What you've done become eclipsed by what you won't do, because there's no way to come to the Fringe and expect to experience even half of what it has to offer.
If you don't get press or reviews, how will the audience know that you, little David, are out there somewhere giving a performance?
When we arrived in Lexington, we all realized one thing: we finally have an audience, and none of us knew what was going to happen next.
You want your fellow performers at your show for the same reason you should go to theirs -- the ideal audience is made up of your peers, other theatre-makers who know that a venue in a closet is still better than where the ceiling doubles as the floor for a dance show.
As we looked more closely at the disparate shows, we realized that although the plays themselves are incredibly diverse, contemporary productions, whether great or terrible, tend to have a lot in common.
The Edinburgh Fringe Festival held an event in solidarity with the Pussy Riot artists yesterday. About 35 people attended. About 10 took part in the direct organization and performance. Was it significant?
They said they would come to see my show. They promised they would come! Liars! My show is amazing, my mom even said so! I'm amazing, who wouldn't want to see my amazing show?
Selling tickets at the Fringe Festival is a risky business. If nobody's heard of you or your play, you just might be sh*t out of luck.
The excitement of the Festival going off like a sprinter in the 400 meters, well, that's wearing thin. And the 400 meters go by in a flash, don't they? And then where are you, after?
I miss my child, I'm anxious about opening night, and still there's a vein of joy running through my day, through these streets. There's no need to feel motion sick from swaying between these disparate identities. There's room for all of it here. I'm right at home.
Show me an artist completely comfortable with self-promotion, and I'll show you... very few people, actually. Mercifully, many of the reviewers I spoke with had kind eyes, spoke to me like a real human being, and even if they could not promise a review, always left me with a bit of hope.
Edinburgh, where every other word seems to be "wee." "Would you fancy a wee cup of coffee, then?" No, I'd like a giant super-deluxe size that Mayor Mike Bloomberg would like to ban, thanks very much, I'm American.
If you've never been to the Fringe, let me paint a little picture: imagine being an athlete headed for Olympics, except instead of training for the big event with daily exercise and drills, you down BLT triples, sleep weird hours, and drink like a sailor to cope with stress.
I first went to the Edinburgh Festival in 2002, before I'd properly entered the role of stand up comic. At that time I was, more than anything, just a 22-year-old attracted to anywhere that had public toilets older than my country.
Although the Fringe at first seems intimidating, I'm going to Edinburgh with real joy. That's not because I have visions of winning awards and getting international tours, although those would be quite nice indeed.
