Failure

I read something at Quenchers tonight and it didn't go particularly well. It's the first time I've read one of my written pieces where it wasn't well received or I didn't feel good about it.

Afterward I kept replaying it in my head and attempting to diagnose the potential pitfalls.

-The piece itself wasn't strong. I could have edited more, refined it, focused it, been more clear about the ultimate point of it.
-The content wasn't palatable. I intentionally wrote something a bit gross, a bit naughty. Maybe it went too far and simply turned people off.
-It was a bad crowd. It was kind of raining and miserable tonight so not a ton of people showed up. Four people that did show up, friends of someone I assume, seemed not to be having it at all. Quenchers is an experimental evening with a specific feel, I don't know what these four folks were expecting but they were none too pleased with any performance that evening. Their sullen judgement was distracting and made me a bit anxious. I'm still mystified why they didn't just leave.
-I bailed on the piece. I could feel, or thought I felt it certainly could have been all in my own mind, the disinterest of the audience as I was reading. I started to get nervous and just started to speed through the thing, wanted to get it done. If I'm not invested of course the crowd wouldn't be.

Ultimately it doesn't matter. Performance, especially outside the context of repeated scripted territory, is ethereal. Why something goes well or doesn't go well, feels good or feels bad, is mostly unquantifiable.

I've been fortunate both with opportunities and with consistency. I don't have bad shows very often, most written piece I've performed have been received positively, met my expectations for them. When something doesn't go well it's more surprising and unsettling than it use to be because it's no longer the norm. But failure is an integral part of performing. It provides an opportunity for reflection and is a clear instigator of growth.