Chasing

Today is very much a day about chasing things up. This may not be the best idea on the day which is supposedly the most depressing day of the year. It should be the perfect idea in the world as it should be making me feel organised and industrious. However, every bit of chasing up I've done is currently being ignored and I'm left feeling like the invisible actor.

Currently I'm the chaser of one payment, one set of photos and one film. If I'd just begun the chase and still had my victims in sight then I'm pretty sure I'd be feeling joyous and optimistic about my pursuit. But I haven't. Instead, I'm on the fourth leg of the payment run and have just entered the second leg of the film and photo race and it's fair to say that my sprint has now turned into a woefully tired crawl. My emails started out so sunny and polite that I can't imagine how anyone could possibly ignore them. They were full of questions about the recipient's wellbeing and wishes that we get to work together in the future. They were laidback and crammed full of understanding of how busy the recipient was and when I sent them off I fully expected a response in the next day or so.

At first, my payment chase was where I was most successful. Probably because an actress in pursuit of money is something that even Usain Bolt would struggle to beat. They said they realised that there was another form I had to fill out and that as soon as it was done, they could process the payment immediately. I signed the forms to promise that I wouldn't turn into a murderous, drug-taking, alcohol-fuelled thesp and my email was received with a very brief but hopeful 'Thanks.' That email was sent just under a month ago and yet I'm still hunting down these pennies which will allow me to live for another month. So today I began my 2012 campaign and fired off an 'I really mean business this time' email in the hope that they finally take notice and empty the companies entire savings into my account or, y'know, just pay me what I'm owed.

But it's not just the reward that I'm after. It's bad enough that I've worked for these people and the very little that I ask in return is currently being dangled above my head, just out of arm's reach. But what's really bugging me is the fact that I'm now just being ignored. I realise people are busy but how long does it really take to quickly reply to an email? Even if they don't know the answer and can't currently tell me when I'll be able to pay my rent/cry at the sight of myself in a novelty costume/cringe at the sound of my own voice, can't they just reply and say that? But no, instead they have all decided to use the tried and tested method of 'let's ignore her and hope she gives up and goes away.' I'm not sure why they have all decided upon this approach and I can only presume that all the directors and producers and accounts type people all got together recently and decided that the best method for really winding up an actress with way too much time on her hands would be to get her to do the work and then pretend that she doesn't exist. Well, let me tell you, all you people who do important things that mean that I occassionally get to do the job I really want to do, I most definitely do exist otherwise T has some serious amount of explaining to do about the amount of dresses in his wardrobe.

However, I have to admit that that this hasn't helped with my theory that I may not actually be visible to the naked eye. That person you barge past as you're walking down the street as if they don't exist? That's probably me. That customer that gets repeatedly ignored? That'd also be me. But I'm pretty sure I do exist. I mean I've got credits on my CV which I'm almost certain that I didn't make up. And there's definitely evidence of my existence on film although they're mainly in the form of adverts, none of which have actually aired. Maybe this means I am actually the world's first invisible actor. In which case I'm off to place my CV at the top of the pile in every casting director's office until I can finally make the leap and get myself seen.

Lost In The Post

We’re told on an almost daily basis that we need to be doing all we can to be saving the planet. We should all be sharing baths with our loved ones, stepping out and getting into our second hand jumpers and then sitting down to a meal made solely from the vegetables from the garden. We recycle everything that we possibly can, we struggle to read under our energy saving light bulbs and our meticulously insulated homes are full of canvas shopping bags.

This planet may have its flaws and sometimes it gets things wrong. Earthquakes and tsunamis are when the world gets it totally wrong and those are the days when you wonder what on earth it was thinking. But look outside your window. It’s lovely out there. Even if you’re looking out on the most horrific view in the world, I bet there’s one nice thing out there. A tree. A flower. A bird. A crisp packet floating in the breeze. So I think we all agree that we need to keep this lovely little planet of ours safe. Kicking it when it’s down and taking the idea of ‘landfill sites’ literally ain’t the way.

So why do some agencies still insist on being contacted by post? In this modern age, so many of us are constantly attached to our inboxes. They’re in our pockets and in our handbags. They sit by us at night while we’re sound asleep and they’re in our hands when we call loved ones, take photos of funny shaped strawberries and drunkenly text old friends at 3am. Even if I didn’t have a phone that can do everything and more, I can access a computer that performs all the same actions on a bigger screen. Being contacted through these glorious machines is the best thing since that clever person decided that Kit Kats needed to be bigger. It’s so quick it’s frightening. When you post something to someone, how surprised are you when it arrives the next day? Imagine if that happened with an email? If someone doesn’t reply to my pointless electronic messages after 10 minutes then I start to suspect that the whole Internet is broken. And it’s efficient. If halfway through an email I use the wrong word, my mind distracted by what’s going on around me, I can just press that gorgeous little delete button and no one need ever know. Do that in a letter and you either have to try and find that bottle of Tippex that you bought 10 years ago, only to find that it is all dried up and useless, you have to cross it out and get annoyed at the constant flaw in your written art or you have to start all over again. None of these options are useful. They’re irritating and time-consuming. 

I can only imagine that agents and the like really enjoy receiving post. I have to admit that my heart skips a little beat when I see a hand-written envelope lying in the hallway. Instantly you want to know what it is and who it’s from. The joy that someone has taken the time to actually write something is just wonderful. When I was younger, my friends and I used to constantly write to each other. Pointless ramblings on pretty paper. Little in-jokes encased in brightly coloured envelopes. But I’m sure that agents know that every brown or white hard backed envelope contains a black and white 10’x8’ photograph and CV poorly designed in Word. Much like how we start to recognise certain bills by the colour of their envelope, agents must recognise the familiar A4 offerings. Then there’s the effort of opening the damn thing, rifling through the bits of paper and then said bits of paper need to be sent back with a note on why they’re not interested. An email can be filed away, responded to at the click of a button with a standard response and then deleted, never to be seen again. 

Yes, I realise that my laptop uses up energy while it’s plugged in but surely that doesn’t destroy the planet anywhere near as much as me sending out 100 letters to agents to tell them that I feature in the background reading a flyer in a student film. And it’s not just the paper involved. It’s the printing for my headshots. It’s the ink cartridges that my printer gets through quicker than I do crisps. It’s the postman driving them to the sorting depot thing and them then being sent back out to be delivered. All that energy wasted into one letter that at best will be looked at by an assistant and will then be flung back in the post with a little scribbled compliment slip enclosed. And that’s if the thing even arrives in the first place rather than being hoarded by some postman who has a penchant for other people’s mail. No polar bear will ever be harmed by an email.

And then there’s the receiving of the rejection letter. With a knockback email, you get the little rush of excitement when you see it pop up in your inbox but as soon as you’ve scanned the message, seen the words ‘thank you’ ‘unfortunately’ ‘at this time’ then you know you can just delete it and never have to look at it again. But with a letter you get that initial thrill when the envelope slides through your letter box. It takes time to open it with your jittery hands. You read the letter to find that they’re not interested so you throw it away. You put it in the bin but it’s still there. It will lie there, crumpled up but still staring at you. Taunting you until you can finally pluck up the energy to take the rubbish/recycling/pile of stuff on your floor outside and out of sight. 

It’s now got to the point where I’m reluctant to contact an agent if they only accept postal submissions. So listen up, agents. Your environmentally unfriendly ways means you’re missing out on being contacted by a slightly bitter and ranty actress. Ah. Maybe don’t go changing your policies just yet then…