Something of a Mission Statement

Hello, cyberspace! My name is Mike and I am a storyteller, which is a nice (albeit pretentious) way of saying I crave an audience. If I lived in New York or Los Angeles I would probably be a struggling stand-up comedian, or a lurker at open-mic nights and improv classes, or a shut-in who is constantly shopping around un-sellable scripts. Instead, I live in a small New England town that could best be described as an all-ages retirement community.

Cheshire, Connecticut is a beautiful town for those who dream of white picket fences and little league tournaments. We have blue-ribbon public schools, a nationally ranked marching band, and an adorable community theater program. But for the few of us who want to do something slightly more ambitious than a summer production of “Oliver!”, there’s not much in terms of creative fulfillment. Cheshire is really just a distillation of the Connecticut stereotype: upper-middle class, sweater-wearing Caucasians who consider it a quiet place to keep their kids safe from the lesser riffraff populating major cities. Connecticut is the ultimate suburb, and Cheshire is it’s creamy vanilla center.

It’s a great place to settle down, sure, and I would never want to take that away from those who have done their time living the hectic life in more exciting places. But for those of us who grew up here and want to dip a toe into waters considered by their parents to be “dangerous” or “unstable”, it feels more like a prison than a safe-haven. Unless you’re Yale University material, it’s gonna be a Herculean task to fight your way out of obscurity. And obscurity has never been more alluringly comfortable than it is in the ‘Shire.

It is that superficial comfort level that has turned most of the interesting creative people I grew up with into desk-bound pencil pushers climbing the corporate ladder. Friends of mine who use to dream of lighted stages and art-house installations have resigned themselves to faceless fates because of a community that does nothing to support artistic aspiration. In a state that provides endless entry-level positions in law, medicine, and politics, there is a shocking lack of support for those of us with creative urges.

This blog is the first step in my attempt to break free from the creative shackles of my hometown. I can hear the dismissive cries of “Why don’t you just move?!?” rising from the depths of the internet as I compose this melodramatic message in a bottle. A question I will answer in time, but not right now. I’ve already wasted enough of your time (all none of you reading this). Through this blog I hope to detail the struggle blow by blow for you, my probably imaginary audience. And in the unlikely event that I gain the notoriety I so desperately crave, perhaps I can lazily publish these chronicles as an inside look at the humble beginnings of a celebrated storyteller. Here’s to clinging desperately to delusions of grandeur!