Sugar High

A few years ago, I was riding the wave of being a reality television personality. It was amazingly fun. Before being on reality television, I thought comedy clubs were going to be my home and final and only destination. I poo pooed the idea of doing a reality show. That was for freaks and geeks. Then they called and asked, "Was it true I left my fiance for  a bunch of puppets?"

Yes it was true. I told them everything. Next thing I knew, I was on reality TV.

I thought with the show would come more chances to perform, and there were. But other doors opened. One was the chance to be a paid talking head on a web network. The other was to make music. I sang as a part of my day job for years, singing telegrammer. But I never dreamed of making music.

My friend Marcus Yi and I spoke about the perfect man and thus this masterpiece was born. Nate Mitchell is my sexy gingerbread man. I haven't made music in a while but would love to make some again.

Either way, here is my flashback Friday memory.

As I desperately seek my Mr. Okay, I hope I don't accidentally eat him.

Buy April Unwrapped: Proceeds Go to Hurricane Harvey and Irma Victims

The Importance of Being Happy For Others

The entertainment industry is competitive to say the least. You always have to be on top of your game. Someone is always prettier, younger, a better singer, a more skilled dancer, funnier, a more awesome wordsmith, you name it. That is why it is important to know who you are and have a good attitude. That brings me to another matter, the journey. You work for that moment in time. Sometimes it comes quickly, sometimes it comes slowly. As you sweat away at the odd jobs you wonder when will it happen?

As I said for some it happens quickly. Sometimes they are at the right place at the right time. Whether they have a certain look, are a part of the hottest ethnic trend (especially true in comedy), or just have the right connections it seems like it falls into their lap. Sometimes it happens slowly. There are people, especially character actors and comedians, who slave for years unknown in theatres and live on the poverty line until they are almost forty. Suddenly we talk about how awesome they are. Am I repeating myself? Yes. I am making a point.

When it happens quickly for some, or seemingly so, it can be easy to fall into the trap of jealousy. It not only denotes a lack of gratitude, but also takes away the focus from you and your goals. I remember several years ago, as it seemed everyone's career was taking off and mine was not, I found myself saying some awful things about others who were "making it" on comedian car trips. The convo started where someone brought up a guy who got something and we ragged on him as a good looking douche bag. We never talked about how we worked hard touring most of the year and was living out of his car. Or we talked about a hottie who wore next to nothing that was on TV a lot. We never spoke about her work ethic or the fact she never took no for an answer. We wanted to hate. It put the focus on them and took the focus off of us and our shortcomings.

Then things started to happen for me. Some of it was luck. Much of it was hard work. I found my fellows, people I once called friends, turn on me. Some showed their true colors by sharing their feelings about me anonymously online. Others would smile to my face but as soon as they believed I was out of ear shot they would gossip. Then there were those who stopped speaking to me in general. These were people I shared car rides with, or kvetched about how the business was giving us all the short end of the stick. Now they were strangers when they saw me. Finally, there were those who went right for the jugular. Once I came to an open mic and made an off the cuff comment and someone who had once been a friend bit my head off to the point where I was near tears. Another time I mentioned to someone I had too many facebook friends and she replied, "The more friends on facebook the less friends in real life." Another friend if you will. Suddenly I found myself alone, angry, and wondering why this was happening.

I got a worse dose of kharma. Someone who I had gossiped viciously about came to my defense and sought me out to tell me how proud she was of not only my career, but where I was going. Then it occurred to me. If I wanted people to be happy for me, I had to learn to be happy for others. Not only because it was good energy,  but I knew how it felt when people were mean and nasty in response to my success.

So here are some things you need to remember, and it will help you be happy for others.

1. You never know how hard someone had to work or what someone had to go through prior to what they achieved. Despite outward appearances, they may have a hellacious backstory. They may have escaped an abusive husband, terrible childhood, lived in a car. Or they might have worked hard, busting their behinds and working their fingers to the bone paying their dues in ways you could never imagine. So they might not just deserve this. They might triple deserve this. Envy is not only arrogant, but it shows a total lack of general awareness.

2. Say they did just get lucky. Luck eventually runs out. Just remember every dog has their day. And just as that dog is having their day, you will too soon enough.

3. Everyone's path is different. The way I explain this to young people is during the race everyone starts at the same place. However, eventually everyone goes to different lanes in the race. Some people continue performing. Others work behind the scenes. Some become writers. Then there are those who become managers and club owners. The beautiful part is, if you continue to run the race and focus on your own game, everyone who finishes the race ends up working together.

4. They may have worked for this particular thing. Yes, sometimes people get breaks and we are like, what! Well if they have been singing since they were little and get a record contract, they worked for it. If they have been auditioning for years for a Broadway show and book a role, they worked for that. If they have been slaving away in the comedy clubs for years and book a TV special. They worked for that. Yes, they earned it. This was their gift. Get over it and move on.

5. Not Every Break Is For You. While it would be awesome to be right for every job that comes your way, it just ain't going to happen. A few years ago a classmate of mine from college was in a Tyler Perry flick. It was cool to see her on screen. But also, there was no way in hell I was even going to be scouted for that job. Another classmate of mine did a stunt job. Wasn't getting that one either. Just as they probably weren't going to be called for the puppet stuff. So concentrate on who you are and what you are good at.

6. This Might Be It For Them. Back in the day a girl I knew graduated high school early and got a national tour. I was pissed. Why not me? My mom told me that I should be happy, because this girl was probably reaching her peak. Yes, my mom was right. Soon after that tour, she worked in Disney, met her husband and got married. While she now sings in a corporate wedding band with her husband, she did not have the big Broadway career she was touted to have. So be happy for them, this might be their first and last.

7. Hocus Pocus Keep The Focus. Yes, focus on your own damn game. The more time you spend grinding your teeth and wishing for them to break both legs in a car crash in time taken away from achieving your goals and reaching where you need to be. Their game is their game. Yours is yours. Focus on yours. That is the only way to win.

8. It's A Marathon. Several years ago, it seemed like several people got things handed to them. Well when things got hard they decided this wasn't for them and quit. I also ran into several women who decided the path was to be a wife and mother instead of an artist. Bottom line, while someone might run out of the gate quick it doesn't mean they finish the race. Part of success is staying in the game. When you continue to show up and play, it will pay off.

9. Use Their Success To Inspire You. After writing my book, I remember seeing at Brown I was on the bookself next to Junot Diaz. At NYU I was next to Ophira Eisenberg. One won a MacArthur Fellowship. The other has a movie deal. In the old days I would have said, "Screw them both." Now I flip the script and say, "Look at who I am blessed to share shelf space with. Maybe I could do these amazing things too if I keep up the good work."

10. Jealousy Doesn't Have The Outcome You Want. Yes, bad mouthing that jiggle bunny in the low cut dress feels good. Or spreading the rumor that she got her record contract because she blew some dude feels better. But you also look like a total tool. Or doing something to ruin someone's efforts blows up in your face. Bottom line, jealousy is a terrible color and makes you look like a vicious troll that lives under a bridge.

Hope I helped

Follow your dreams and your heart

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

Leap of Faith: An Artist's Journey

There are times when the path of an artist is dark. On a path one takes when their gift is playing an instrument, writing a riveting story, performing a moving monologue, singing a flowery aria, telling a joke, painting a beautiful picture, sculpting a lifelike figure, whatever…..it is unsure.

Parents often say, “You are so bright. Why don’t you just use this as a hobby?”

Friends will tell you, “I wish I were as brave.” And then silently feel sorry for you as they go home to their bed, and yes they own a bed, and positive balance in their bank account.

Lovers will say, “Listen, the dream isn’t real. It only happens for one percent of people.” And if you are a man the lover will admonish, “I want  a partner who will make a steady living because I want to have children.” If you are a woman your lover will jab, “Look, lets get real. You aren’t exactly Angelina. Your little hobby is fine but what about my needs?”

This bending over backwards for a world that doesn’t always welcome art isn’t easy. There are times when you are passed over because of the way you look. Because you are a woman. Because you are a man. Because you are black, white, brown, a Smurf. Sometimes you look at your bank account and scream and the skies get darker. Then you wonder, “What the fuck am I doing with myself!”

It goes through your mind. You should have listened to your parents. You should have really put more time into math class. The journey didn’t involve learning how to pour beer, do power point, or hand out fliers on the sidewalk. This is when it starts to get dark and it is easy to throw in the towel. Especially when some people seem to make it with no effort whatsoever.

There is an old saying: “Easy come, easy go.”

What I am trying to say is hang in there. Gene Hackman struggled for years as an unknown in theatre before he won Academy Awards and he is perhaps the most brilliant actor of our time. Not only is he talented, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. JK Rowling was living in squalor when she wrote Harry Potter and was piling up the rejection letters. Now it is perhaps one of the most read books in the world. Madonna was considering quitting show business right before “Everybody” became a number one single. I don’t think she would have made a very good Michigan housewife. Mind you she was so broke she was eating food from trashcans. Bette Midler had doors closed in her face because of her weight and size. However she was going to give up as well before someone suggested she do shows in the gay baths. The rest is history. Louis CK struggled for years as a comedian and actor in obscurity. The son of a single mother never gave up on the thought of reaching into the television and making the world better for the woman that raised him. Not only is he successful, but he is a standup icon. Those who had the breaks come easy during the times of those listed above, we don’t remember them.

One of my darkest times was around the time I was twenty four/twenty five. The market had popped and a TV show I had filmed was shelved. I did a daring television appearance that was daring, and closed some doors. Years later people tell me Springer was an idiot. Then it was cool to be on TV but other than that, not much else happened. I was broke and at the time a roommate of mine was having a nervous breakdown over a guy. A good friend of mine, who had been drug free for years, relapsed and we had a falling out. He lost his battle and I never told him that I loved him, not what he was doing to himself. When it rains it pours and the shit was coming down quick.

I also had a series of fainting spells. They were scary because I didn’t know why I was getting them. I remember being afraid I had a brain tumor. My mom feared I was suffering from epilepsy that was an onset of an injury I had when I was younger. When I sat down and spoke to another friend about the spells it was revealed that I was harboring a lot of anger. Anger that it wasn’t my turn and that my dreams weren’t coming true. Angry at life. Angry at people. Angry at everyone. This friend suggested that I had to learn to accept people and things for who they were. But also, if I wanted to create my own work, why not do it? And while I was in that vein, why not have a better attitude? After that conversation when I began taking action, the fainting spells stopped.

Soon I started performing and produce my own one woman shows. I created an open mic to my liking where free speech was the rule and cliquishness not allowed. I got up wherever I could and pursued stage time like a junkie does a needle. I was still running with the herd though. That is when I met my friend Joe Cannava. At the time I got a job writing for a rag. My column was basically about the morons I dated. Joe, who worked as a celebrity personal shopper and was an artist told me the he had always wanted to be a writer. So I showed him my column. He called it drivel and told me I should have been writing about my job as a singing telegram person. Joe told me to write a book about it. My mom had wanted me to do it for years and I told her she was crazy. Joe wasn’t letting up though and I would lie to him and tell him I was chugging along on my book. One day I just decided to do it.

That summer, I wrote my book. I lived on the fourth floor with no AC in a cramped studio sharing it with someone else. She was having a breakdown over a man, yes the same man again, and I was writing. When I wasn’t typing away I was writing on scraps of paper during train trips to telegrams or gigs. I had been a writer all my life but had never written a book. Almost five hundred pages later and a shitload of typos, I had my first draft.

When I wasn’t doing that I found myself producing puppet webisodes where my guests included Michael Musto, Harmonica Sunbeam, Melba Moore, Diana Falzone, Jake Sasseville, Sabrina Jalees and loads of others. I found myself happy and most importantly, enjoying what I was doing.

Months later I got to do a television show with my puppet babies and lets just say the rest is history. I was asked to do the press tour which was fun. Some said I was crazy as a bag lady. Some said I was passionate. Either way, it seemed all the work had paid off and I was going to another level. The club I slaved for fired me. I panicked because no other club was picking me up. That is when I got a job with a web network and began producing content there. Oh and I recorded music and got a hit on the internet. So doors opened, just not the ones I expected.

As I rode the wave I found myself in some magazines overseas and getting lots of letters from young people. I found myself telling them to hang in there. That there dreams were worth it whatever they might be. I found myself telling them their thoughts were important. That is when I found the motive for my art changing and that showed not only in the redrafts of my book but in the final version. My motive was now to help inspire young people, to show them the journey as an artist was worthwhile and doable.

Since then the journey has changed in a good way. Has been much different than I expected, in a good way. I ended up publishing my book. Through the journey I ended up having my book featured on the Official Website of Britney Spears. In addition, it has been rated a Must Read by Mensa. My book is also in several bookstores and libraries. Recently, it became available as a paperback in Barnes and Noble. Through my travels and through the grace of something greater than myself such as the universe, I got a connection to a top notch recording studio and recorded an audiobook. That is coming out this summer.

As life stands I still work my day job, but I love my day job. It not only allows me to dress up in costumes and act crazy getting paid for it, but it makes me a better performer. The standup spots are getting better. Those that the career came easy to are now fading into thin air disappearing, and I am beginning to get the recognition I have worked years for. The difference is mine will last whereas theirs never did because it came easily. Yes, I still continue to bitch and moan about being a woman in comedy, but while I battle on I win the war. It is by making my mission about reaching others and not about pleasing myself.

Do I have waves where I panic these days? Oh yes. The panic always sets in when your phone rings. Julianne Moore even has that panic as an established actress. She spoke about it in an interview. However, these days I work through the panic in a different way. I take classes and have connected with some wonderful teachers. Through that network, I meet other people. In addition, I get onstage with my notebook. While it might not always be in front of people who can give me a job, it gets me unstuck. Chris Rock still does it. I also start on a new project, create my own work. But I also call on a network of not just friends but family members who are also artists: from my painter cousin Peter, my painter uncle Kent, my dancer cousin’s Lindy and Mara, or my musician cousin Bobby.

As of this weekend, I will be doing a book signing at Brown University Bookstore with my brother and sister, Bill Brucker, MD/PhD ’13 and Brenna Brucker, MD ’13 through PACE. PACE (Providence Alliance of Clinical Educators) is a nonprofit started by my brother to bring science education to under privlidged high school students. In their materials, they bring humor to science education through a series of educational comic books for children. While my brother and sister are not taking the artistic path, my brother was a cartoonist for years at Brown and my sister is published poet as well as visual artist. The event is a must for those who want to pursue a career as a writer, artist, or wants to use creativity through education. Either way, the three of us are using our gifts to make the world a better place in our own way.

I don’t know what will happen this weekend, or even after this weekend. Two magazines expressed interest in doing a story on my book. Another website wants to review it. My audiobook will be out soon as well. Who knows what is next. Either way, on this creative journey I must have faith. I wasn’t taken this far in order to be dropped

Love

AprilI

 Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

PS. Book signing at Brown Bookstore Saturday May 25 from 4-6. Be there or be square

Just Bloggin

I am so stressed. This weekend I have to pick a self publishing house and submit my manuscript. I want to pick the right one for my baby. All these houses are located all over the place. If I make a mistake it will be a costly one. This weekend I have to get my manuscript back from my editor. Then Monday it will be off to the press. I am so looking forward to having this over and done with. When it goes to print I swear to God I am having a triple chocolate fudge sundae with anyone who will take me. Seriously....

Crawdaddy has made the International Puppet Carnival which makes me happy. It's a festival credit. I am not a big festival person. Some of it is that I never have a decent tape to submit, another is that festivals are so damn political. They want people in a certain kind of mold, that are boring TV friendly acts. Meanwhile, most of the people at those damn festivals go no where. I actually accidentally wandered into one once, and believe it or not was denied which was strange-not even considered-even though when it came to this particular site I was their most prolific blogger easily. Still, if I got into one I would go.

I have to do a video for this thing this weekend and am so lazy I dont want to do it. There are so many things I don't want to do. Actually, I want to do the video but it would have been done had my youtube not been a slag. My friend is doing it though for me which makes me happy. Still, I feel like people should just give me awards and stuff.

I know, entitled.

I just feel like I work harder than everyone else. I probably actually do. Realistically, many people who are getting breaks now are just getting lucky. They don't work as hard as I do. Most of the male comedians most certainly never did. It is like I always have a boulder on my shoulder. When I started I was young, I was a woman, I had puppets. A respected (male) manager told me that there would be three strikes against me as far as getting into the clubs went. I thought being talented and hardworking would conquer all.

Wrong. Now that I put one club on TV and made sure my network donated moolah making them more money in one foul swoop than they make in three days they thanked me by firing me. Talented and hardworking don't mean shit in the male dominated world of standup.

I have been getting back onstage lately though. I have been going to mics where I know I am amongst friends because as I said in a previous blog I am sort of known. It's crazy how for as uneven as my new routine is, I feel safe in a bar basement amidst a bunch of men making dick jokes. The more I get up and work it out the better I feel. For as much as the male strata of this subculture is threatened by intelligence and success, especially coming from a woman, I am not there to be their friends. If it happens fine. Plus many are friends anyway so it's a good place just to kick it. Sometimes, some of the folks there have followed my career and such and look up to me which is sort of nice too. Plus since standup isn't the goal anymore the pressure is off. If I tank, fine.

I have still been on Entertainment Tonight. Ninety nine percent of those people will never get to see the inside of that studio. Does that make me a member of the one percent?

Te he he.

I talked to Tico from FJS and "Stay" will chart but it won't be number one this week. Part of me is bummed, part of me is still thrilled I even charted in the first place. I submitted "Stay" to a very high profile music company. They will get back to me soon. I have no clue what comes next but there might be some terrestrial air play on a smaller station. If I get to be a part of this high profile thing that would be awesome. In some ways, "Stay" has gained a sort of momentum of it's own without me doing a damn thing. For years I banged and slaved as an actress. I put up with the world of standup comedy, allied with sexism on the part of the men involved and extreme jealousy on the part of the females. And now here I am, music. While I have never chased after it music has always seemingly found me. From my high school musical days, to college where I loved my voice class, to my singing telegram job, and now, an internet charting dance hit.

While I know I cannot sing as well as many and am not as skilled as both my cousins Bobby and Christopher, I have the internet dance hit. Damnit, keep your fingers crossed for me.

It also makes me wonder if I wasted my time in the comedy clubs. Should I have gone down this path sooner? Eh, it has heartache of it's own.

Last night I received an IM from a fan that was fabulous. He asked if I gave in and gave up my puppet children.

My reply, never would I ever give up my little puppet children. It's my puppet children, my poppyseeds, and myself against the world.

Love,
April

Finding My Voice

When I was a junior in high school we were putting on the Wizard of Oz at my school. My friends kept pushing me to audition. Meanwhile I wasn’t a singer. Sure I sang onstage at our local community theatre but only when it was needed. I wasn’t a vocal superstar like many of the young women that would be auditioning. I wasn’t a favorite of the drama teacher either so I had opted out of doing any and all fall plays. However, I had a TV Show on Public Access and wrote for the local paper. People knew me as creative and artsy but singer I was not.

“You would be perfect!” My then best friend Michele Zalak said.

“No.” I put my foot down and continued walking to class.

Upon coming home my mother had heard at the supermarket check out from the mother of some girl we both hated that they were staging the Wizard of Oz at the high school. My mother, desperate to put this woman in her place while trying to make me fit in asked, “Why don’t you be in the musical? Be a shrub even. Make your mother proud.”

I told my mother my schedule which included weekend acting classes and stints as a supermarket bagger did not allot time to impersonate shrubbery. However, she was not backing down. Finally I agreed to talk to the choir teacher Mr. Kuczawa about the musical. We agreed if it was a good experience I would audition and be a shrub at the very least although my goal was the Wicked Witch. If not I would make other plans.

The next morning I made my way down to the chorus room. Along the corridors it seemed like an alien forest. My brother had played football, the known enemies of the band. While my dad had a melodious singing voice that sang solos in his choir, a group that made a record, the gene seemed to skip a generation. My brother tried sax and animals almost attacked. While my sister was a ringer with the Middle School Bells she wasn’t lead ringer. I could carry a tune and did my best work in the shower. It was all the fault of my tone deaf mother, the lead alto hummer in her Catholic Grade School’s spring cantata.

“Hi, You don’t know me.” I said seeing Mr. Kuczawa. He was a man in this thirties with strawberry blonde hair, a semi-square build and a huge smile.

“That’s quite alright.” He said laughing which actually put me at ease.

I introduced myself, said I was interested in the role of the Wicked Witch, and told him although the Witch didn’t have to be a singer/singer she still sang and I wasn’t as good vocally as the others. I have no idea why I gave him that info, I am afflicted with the too much information bug. Mr. Kuczawa put me at ease telling me not to be so hard on myself, his students sang everyday therefore they had practice. Immediately I was put at ease. The can’t was taken out of my vocabulary, something that exists all too often in the mind of a young person. Mr. Kuczawa invited me to audition and told me he was looking forward to seeing me and what I could do.

I was pleasantly surprised by the encounter. I went home, told my mom I liked Mr. Kuczawa and would be auditioning. I knew no matter what happened it was going to be a good experience and I was going to be treated fairly.

Two days later I auditioned. Apparently it went well because I got a callback. It was an awesome feeling but I still didn’t have the role yet. My competition could all sing rather well which scared the crap out of me. I readied to learn the song enlisting the help of my sometimes eighty something year old voice teacher Jean Beiswenger. An old operetta diva, Jean had the eyesight of Ray Charles but had his musical year. At the end of two sessions I was ready to go. Still, these other girls had voices that had the depth and range of the Pacific Ocean.

The day of the callbacks the auditorium was tense. Each candidate running their lines and their routines through their head. While it wasn’t Broadway you could have sworn it was. Each candidate was vying for Fame, each for a spot on The Chorus Line. I didn’t care either way. To me it was a surprise I had gotten that far.

It was my turn to sing. Stepping up to the piano I started to sing “Jitterbug” complete with the broom I was given. The auditorium laughed. I wiped the sweat from my eyes and returned to my seat. Suddenly my heart was beating and the game was on. I looked at all these favorites who were so sure the roles were theirs, and for all I knew at the time maybe they were. But I was going to go down fighting for what I was rightfully good for. I knew I could act. I knew I was funny. Maybe I couldn’t sing like they could but I could sure as hell sell the role better than any ten of them. If the world were fair I would get it. Then again was this particular world fair full of favorites and divas? I told myself no but I would leave slugging.

Afterwards, a now ex friend of mine turned to me and said, “April, you were crazy, whacky and made them all laugh but lets be honest. You didn’t get it. It’s probably going to Sandra or Erica.” She explained. This was because they did the double casting in my district. At the time I wasn’t aware this so-called good friend, jealous that I had done well, was trying to sabotage me.

Another friend turned to me and said, “It’s in the bag April. It’s yours. You were so good.” I didn’t know who to believe as I stepped up again and did the acting portion. I took a breath, asked God for guidance, and knocked it out of the park. The auditions continued and then I went home.

I told my folks I thought I did good. Whether or not I got it had yet to be seen. In the two days as they were deciding who got what I sweated. I went from just doing it for the heck of it to now wanting it more than anything in the world. Then the other part of me knew the game. Sure I might get it, sure I might not. Either way it had all been a good experience. I had fun. Yes I dreamed of coming to the city, the Great White Way, winning awards for my talents. But they were just dreams and stars out my bedroom window, stars and dreams that might never be realized. Many tried but many failed.

An acting teacher I had at the time was realistic. Most of the time when one auditioned for colleges of their choice, top acting schools, most kids didnt get in. They took a hand full. It was about pure talent, looks and luck. Then again that was this whole career, this whole dream, I might as wel get used to it capital NOW.

The next day everything changed. I was in the Post Office with my mother when we saw Mrs. Reid, one of the teachers who helped with the musical.  She taught our whole family thus far as the eighth grade music teacher. While my brother and I were reluctant students doomed to make Beethovan die once again my sister was an able part of her bell ringers. I wished her a Merry Christmas to which she replied, “You will have a Merry Christmas. Just check the website.” She said referring to the place callbacks were posted.

"Did I get it?" I asked out loud. At seventeen I could be quite bold. Still it was a fair question, did I?

"Oh you will have a good holiday. Just check the website." She winked and off she went. A round lady built like a lemon drop she had a knowing smile and twinkle in her eyes as if she knew something I didnt. Little did I know my life was about to change forever.

“Do you think I got it?” I asked my mom getting in the car. My mom shrugged and home we went. That night I checked the website and sure as night I got the Wicked Witch of the West! My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it. This had been totally fair. This had not been about favorites at all. They had picked me because I had done the best audition! They saw past the politics and such. Not once had my mother sewed costumes and I had never sold a single band hoagie. My mother instructed me to call my dad and to do the happy dance we did.

The next day at school one of the girls who didn’t get the witch complained to her friend in chemistry, “I am a better singer than April Brucker! I don’t get it.” While I did want to tell her to choke on it the other part of me wanted to tell her she was correct. This woman and many others were better singers. For some reason I was chosen. That led me to another conundrum, the song needed improvement. Oh gosh this was going to be crazy. Then it hit me, I was actually going to have to sing!

Rehearsals started and immediately it was as if I was an interloper to a subculture unknown to me, The Band Kids. The first week it was as if they had their inside jokes and nicknames for each other. I didnt have a nickname. If anything my friends had been the ones who cut band class as they listened to dark and brooding music. Treating me with an air of suspicion as well as unknowing they skipped me on the list as they sent someone with a car to do the Starbucks runs. Part of me didn't want to know any of them. I was going to do a good job and this was going to be it.

 However, the ice was soon melted when walking across campus I saw Mr. Kuczawa who joined me in a between class jaunt on our open campus. Being the chorus master, he began to tell me how to take care of my voice as long as I was going to be using it for musical. Part of me was stunned that he was taking this time with me, while the other part of me was seeping up this knowledge. As long as I was going to be singing I might as well get to know this. Mr. Kuczawa didn't care that I hadn't been in the music fold my whole life. I was in his production now therefore I was a part of the family. As someone who had felt like an outcast and misfit her entire high school career for once I felt a sense of belonging. At the time Mr. Kuczawa saw something in me and was willing to give me a chance to show it. He didn't care about the complaining from the rest of the folks about who deserved what. He was fair. At that moment I decided that he was alright in my book.

The rest of the musical cast was still not as sold on me though. For the first two weeks they barely spoke to me unless they had to. It seemed it bothered them that I was friendly with the football team, in part because my brother played and I knew their parents. Not to mention again, there was no nickname or inside joke. Actually, they hated my guts because instead of one of their friends in their clique it was me. Here and there I tried to melt the ice but eventually I sort of gave up. Througout high school I had always been an outsider and that was okay with me. Change was scary.

Then the first musical rehearsal came. I had gotten used to playing by ear. Musical notes on the page looked like an unknown code. I was not familiar with the tune and had a semi-breakdown band in tow. Mr. Buetzow, the band leader, smiled and patiently told me to try it again. Dedicated, the man often was seen in the school parking lot on a ladder with a megaphone so he knew his music. I didn't. After a disasterous try all were relieved we still had months until opening.

Sitting in a corner I was close to tears. Whatever was I going to do?  After a the disaster one of my cast mates pulled me aside and asked, “Do you know how to read music?”

I shook my head no. I had no clue. Smiling, he patted on me the hand and helped me understand which each and every note meant. At that moment he was joined by another one of the leads in the cast as they broke everything down. This new gesture of friendship changed everything. At that moment it occured to me that I was making myself an outsider and I didnt have to be one if I didnt want to. Plus I needed to learn all I could about music and pronto. These kids had been All State Chorus, All State Band, All State Orchestra. If there was one thing they knew it was this. I was foolish not to friend up because just as much as they needed me to be a good bad witch I needed them to help me understand all this.

That’s when things began to shift. As I started to ask my cast mates questions about music, something they were all passionate about, things changed. When they saw how hard I was working not just on the Wicked Witch character but to learn the music I earned their respect. I went from being apart from to a part of. Soon I had a new group of friends. I got a nickname, Bruckie. I was included in the inside jokes, the Starbucks runs, the plans of the after parties after opening nights. It was like this wall had been knocked down. When I walked in the hall both Mr. Kuczawa and Mr. Buetzow always said hello to me like I was one of their students. I was comfortable with my new identity.

As a bonus the kids in the orchestra pit bonded with me as well. I went from being afraid of my musical number to being comfortable and eventually knocking it out of the park. After each try I got high fives from the orchestra pit and a thumbs up from Mr. Buetzow. In the back of my mind, although I was still dreaming of my name in lights, I began to know I could do this with myself for real. People began to talk about how I was doing good work and putting in a lot of effort. Many of my cast mates told me while they had been singing their entire lives they wish they were half as ballsy as I was. I told them if they gave me their vocal range for Christmas I would be a happy woman.

At the time we also had elementary school kids who played Munchkins. I bonded quickly with them and they always told me they had a hard time being scared of me because they liked me so much. In between scenes we would play cards, talk and they would tell me about what was going on with them. They would also tell me what a good job I was doing. Although it wasn't my teachers it was still reassuring seeing that opening night was oh so close.

My parents also saw the change in me. They remarked that for once I seemed happy and I belonged. In addition they saw that I was excited. In turn my parents were especially excited as well. My mom made buttons of me as The Wicked Witch of the West for our friends and family members to wear on opening night. My father told his family members that during half time, his term for intermission as a throw back to my brother’s football days, that they could take photos. Of course my Aunt Peggy was especially stoked seeing that The Wizard of Oz was her favorite musical of all time.

When opening night came, my night, it was a smash. My parents were proud of me and so were my cast mates. By that time we had grown so close as a group that it was electric. We were more than characters in a play, actors in a costume, singers with a song, we were a family. And as a family we performed, we went onstage and at the end of the show we took a bow knowing we all had a role in a rip roaring performance. When the show ended we were sad it was over because we had bonded so much as a cast. Whenever we walked across campus we would do bits and pieces of the show and still do to this day when we see each other. I also knew that if I needed to talk there were three teachers with doors that were wide open. Sometimes, when you are seventeen that makes all the difference in the world.

The big victory was that I wasn’t afraid to sing anymore. I proved to my family members I could do this with my life and my dad, the hardest sell, told me if I wanted to do this for real I would have to go to NYC. While it was a dream suddenly I had the confidence to follow that impulse, that passion. When the fall came the following year Mr. Kuczawa wrote me a letter of recommendation that perhaps was the best in my admission packet for NYU. Sure I nailed my audition, I got in. However his letter probably swayed members of the admissions committee to not only know that I was a good performer but a ready and willing learner. When Mrs. Reid found out she gave me a huge hug and told me how proud of me she was. Mr. Buetzow told me when I graduated that spring he knew they would hear great things from me in years to come.

Almost ten years later here I am. Although I do not sing as well as some of my former cast mates who have gone on to perform opera, I am confident in my stride as a vocalist. And to my cast mates who are opera singers in training, I have nothing but respect for their abilities and know how much talent they truly have and how much work they truly do to care for their voices. The irony of my status as a nonsinger is that I deliver singing telegrams, a job that requires me to sing always and often. In addition I have sang live with bands and orchestras. I also have gone on to record music, make music videos and recieve radio air play. To me music is that kid who has a school boy crush on me, it might never work but when we meet he always brings out something in me and makes me feel better about myself.

Even though many of the kids who passed through band, chorus and orchestra don’t go on to become musicians they are better people for having done it. Some become music teachers because they were so inspired. Others take part in community theatre or church chior. They know a good song, how to read music, and have an enriched mind. At the very least they know they can do anything they put their mind to and know how music doesn't just change the world but brings people together.

That is why when people want to cut funding from music education it makes me absolutely ill. As I can brag about singing for the Saudi Royal Family and get ready for my taping for CBS sports I think of all the fan mail I get from young people telling me how I inspire them to follow their dreams. Everytime I go on facebook it is a message from a new young person telling me how they dream of coming to New York like I did and how they look up to me. At that moment I am left to question, who inspires me? Who spotted something in me when I didn't see it in myself? Who gave me the courage and the power to turn my dreams into reality?

It started with the rumor of a role I was good for, a trip to the chorus room, and the beginning of a journey. A journey that not only shaped me as an artist but as a person, one that helped me find my voice. I still remember the three wonderful teachers that helped me on my way.  They all are penned in my acceptance speech for my big award someday. I will never forget their names.  They are Mr. Kuczawa, Mrs. Reid, and Mr. Buetzow.
Love April