I promised myself I would not complain in this entry, and we’ll see if I live up to that.

I am disgruntled.  Here is why:  I really want to be in a play this fall.  The local community theater is doing “Beauty and the Beast: The Musical.”  I refuse to do this play, because it is filled with inanity–not to mention there are about two parts, and everyone else is villagers and utensils.

If I am going to spend the amount of time a play requires, I want it to mean something.  I want a role I can sink my teeth into–Maggie in Cat on A Hot Tin Roof, or Beneatha in Raisin in The Sun, or, honestly, anything, as long as it’s (a) well written, (b) actually has a point, and (c) is a character that I can do something with.

The truth is, of course, that I have chosen to live someplace where I’m stuck with community theater. If I want to act, I can’t be choosy, because there’s no choices.  I don’t have the natural talent to think about the almost-professional theaters in this area(one of which just did Spitfire Grill; I would have killed to be Percy), and I’ve exhausted any classes, and there’s no one around here that could serve as an acting coach.  If I want stage, I have to deal with plays that are familiar enough to sell tickets–and Beauty and The Beast qualifies as that.

Am I complaining? Not really.  This isn’t whining; this is just Sara, discouraged, wanting something more out of life, something I can almost sense, but never quite touch. 

Mostly, though, all I’m asking for is quality.