  

These are the stories of someone who knew nothing about business and decided to run one of the toughest businesses out there.  (I beg Donald Trump to try this.  For a day.  Actually I beg Donald Trump to get his head out of his ass but that's a different blog.) 

These are the stories of someone who messed up.  A lot.  They are also the stories who had an unbelievable amount of brick walls slapped up in her path.  

I am SOOOO not in this for you to tell me how brave I am.  If you think that, thank you.  I appreciate it.  But there is a fine line between brave and stupid, and I have straddled it (or just fallen over to the stupid side) more than once. Way more than once. 

Most importantly, this is NOT the story or advice of someone who has it all figured out.  I am learning. Every day.  There are those who know more than me.  But I am relatively certain that there aren't many people out there who have had an experience quite as ridiculous as mine. 

So enjoy the stories, the tidbits, the things I've learned.  Use them as you wish.  Or just laugh at how Music Theatre of Madison (a name I now hate) came to be.  

From our first production, an outdoor version of Hair.  See that firepit? The parks department dug it up and moved  it midway through our run.
Then it rained.
But more on that later.