Excerpt 1:

    I walk on stage at half past four and the guy in the darkness says, "Okay, Thomas C. Fields, where have I seen you before?"

    "Well, one commercial for the Purina Company. One for a delivery company called Swiftly Goes. Maybe you’ve heard of them. And one for—"

    "Okay, give me crazy."

    "Crazy. Okay. Like murderous, or just kind of…?"

    "Just give me crazy, don’t complicate it. Whatever you feel."

    "Okay," I say to the guy in the dark auditorium. I take a breath, stare at my shoes for a second, and think about it real focused, sinking into it. Just as I’m about to start, the guy says, "Anytime you’re ready. Take your time."

    "Okay, here goes," I say, and begin to pace the stage with an angry look on my face, as if ready to take on the world with one flick of my terrible stare. Back and forth for a minute, getting into it. Suddenly I stop, and scream, "So what if I ain’t been right! So what if I can’t remember everything all the time? So what if I make you nervous!" I begin to tear my shirt off, seething now, teeth clenched. Abruptly, I fall to the floor and begin to scream, pulling at my clothes, pulling at my hair, trying hard to foam at the mouth. Beginning to convulse, I jump up in mid-spasm and bellow, "I know I’m crazy! I can’t help it! So what if I can’t remember…"

    "Okay, Thomas, not bad," says the guy in the dark theater seats that stretch way back. "Not bad. We’ll let you know."

    I come out of my fit, nod, and walk off calmly. Knowing, again, that I fell far short of brilliant...

Excerpt 2:            

    ...Page five of Variety, halfway down. "Actor’s Teacher. On-set or location training available with less than one hour’s notice. Call:…"

    The phone is in my hand and I am dialing. All thoughts of the world, the past, the times, and life after death are gone.

    One ring: "Actor’s Teacher. How may I direct your call?"

    "Yeah, hi. I need an actor’s teacher, I have a—"

    The phone is ringing again. One ring: "Donovan here."

    "Uh, hi. My name’s Thomas Fields. I’m an actor and I saw your ad in the paper and—."

    "Do you already have the part?"

    "Um, no."

    "What is the part, sir?"

    "They want me to play somebody who’s crazy—"

    "No, problem, Mr. Fields. If you would please, meet me at the diner on the corner of Tenth and Fern Hill, one hour from now. Say, ten-thirty. Sound good?"

    "Sure, but about your rates?"

    "No worries, Mr. Fields. You’ve come to the right place."

    Dead phone.

    No one in the place but a black guy wearing shades, drinking something from a mug. An old woman who will spend tonight in the streets again.

    And a man in a business suit. He smiles as I enter, waves to me. "Ah, Mr. Fields. It’s a pleasure." He extends his hand. "My name is Donovan Fenn. Now, what seems to be your situation?"

    "They want me to play someone crazy, and I’m not feeling it. And I really—."

    "What kind of crazy, Mr. Fields?"

    "I don’t know, I haven’t seen the script yet. I don’t know if I will until I go in for the next reading."

    "Okay, so you need to get through an audition."

    I nod.

    "No problem, Mr. Fields. Lunatics happen to be my specialty. When is your audition?"

    "End of next week at the Nightingale Agency."

    "Okay. Not long but maybe long enough. Let’s go." He stands, gathering his camel’s hair topcoat from the back of the chair.

    "Wait. Where are we going?"

    Donovan smiles, putting on his overcoat. "We’re going crazy, Mr. Fields. Isn’t that what you came for?"...