Author: Emily Wright

the long and (re)winding road, part 3

A slight rewind. On October 20, 1997, my parents and I were in a car accident. They had come into LA to celebrate my birthday, and as we crossed Nordhoff St. on Etiwanda Ave., an octogenarian having a diabetic seizure ran the red light and slammed into the side of our car. It was a spectacular scene, with two rumpled vehicles, glass, plastic, smoke, steam, and blood. We were all banged up, and I dizzily ran to check on the other driver. I was sickened to see blood smeared, horror-movie style, all over the inside of his still-running Cadillac....

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Playing Scared

I’m interrupting the “long and winding road” injury posts to try and collect some data and design a workshop series dealing with stage fright. I’ve had spells of performance anxiety several times in my career, and have done extensive trial and error to get a handle on it, from hippie rituals to Alexander Technique, Inderal to whiskey. At this point, I get pretty nervous before some performances, but I’m able to quarantine the nerves so I (mostly) don’t implode on stage. I’m doing lots of research, finishing up Playing Scared, and as the final SCOR! camp approaches, my efforts...

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the long and winding road, part 2

Pictured: Cathy¬†and¬†Doug (middle two) on their wedding day. Oxford, England, 1967. Part 2. Through high school, things got worse. My parents had Kaiser, so I was confined to the Kaiser system, and I don’t think they even considered going outside for other opinions. It’s possibly a generational thing; they trust doctors implicitly, no matter how vague or specious the opinion. This was stressful, because my instincts were being ignored by the two sets of people charged with my care. I bounced from specialist to specialist, collecting gems like “Well maybe you shouldn’t play the cello.”, “This is likely a...

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the long and winding road, part 1

I had a lot of time to think, driving back and forth from Heartland SCOR this weekend. It’s about 12 hours round trip from Minneapolis to Le Claire, Iowa. This picture was taken after nearly running out of gas in a cornfield 20 miles down a long dusty road. I got off the highway because the sign said “gas next exit”, and like a fool I believed it. The station hadn’t been open since the 1970s: it had those cool round pumps with the kind of display that ticks as the fuel gets dispensed: it was a relic; a...

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