Oh bugger, they gave me a show.

The kind people of the The Wardrobe Theatre in Bristol have accepted my proposal for ‘Jean Luc Picard and Me,’ my one lady show about how my parents divorce fuelled my ongoing idolisation of the heavily French Star Ship Captain Jean Luc Picard.

Childhood traumas+Shut Up Wesley+Science Fiction = Something good and funny, I hope.

They will be putting it on during their autumn season, which means in about four months, I will be performing a 30 minuteish one person show to 55 people (if I sell it out.)

I am both excited, and terrified. Aroused and scared. Hot and cold.

‘But Ellen, you have been on stage before, like a bunch.’

‘But not to talk about Star Trek! Never to talk about Star Trek!’

So I have to learn how to speak S-L-O-W-E-R on stage, as my open mic night feedback has been ‘you read, way too fast,’ as well as learning how to make something sound unintentionally funny, off the cuff and not rehearsed to the teeth.

But what if I cry? Or worse, get hiccups? Or my clothes all explode? Or everyone who is there is like ‘Babylon 5 was better,’ or ‘Farscape helped me get over my parents divorce, boooooo.’

Oh, and I have to come up with an appropriate image for the Wardrobe website by the end of the month. I am thinking photoshopping myself into a Star Trek: The Next Generation group shot might do nicely. Or following Patrick Stewart about for the next month to try and get a selfie with him. He’s always popping down the Morrisons in Clifton.

But yes, I think I am about to go on some kind of journey of utter terror and remorse and joy and trying to learn as quickly as possible how to ‘command’ a stage. Other than through booze.



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