While cleaning out my room today I found some old scene notes from acting classes, notes that had been passed in class, and letters my friends have sent me over the years. Other people may have thrown away their scene notes, but I find them a funny reminder of how things have changed and we’ve grown as actors and individuals. Everyone in that class back in the spring of 2012 has graduated or simply moved on. Some have moved to LA to pursue acting, others have stayed in town, and some have taken completely different routes. That semester Dr. V required us to take notes for everyone’s scene and provide them with constructive criticism, so I have a couple dozen notes from all my classmates on the two scenes I worked on. The notes range from serious critiques on beat work to smart ass comments sent simply for a laugh. To an outsider the notes would make no sense, but I can remember in detail presenting the scenes, workshopping them, getting feedback, and showcasing our “final” product. I recall the triumphs, the heartbreak, embarrassment, and joy the work brought me. The time spent with scene partners getting to know each other and getting to know your character. From late night rehearsals to just letting everything go. It’s funny the emotions and memories a few notes can stir up.
Having come from the last generation to pass notes in class, it was a habit that lasted through college. Sure you can text your friend, but there’s still some thrill of passing a note or scribbling remarks in each other’s notebooks. Whether it’s pre-teen-esque flirting, playing hangman, or just having conversation, note passing never got old. They stand as a small glimpse into your past self. What your thoughts and concerns were, where your relationship with the person stood at that time, and capturing that childlike innocence of passing a scrap piece of paper back and forth. They may just be a few lines or a doodle or two, but with it comes the sound of your professor’s voice, the far too wordy slide, and the smell of musty Morton Hall. When graduation seemed years away and passing that note was the only care.
Letters will never be outdated to me. There’s something about receiving a letter from a friend a few states away that a text message just can’t satisfy. Letters are thoughtful and take time. You can sufficiently tell a story in a letter that you can’t possibly fit into a stream of texts. Letters contain crossed out words and scribbles of human error, they reflect personality in the ways only handwriting can do. Sealed and put in the mail so you have something to look forward to at the mailbox. Postcards from all the various places my dad has visited with little notes of “Wish you were here” and “Look at this view”. These are treasures that can be held onto for a lifetime. Writing out the word love is so much different than typing it into a piece of plastic. Sure text messages can be saved or screenshotted, but there’s something about a hard copy that can be pressed in a book or pinned to a board. Opening a book to have an old letter fall out is one of the sweetest sensations, one I fear future generations won’t have.
As I write this I think of taking pen to paper, not fingers to keys. Reminiscing on the past of “Dear Diary” and X’s and O’s. The satisfaction of actually writing and really letting your thoughts run free without the safety net of a backspace. Maybe that’s where our honesty and vulnerability has been lost to…
Catherine with a C, Katie with a K 