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Flock of stomach flutters

Amateur actor chronicles her journal of jitters before stepping onstage.

You know that "butterflies in your stomach" feeling? That’s what I have. Except that butterflies flutter softly, and what I feel is more like a frightened flock of rowdy chickens scampering around, doing that run, skip, and flap of the wings thing that they do. As I prepare to step out on stage I am excited, giddy, nervous and anxious all at once.

It’s about 10 minutes before I go on. I have the script in front of me as I frantically review my lines for this scene. I know them forwards and backwards. I’ve spent hours memorizing them, understanding them, learning to believe them. I’ve spoken them, acted them, lived them countless of times during dozens of rehearsals and in my head driving to work, staring at the TV in a daze, and during those times when I’ve zoned out during a meeting.

I know my lines. I know that I know them. Yet, I’m extremely nervous about forgetting one. If I do, I could singlehandedly ruin the show!

My fellow cast members have also spent hours learning, understanding and living their roles. They depend on me to give them the cue for their lines, as I depend on them for my cues. One word can throw me off. A single word. When that happens my mind races through the scene and the script as I try to find my place. What’s next? Is it me? Oh, no! My heart pounds. I’m ruining the scene! The audience can tell! They know I’m messing up! PANIC!

The adrenaline that was rushing through my body just tripled. Cold sweat.

Picking up energy

Then, suddenly, the words glide out of my mouth, perfectly. It’s as though they had been lounging on my tongue the whole time, waiting to slide, silkily, smoothly out of my mouth. YES! Whew! I didn’t completely ruin the show!

I walk closer to the opening in the curtain, ready to step onto the stage when I get my cue. I take slow, deep breaths as I try to ignore the run – skip – flap of those chickens. I close my eyes and think, feel, and breathe as my character. I go over the story I’ve made up about my character to help me remember the details of who I am. Run – skip – flap. I jump up and down to use some of the energy that is building inside me. Then, I hear it – my cue. The chickens are going crazy! Run – skip – flap – RUN – SKIP – FLAP – RUNSKIPFLAP!! I take one last breath and step on stage.

Suddenly, I am my character. The words I speak are no longer lines from a script – they are the very words I use. What is taking place on stage is not a scene from a play, it is reality, it’s my life, and it is now. I feel the energy from my friends on stage.

When we become our characters and live our story on stage, the audience reacts. The audience, this huge presence in the room, has an amazing energy. When the audience becomes immersed in our story it’s as if there is a nuclear reactor in the room that oozes power and energy. The cast feels it, absorbs it, we harness it and instantly redirect it into our story. When the audience does not feel the story, however, it transforms into a black hole that sucks in energy instead of providing it. We have to fight to keep our energy. The words no longer slide smoothly; instead, they are dropped like lead weights onto each other.

The scene ends and I walk off stage. I am consumed by the energy from that nuclear reactor. The rush of adrenaline is different now, the chickens are gone, and it’s pure bliss. The satisfaction of bringing a story to life, of bringing satisfaction and an escape from reality for the audience is overwhelming. I walk back to my dressing room; I must review the lines for my next scene. As soon as I pick up the script I feel it …run...skip...flap…