Shakespeare and Other Things

I am doing Shakespeare this weekend for the first time in years. There is part of me that's excited and part of me that's nervous. I remember being half decent with the language, but the words were always what got in my way. While I loved Shakespeare I was never a Shakespearian actor if you get my drift.

I started out wanting to be a classical actor of some sort. In high school I even interned for a summer with a classical stage company downtown. When college started I was certain I wanted to be a Shakespearian actor. Sure, I did the ventriloquism, but the classics were going to be my home. I loved history and understood the text. My mother also supported these ambitions as she felt I had a gift with language and Shakespeare. We even toyed with the idea of me studying Shakespeare abroad. I was stoked and sure.

Some of my acting teachers, not so much. One in particular really harshed my mellow. She was actually a smart lady who had done every Shakespeare show there was. Although we didn't get along, I always admired her knowledge. However, she was carrying her own baggage to the teaching experience. A refugee from both a classical stage company that no longer existed and a school which she was an alumni and teacher that closed it's doors, she was bitter and burned out. While I have faith she loved and appreciated the teaching aspect, the administrative part of her job killed her soul, and she seemed miserable and trapped. Older students confirmed my suspicion. She said to me, "April, my class is for classical actors. That's not you."

The summer after I left her class, I became more immersed in comedy and ventriloquism. It seemed these things were going to be my tickets and perhaps she was right, I wasn't a classical actor. If being a classical actor meant being an unpleasant bitch I was good with it.

However, the next term I had another instructor who rocked for lack of a better word. He admittedly only taught acting for the paycheck and retired, spending all of his energy gigging with his rockband. We often joked about the amount of coke he did back in the day, and we all felt bad until he told us how much coke he did back in the day and it was a lot let me tell you. As an assignment I had to do Queen Gertrude. I did it for his class with the broken notion that Shakespeare wasn't for me. However, my teacher disagreed.

He gave me a Sense Memory exercise in which Queen Gertrude was drunk. I killed it. Not only was it a lot of fun,but he told me I had a gift with the language and I did in fact have a future with Shakespeare.

The brief reunion didn't last. While I had the opportunity to study in England, because of some schedule changes it made it difficult. Plus my mom went from being stoked about it to being frightened of terrorists and feared I would die overseas. I was discovering my real strengths were my ventriloquism, comedy, and creating my own original material anyway. Sure, I loved Shakespeare but it didn't seem to be in the cards.

This notion was echoed further after college as a lot of classical theatre requires a lot of long hours, is non-equity and offers no pay. Plus I was passionate about the ventriloquism and comedy, figuring those were my tickets. As time wore on, I wandered farther and farther away from classical let alone legit theatre. It wasn't going to be home and that was okay. I could pull it out of my hat if need be, but it wasn't what was going to bring me to the next level for the time being.

Undergrad saw me discover my ability to write for the stage. While I was discovering my wings as a playwright, jokes were more my thing and that gave way to essays and ultimately a book. I tried adapting my work to screen but was miserable at it. So I gave up, until some life events that you might know about changed everything. These saw me rededicated to craft, getting a master's, and reading all the texts I had neglected since college.

When I studied screenwriting, I wanted to give actors material they loved, as no amount of good acting can be overcome by horrendous writing. Material that could show off their strengths and do the work for them so they could play.......like SHAKESPEARE. This meant getting my ass kicked again in acting class, and signing up for a SHAKESPEARE class. Yes, I actually applied and I figured if they payment went through they wouldn't read my application. To my pleasant surprise and chagrin they read my application.

(AHHHHHH!!!!).

So long story short, this weekend, I am back to one of my first loves. At first it was daunting but I remembered to get out my dictionary. (Something my unpleasant teacher pounded). But I also remembered my Sense Memory. (Something from the one I adore). I forgot how much FUN this was. So yes, I am excited and a tad nervous.

"Anon, anon I pray you remember the porter!"

Writing Hard

I am working on turning my book, I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl, into a pilot. At first I didn't want to. Part of it was cowardice, and part of it was I have been burned by the promise of so much more with my writing for so long.

However, as I started writing my pilot, I don't want to stop. Each time I step away from the computer I feel sad I have to go. I have broken plans with people so I could WRITE. Does that make me a write-a-holic? Is there is a 12 Step Program for me?

The last time I wrote like this I was 25 years old. I announced I was writing a book. My roommate at the time thought I was crazy. She was right. I was. One of my best friends at the time was a very flamboyant gay drug dealer. (RIP Chacho). I announced my plans and she was like, "Okay. You do that." In between her crying about some dude that didn't want her back and me lusting after my normal losers my book was filed in the way back of her mind.

It was hot the summer I wrote my book. So hot I kept my underwear in the freezer. She opened up the freezer to get ice cream and there were my pink satin panties. Let's just say things got interesting. Relax fellas, no lesbian porn.

I wrote everywhere. On the train. In the house. I had no idea what would happen next, but I finished my first draft by the end of the summer.

She moved out and moved on. I published I Came, I Saw, I Sang. Things happened and then they didn't.

Years later, as I write the pilot version, Broadway Singing Telegrams, I am writing just as furiously as I did when I was 25 years old. I write on the train. I carry around a notepad. When an inspiration comes to me it's as if heaven has opened and something miraculous has happened. I never thought I would live to write this, but I enjoy revision.

I had my first reading last week. It was nerve wracking to get it organized. It was exciting to hear my words read for the first time. It was endearing to see how my friends loved and supported me.

I am glad I am writing the pilot because this is my voice. For so long I let others try to tell my story, that's why it felt flat. This is the most authentic my writing has ever been. It's me, honest and bare on the paper about the life and world close to me.

I have no idea what will happen next. The wheels of fate might swing for or against me. I live with two straight dudes.

For better or for worse, there is no underwear in the freezer.

Putting It Out There

I have always written. My words are part of my wheelhouse. Heck, my verbal part of the SAT was near perfect. Math.......we won't talk about that. God invented the calculator and Satan is always making me use my fingers and toes.

As a kid, I loved being onstage. In real time I am extroverted and friendly, but there is a part of me that loves being in a library being lost in the stacks where I don't have to talk to anyone. I am a secret misanthrope. People piss me off and when I am hangry, I have no biased bone in my body. I hate everyone.

While I loved performing as a kid, part of me wanted to write the next great American novel. Fuck you Faulkner. So over you Flannery O'Conner. Here I am bitches and bastards!

It would have been an opus of coming of age tragedy. There would be a love story of a boy from the wrong side of the tracks and the good girl with the double life who does something messed up to get ahead. One of them would have to die. Maybe a boating accident. I would propose cancer but that is so overdone. Eh, AIDS.......now that cocktail is curing people. A murder......but then it's a mystery. Okay, I'm back to my outline.

What I am trying to say is, as a writer, you always want to write a book that can live for generations, and you want to write for writers. So yeah, I loved Moby Dick. I am the dick who loved the cetology of the whale. First week of grad school Pervical Everett called Moby Dick his cheesecake.

YUM! THIS IS GOOD FOOD FOR MY LITTLE WRITER BRAIN. FEEEEEEDDDDD ME!

 However, as you read this blog you know I am not writing the great American novel anytime soon. I am just an awkward lonely woman waxing philosophical in her room. No danger of being great here.

If you have been following me (all three of you) you know that prior to grad school I considered myself a novelist and an essayist.  Sure, I acted and performed my own stand up and one woman shows. Although I read and acted in plays I could never translate my writing into that format. The more prose I wrote the less of a playwright I became. I tried to adapt my book into a musical and this composer looked at me like I got off of not just a spaceship, but a short spaceship. I wrote a screenplay based on my book, it was cute but it was too long. Part of grad school was that I wanted to network as a prose writer and get screenwriters to adapt my shiznit.

But I decided to bite the bullet and stop being such a wimp and genre jumped to screenwriting. I am having fun but am finding a surprising wheelhouse in screenwriting as I said in a previous blog. As I say to the point of my 3 readers wanting to shoot themselves, grad school has made me less of a wimp when it comes to revision. The talent ain't in the writing. It's in the rewriting. And the rewriting.And more rewriting. Writing is rewriting.

Whenever I hear a writer say they don't like revising, I want to tell them they are evil and stupid. Words had to die for their cowardice. Your work becomes like your baby. Why do you think Salinger never sold the rights to Catcher in the Rye?

As  Percival Everett says, "No novel is ever finished. It's only abandoned."

The hardest part of being a writer is abandoning your baby.

It means not crying when you press send.

 It means getting difficult feedback.

It means taking the note behind the note without following it with,"Get fucked."

If you are a playwright or screenwriter, it means not fighting with your manager when you overwrite. It means not crying when you tell them you are only protecting your work against an incompetent or power hungry (male) director who will destroy every precious word you wrote.

 It means trusting someone else to direct your vision and trusting that this person will respect your time and energy while secretly praying they don't destroy your script.

It means having your actor friends read your work out loud and being open to what they say.

It means being excited about having your actor friends read your work.

It means being excited about having your work directed and staged.

Yeah, I'm putting my work out there. Just as part of me wants to write the great American novel, I also want to write material actors will have fun performing and look forward to getting. As an actor, there have been so many times I have gotten scripts that have given me nothing and I felt less than excited. I want actors to get my pages and be excited, not just because of their words but because of what their imaginations can bring.

I want directors to be excited to make my stuff come to life. Sure, I have a death grip on my "precious words," but just as my work means a lot to me I know it will mean just as much to the people making it come alive.

As Emmy Award winning screenwriter Jane Anderson said, "Collaboration is a gift."

With that being said, I look forward to sharing my pages with the world. And thank you to all my friends pushing me to have my work read. You are the reason I spew my crazy thoughts on paper........much love.

Recommitting Myself

Since getting back from the West Coast, I have been diving back into studying my craft. My master's program in writing has left me inspired. The theatre company I work with has motivated me not only to create and perform more of my own work, but to collaborate with other artists. As I find my voice on the page I am taking that same discovery to the stage.

Summer lulls in the Big Apple, and in between literary translation, a practice paper, and dreading my 5 page practice paper, I have decided to sign up for a film acting intensive. This is different from the classes I have taken at The Actor's Fund and the acting class I took each week where I ended up bringing in work I created. I am in front of the camera with no puppets. Just me learning how to cold read.

It's very humanizing. I am getting the same notes in my writing and in my acting. My mentor in my writing program congratulated me on getting my packet in early. However, she said I was judgmental in my writing pieces. Last night's class the note I got was I played attitude. The first writing packet I forgot to double space. First week of class I foolishly copied my sides and my scene partner had an interesting time. Both my mentor and my teacher were good about it.

I feel hungrier than ever for craft. I am reading Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir. I am reading Lee Strasberg's A Dream of Passion. It's my first time reading Stephen King. I haven't read Mr. Strasberg since college. I read one in the morning and one before bed at night. Both often say the same thing. It's tell the truth.

I go to The Drama Bookstore and if I spend any more time in there I run the danger of maxing out every credit card I have. But I have overeaten, over drank, smoked, and dated people who were bad for me because they felt damn good. I have made worse decisions.

But recommitting myself, it's been a good one in some ways. My mentor in my program is great, but when I get a writing packet back there is always a tinge of doubt. Sure, I am more mature as an actor, but Tuesday night I was talking to someone and the old bullshit came up. I am never the best one in the acting class but the most unique. If it's a place where I write and create my own work with my puppets I rock it. That's my zone. I haven't identified as a dramatic, legit actor for years. I mean I guess I still am, but the time, energy, and passion has gone to being a puppeteer.

Suffice to say this class has me a tad out of my comfort zone at times. I thought about bringing an original piece to perform, but that's not the assignment. If I get a big film role, it won't be my work at this point. And besides I am a writer, it would be nice if I respected the words of others, right?

A casting director I once did a class with said it best, "Growth is sometimes painful."

She was right.

The good news is, by participating in an MFA in writing program, I have the opportunity to learn screenwriting. By taking this class, I have the opportunity to get better on camera. By respecting someone else's words and work, I bring good kharma to my own.

I just want to be perfect all the time. I try so hard to be liked. Everything is personal. It's just the way I am made up. A friend told me to take some time off my reading. I told her I needed to go to the bookstore. She said, "April, if you go you will read. Read tomorrow."

So here I am writing. Not reading. Processing. It's easy to read but hard to live. Growth is sometimes painful indeed. But the growth and process are worth it. Because each step, no matter how arduous, gets us closer to the truth.

t's not monstrous that this player here,
But in fiction, in a dream of passion
Could force his soul to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wanned,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his own function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And for nothing!
For Hecuba!
Hamlet


www.AprilBrucker.TV

New Adventures

Tomorrow I begin a new chapter in my life. I have been accepted into Antioch University's Low Residency MFA Creative Writing Program in Los Angeles. Yes, LA. She who has no car let alone license is going to the very city where you need one. It will be a firm and shocking change of pace from the subways that I have grown so used to.

I have always wanted to do more with my writing and now is my chance. Plus I am entering a program where I can work, have a life, and am committed for 10 days a semester. That way I can continue my comedy and tour. I am also networking in a city where one gets eaten up easily. And I am getting to know the place without being tied into a lease before I really know where I want to live and if I even want to live there at all. And it is creating a chance to be bicoastal. Additionally, I am paving the way for a career in academia if I so choose to go that way.

And yes, I will have a masters.

I applied on a whim because I felt I needed a change and got in. There are some family members who aren't supportive and that's okay. I am an adult and don't need their approval. Sure, it stings in it's own way. But at the same time, I am paying for this myself and as an adult, I don't need to justify my decision let alone myself.

I will be in LV/LA for basically all of December. I will be filming a TV show in Las Vegas, going to school in LA, and then spending Christmas in town because of all I have to do.

I look forward to this new adventure. I say I was raised in Pittsburgh and grew up in NYC. Now it looks like I will become an adult in LA

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Words From a Writer

I haven’t blogged in a while because I have been busy. Busy with the holidays. Busy with family. Busy with all that Christmas/Festivus/Channakah/Sparkle Season entail for the entire world. In between, I have been working on a writing project-more on that later. Either way, I have begun to look like a writer. My shoulders are slumped and my spine is curved like Quasimodo. As for my eyes, they are dark like that of a drug addicted relative. Wait, the drug addictive relative looks slightly better and they managed to eat. Oops. Yes, I am a writer.

Writers are the indentured servants of the creative world. We are always the first called when someone wants a story. The world thrives on stories. We slave over keyboards and have to put up with pricks who couldn’t get published themselves correcting our grammar. After that, we endure the continuous agony of idiots who have no idea of what story is but are somehow in charge of the business end of things telling us what an arc is. Yes, arc, those assholes think it’s the thing Indiana Jones discovered. After which we are abused by the establishment, but we work the hardest. Then when all is said and done, we are the first on the chopping block. We are the first to get screwed out of rights and money. We are left in the poor house or to die with a pauper’s grave while the man chomps on our bones.

Some starlet who can barely read butchers our dialogue. Then an asshole model turned leading man can’t even read, so at least the starlet is winning the race of the beautiful and stupid. After that some director and his “creative license” totally adapts our work to a way in which we would object but we signed away our rights. When I hold a pen there is a part of my heart, a part of my soul, that wants to stab them all. To stab the idea. To stab the establishment.

The worst part is being a woman in this whole mess. When I stick up for my work, I am angry. I am a man hating chick with penis envy. My rage can’t hack it in the so called boys club. Female writers who churn out material that makes my skin crawl and makes me want to go out like a Hemingway when I read it inform me I shouldn’t let the paradigm insult me. I should let me be me, and be the best me I can be. Yet one of us continues to wait for the imaginary man we create in our books, and another one of us knows it’s fiction. Maybe the one that knows it’s fiction knows all too well.

I have stopped letting the sexism on behalf of some of my male colleagues crush my spirit, although it has been hard. One former writing partner in particular was incredulous over the fact I would get published and he didn’t. We were friends until he realized I was far more talented than he was. Then it became all about my man hate. Yes, man hate. Man hate this, man hate that. What about moron hate. What about you are a freaking, drooling, imbecile who sits on a soapbox and pretends to be a man’s man you moronic poser? Or perhaps it was because I refused to let him use me to get ahead. Hmmm….

Then when you write, you run the risk of your work collecting dust. My book is in several collections, several libraries. When I was younger I used to think librarians were anal retentive wart hogs sent from Satan to terrorize children. Now I respect them as the Earthly body guards of my work. I spent countless days and hours, sacrificing a life of any sort, to put my stories on paper. Sure, doggy ear my book. That means you are reading it. However, if someone spilled something on it I would be livid. Yes, livid. So therefore, I treat all written words with kindness just as everyone should.

Sometimes I curse being a writer. I am a wordsmith which makes me a total heal as a screenwriter. When writing dialogue, I am selfish and verbose which makes me a mediocre playwright. The personal essay is my forte because I am a self-centered prig. Novel writing is also my strength, I did it. But I wish I could sing beautifully and harmonize.

Better yet, I wish I could knock a trumpet solo out of the park like my cousin. That way people could sit back, relax, and just enjoy me rocking it out all Old Satchmo. Then there are other times I wish I could draw and paint like my uncle, where people could get lost in the beauty of my work. Or maybe dance like my cousins, where the glorious experience would be interactive. Reading my work involves thinking, imagination. People hate that shit, remember?

Then I remember everything starts with a story. The written word is the man begins the relay for his team. Ideas on paper, great books, inspire people to talk and think. Those great books are adapted to great movies. Those even greater talents keep the work alive, even when the author is long dead. The musicians, dancers, and visual arts augment the story making it fabulous beyond words and compare. This is how stories live for thousands of years and tales become endless.

When one is good at one creative art they are always good at another. Writing is a springboard for other creative talents we all have. Prince wrote songs for others, and then recorded many hit albums himself. Harold Ramis was Egon Spengler, but more also helped write the script for Ghostbusters as did Dan Ackroyd. Writing allows me to perform my own work onstage, sing my own songs, and be whoever I want to be because my imagination is my own unique original creation from heaven.

That is, until I accidentally cut my finger on the paper from all the drafts I print out. Be kind to writers is all I am saying.

Come see me perform my writing and comedy as I help break a world record for Guinness

Friday January 2 @ 11:45

Metropolitan Room

34 West 22^nd st

Xo

April

Medusa

This is a poem I wrote. I haven't written one in a while. Only blogged and opined about my life. Hope you enjoy this other side to my writing.

Pale ghost girl
Sitting in a tower
Whining snakes
Beneath the ever changing colors
You call hair

Demon breath
And a cold hard stare
A soul that was never there
Just lie after lie
To appease your target

Fat, ugly temptress
You try to best me
And anyone who crosses your path
As if we can be fooled
By your simple charms

Blame your mother
Her sickness
For making you a beast
Cackling loudly and slandering
The woman who bore you

Blame your father
For having no back bone
Leaving you alone
To be had by the Gorgons
And to get the booby prize of becoming their queen

How serene you sing so pretty
But beneath is a banshee
The sound is merely borrowed
So are the thoughts
To disguise a demoness

Did you adopt a human name
To have an upper hand in the game
Where you could hunt for prey
Like you do every day
That believe all the things you say?

Oh and you write such poetry
The words scribbled dishonestly
Are your words borrowed too?
Of course they are.
Satan is never original.

You crack a joke
Almost funny
With the guile of the serpent
In the Garden of Eden
Which is fitting

Since his brother and sisters
Live on your dirty head
You claim to be at work
But you spend the day in bed
Dreaming of the havoc you want to cause.

Your skin is a gray
Probably because you didnt see the sun
Today but then again you are
Almost a vampire
But can't commit

A coffin isn't fit
For a woman pretending to be
Royalty that is living across the
Street from the houses where
They actually have money

You will snarl when I say this
You will scream in like a feind
But you are a feind
Cerberus is your pet
And he even tries to bite your hand

He won't heal to your command
But who could or would
Not I, because I see past your charms
That harm
A borderline who wants a guy

Then you find you male captive
Pathetic as they go
He doesn't love you
But he needs you
Your hell fix he feeds you

Then you become yourself
Snarling, lashing, biting,
Screaming, howling, and the snakes
Slither and bite him
He screams, "Leave me alone."

You eat his heart
And turn him to stone.







www.aprilbrucker.com

The Live Comedy Conundrum

This past week, I have been flirting with the idea of possibly producing a live event. Without getting into detail, I have my pick of spaces. One is a cabaret venue, a legendary one, that I have a longstanding relationship with. The other is an Off-Broadway Theatre on restaurant row, one in which show that begin there end up on Broadway at some point, or are critical favorites. I have earned the right to consort with both. Dealing with which one I should pick is six of one and half dozen of another.

In the end, it is the same storm of bullshit and the same red tape. The question is, in the end which storm of bullshit and red tape do I want to deal with? Well kids, what I am trying to say is welcome to the wonderful world of live theatre in any capacity.

There is nothing like live performance, whether it is comedy, cabaret, or theatre. You are in the moment, and anything can happen. Applause is like an orgasmic response or a drug, and sometimes both at the same time. It is a high when a show goes well, and like a heroin addict you only want more. The actors are feet away, and then your scene partner forgets a line. You make it work, and together your effort almost makes it better than what you rehearsed as the audience is glued. You get a heckler, and your one the mark comeback is better than any joke you ever wrote as you get a round of applause……There’s no business like show business.

When I started in New York, I did a lot of live performing. For most Saturdays, I performed as a part of a children’s show at an Obie Award winning theatre, both legendary for it’s talent and the eccentric members that lived there. I also performed for a short while doing improv, but improv is not my gift. Then was my stint in a weekly Off-Broadway dinner theatre show where I played a meaty, fun character role and moved up to a lead. Add in my Saturdays with a puppet show at Green Acres Mall for the children where I was head puppeteer and voice artist. I also did a few variety shows and play readings during my NYU days. So I do appreciate the lore of live theatre.

Then in addition, I spent my younger years performing comedy, and quite a bit of it. I spent most nights in basements either soaring or dying for various crowds, and then my food money on subway fair. Sometimes, I would be up onstage six times a night. Comedy at it’s core is in the moment. Like acting, it is based on the truth we are all trying to get to. The audience can tell if you are so full of shit you can’t see straight. Comedy makes a performer real honest real quick, because comedy comes from that place of being uncool. This is why a comedy club is so magical. Right there, in front of a crowd of strangers watching, you can make a discovery that is not only funny, but the root of who you are as a person.

While acting was what my degree was in, and I did both acting and comedy in college, standup was where the doors ultimately opened after I graduated. I found myself on the road most weekends, and became rather good at hosting and middling. When I got the chance, I started hosting my own weekly mic in the basement of a taco joint. The ceiling leaked and most of the time the stage made out of something akin to plywood was a safety hazard, and the mic almost never worked. We got crowds of tourists to watch us, and we all were baptized by fire. After that, I hosted another mic and produced show wherever they would let me.

And then slowly, I began to burn out.

Around my mid-twenties, I found myself on the road most weekends. While the audiences were sometimes good, the money was awful and was eaten up by gas price. Sure, I was getting experience, but burning my paycheck was getting old, especially if they paid me shit for ten hours up and ten hours back. I made comedian friends, but most of the time they weren’t going anywhere except gigs that were 50 bucks and a burger. I also ran the open mic circuit, but as each mic had inside jokes and I found myself consistently performing for the sick fucks that are comedians, I didn’t find myself getting better let alone funnier. Then I hosted and produced for one club and it’s sister, and the manager I worked under was an abusive, tired, embittered frustrated actor who had never risen above student films. Most of the time, I did check spots, being bumped for male comedians or those who somehow were just luckier than I was in that setting.

Then in order to get stage time, it became a rat race that made me ill to run. It was like a thousand rats, literally, going for the same tired ass piece of cheese. What, a spot in some basement for three people because the producer won a shit award? Bitch please.

On top of that, the combination late nights, long mileage from travel, stress, and poor eating habits were making me sick. Sometimes I would vomit because I ate bad food. Sometimes I would vomit because I was so exhausted. Sometimes I would be too sick to vomit, I would just collapse at random times in my apartment. My body was tired and I couldn't feel it because I just kept going. Yet the more I kept going, the more I felt like a rat in the same rat race on the rat wheel going crazy. 

Frustrated and unfulfilled, I began making my own puppet videos. May Wilson and I interviewed celebrities or just did skits, sometimes with other puppeteers, but sometimes on our own. When I made my videos I found I had more fun, and I found I wasn’t as bitter, angry, or tired. I also found more opportunities opened for me with my writing in conjunction with my videos. As I was getting money to blog and make videos, I began to question why I was even still pursuing standup comedy, an art form on life support. 

I produced shows several more times before hanging up that towel for a few years. During that point, I went through lowered attendance, possibly because my videos were getting all my energy. I started to haggle with the space and then didn’t care. In the end, when as one producer, a small time comic who I will not name, aggressively tried to steal my people for his audience. That is when I knew I had to go in a new direction. So I made more videos, helped pitch a possible television idea, and drafted my book.

A few months later, my puppet children and I got a television opportunity that changed our lives forever. I put the club I had done so much work for on television, giving them more exposure than they had gotten elsewhere. They thanked me by firing me from my job. I figured a flagship club would scoop me up. Didn’t happen. So I was back to square one with no home.

Other doors opened. Because of my video making, I got a job as a talking head and other talking head gigs followed, sometimes online and sometimes various apps. While they weren’t perfect, they all paid. Not to mention my night wasn’t dependent on whether or not people showed up. If no one showed up, I could still do my rant or whatever else. On one site I could be booted off if I wasn’t liked, but at the same time I could perform for up to a few thousand at a time. Question: Why the hell was I worrying about a shit comedy spot for three fucking people?

Then there were more doors that opened. I had not only the opportunity to write my book, but to publish it. I also have blogged for some hoity toity blogs and magazines. In my simple days of being one of a herd of cattle, I never had these opportunities not would I have sought them out.

I also was able to do some things with acting, and was even in a television show, commercial, and movie. Not only did I realize how much I missed my first love, but more than anything, I discovered how much I liked doing film. I was able to go, do my job, and make a new discovery on each take. After filming a pilot for IFC, I came to believe there was more to be done in this area for myself not only as an artist, but as a person.

Of course, I was also able to do more with puppetry. I not only got to work as a ventriloquist, but also a hand and rod puppeteer. I did a weekly show for children, and served as head puppeteer in a short film winning accolades in festivals.

Lastly of course, not only did I start to record music, but also had a song that was number one on the internet charts for five weeks. Making the videos for these was fun, and recording was a blast. It seemed like putting standup on the back burner and exiting the club opened up a whole new world full of possibilities, creativity, and not so much tired ass bullshit. Getting fired from that club may have actually been one of the best artistic and personal accomplishments ever.

I told myself that if I were to return with the gusto I once had, it would be on my terms. So this past year, I figured I had gotten notoriety and was somewhat visible, I might as well. This past April, I produced and starred in my DVD taping. For two months I ran my set in my apartment, did publicity, and harassed anyone who would listen about the event. Day of the event, success. However, had a Rocky-esque meltdown afterwards. My friend, a fellow puppeteer, impersonator, and opening act assured me that it was all going to be okay pre-show. It was, but it almost killed me. 

Then I remembered that while TV appearances and such got me fans, there was a reason my live appearances were limited. It was because the planning, drama beforehand, and everything else leading up to it could kill a person. Sure, the payoff was wonderful, but was it worth all the shit? 

After that, I started to do more comedy again and remembered what had attracted me in the first place. And in what seemed like a call back to an era gone, I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t bitter that I wasn’t born a man. I was actually energized to get onstage, and had a tablet full of jokes. About a month later, I headlined a theatre for not one but two nights. I managed to kill both nights, and made a crowd of new fans. The first night the crowd was cute, but the second night the house was packed. Both shows made me remember why I pursued comedy in the first place. It was because I loved making others laugh. 

However, I also found myself frustrated with the promoter. He promised me my opener would pack the house first night, and my opener failed to do that. Second night, the promoter overbooked the show with every friend and comedian he felt sorry for. Thus it made my job harder because instead of a headliner show, it could well turn into a situation where the audience was tired of comedy and there was no way in hell I was having that. I let my grievance be known and was accomodated, but it was some frustration, and again, remembered why my appearances were limited. It is the before show drama that we must all face, novice to headliner alike. Sure, the show turned out well, but I hate having to turn into a diva on people. He was a good dude, but I know what works. I have been around too long. 

About a month afterwards, I did other spots and readied myself for a book signing event at a well known cabaret theatre. My dance card was full, and I did not anticipate this as I got the event date. Not to mention it was a holiday weekend, and the only time I could get my performers together. My boss Bruce’s assistant Laila helped me plan the event, and it ended up being a success. But there was some drama with the venue and confusion over the guest list and other details that nearly made me lost my mind. Actually, I think I was screaming in a bar restroom during one of my meltdowns. The event ended up being a success as I said. My coworkers were superb, my boss fabulous, and everyone enjoyed the show and my book. Yet it was another reminder why I stepped back from live performing and producing both.

For the last several months, I have done an open mic here and there and a show or two but nothing real serious. Organizing a DVD taping and a book release event will kick a person’s ass. Plus I hate having to pay for stage time. Call me a bitch but I am above it. Yes, I am above it. Not to mention the last month and a half I have been more on the broke end of things anyway.

It is also making me question which way I should go with my career. I love being onstage, but hate the bullshit that come with live events. Should I stick with film, go back to acting class, and run that way? Maybe it’s time I knock on that door again. I am finally old enough to start playing some of the roles I am good for. Plus I have comedic timing, life experience, and other skills I can bring to the table. If anything, I am ten times the actor I was ten years ago.

Or maybe I should do the whole writing thing. I love writing, and have enjoyed writing my blog and for other publications. Heck, I even wrote a book. Maybe I should get a steady freelancer or staffer position somewhere. After all, I can write in any and all styles. Plus like the whole acting things, I have comedic timing, life experience, and loads of other skills I bring to the table. I am ten times the writer I was ten years ago, when I first started blogging.

Then there is the pure puppet route. This year I ended up doing some hand and rod work, and becoming a student of the craft of puppetry, and not just ventriloquism. I want to do more and learn more, not to mention there aren't very many women who are good puppeteers to begin with. 

For some people, stand up comedy is the springboard. For others, it is the destination to film/television/radio, writing, producing, club management and every other goal. Maybe standup was just the mere springboard for me. If that is the case I accept it.

Should I swallow the sexism, bullshit, politics, and tired ass drama of live performance to chase a laugh? Should I concentrate my energies elsewhere as the doors continue to open there? I dunno, I’ll sleep on it. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

Writing My Own Destiny

I am an artist who creates her own work. Until very recently, when I finally acquired quality management, I was indie. For years, I freelanced with various people and then threw in the towel. I once heard it described as sleeping with someone  and not having  a real commitment. That would be about apt. None stuck for various reasons. Some would just blindly submit me because I was blonde, and therefore for the girl next door roles. I wouldn’t book them because I am a character lead. So I would be an also ran, wasting their time, mine, and the auditioners. Or I would just be lost in the shuffle. Sometimes they would be crazy. Or they wouldn’t know what to do with a client who had a unique skill set, was quirky, and on top of that, was too young to play the roles she was good for.

I still remember that it looked as if 2008 was going to be my year. A green thumb in the audition world, I booked much of what came my way. A lot of it was that I had dumped the manager I had the year before, and began submitting myself. I booked a lot of the stuff I submitted myself for. Not to mention I scored my somewhat well, it was an appearance on Rachael Ray. Not to mention I appeared on Good Day NY and WE TV. I also filmed not one by two pilots. I submitted a third sketch for a pilot to Bravo. Things were taking off.

Then the unthinkable happened. The market popped, and people stopped wanting to pay for extras such as singing telegrams. While Rachael Ray had gotten me some visibility, I had established myself as a niche act and a shock comedian. Quality managers didn’t want to return my calls. The pilots I filmed were not sold. I was back to being another bozo on the bus. Semi-unemployed, I lived on my laundry money and worked promo jobs in the cold. Sometimes they would pay me, and sometimes I had to chase them down for the slimy quarters owed me. Weekends were spent on the road where I was hit and miss, and usually the booker or headliner would try to sleep with me. The hardest piece of humble pie to swallow was when I was forced to hand out fliers in the freezing cold outside a building I had filmed in only a year before.

What was worse was I saw some of my college classmates booking huge roles as guest stars, or commercials. Some graced Broadway. I had nothing. I thought about perhaps going back to school and changing paths. Then when I couldn’t think of anything I would rather do I thought of killing myself. My nights were spent pounding the pavement and being one of a herd of hundreds of comedy cattle. After an unsuccessful weekend on the road, a tour that ended in disaster, I knew things had to change.

There is an old saying. When opportunity knocks, open the door. Opportunity wasn’t knocking, and there was no door to open. However, there is also another old saying that if opportunity doesn’t knock, you can always build a door. The opportunity came for me to enter a contest. I had to make a video. So I used my costumes, puppets, and characters I did. I didn’t win the contest, but I got positive feedback on the video. My fellow comedians in my support network told me to make more videos, and pointed out that this was a strength I had. The video helped me score a hosting gig at an online television network. It also got me the chance to produce my own one woman shows where my following gained from my videos and TV spots here and there attended. For the first time in forever, I didn’t feel beaten down. Perhaps the answer had been in front of me all along, and I just had to stop feeling sorry for myself and take action.

As I took action, it occurred to me that the level of competition in New York was steep. However, there were a hundred of them and only one of me. No one was willing to work like I was. Not to mention I was a ventriloquist and a woman, that made me a rarity. Oh, and I had costumes and was quirky. Not to mention I had produced my own shows as a teenager on public access, and one was even aired worldwide on a shoe string budget on various community stations. This had helped garner interest from NYU, and I ultimately was admitted and attended the Tisch School. It worked then. So why wouldn’t it work again?

The creation of my own shows resulted in spots alongside respected headliners who began to guide me not only as a comedian, but as a person. Although the opportunity as a talking head dried up, it allowed me to write for a now defunct online rag, and do more with my writing. The editors of the online site saw my puppet videos, and encouraged me to put a video with each blog. So basically, my ability to create my own work enabled me to do two things I had always dreamed of doing, writing and puppets. 

From there, I made videos with my puppets as well. These included anything from sketches to interviewing celebrities. I didn’t know what I was doing, I just did it. I emailed drag queens and other LGBTQ luminaries. Sometimes the answer was yes, sometimes no. But I just kept going.

At the urging of my now deceased friend Joe Cannava, I wrote I Came, I Saw, I Sang. I still remember pounding it out in my apartment that had no air conditioning and putting my underwear in the refrigerator. I had no idea what I was doing. Yeah, I wrote blogs and short stories. I never wrote a book. I just kept writing every day, and sometimes into the night. I was on a mission. I knew I had to do this. Again, no idea what I was doing. I stopped acting questions and just did. I knew somehow, I had to get this out into the world.

Once again, showing up for myself and creating my own work opened up more doors. I got some television and radio spots, and these were the same spots I secretly wanted to covet from my college classmates. Instead of being jealous, I was now being positive, proactive, and joining the party. I scored another more lucrative talking head gig, and entertained people all over the world. I also began to dabble in modelling and music. In that time, I also returned to acting and made a horror movie, something I have always wanted to do. So far, Death of a Dummy is in several festivals in Europe. I had always feared I would be nothing more than a niche performer, and there I was acting.

Publishing my book also opened up the doors with my writing. I was asked to submit pieces to The Huffington Post, xoJane, Elite Daily, The Good Men Project, and many others. Not to mention my book and other writings have been front and center on several television show proposals. While none have come to fruition quite yet, I had a way in that many others did not.

I will admit this past year I became complacent and lazy. Some of it was opportunities had come my way as a result of my door building, and I didn’t feel the need to do much else except wait. Yet the waiting made me sicker than anything in the world. I obsessed, agonized, and made myself ill. I spent time over the toilet, and then depressed in bed. I felt powerless and no longer able to control my destiny. Around the end of March, I felt like throwing in the towel again. That is when I knew I had to take action.

I had always wanted to film a DVD. So the opportunity came to film it at the Metropolitan Room. I had also dreamed of headlining a theatre. So the weekend before Memorial Day, I booked two days. Lastly, I wanted a book signing in NYC, and it had been postponed because of Sandy. I booked that at Don’t Tell Mama. The taping was a success, and now Broke and Semi-Famous has not only sold overseas but now sells online. The headlining has put me in a whole new level of comedy, and now I am looking to headline more theatres. The book signing was also a success, and my coworkers from the telegram company performed. Each shined, and my boss was the biggest star of all.

My events were also featured in publications that previously snubbed me. Others who did not know my name now knew who I was. I walked into venues Liza Minelli and Joan Rivers stop into for fun as a paid headliner, and it was all because I took control of my own destiny. What’s more, is now I am beginning to grow into some of the roles I am good for. Directors are scouting me, and are looking at my resume mightily impressed. While I have not booked the roles yet, they are amazed at the level of experience I have. 

That lends itself to my next point. Being an artist who creates her own work has made me better on projects where I am not in the drivers seat. I respect the script in a way I never had, because I know first hand the writer wrote those words for a reason. After all, I picked the words and sentences in my book with great care, right?  I make sure to show up on a timely manner, lines memorized, to save time and money. It also shows my fellow do it yourself creator that I respect their project, and I truly do because I know how hard they worked. I say please and thank you. I take direction well, and try my damnest to do it right on the first try. Again, having been on the other side I know how important these things are. I know the people on the other side of the audition table are on my side, they have a deadline and want you to be the one. I also know editors want positive and fun content, things that are solution oriented. Oh and spell check please.  So basically, this has made me not just a better artist but a better person. 

This summer has been rewarding and good on so many levels, both personally and workwise. Creating my own events nearly killed me, but those who didn’t know about my book did. Those who didn’t know what the telegram company did now are aware we exist. My fans now have a way to watch me via DVD and online. A few weeks ago I was accidentally the poster girl for EBay online. I also booked the other opportunities through my self-starting that were amazing. Yes, my work load was exhausting, but I enjoyed every second of it. It paid off artistically and financially, because this summer the rent paid itself doing what I loved most, making others smile.

My career ebbs and flows, and August is an ebb. While I caught some good news on a puppet project I did this summer, the phone has not been ringing as much. There have been emails informing me that I am under consideration for various projects and they will let me know soon. In a way it is kind they are considering me, yet it is somewhat of a cocktease. Either tell me yes or no. The pit forms in my stomach and I want to vomit all over again. When will this vicious cycle end?

That is when I begin to plan the next group of things I will self-create. For one, there is another book in the works. I am also guiding my own mother as she writes her book on infant swimming. Additionally, I am writing a musical based on my book, and am working with a Julliard trained composer. Add in a photo shoot for my calendar, and a new music video and song premiering. Not to mention I want to film another DVD, this time for children.

So whatever happens next is unknown, and the unknown is scary. Whatever those in charge do is out of my control. However, I will continue to build my own doors. As they open, the rooms they reveal are well beyond my wildest dreams and imagination. Good luck catching up, because so far no one can stop me. 

Love

April

Check out my book I Came, I Saw, I Sang on Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Check out my DVD Broke and Semi Famous on EBay and www.aprilbrucker.com

Twenty-Six

I was at Skipper and Wendell's graduation when I met their friend Johnny. Hanging out in Providence's Hope Club, Johnny mentioned it was his birthday. That Friday had been Wendell's birthday making them both born under the sign of Gemini. This makes sense. Wendell's specialty will be working with adolescent kids who suffer from eating disorders, addiction, and a host of other things. In addition, while it was a surprise because he was a former football player, Wendell worked with transgender teens and enjoyed the experience. He also lectures on the dangers of child abuse. Wendell's lectures are so entertaining they often don't want him to stop. While this was a surprise at the time it shouldn't have been. Wendell is a people person. He is funny, outgoing, and extroverted. Wendell has never been afraid to be himself. Most Gemini's are not.

Johnny was having a slight quarter life crisis because he was the big 2-6. He mentioned has his beautiful wife Leah sat there that he counted gray hairs on his head. I laughed. I remembered feeling the exact same way when I crossed the that mark in my life. Then I remembered how much fun that age had been. I was literally on national television every week. I was hosting a web show on the internet. My music was on the radio on the internet. And I had my very first publishing contract. Not to mention I was recognized on the street for the very first time. At the big 2-6 I learned the lesson of not limiting myself.

That is when I told Johnny how much fun I had at that age, and how he should look forward to aging. Johnny is a brilliant idea person who is currently using his medical knowledge in an independent business venture to help others. Like many Gemini's, he is creative, smart, and funny. I told him that at twenty six he would come into his own, and would shake off the molting skin from his earlier twenties. At twenty six I told him I saw the work from my earlier twenties begin to pay off. That he should look forward to each approaching year because it meant the coming and dawning of more new adventures.

Yesterday I wished I could have been around to take my own advice. I was totally not where my feet where when it came to my head. After receiving the shiteous news about my book signing event and the technicality that prevented me from achieving my goal, I just wanted to run into someone as an excuse to deck them. I ended up in Norwalk, CT where I delivered a telegram. Going back to the train station, I crossed the street and was almost run over several times by the worst drivers ever. There is something about New England drivers that makes me nervous. In Rhode Island it is worse, not only do they break traffic laws, but when they see a pedestrian they drive faster. It was the same in Norwalk. When you cross into NE, expect some terrible driving. Move over Asian driver stereotype, meet the New England drivers.

As I was unintentionally playing chicken with the cars, I remembered my boss from the web channel. I often said the universe spoke through this man. Once when I was green in my activism I had a blow up with an ex con over the fact that the accused have too many rights. After my meltdown my boss called me and said that sometimes my problem was I didnt let things go. Life was too short and sometimes you had to laugh it off.

I always thank God for my guy friends, gay or straight. Men tend to see the bigger picture. Women always concentrate on the minute details and we drive ourselves crazy. Maybe that is why it has taken women so long to advance. It's not that we aren't smart, we are very bright and more so than men. Hell, any dude with half a brain and is confident in his stride will agree. It's that we sweat the small stuff. However it is easy to arrive in that head space where I am the worst writer ever. No one wants to read my book. I suck. I am unfunny.

Just then I saw a Dunkin Donuts. I figured it was time for a frozen drink. It was hot outside and I figured it was Colatta time. So I ordered a Colatta. Then I called a friend to cry. Let me tell you I felt loads better. I got on the wrong side of the track and missed my train. But it gave me time to cool off and get my head together. I got back to Manhattan and met some friends. On my way I saw an old friend from college and told him all about my book. Yes, my book. The land of the written word. I am F. Scott Fitzgerald meets David Sedaris in my mind. My former classmate was impressed. Suddenly I began to feel better. I wasn't a complete waste as a person let alone a writer.

Then I saw Arianna Huffington's video of her commencement speech to Smith College. I have never been about these things, I didnt even walk at my own. I had finished in December and was working. But in her speech she spoke about the importance of sleep and how at the Huffington Post she had nap rooms. So I went to sleep and slept like ten hours. And how I am recharged. Ms. Huffington also spoke about redefining the metric of success. I know I put a lot of pressure on myself. It is hard not to as a woman. Sometimes I have to realize there is more to April Brucker than the reality star, comedian, ventriloquist, writer, and singer. Still it is hard, really hard.

This morning because it is hot I decided to go to the pool. On my way I saw an old friend. When I was twenty four I worked as a flier person for a strip club with his bestie. We talked. Twenty-four was one of the lowest points of my life. I was out of money, going no where, and the career was stalled. I spoke to him for a few minutes and he was really impressed when he found out about my book. I felt good. It always feels good to laugh with an old friend. In that covo, I realized how far I had come since that time. This week so many people have told me how proud they are of me. Whether it is my boss telling me no matter how famous I get I still must deliver telegrams. Or my sound engineer Archie who can use dope and many moons effectively in a sentence. Oh and in there are some of my fans pushing my book.

As I continued my journey to the pool I began to realize at twenty six I experienced what is known as Amazon Feminism, doing and living in the absence of a man. At twenty six I was on my own for the first time in forever and paying my own way. I didnt need a guy. I think that is when the chip on my shoulder that took steroids that turned into a cinderblock began. Some of it is being a career woman, choosing to make this my entire life and not have the husband or the family like many of my former female classmates are. Some of it is the stubbornness of going a path that is dark, uncertain, and unsure and for the first time seeing results.

I also discovered how much fun the pool at my gym was at twenty six. While I have plenty of friends in the free weight area, the people in the pool are happy. It's because they can swim, talk, laugh, and lay of the sun deck.

Then I remembered my boss from the internet channel talking to me, at twenty six. I was green in my activism and got into another one of my spats. As usual, he was stuck telling me it wasn't that serious. Then I realized that it wasn't that serious. This wasn't a road block but a temporary traffic jam. My publisher is currently on it. At that moment it hit me, there were two lessons that twenty six taught me. One, sometimes you need to go back to basics. Two, sometimes you need to cool off.

And that is when I dove into the pool.

Love

I 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

SAD

Recently my book became available on Barnes and Noble as a paperback. For months it has been available as a Kindle. Through some drama it finally happened, paperback. Anyway, we were thrilled when it happened. So just to see if it works I try to order a copy of my book online through BarnesandNoble.com. I know, buying my own book, ha ha.

Anyway, the book comes in the mail. On the package is written the word, SAD. Maybe it is some postal expression I don't understand.

Or maybe they think that it is sad that I am ordering my own book.

When I saw that I was like, wait a minute, that is so mean.

But then I was like, wait a minute.That is soooo true. This is sad and depressing that I am ordering my own book. Whether it was a postal expression or not it was some ego reducing. Still it was pretty funny. I get a package with my book in the mail and in big letters is written SAD.

I googled it and found no postal expression. Maybe they were just trying to tell me something. Either way, as I said this is pretty funny. Hey, truth hurts, right?

But note, now it is available through Barnes and Noble as a paperback! Yippee!!!!!!!

Love

I 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

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

Feeling Strangely Fine

Yesterday I found myself feeling grateful until I was struck by a magraine. I dont know where it came from. I got nauseous and just felt like death. Chills all over. Maybe it is the stress I have been feeling. Either way, I found myself in bed with my Excedrin watching Lifetime Movies. I also slept for like ten hours.

I think I needed the sleep.

Today I feel okay about everything that has been happening. I dont even know why. My audiobook is almost finised. My book is almost in a huge store, well it is online but not in paperback form. I need to get crackalackin on my musical. Oh and I need to get onstage again.

There is a huge part of me that feels some career angst. I always do at this time of year. Back in 2007 it was when I dumped my manager and pop goes the weasel I got on TV beating out those who actually got the call back on a national TV show.

In 2008 I got the callback for a reality show. While it never happened my dad got to talk to the president of CBS and things fell into place for a TV appearance or two

In 2009 I was in a real rut because I was broke, nothing was happening, and then I found myself touring quite a bit with the standup and getting good at it. Not to mention some people remembered seeing May Wilson on TV. And then I got to work with Foxworthy and produced my own one woman shows.

In 2010, I was in a rut with the standup and ended up shelving that. Instead I made a bunch of videos and drafted the first draft of my book. Basically, I took charge of my life. That fall, my puppet children and I got on TV. It was the first time limos took us everywhere ;)

In 2011, I of course, despite all the TV time my puppet children and I got them, was fired from my home club. So we made more videos, recorded music, and our music got AM and internet airplay. I also got a job as a talking head on an online network and hosted a weekly show. I also went through not one but two publishing houses with my book. And my puppet babies and I got recognized everywhere we went ;)

In 2012 I found myself completely estranged from the standup community. In between the TV stuff and other things, these closed minded people allegic to achievement didnt have room for me it seemed. So I put my efforts into my songs, getting a number one hit on the internet for five weeks. I was on a TV show that got a million hits on the internet. While it didnt get picked up it came close. And yes Virginia, I finally published my damn book. It was featured on the official website of Britney Spears and has popped up everywhere.

So what's next? I am at my yearly crossroads again. I am trying to decide where to concentrate my energies. Part of me wants to act again seriously. I went to school for it. I can do it. But I am not an empty headed idiot like most actors are. Maybe that is why I don't like them.

I thought about seriously going for the standup again. I am good at it. But being a woman works against me. Having a prop works against me. Then because of course I have TV credits it is asinine for me to really pay for stage time. Not to mention that when it comes to the clubs it is not about being funny and TV credits can work against you because everyone has them at a certain level and which TV creds where and blab blah waste my freaking time on a dying art form.

Then there is the writing. I am really good at that too. I wrote a damn book. I keep a blog. But writers are such hermits. While I desire being a hermit I also like being onstage and dont want to give that up. I also feel like if I sell my screenplay I wont be able to be in it. You get the picture. Plus while it is the gift that makes everything possible it is not my only gift.

Oh and then there is the music. I never expected to do as much with it as I did. My friend Marcus had me record a song and then off I went. I never expected to have a hit on the internet. That was an accident. Sure I sing. I do it everyday for my job. But there are people with true talent out there. I know I dont measure up to them. As in people like my cousin Bobby who was a trumpet prodigy as a kid and my cousin Christopher who plays first chair trombone in the Notre Dame marching band. Oh and my composer Matt Weber. (Got to get on my next song and practice ;P).  I maybe could focus on that but music overwhelms me.

I have no idea what is next. I just know my audiobook is almost finished, thank the freak Jesus. Archie and Anthony the other day-for fun-slowed my voice down and I sounded like a demon. I informed them I would appear to them in my form and speak like that. And then I would say, "Welcome to hell."

Archie contimplated getting a fat kid to "say that stuff" in my voice. That would be funny. Made me laugh.

Either way I have a lot ahead of me. While I dont know which path to take it will soon make itself apparent. My career in some ways is much different than I thought it would be. This is good, because if I had gotten what I thought I wanted I would have really short changed myself. So I just must ask God, Jesus, Frank the Pink Rabbit, Bob the Purple Gerbil, Phyllis the Spotted Peacock, and the Universe at Large to guide me.
Love

April
I 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 RAINN

Writing Right

I haven't been writing jokes like I should be for a lot of reasons. One was when I left the club that shall remain unnamed by forever live in infamy in my mind, I expected to be picked up by a bigger club. Well other doors opened. My focus became my online broadcasts, my videos with my puppet babies, and my music. And then I wrote, rewrote, proofread, reproodread, rereprofread my book. Then I released my book. Oh and my book is 333 pages. And I cut the content. Believe it or not it was almost 666 pages. I know I am the devil.

I have been performing live a lot more now. Some of it is that I do miss performing. Yes I have my attitudes knowing that being a woman works against me no matter how talented I am in this man's world. But on the other hand I am funny and like making people laugh. So I want to start writing again.

This past weekend I did a good show. Emceed in East Haven and had a good night. I had not emceed on the road in sometime. In between being in almost famous land and writer land, an anti-social place, I had not done a fire hall show in some time. It was actually fun, but I forgot how emceeing is a work out. It's like you step up on the stage, and pray to God they laugh. It was a political fundraiser and I opened with a barb at the idiot Republican opponent. Okay, got them. But as I went on it was like wowsa, some of my stuff is pretty rough sometimes. I dunno. I need to write some new shit.

They liked May but some crowds don't know what to do with ventriloquism. It's like okay, whatever. They got into it but definately wouldn't have expected it.

Either way this weekend was an indicator that I need to write more jokes. My book is done and I know I can write. Now is time to write jokes.

In the back of my mind the chip on my shoulder is working overtime. I hate open mics because I have more TV time than many people there ever will. Not to mention I feel like slitting my wrist half the time when I am there with what I see and know as anti-comedy. I don't want to go back to the club I left seeing I put them on TV and gave them a ton of press where they thanked me by firing me. I want an A-List club but I am not a young male comedian which is ten strikes against me and I am not a fat, complaining woman which is five. I have a prop. Even when I don't I am a woman who speaks out against men. I am not pretty and stupid with my legs spread like a moron either and am not willing to blow my way at the top because men are vile when they feel they are jilted. I have had it in my personal life. I don't need it in my work please.

But there is one thing I can control. I can control being funny. I am funnier than most of those bitches, especially the mom comics that I deplore-yuck. No one cares about your kids ladies. I am more famous than the regulars at the club I got fired from. Touch that bitches. They say shit about how I get my TV time but I still have TV time and those bitches never will. Maybe I am not a male comedian but most of them are morons and my Mama didn't raise no fool. I am not a fat woman which maybe the clubs don't want me but the TV does, no one wants to look at a fat ass as she stuffs her face with ho hos. I have a prop and she is damn cute. They all are, Mama Foxxx has some pretty babies. I am a woman who speaks out and I am not sorry. While I am pretty I am not stupid and attempting to blow my way to the top because you can only blow your way to the middle. Ask any of the pretty unfunny regulars at most city clubs ;).

There is only one of me and a thousand of them. Good luck standing out because at the end of the day they remember me and forget you and your stupid, hipster, at, whining beard.

On the other hand, for as much as I talk shit I do want to write again and just don't know where to start. All the talented people around me have been inspiring me. Whether it is Elaine Williams and her positive attitude that just keeps going. Johnny Watson, one of the first true friends I made doing comedy, who's energy is unmatched and just gets upgrades for no money at all. Kevin Lee, who has been doing comedy for almost as long as I have been alive and is just awesome and makes me wish I could be that awesome. Chip Ambrigio who loves comedy and even does a podcast with his kid. Larry DiFelice who is funny and makes me laugh everytime he does Stewey. And of course Johnny Rizzo who is funny as hell off the top of his head and could improvise an hour with his mad genius. The list goes on.

The list humbles me. The list wants to make me write.

Take a photo of me in my sweats. I am good at getting on TV sometimes. But don't get too close. I am busy writing new shit. Girl has to think. And we know blondes don't do that. Actually we do. Just don't tell the horny men. It will ruin their vision of love.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available at 877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com
E-Book available at Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available in the Spring of 2103
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN