Mister Resume

Five years ago I left a lucrative high tech career and became a writer. As in, fiction writer, theater writer, blog writer, but definitely NOT tech writer. I had a heavy-hitting tech career for 15 years, even taught tech writing and digital publishing, and was lead judge in a Silicon Valley technical writing competition. I was Mister Resume. I burned out hard.

Five years ago I started traveling the country, writing, visiting peeps, and eventually settled here in New Orleans. I've avoided tech writing and anything techie like the plague, and few friends in New Orleans even know about that time of my life. Ya'll call me an actor! But tech work has followed me here. Recruiters still email me and well-meaning friends offer work. I say no. I've been saying no for five years and getting by on part-time jobs that a recent high school graduate could do. All to leave myself free for fiction, my true passion.

A few hours ago, I turned in my first draft of a software manual, my first technical writing contract in five years. Money's tight (tres tight) and this project just fell into my lap. A referral from a gaw-jious San Francisco friend and colleague, Jen Dalton. Comparatively speaking, it's a light-weight project in terms of scope and time commitment. But more importantly, the project came at a time when I'm *willing* to take-on a tech writing project again. That's a key difference. Not so stubborn right now. Money's part of that difference, but also I may have recovered from burn out, in part.

As I said, this project is a small, tentative step. I don't yet feel the time conflict I used to feel between tech writing and my art, in which art always lost. In fact, I'm writing more in general, both kinds. This week I whipped out a detailed 10-page first draft of the manual and pushed the novel forward another 1000 words.

On the confidence of this project and others to follow, I may be moving. Yesterday I looked at a shotgun house that's for rent, and talked to a good friend about sharing.

Thirty-Eleven

You get it:
38
39
30-10
30-11.

This year, instead of 41, I turned thirty-eleven on Monday. Not looking so bad for thirty-eleven, huh?

I had a fun, relaxy day. Slept late, did yoga, blended a fruit smoothie, read more of Don Quixote, swam, napped.

At night, I met friends for cocktails and cake at a bar on the edge of the French Quarter. They pinned dollar bills to my vest. One of my co-actors from Uncle Vanya, Helaine Michaels, played her electronic piano. My costumer for Out Comes Butch and John James Audubon, Veronica Russell (pictured above with me and our friend Ed Bishop), brought half a peaches-and-cream pie. My housemate, Gloria Powers, brought a whole chocolate birthday cake. There was baked ziti. EVERYBODY bought me drinks. At the end of the night, I made out with someone. Eventually I'll remember his name.

Smells Like Team Spirit

It takes a village to mount a Chekhov play, a sweaty, irritable village. With a cast of 9 all sweating like livestock every night, it's been quite a challenge to do Chekhov in New Orleans in July. High strung personalities, high stakes, heat. Plus, stagelights are HOT, especially when your costume is made of wool. Kvetch, bitch, moan.

But let me also say that our production of Uncle Vanya looks pretty darn good. Thanks to the work of many people, especially Michael Martin, we've pulled together a quality production that we can all be proud of. There was quite a lot of team effort, which really appeals to me. Much of the tension we've felt is evidence of deep-felt commitment to the success of the project.

Only one weekend more of Chekhov at the Beach, then I celebrate my birthday (July 21), and then take a break from theater. A couple months devoted to writing. I actually wanted to leave New Orleans for the months of August and September, go into retreat, writing seclusion; but I can't afford that. So instead I will create seclusion for myself, in town. Take time off from theatrical pursuits, other than writing some new stage material. But the main focus is the novel, Goodfriend.

Ah my good friend the novel, my long-time companion. At 3 years, this is officially my longest relationship.

Show-mance

Learned a new term on the movie set, "show-mance". It's a romance that happens during a show. I shared a sweet, flirtatious show-mance with my co-actor, Matt, who plays my boyfriend Jonathan in the movie. Here we are, two handsome young men, dressed in purple velvet like a pair of princes, standing in the warm summer air on a Mardi Gras float, pretending to kenoodle. Well, I didn't have to dig very deep to find attraction and emotion for Matt. He's quite pretty, whip smart and funny. He thinks I'm a laugh riot. In our scenes, we were very romantic. Not acting, much.

Off-set, we reverted back to our usual selves. He'd put on his iPOD ear buds, and I'd take out my Uncle Vanya script. Any romance we experienced only happened in the context of acting, during the show. Hence, a show-mance.

After 4 nights of long hours, I was wiped out. Took me 36 hours to recover my sleep. I worked 12-hour nights, from 6pm to 6am, bicycling home with the bartenders. Despite the fatigue, I did enjoy the newness of the whole experience. What a great first film experience! Dressing room, hair and make-up people on me, a production assistant shlepping me water and coffee. Thank you Sony Pictures! Everybody was super nice, and only a couple fakey-fake "L.A. types".

Today I rode my bicycle in the French Quarter, and a young woman shouted "hey, you're Prince Charming from the Mardi Gras float!" Recognized! She was probably another extra or lives on the location of our shoot.

"Why yes, ma'am, that's me. That's exactly who I am."

Mardi Gras - The Movie

Last night I did my first-ever acting job on a movie. "Mardi Gras" stars Carmen Electra, some hot young guy from "Heroes", and yours truly. Actually, I'm an extra, but an Extra-special extra, a VIP extra. I have a dressing room! And a name. I play a character called "Jonathan's boyfriend" who has no lines but is important to the plot. Which all means that I get a dressing room, eat steak with the principal actors, and hang out in the air-conditioning between takes.

I get paid like an extra though.

Last night I worked 12 hours, from 5pm to 5am, all thru the night, staging a fake, but very convincing Mardi Gras parade (except the part about it being June.) I rode aboard the Queen's float, standing beside Empress Electra, handing her beads and holding her sceptor. My boyfriend Jonathan and I wore matching purple: velvet Duke's robes, capes, and plumed hats (did I mention the part about it being June?) Empress Electra was dressed like a cross between Queen Elizabeth I and Ann Margaret. Big collar, shapely gams.

Film is an odd acting experience, stop-start. The camera rolls for 10 seconds, they yell "cut", re-set the shot for 20 minutes, then roll the same scene for another 10 seconds. Cut. Totallly different than stage, where you inhabit the life of a character for a continuous hour-and-a-half, and interact with a live audience. Totally different buzz. I was buzzed last night after the movie too, but mostly from the new experience. I was so fatigued I felt nauseous.

Reviews Are In

"Insanely involving. When you're not laughing, you're watching with your mouth agape." David Cuthbert, Times-Picayune

The reviews of Butch are coming in. Very positive. We've decided to extend 2 weeks. We'll also be adding a Sunday matinee, but have not yet announced it officially. Things are going great!

"This surprisingly entertaining oddity is delivered with complete commitment by Frederick Mead, whose subtle, gender-specific, ever-changing vocal inflections, physical stance and crazy-eyed performance is a knockout."

Out Comes Butch

Tonight I debut a one-man show to New Orleans, Out Comes Butch, a 50-minute monologue written in San Francisco in the 1970s about gender identity and self-creation. Over the course of the monologue, I transform into 6 different characters, with costume changes happening in real time. I'm working with 6 very distinct voices for the men, women, straights, gays, lesbians, transgendered.

I adore the costumes. Veronica Russell, who costumes the Louisiana Living History Theatre and of course made my John James Audubon clothes, really worked with me and the script to develop visual transformations. Some pieces tear off, some tie on. For each of the "Butches", Veronica developed a strong look. My favorite piece is the leisure suit jacket with the pink flamingo on the back.

The space is quirky, but works well for the material. It's a notorious former drug den, the Voodoo Lounge, on the very edge of the French Quarter. The name sounds like underbelly glam, but Voodoo was pretty icky. They shut down and nobody noticed. Michael Martin, my director and friend, is taking the risk of re-opening the Voodoo as a theatre folks hang out, with performance and rehearsal space for rent. Out Comes Butch is the debut show. Overlapping my rehearsals, Michael's housemates have been mopping, dumping, and wiping yuck out. Smells like Pine Sol now.

More to come...