Yesterday, I wrote a lengthy post about studying the humanities. Today, let’s puncture a myth, though.

A few years ago, I was in a production of the musical 1776 that included several young actors who were in high school or college. One of these young men (the show has a lot of men – they were the Founding Fathers, after all), who I shall call Oscar (because nobody his age is called Oscar any more), was studying at a local state university. He was a year away from graduation, and was very excited about getting his degree and starting his career. One night, during a break in rehearsal, I asked him what he was studying.

He seemed surprised. “Acting,” he told me.

I was surprised. I had been acting and directing for a few years at that point, and Oscar was the worst actor I’d ever seen. He still is. Nobody else is close. His line readings were wooden, he had no physicality at all (the fact that his character sat motionless in a chair for most of the show was fortuitous blocking indeed), and he absolutely could not look anyone in the eye. The director, the other actors, no one. Ever.

I recovered, though, and asked my follow up: “What are you planning on doing?”

Same answer, of course. “Acting,” Oscar told me proudly, “I’m going to be an actor. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. And once I have my bachelor’s degree in acting, I’ll be an actor.”

I mumbled good luck to him and walked away, wondering how he’d made it to his senior year at a credible university without anyone telling him to reconsider his career choice. There was, to put it mildly, no way he would ever be a professional actor. Hell, he’d have trouble getting cast in amateur theater. (And I run into him now and then, and he’s done only a few plays since, in very small roles, none of them professional.)

So, potential actors, if you’re on your way to a bachelor’s degree in acting or performance, please know that in the cold, cruel world that awaits you, very few people with the power to cast you professionally will care. What they care about is skill, about work ethic, about passion… and whether you look the part and don’t have a funny-sounding voice. There are so many factors, and only rarely will your sheepskin from State U. matter.

Why bother then? Well, here’s why: Going to college to study anything — including theater — means you’ll be with dozens, even hundreds, of like-minded students, with whom you can share your ideas and your passion. There will be facilities, such as stages and black boxes and costume shops and workshops with tools and resources you don’t have and that are expensive to buy or rent yourself. There will be teachers, like me, who love theater and love sharing the joy of creating theater with students like you. And unless you’re planning on doing just one-person productions and turn the lights on yourself, it does help to have a lot of people around to make up a cast and crew.

Just don’t confuse the end result, your college degree, with a license to be an actor. You’re still going to have to prove yourself, over and over again, and the fact that you have a degree itself won’t be a big difference maker. But the work you did to get it will.

Acting is doing. Onstage, I make choices that give my character something to do. What are his needs? What does he want? How will he get it? By doing something.

This isn’t any different than real life. Let’s say you want something. It can be big and abstract, like happiness or security; or it can be small and specific, like a candy bar. How do I get it? I could ask for it, using just the sound of my voice (dialogue) and maybe a little body language (physicality). “I want a candy bar,” I ask. If I’m successful, I can move on to the next thing on my list. But that’s not usually enough. Often we have to do something ourselves to get what we want. I may search my house for one. If I find some candy and it’s not mine (ooh! someone left one in the freezer and frozen candy bars are awesome!), I have to negotiate with its owner or maybe just steal it. If there isn’t any candy in the house, I may have to find some money and my car keys and go get one at the store. When I get there, I have dozens of choices: milk or dark chocolate, with nuts or without, caramel/nougat/crisped rice? Maybe I’ll change my mind and get some cookies instead. Or how about a beer? Faced with options, what I really want may change.

Our characters deserve the same chance to want things, to overcome obstacles to get them, to change their minds if new options are available. Don’t just say the words. Know what your character wants — all the time — and you’ll start to make the move from just someone reading lines to an actor doing things.

My life as an actor begins again every time I audition. It’s my rebirth. If I’m good enough, if I’m what the director wants, I get a chance to take a character off the black and white pages of a script and turn him into a real, flesh-and-blood human again, with all of the shades of gray that come with that transformation. Amazing.

Many, if not most, actors hate auditions. They’re terrifying, they’re humiliating, and they carry the very real possibility of rejection. We hate being rejected. Did they hate me because I’m too tall, too short, too skinny, too fat, or is it my voice, my eye color, my age? Or is the director just casting her friends (or lovers)? Maybe that guy got the part because he once did the director a favor or because he’s a major donor or is related to someone who might donate to the theater company. And maybe I need better headshots, a different resumé format.

Who knows? Not you. That’s not your problem, it’s the director’s. Most of the time, the director’s too busy to hate anyone, but he does have to find a cast and I wasn’t what he needed that day. I do know that I don’t get 100 percent of the roles I don’t audition for. If I do audition, though, at least I’ve got a shot. I don’t make a living as an actor – very few of us do – so when I go into an audition I have nothing to lose. If I get a part, great! If not, I’ve left with exactly what I came in with. Except I have one more audition experience under my belt, and even if I wasn’t cast, I may have left a positive impression anyway, which means next time….

It’s so much easier not to try. But not trying means not doing.

Today’s writing music: “Song For My Father” by Stanley Jordan, “These Foolish Things” by Chet Baker, “Ecos” by Strunz & Farah, “Desde Mi Giralda” by El Niño de Pura.

Scott Walters plays “Dear Abby” today and gives advice to a theater major about to graduate and face the real world. Those of you who have taken my classes will recognize the gist of this advice, but Scott says this better than I ever have. This post just became required reading in my acting classes.

[T]he conventional wisdom that a degree in theatre isn’t useful in “real life” is stupid. Don’t accept the fallacious idea that your options are waiting tables or working temp.