Devil’s House: For You To Listen To.

Well I guess I’ve strayed into multimedia.

My friend and housemate Scott Key helped me out by throwing a little voice acting onto Devil’s House. I’m pretty damn pleased with the product, and this may be the mode of distribution from here on out.

The first two chapters are currently being hosted on SoundCloud. I encourage you to give a listen. They aren’t yet available for download- but they will be at a later date.

Please listen! Enjoy!



Monologue as Music

So this is a thing I discovered via the usual route (being Stumble, of course), and something in it struck me. Zander, herein, talks about Impulses. This is best seen, he says, in young piano players pounding out a sonata or prelude. They hit every single note as an impulse, and the key to exciting and interesting classical music is to take one impulse, one thought, one motion, and use it to carry the entire piece. Some similarities between this and acting intrigued me.
It is increasingly common to have a director tell you that you should know every motivation for every single line you say; each line has to have a motivation. While I don’t doubt the validity of this statement, it leads to what Zander might call “two-cheek” playing.
Think of motivation as Impulse. Having a different impulse, and a different motivation for each line leads to a way of reading lines more befitting a nervous high school student than an actor. Find out where your impulses are, and use them sparingly. The longer you can carry a single thought through a monologue, the better. Big simple thoughts are more easily transmitted through a piece than hundreds of small ones. In an audition monologue, for instance, you should only ever use one impulse, one thought. And that impulse carries from your first words, until you walk off the stage.



Writing is composed of 15% planning, 5% writing, and 80% sitting on your ass and musing

In fact, my ability to put words to paper is so sporadic that I have taken to having an open notebook in front of me at coffee shops. This both serves as a safety net, should my muse once again prove herself sporadic and unreliable. It also serves to make me seem like I am not letting my mind wander angrily, as it is often apt to do.


I don’t write nonfiction because it doesn’t feel real enough, and I can’t write fiction because I feel damn silly doing so. It doesn’t help that I am self-critical to the point of sadistic, or that every project loses its merit once I figure out that it isn’t impossible.


I’d rather experience the world than write about it. And here is the crux of the matter, isn’t it. I am not one of those people who easily writes about things. I sit back and experience.

Lately, this phrase has started to permeate my mind: Architect of Experience. Its intricacies are astoundingly beautiful. More and more it seems I am built to create an experience. This is where I run into two problems. Problem 1: in what medium am I best suited to create? Problem 2: Since I actively try to experience am emotion or situation, how do I raise a prospective audience to my level of attention and interest.

I feel as if the medium is not as important as the end product, the experience it creates for the audience. Since the first is on the shelf for the moment, we are left with Problem 2: How do you make an audience go beyond just watching, and get them to experience.