Mydwynter:

I’ve been having a serious pizza craving the last few weeks, but we didn’t have all the ingredients called for in the “Pat’s Thin Yeast Crust” recipe from The Gluten-free Gourmet. So I waited…and I waited…until today, when I just didn’t care anymore and went ahead and made substitutions.

This is what I came up with. This turned out perfect for me, since on the whole I’m not a big fan of the flavour of baked goods that are heavy on the rice flour, and I adore (well, adored) potato bread. Most gluten-free pizzas I’ve had have basically been tomato-and-cheese-covered crackers, so this was a pleasant surprise. It was the closest to a New York-style crust I’ve had since going GF. It made me do a little happy dance. No, there is no video.

1 1/2 tsp instant dry yeast granules
About 1 cup warm water, 105° to 115°
1 tsp sugar
2/3 cup rice flour
1/6 cup cornstarch AND 1/6 cup potato flour (in the original recipe it was 1/3 cup potato starch flour. Instead, I just filled a 1/3 measuring cup halfway with cornstarch, and filled it up to the top with potato flour. Easy peasy.)
1 Tbs potato flour
1 1/2 tsp vegetable oil (in original recipe: 1 1/2t melted shortening)
1 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 415°.

In a medium bowl, pour 1/2 cup of the warm water over the yeast and the sugar, already in the bowl. Stir gently, and let it sit in a warm, still place until the yeast foams and the level about doubles.

In the meantime, prep whatever surface on which you plan to bake your pizza. I like baking on parchment paper (OH do I go through parchment paper), so I put some down on top of a round baking sheet. But if you like something else, go on ahead. Keep in mind, though, this stuff will be sticky, so if you don’t use parchment paper be sure to grease well your surface. Heh.

When the yeast is done blooming, stir in the rice and potato flours, the corn starch, the salt, and the oil. While still stirring, pour in enough water that the batter is like a stiff paste. (The original recipe says it should be like spreadable cake frosting, but mine was slightly stiffer. Heh again.)

With a silicone spatula (or another greased utensil—this stuff is sticky, remember? like a stick) spread the dough into about a 12″ circle, leaving raised edges around the outside.

If you like a crispy crust, blind-bake the crust for about five minutes or so, until the top is starting to brown. As I mentioned before, I like mine as close to floppy New York-style as gluten-free can get, so I just piled on my sauce and toppings and popped it in the oven.

The original recipe called for 20-30 minutes at 425°, but I found that the cheese was getting overly brown by minute 15, and the crust could have stood another five minutes or so. So next time I’ll try about 415 for 20-25 minutes, or until the cheese is golden brown and delicious.

Let it sit for a few minutes, since the cheese will atomise the roof of your mouth if you eat it right away. I’m think everyone’s had that experience, and IT AIN’T PRETTY.

When it’s cool enough, eat it. Preferably with a sorghum beer. Or not. Who am I to tell you what to do? I’m not your mother.

Cheers,
Bran

And no, I don’t mean in a “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” kind of way.

I mean in a “holding on to the feeling and the moment as you perform, with both hands and a mouthful of teeth” kind of way.

As an actor, you learn about commitment in terms of acting from deep within your character. In a drama, commitment is what allows you to be so blind as Helen Keller that you accidentally hit your co-star in the head with a glass pitcher on opening night* because you really didn’t see her. (Trust me on this.) In a comedy, commitment is what allows you to walk face-first into a closed door and have the audience wince. And commitment is everything in improvisational stagework; if you aren’t right there, in the moment, being whatever you’re supposed to be, the whole scene is going to fall apart.

Even if you’re in the wacky land of a musical, commitment is everything. It makes the difference between a cheesy flit on the stage and something truly heart-felt and wonderful. And it somehow makes something objectively silly (“really? the guy is going to get up and sing now?”) into something real.

I’m going to say it again, because it bears repeating: When you’re on stage, commitment is everything.

For example, let’s take this moment from the most recent revival of Company (music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, book by George Furth). A brief bit of background: The central character, Bobby, is a bachelor who is surrounded by a large group of married friends. His journey through the show takes him from a place of stagnation and fear and an inability to commit (!) to the idea of marriage, to place where he’s finally ready to take that step. Up until this revival in 2006, the show was a relatively light-hearted look at relationships. Bobby was glib and sophisticated and lonely and slightly sad. This version, however, takes it up a notch. Watch this.

(If you have the time and inclination, you really should watch it all the way through from the beginning. The progression from the obstinate beginning, to the more pleading middle, to frustrated and confused, to joyous resignation, is GLORIOUS. But I’ll talk about emotional progressions in another post.)

Raúl Esparza, playing Bobby here, has 100% committed to his character. He’s in there. You know those moments in life where you’ve been fighting a fight within yourself for days, months, or years now, and you’re sick of not having a clear answer? You’re tired, and you’re frustrated, and maybe you’ve been crying. You just want to get that emotion out any way you possibly can, and it seems like the best way to do that is just to yell at the sky. That? Esparza just channelled that. On stage. While singing.

Commitment, baybee.

So I’m bringing this up, because I’ve seen a lot of performances recently where the people on stage were just sort of…there. They went through the motions, they knew their moves and hit their marks, but there was no spark. There may have been a storyline in there, but they didn’t feel it. So I sure as hell didn’t.

One of the most important things you can do as a performer is to learn how to commit to what you are doing. For one thing, you’re making the job of emotionally involving your audience WAY tougher if you’re not emotionally involved yourself. It can be done, but you have to be a fecking brilliant classical actor to do it, and let’s face it, sugarpie; you’re most likely not a fecking brilliant classical actor. So make it easier on yourself; learn to tap into that well of emo you’ve got down deep in there.

For another thing, being committed to what you’re doing will pull your audience into the story and make even that luke-warm storyline better. A so-so throughline concocted to stitch together a handful of disparate performances will seem much stronger if your audience is along for the ride with you. Think about it; if they’re in it too, they won’t notice the glaring plothole in the third act. They’ll just want to see what’s next. Really. (Which isn’t to say that you shouldn’t freakin’ try to do it well first off, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. And committing to that will help.

Which brings me to the last—but still extremely important—bit; if you are truly committed to what you are doing on stage, if you or someone else screws up, it won’t matter as much. In fact, it might not matter at all. There are two main reasons for this.

Let’s go back to something I said at the beginning. Improvisational acting depends completely on the actors being right there, right then, rolling with the punches. If they are committed to that moment, when actor number 1 does something totally unexpected, actor number 2 can just go with it. She can react as the character would have reacted, because she is absorbed in her character. Think about it. This works for all live performances, yeah? If your troupemate suddenly zigs when he should have zagged, if you are totally there on stage in that moment, you’re going to be able to go along with it way better than if you were just floating along in a haze of nothingness. In fact, you might be able to make something even better from it.

The second reason? I need to pull your audience in and get them invested in what you’re doing, because then if you fall on your ass…or drop something…or forget your line…or your headband falls off…you’re probably going to be able to completely gloss over the mistake. I’m cribbing a line from the drum major academy I went to when I was fifteen when I say, “if you screw up, screw up with enthusiasm”. If you have committed to what you are doing, and you have hooked your audience in, you can totally jedi-mind-trick them into thinking nothing is wrong. Seriously. This shit works.

So, please. Spank your inner moppet. Read some Coleridge. Do what you gotta do. But take that emotional energy and let it suffuse your whole self, from your core all the way out through your fingertips and the ends of your hair. Do it. It’ll be brilliant.
Show us what it’s like, being alive.

The Mydwynter Studios site (both blog and forum) will be going through some big changes over the next week, so please don’t be alarmed if things go awry as I renovate. The chaos is temporary, I assure you. In the meantime, I hope that you all are having a relaxing, joyous, and safe holiday season.

-Bran

It’s been an interesting week.

I’ve been sitting here, knowing cerebrally that South Carolina does not get autumn. It seems that it gets slightly…drier, but the temperature and the preponderance of palmetto trees conspire to deny the state a Proper Autumn, with bright colours and crisp smells and chilly breezes.

However, the intertubes have been full of the change of the season this week. A friend posted pictures of the colourful mountain range around her house. Another friend complained lovingly about how it was already too cold in the mornings to stalk around without heavy socks. And I’ve been forced to watch it all from afar, marvelling at the dissonance between the knowledge that I won’t have that here, and the actual experience of lacking it. I’m having the climatic version of taking a sip from a cup that you thought was water, which turns out to be rum. Or, more accurately, I’ve been hoping for spiced rum and got water instead.

I wonder how many times I’ll walk outside and not be slapped in the face by the blustering autumn wind. I’m wondering how many times I’ll go to open the window and smell…nothing. And I’m wondering, more and more, what all this is going to mean for my winter. Is it just going to get worse, as I wait over and over for the snow that won’t fall? Or will I just get used to it, in that way that humans do, and forget that I ever owned a wool overcoat?

Ordinarily I rely on the change of season to spur me on, and the cold weather to keep me moving. The autumn and winter are when I usually get things done, especially all those projects I’d been thinking up in the heat of the summer when I was too lethargic to move. It’s a reaction to the cold and the quiet, I think. It’s a reaction to the juxtiposition of briskness and ice-bound immobility. So how is a lack of winter going to affect my creativity, my productivity? Will everything just remain…stagnant? Where will I find my winter inspiration, if not from the sun on snow?

Many winters ago and several states away, I spent the winter staying in the attic of some friends’ house, sharing the mostly-finished space with another friend. That season I spent the entire time reading Marion Zimmer Bradley’s The Mists of Avalon, listening to my copy of Jethro Tull’s “Songs From the Wood”, and handsewing a gigantic woolen cloak. It was chilly everywhere, but that was the warmest I’d felt in ages. I was surrounded by people whom I loved and loved me, we had a constant supply of hot cocoa, and I was immersed in a very medieval-inspired winter. It feels like every year since then is an attempt to recreate those amazing few months, to no avail; you really can’t go back home again. But at least I still had the cold and the calm.

So, perhaps, this year is the year I invent something else. A new winter. A new zero. Something less reliant on snow and cold, and more derived from an inner quiet. After all, people have to slow down to think sometime, and I hope that even down here–in a humid land full of palmettos and pecans–people still use winter as the season of meditation, reflection, and calm.

Well, here I am, back in good ol’ Charleston again. I’m just in time to catch what (at this point) may or may not be a Catagory 3 hurricane. Joy!

I’m getting a chance to sort through old t-shirts and get to work on some designs for the etsy store. Be assured that as soon as I get some items up I will post a link here. And I’m also putting the word out: I’m looking to build up my supply of old t-shirts from which to make new and exciting garments. If you have an old pile of t-shirts sitting around that hasn’t yet made it to the thrift store, please consider sending them to me instead. As an incentive, for every ten shirts you send I’ll make you a new and shiny something out of one of them. Spread the word! This is a great way to get something useful out of an old sentimental shirt you never wear anymore.

I’m also going to get to re-paint the room which will soon be my studio. We might even get to buy the paint today, and as soon as James’ dad drops off the ladder I can get going. This is all way more pleasing than just painting a room ought to be; it’s really the little things with me, innit?

The past week was a but nutty, but full of a whole lot of accomplishment. I can post some pictures after Christmas, so as not to ruin a few surprises. However, I did also manage to create and produce my own Winter/Yule/Christmas/Hanukkah, etc., cards.

I hope you all are having a safe, warm, and lovely holiday season.

…we continue to make stock for faire.

Because it will most likely be too hard to keep up, we won’t be making Halloween mugs, alas. We might try to work on them for next year, though, with some more planning.

However, we have started making our skull and pumpkin jack-o-lanterns, which are A Blast to make. Well, they are to me. Va has made so many over the years that she claims she’s “over it”, which is yet another reason why being the new one on the block is a good thing.

My favorite so far: a pair of skulls I carved last night, the boy one with a Jack Skellington grin and a bowtie, the girl one with eyelashes and lips and a hair bow. I find them adorable. If you can come out to faire this weekend, to see them and others, please do!

There is a Crash Test Dummies song, the title of which is the title of this post. Within it are two lines with sum up this past Pennsic for me:

I’ve watched the summer evenings pass by,
I heard the rattle in my bronchi

So, yeah. I had a great first week, lounging and partying and reading the last two books of Harry Potter, and then was forced to watch the rest of Pennsic happen around me. It was not my best Pennsic evar.

In any event, creatively, a few things were accomplished. The most public of which was the co-writing with my friends (in order from left to right as we, wine-besotted, mischief-minded, and giggly, sat) Etaine, Lanea, and Ruadhan (did I spell that correctly?) a lovely little ditty to the tune of The Major General’s Song. It involved several unsavory subjects (and one Main Unsavory Idea), with the result that Lanea determined that my career in politics would be over if the lyrics were leaked to the internet and if I then were linked to them. “Alas,” I responded, “I gave up the run for office many years ago.”

Sang publicly only twice before the previously-mentioned illness set in and ousted my voice; once was around a small Dalhraidian fire and involved a lot of Great Big Sea songs, which are easy and please my blue-dredlocked campmate. The other time was at Preachain’s block party, at which I sang Lads O’ The Fair sans the fourth verse, which would have felt a tad inappropriately “meta” in surroundings which were intended to emulate those from about two thousand years ago. I also sang the newly-penned Unsavory Song with my three cohorts, to the delight of both us and our audience.

(I was provided one more chance to perform the Unsavory Song before war was over, but unfortunately my voice had already packed its bags for destinations south. So instead, I conducted the other three singers with a sparkly purple riding crop. You know, like you do.)

I sewed a quick-and-dirty, loose-weave cotton, back-less, halter tank one evening, which I proceeded to wear as often as possible, proving once again my perversity in garb planning, wherein anything that I spend time and/or money on preparing ahead of time will inevitably be supplanted at the event by a cheap and shoddy alternative which functions better. But I think that’s all I made this war; I spent a whole lot of time fuzzy-brained with ibuprofen and cold meds, and really didn’t feel like making anything. (I did read a whole lot, though. If that counts for anything.)

Didn’t buy any supplies while there, either, which is actually the biggest shame of the lot. However, I was lent some silverpointe supplies by a friend of mine, so I plan on trying those soon.

As soon as Va digs out her camera we’ll have some pics of the new pots, I promise.

Until then I remain,
Yours, etc.,
B. Mydwynter

P.S.: Oh, yes. I painted a shield. It turned out nicely, and I’ll post pics when the camera is disinterred from the piles of not-yet-unpacked stuff.

Accomplished yesterday? A tally for the (un)interested:

-About a million tiny, tiny pleats sewed into a frock, which I mostly completed
-Finished His Dark Materials Trilogy
-Decided my mohawk needed trimming. Again.
-Watched, while sewing:

1) six episodes of Good Eats (including the “Ask Alton” sections)
2) a great film entitled Bedrooms and Hallways
3) the special features on the sixth disc of Rome‘s first season
(nb: the casting overlaps within the previous two are, frankly, hilarious)
4) a wack of youtube videos containing Eddie Izzard, David Tennant, Alan Davies, John Barrowman, and others
5) and the first five minutes of the newest Pride and Prejudice, before getting fed up with it and postponing

I also spent some time on myspace trolling for lost people, and found others who, frankly, took themselves way the hell too seriously. Great googly moogly, people. What follows is short note to them:
Dear myspace gits,
I’m not going to suddenly decide that you are cool and I need to be your friend if you are either drinking a big crappy beer at me or flipping me off. More likely, I’m going to think you are a gigantic tosser. To quote Mr. Stephen Fry, who was quoting another, “Any more of that behaviour…and you’ll have a short, sharp visit from the Smack Fairy.” And not in that way you’re thinking, so kindly wipe that smirk off your face. Thank you.
End transmission.

Okay. Right. And now that I have gotten that off my chest, off I go to watch both of the Pride and Prejudices (miniseries and aforementioned movie) and kick out more of this sewing.

By the way, has anyone out there done any casting from flexible molds recently? I find myself in need of casting a 3D eagle, (you know, like ya do,) and I fear that my old college experience might be out of date. There have got to be new materials that are being used now.

Well, wedding in Canada now over, I can now commence the pre-Pennsic preparatory planning. There’s a lot of shite to do this year, and actually I’m going to keep this short so I can get to bed soon and get up early to glaze a kilnload of pots.

Besides the aforementioned pots, on my plate at the moment include:

Finishing Va and Darrell’s yurt door
Helping Va clean her yurt floor and trim the roof canvas
Sewing, like, six plaid flannel sleepytime tunics
Making three roman-style dresses, including all the inkle weaving that that implies
And probably weaving some more
Mending my existing garb
Designing and building a comfy Celtic halter top for Va and I
And however much Roman paraphernalia as I can research and make well; not doing it half-assed

Ah, yes, and I’m learning a new song for Pennsic; it’s in Gaelic and English, sean-nos style, entitled “Bruach na Carraige Baine”. It’s the Cape Clare version, which is different than the usual treatment, I think, and not the easiest thing I’ve ever taught myself. Which is typical, really. “Here, let me get started three weeks beforehand learning a frustrating song, and still have sanity left after singing it fifty billion times to design a weaving pattern. Heh.” Anyway, if it doesn’t work out I’ll ditch it for this year and pick it up later, but I was really hoping to have it down.

So, yeah, I’m sure that there are other things I’m forgetting, but I think that’s all I have room for in my head.

Oh, and I really wanted to winge about how shitty an interface myspace has, but it’s really kinda apparent to anyone who has spent any time on there, so I won’t spend my time on it. However, if you are interested, I did set up a page there to point here, and if you’d like to friend me (or would like me to friend you), it’s here. I can’t promise you it will roll over and do tricks or anything, but it can’t hurt.

K. Shhh. Sleeping.