20 days: Producer hell

Here's what it means to be the producer of your own show.

You generate the revenue (if you're lucky, as I was, you have a friend who's a kickass grantwriter)
You write the cheques.
You monitor the budget.
You complete all the compliance documentation and reports for grant funding.
You find rehearsal space.
You book rehearsal space.
You negotiate and sign contracts with director, choreographer, musicians, sound director, lighting designer, videographer, other collaborators, presenters, venues.
You maintain relationships with funders and donors.
You coordinate logistics of rehearsals, meetings, travel.
You check that everyone knows where to show up for what, and has a way to get there and get home again.
You do as much marketing and PR as you can.
You try to find people to farm out some of the above to. They are remarkably scarce.
You recruit volunteers for the day of the show to cover the dozen functions that the presenter is not supplying staff for.
You bear the major part of the risk of the whole venture.

Somewhere in the moments between, you try to reconnect with the joy and power of the work itself. You try to remember why you're doing it. You agonize over the voicework, movement classes, rehearsals, you're NOT able to squeeze in. You have nightmares about losing your voice on the day of the show. About wilting on stage from sheer exhaustion. You remind yourself that if you burn out on doing the production, it will all be wasted.