Muscle Memory

Recently I did an acting class at the Actors Centre in London and the teacher, Nikki Flacks, said memorising lines is just a muscular activity. In other words, everyone can do it, but the muscles need to be worked to get better. As most of my work has been memorising songs, which I find quite easy, as the tune seems to help me get it in my memory faster, plus often there is the added advantage of repeats, but the monologue is a bit more elusive for me. It could have something to do with the fact that at a very young age I was suppose to memorise the poem, 'Flanders Fields'. I remember I was very nervous and scared about doing it, as I was having great difficulties remembering it. One by one we were called to the front to say the poem, I was one of the first to be called - curses for having a last name which starts with a 'B'.

There I was, in front of the whole class, knees knocking, brain freezing and the kid before me made it look soooo easy! I think I remember saying something, but it came out all backwards and wrong. I was mortified and demoralised. I managed to shuffle back to my seat with my heart in my stomach. Only to find the next kid reciting it well, but then stumbled and do you know I knew what the line was - this didn't help console me, I still felt....stupid. It created a dislike and avoidance of poetry throughout my childhood and teens.

It was not until I went to college that I found the joy and beauty of poetry.

I am digressing, the point is from this one little incident as a child grew a life long fear of saying lines in front of a group of people. I have since learnt I am dyslexic, something which was not so understood when I was a kid, as it is today. Somehow I managed to get a degree and not be aware of my dyslexia.

Still I am left to face those childhood fears and I am ever so grateful to be reassured that it is a muscle like any other and I can just start to give it a good work out, so that it becomes like a song. Now I just need to find the old poetry book and dig out .....'In Flanders Fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row,...'