Tonight is our third to last show. The Edinburgh Fringe has been one of the most gratifying experiences of my life. It’s also been, without question, one of the hardest.
Below are the four previous posts in the series, which you should check out if you’d like a little more context.
Next week, I’ll zoom out on the experience as a whole and look toward the future. For now, here’s four more lessons:
They’re paying you to check your checklist
The other day, I almost didn’t check a prop I was really confident in. Turns out, I’d made a mistake in the setup that would’ve messed up the finale.
The audience pays you to deliver your show. But they also pay for your professionalism outside of it. They pay you to prepare accordingly, because that preparation directly impacts the show.
That responsibility often extends to the day or night before. Are you getting enough sleep? Have you planned your day so that you’re not rushing? It’s all equally important.
Whenever I get cocky and feel like rushing through my pre-show setup, I remember that I’m getting paid to slow down. My job is to deliver a show that starts with a thorough setup.
No sales? Who cares?
I’ve woken up at least five times with zero ticket sales for the show that night. In New York, that would be unimaginable. And the first time it happened here, I was stressed.
At this point, I swear to god, nothing can scare me. Because we’ve found a way to pull through every single time, even if the show was smaller or quieter than we would’ve liked.
To-date, we’ve averaged a little over 30 people per show. The Fringe average, and I’m not exaggerating, is 4. I’ll take that win every day.
Get good at performing for people you don’t know
Normally, we operate with a 30 minute pre-show period. This allows Tess and I to walk around and meet the audience. We have a much better relationship with them when we do this, because on a certain level, we know them.
But here, I have no idea who’s in my audience. I’ll run into someone a week later who saw the show, but that I didn’t know existed.
To be clear, this is very normal. But it’s a good reminder that the mark of professionalism is to be able to perform for an audience totally cold. You don’t know them, they don’t know you, and you can still bring them on your side.
The biggest challenge this presents is choosing participants. I hate when magicians bring people on stage when they don’t want to help. I can avoid this 99% of the time when I actually know the audience, but I’ve made the mistake of choosing the wrong person a few too many times here. It’s one of the things I’m actively thinking about every day as we close out the run.
The benefit of nobody seeing your show is that nobody saw your show
This is really important. Let’s say you have less attendees than you want. On one level, that sucks. On another level, it means that nobody is actually watching you, and you still have a blank slate.
At the end of this festival, we will have performed for about 700 people. That’s simply not that many! Especially considering that the Fringe sells about 3 million tickets every year.
You write the narrative. You get to decide if something is good or bad.
The hack is that you can alway choose the good.
See you next week,
Max
So proud of you both! I hope it was a rewarding experience.
Proud of you!