HELLLP Forum

[brodhi]

“I have dreamed that your arms are lovely,” I sang; “I have dreamed what a joy you’ll be. How you’ll look in the glow of evening, when yo…” “Thank You.” The creative team conducting the audition had just dismissed me mid performance; it was over. With those two words, my audition was cut as short as their interest in me.

Theatre is not an industry for individuals who take ‘no’ as an absolute. To succeed, I eventually realized that I’d need to possess an emotional callous so I could quickly rebound from the disappointment that accompanied each rejection, but in my childhood I hadn’t yet developed the necessary thick skin. I was, however, completely in love with creating, imagining, singing and performing. When I was eleven I auditioned to become a member of the children's chorus of Pagliacci, an upcoming production at Houston Grand Opera. Following the audition were two angst filled weeks of suspense, but finally a letter arrived with the decision. “Dear Cameron,” it began, “we regret to inform you…” my heart sank in disappointment. Beside me reading his own letter, I watched as the expression on my brother’s face transitioned from apprehensiveness to jubilance. He had been offered a role. Happiness for my brother’s success and jealousy of that success formed the dichotomous devil and angel on my shoulders. Minutes later we received a phone call from an excited friend who’d also been cast, further compounding the exasperation by which I was being consumed. My mind raced with questions: How could the casting director have been so cruel? Didn’t she know that we were brothers who did everything together? Wasn’t she aware how embarrassing this would be for me? Each day when my brother’s carpool arrived to take him to rehearsal I felt a resurgence of misery and humiliation— I must not have been good enough; everyone else must be better than me.

In the months following ‘Pagliacci’, I slowly regained confidence. I still wanted to sing and perform, I knew that, but something had to change. Redemption presented itself in the form of auditions for Houston Grand Opera’s ‘Carmen’. I practiced the aria I’d been asked to perform each day, and spent hours doing the various vocal exercises my church choir conductor had given to me. Singing into my tape recorder allowed me to play back each attempt and search for inconsistencies in my delivery. I was resolute: the next audition had to end in success.

A few weeks later, the night of the audition had finally arrived. Sitting in the passenger seat beside my mom as we drove towards the audition, I was filled with anticipation, anxiety and excitement. After checking in, I slowly paced the waiting room reminding myself of all that I had done to prepare. I could accomplish this; I was good enough. A small framed woman who I recognized as the children’s chorus coordinator emerged from the audition room and called my name— it was time. I gathered my thoughts, took a deep, shaky breath and headed towards the audition room where I knew I would need to confront those who had dashed my hopes a few months before. Taking her seat alongside a few others behind the table next to the piano, the small framed woman regarded me with stifling intensity. Fighting the impulse to run out the door through which I’d come, I nervously found my mark and began to sing. Two weeks later a letter addressed to me arrived by mail. My hands shook as I tore at the seal. “Dear Cameron,” it said, “congratulations…” I stopped reading and started crying. I had done it.

Fast forward one decade: I was graduating from an elite conservatory for the performing arts. After moving to New York City, I quickly realized there were thousands of talented individuals like me who were all competing for success. Interminable weeks of serving tables to make rent monopolized my time, and when I wasn’t peddling pizzas and crafting cocktails, I was auditioning; the resultant “Thank you” from casting directors and creative teams was often the sole consolation prize. Was this my dream? Living pay-check to pay-check, month to month, success was beginning to seem unattainable. In a moment of reflection one evening, I realized I had lost sight of the lesson I’d learned so long ago: Keep working. Learn, evolve, reposition and endure; practice and drill. Resolve returned to me like an old friend.

In the months that followed, instead of auditioning when I wasn’t working, I spent my off-time in practice rooms performing in front of a mirror, or belting ballads in my small apartment (much to the chagrin of my neighbors). As the days turned to weeks and summer transitioned into fall, I could feel the momentum of progress from the hours of relentless rehearsal building.

It was a bleak fall morning huddled on my tiny bed, in my tiny room, in a tiny New York apartment mentally preparing for the day, that I received a phone call from my agent. He informed me that I would have the opportunity to audition for a role in the original cast of a new musical later that day. I felt a surge of adrenaline and excitement: it was to practice that which I’d rehearsed. After gathering my audition materials, I took the train to West 42nd, walked to 36th and 8th and rode the elevator to the sixteenth floor. Hundreds of hopefuls lined the holding room nervously engaged in their pre-audition protocols. It wasn’t long before the monitor called my name. Time slowed as I strode towards the unknown entities waiting behind the audition room door. In the back of the room, behind a long table, the creative team’s expectant, pointed gaze reminded me of my ‘Carmen’ audition those many years ago. The silence was deafening as I walked to the center of the room and began to sing. “Thank you” never came. As the song ended, the scrutinous faces of the men and women behind the table transformed into broad congratulatory smiles. After conferring for a moment amongst themselves, and a brief conversation about upcoming availability, I was offered a supporting role in the original cast of their new off-Broadway musical.

As I left the building, hands still shaking from the adrenaline receding from my body, I looked to the sky and fought back tears of overwhelming relief. I had proven to myself once more that discipline and an unrelenting drive for self improvement accompanied by optimism and dedication were the tools necessary for progress. I knew then that it was a lesson I would revisit time and again on my journey towards success. It was a crisp autumn afternoon and the sun was shining. Smiling, I walked back to the train— I had pizzas to peddle and cocktails to craft.

[carmichael]

It's good, but I feel it's a little long.

[holymolyoly]

deleted

[totesTheGoat]

“I have dreamed that your arms are lovely,” I sang; “I have dreamed what a joy you’ll be. How you’ll look in the glow of evening, when yo…” “Thank You.” The creative team conducting the audition had just dismissed me mid performance; it was over. With those two words, my audition was cut as short as their interest in me.

I don't think this is the best way to start.

Theatre is not an industry for individuals who take ‘no’ as an absolute. To succeed, I eventually realized that I’d need to possess an emotional callous so I could quickly rebound from the disappointment that accompanied each rejection, but in my childhood I hadn’t yet developed the necessary thick skin. I was, however, completely in love with creating, imagining, singing and performing. When I was eleven I auditioned to become a member of the children's chorus of Pagliacci, an upcoming production at Houston Grand Opera. Following the audition were two angst filled weeks of suspense, but finally a letter arrived with the decision. “Dear Cameron,” it began, “we regret to inform you…” my heart sank in disappointment. Beside me reading his own letter, I watched as the expression on my brother’s face transitioned from apprehensiveness to jubilance. He had been offered a role. Happiness for my brother’s success and jealousy of that success formed the dichotomous devil and angel on my shoulders. Minutes later we received a phone call from an excited friend who’d also been cast, further compounding the exasperation by which I was being consumed. My mind raced with questions: How could the casting director have been so cruel? Didn’t she know that we were brothers who did everything together? Wasn’t she aware how embarrassing this would be for me? Each day when my brother’s carpool arrived to take him to rehearsal I felt a resurgence of misery and humiliation— I must not have been good enough; everyone else must be better than me.

I like this paragraph better as your first paragraph.

Fast forward one decade:

Don't do that... it's too informal for a PS. "Ten years later, ..." is much better.

I was graduating from an elite conservatory for the performing arts.

I'm going back and forth on whether classifying it as an "elite conservatory" is okay. Generally, you want to leave value judgments like that to the reader. Many students write that they graduated from a "top liberal arts school," and it catches my eye every time.

In a moment of reflection one evening, I realized I had lost sight of the lesson I’d learned so long ago: Keep working. Learn, evolve, reposition and endure; practice and drill. Resolve returned to me like an old friend.

I really like this part.

It was a bleak fall morning huddled on my tiny bed, in my tiny room, in a tiny New York apartment mentally preparing for the day, that I received a phone call from my agent.

You need a transition before this... It just kind of throws you forward into another scene and I felt a bit unsettled when I read it.

As I left the building, hands still shaking from the adrenaline receding from my body, I looked to the sky and fought back tears of overwhelming relief. I had proven to myself once more that discipline and an unrelenting drive for self improvement accompanied by optimism and dedication were the tools necessary for progress. I knew then that it was a lesson I would revisit time and again on my journey towards success. It was a crisp autumn afternoon and the sun was shining. Smiling, I walked back to the train— I had pizzas to peddle and cocktails to craft.

Oh, it was going so great, and then it ended here! You have a great PS going, but you missed the punchline!

At the end of the PS, I have no idea why you're applying to law school. This PS just told me why you would make a great MFA student, but I (as a hypothetical adcomm) have no idea why this PS is sitting in the middle of a law school application. Connect the dots for your reader!

I think that your storytelling is very good, but there were a couple spots where the flow slowed down and the story was either too detailed or too focused on what you were feeling. I think the internal narrative style of this PS works well, but make sure that you're not lingering in any one scene too long.

[brodhi]

Thank you soooo much. I will definitely make the recommended adjustments. I was going for an abstract but hopeful ending but I'm guessing it's a little too vague. I greatly appreciate the time you took to write this!

Let me know if you'd like feedback on your submissions if you're submitting and haven't pressed send yet!

[cbbinnyc]

I enjoyed reading, as a fellow actor-to-lawyer convert. (I've been to many an audition at Ripley Greer ... I won't miss that.)

However, I definitely second what totes said - we need to know why you want to go to law school. It's especially important for somebody transitioning from an arts career. I met briefly with an app consultant, and she warned me that I needed to fight the assumptions that would come up for an applicant from an arts background: "this person is realizing that the arts are a really unstable career, so law seems like a safe bet but he/she probably doesn''t know what law school and being a lawyer actually entails." This may not be true of you, but you probably want to erase any doubts about your seriousness and/or naivety by showing that you have a clear reason for the career transition.