I know, I know, I just wrote a journal entry not too long ago, but this had to come out. A fair number of deviants here in cyber space understand the simplicities of thier trade be it photography, painting, digital art, or drawing comics (a tip of my fedora to each of you, my friends). So let me ask you, with your sophisticated prowess in each of your respective departments, does you shudder with displeasure and slight annoyance when some pretender rookie raises their pale little hand and proceeds to flaunt their worthless tripe that would be otherwise better off in the firey pits of Mordor?

Yes. Thank you.

You see, as a theatre minor and english major in university, I take both the written and performing arts rather seriously. They are my life. As our final exam in the theatre fundamentals course, our professor divided us into groups to produce an original 15 minute one act to perform. Each group is responsible for doling out responsibilities including who is to direct, write, organize props and costumes and such. Each group chooses a genre to specialize in as well (ours is a film noir-esque melodrama). Our groups are small, about five bodies each, so often people end up taking on two or three titles. In my own little troupe, one girl is an actress and the costumer. Your humble Faerie is director, villain, acting coach and props mistress. The two males are actors; the more flambouyant one is our hero, the other is our cadaver. The last girl, whom I am convinced rose from Sheol to torment me, is the writer and a minor role. What infuriates me is this poser claims to be an accomplished writer, but after having read the script she organized for us, I have doubts so severe regarding her talents that I find I am more likely to believe in the existence of sparkly vampires.

It's not that I have a fire poker up my tail end, but we have to perform a semi-professional production in the second week of December. Three times I have had to read through this disaster of a script and edit the thing. Why so many times? My "writer" does not understand a few key concepts of writing a play. Here they are for your amusement:

1. It's a fucking "script," not a "screenplay" so stop calling it thusly. When I get a camera crew in to tape it, I will let you know. Otherwise, put on this ball-gag of shame and shut up.

2. Spell check. It's a fabulous invention. That, and the Webster's dictionary. "Yuo," "emediately," and "Misur" are not words. They just are not. And yes, spelling does matter even if the actors are the only ones reading the script.

3. When writing a script, a) italics are for stage notes only and b) character names are to be spelled out, not abbreviated, especially when three of the characters are related and have the same initials.

We are on Thanksgiving holiday this week, so I assigned the actors the duty of memorizing their lines and finding costumes in their closets. I gave the updated notes to the "writer" last Thursday giving her ample time to re-write and email a copy to me so I can send it to the actors. How odd, then, that I do not have a script, four days later! I have been trying to email her for two days and only today got a frantic and pissed off response to each email, all sent withing a few minutes of each other. She told me she did not have the script with her but she would be getting home tomorrow and would send out an updated script by Wednesday at the earliest, telling me to breathe and relax to just worry about props, that "we may suck, but that just happens."

No. It does not happen to my group. False. Ball-gag of shame. Put it on. You cunt.

What happened to responsibility? To caring about an assignment as big as your final exam? I feel I cannot truly call myself a member of the Theatre until desperation and angst drive me to chain-smoking a few weeks before a production like my dear old dance instructor. Until then, I supplement with tea, a walk in the woods, or the occasional ale to get me stabe again.

So my fellow enthusiasts, whatever your preferred artistic venue, I encourage you to fight with every ounce of your being to defend your passion. Protect it, for it cannot protect itself. Stay devoted. If there is no criticism, how can we hope to preserve what we love in a state worthy to exist?