The Acceptance Speech

Hey.

So, Ghost On a Stick won (tied for) one award tonight:  Outstanding Performance in a Solo Show.

Here's a longer version of the speech I would have given (if the option to give speeches wasn't cut due to time constraints)

Funny, no matter how many times I end up in this situation, I always end up feeling like the homeschooled kid stepping out on the dance floor of a really fancy prom.
               
But here I am.

I'd like to thank the Planet Connections staff for once again offering untold support and assistance in their dedication to making selfless, ethical theatre.

I'd like to thank the spirit of the festivity itself, as it's given me both commercial success and deep, lasting friendships which I never thought possible in just living here a few short years.

I'd like to thank the seventy donors, friends, family and strangers, who believed in me. Really took a hard look and gave me three thousand dollars to make this show come to life. I can no longer say, in my darkest moments, that I have no worth.  The free market, she sings sweetly.  And may that trust, that kindness, grow and spread forth over the rest of my creative days.  May they feel their contributions are a wise and desirable purchase.

I'd like to thank my director, Megan Jeannette Smith. She broke it open, found the love story inside this tale of mental illness and despair. Made the work theatrical.  She's become a dear friend, and I am fiercely proud of the work she's done on this fair show.

I'd like to thank Lauren Bremen and Kortney Barber for their work in lighting/projections and sound design.  They are worth far, far more than what I could pay them, and their ability to work with limited equipment and funds to capture the mood and the frailty of the story was a blessing.

I'd like to thank Fanboy Design for their engaging, iconic work on the website and postcard.  I'd also like to thank Mark Kinch for his breathtaking photography which summons up the world of the play in just a moment.

I'd like to thank Kristen Penner and Lorelei Mackenzie for their counsel and kinship. Dinners spent with them learning the nuts and bolts of how to make a PCTF show successful and fully funded.  Couldn't ask for better teachers and more nurturing friends.

I'd like to thank all those who offered their time and efforts to house management for free during the show.

I'd like to thank her, she who, despite my arrogance in shutting off the door to my heart and stubbornly believing that vulnerability and dating were over in my life, surprised me and awakened that desire once more. Our connection collapsed, me being me and all. But that pulsating loss was kerosene for those sleepless nights, driving me to push further and further as a producer, playwright, and actor.  I see her now, and I still marvel at her being.  She feels rich and familiar, and I hope she'll have me as a friend.

I'd like to thank A.J Ditty, who, after years of just giving up on the play and stuffing it into a floppy disk, convinced me to pull it out and send him a copy.  His response, his decency, his friendship gave me a second wind.

I'd like to thank Tess Suchoff for reviewing future drafts and offering an outsider's point of view.

I'd like to thank one of my oldest friends, Bobby Lux, for living this show's truthful experiences with me, for reading drafts and offering his wise advice.  For helping to promote the show, and for always being in my corner. He's my pocket aces that will never get cracked.

I'd like to thank my mother, brother, and sister, who shake their heads sometimes at the silly, intense things I do, but still champion them.   They're a wonderful family.

Lastly, I'd like to thank the memory of my late father, almost a year since his passing.  He reminds me every single bleeding day to stop thinking about making things, stop talking about making things, and make them. Make them over and over again.  Help others make things.  Stop wasting time and  (to paraphrase Hemingway) make a living out of your death.  I miss you so much, dad.  I'm doing the best I can, and I'm lonely and I'm beaten down and death is always on my mind. But I keep on making things.  Like you taught me.  I've always been an odd one.  Heart of a poet, face of a prison guard.  But through this world of theatre, I'm home.

Let's go out there and keep making things, together.

Thank you.