Finishing up the roughest of the rough draft

on this one woman show on my grandmother has me a bit shaky.

Rough drafts are exactly that. Just a ‘draft’ of what something could be and nothing smooth or connected about it. I sense the holes in the story and the places that need more refining. Yet I can also sense that it’s time to put this in the hands of those I trust most with my unedited words, concepts and a re telling on my grandmother.

Thankfully, I know that there can be joy in the sharing of the roughest of rough drafts. It’s a bit like a conversation. You pass the precious story on to hands and eyes that will tenderly yet firmly sift through the ideas, concept, movements and point out the golden threads and the rough edges that either need to be cut out, sanded or just explained better.

Humility.

This is where I let my ego take a back sit and listen.

The more I have written on my paternal grandmother, the deeper my respect goes for her and the more saddened I am not to have her in this stage of my life. What would I have learned about her now if I had known her as this version of myself? I want to kneel down by her as I used to and lean my head in close in a way that always baffled her and made her chuckle. Pat her hand and feel the well worn skin as she talked about some adventure she had as a younger woman and how ‘devilish’ she was.

She had a way of telling a story that was physical, composed and in real time. As if the memory was so close she could touch it.

It is still early days for this project but as I let go of my first draft and welcome feedback, I recognize that it’s time to loosen up the reigns and do my best to be that younger version of myself who listened to her voice, took in all her facial expressions and asked the leading questions to get the story to unfold deeper.