'It Was the Worst of Times': Keeping a Catastrophe Journal

Auditions are the worst, ya’ll.

Auditioning is a natural part of a singer’s life, as unavoidable and as necessary as breathing. It can also be just as uncomfortable as, oh, breathing underwater.

I call it the ‘necessary evil of the singing world’. Auditions are one of those ‘icky’ experiences in life--you know, the ones that you’re never quite comfortable doing, no matter HOW many times you put yourself through it. I’ve auditioned thousands of times, for hundreds of people at every professional level, both nationally and internationally. After so much practice, I now can audition in a way that represents myself pretty accurately 80% of the time.

But the other 20%? Sheesh.

Sometimes, you get one of ‘those’ audition experiences--the absolutely awful, horrendous, I -wish-I-could-melt-into-the-floor catastrophic experiences.

Maybe the panel openly hated on your repertoire choices, or commented on your outfit-- or maybe they just didn’t care for who you as an artist in general. Maybe the accompanist was inept, or the door monitor was blatantly rude. Maybe you didn’t eat enough, or you let your nerves get the better of you, or the odds were simply stacked against you on that particular day.

These kinds of auditions can be the WORST experiences for singers. They can leave you disappointed and shaken. Suddenly, your head starts filling up with self-doubts that you never realized you had. On more than one ‘catastrophic’ occasion, I have considered giving up professional singing altogether. I have left audition rooms completely convinced that I was somehow a ‘failure’ as an artist--I had made an utter fool of myself, I clearly had no business competing on this artistic level, and that I should just give up, give in and buy a zoo, like Matt Damon did in that awful movie.

At times like these, it helps to whip out my trusty Catastrophe Journal.

Oh, that’s right...the OCD artist in me documents EVERYTHING, including failures.

I first got the idea several years ago, after reading a self-help book. I was reminded of the idea after reading one of Seth Godin's blogs. Much like an audition journal, I keep a catastrophe journal. It’s a handwritten documentation of my worst artistic moments, in all their filthy, disgusting glory. My catastrophe journal helps me to keep track of everything and anything that took place during my worst auditions. Anytime I feel like I’ve completely embarrassed myself professionally, just utterly and completely blown it, I write it down in my Catastrophe Journal. It’s important for me to immediately write down as much information as I can as soon as I can, before I allow anything to slip through my memory.

It doesn’t need to be a page and a half (who wants to read an entire chapter on the worst moments of your life???). Usually it’s just a few sentences that let me know:

• What I did that was so horrible, I wanted to die on the spot, and

• the consequences I expect, since the world as I know it is clearly coming to an end.

Doing this every time shows me two things:

1. It helps me to identify any patterns, poor choices or destructive habits I might have subconsciously or physically ingrained.

One great example of this is my tendency to ‘stack my breath’. Several years ago, I would experiencing a seemingly-random phenomenon during auditions: at times, I would become short of breath as I sang, physically struggling to reach the end of my phrases. My teacher and I were at a loss as to why this would occur, since I was living well above altitude at the time (giving me the ability to sing like a golden goddess literally ANYWHERE below 4,000 feet in sea level). I had never had this problem before, in either my practice sessions, my coachings or my lessons. Even weirder, it wasn’t a regular occurrence-- at some auditions, I would be absolutely fine, while others left me gasping through my arias. My catastrophe journal quickly helped me to identify my critical error: I wasn’t allowing myself a moment to ‘center’ myself before entering the audition room. My journal noted that some audition facilities I had sung at had practice rooms. Going into these rooms and giving myself a moment alone to look in the mirror, double-check my makeup, etc, resulted in overwhelmingly positive auditions. The audition experiences which landed in my catastrophe journal were the ones that took place at facilities without warmup rooms. My adrenaline always kicks in right before an audition, sending my blood pumping and my nerves on high alert--and triggering a tendency for me to not completely release all the air I have inhaled into my lungs. It was as though I were attempting to ‘top off’ an already-full gas tank--I simply didn’t have anymore room in my lungs. After singing a few phrases, my overtaxed lungs would seize up from the pressure, sending tension throughout my body and resulting in my ‘gasping’. Without the help of my catastrophe journal, I might never have identified my psychological need to focus on my breathing BEFORE entering the audition room. I am now able to ensure that I take a moment to mentally prepare myself before each and every audition.

2. I’m able to put my failures into perspective and to stop beating myself up over not being perfect.

A catastrophe journal clearly can help you to track your own errors--but it ALSO can help you monitor your reactions to things over which you have absolutely no control over.

For those of us who are extremely Type A, this can be a really worthwhile exercise. Keeping a catastrophe journal can help to reinforce the value of your own efforts. All artists have an inner critic, a little voice of fear and self-doubt that always manifests itself during stressful times. My own inner critic can quickly spiral out of control, emphasizing all of my worst features and seemingly squashing my accomplishments into the dust. Sometimes, you can do absolutely everything you possibly can to prepare for an audition, and it still isn’t enough to land you the gig. Sometimes, it truly isn’t something you did or didn’t do--it’s just art, or politics, or a stroke of bad luck that you didn’t wow the panel. Keeping a catastrophe journal can help reassure you that sometimes, shit just happens, and it isn’t your fault--and to shut down your inner critic’s barrage before the cycle of self-loathing takes over.

To quote Stephen Sondheim, ‘Art isn’t easy’. It’s good to have an outside perspective on your own process, on what’s positive and useful and what is destructive and weighs you down.

Remember: nothing is ever really a catastrophe, it just feels that way. Start documenting your failures as well as your successes, and you’re one step closer to perfecting your process!