Column: Dramatic Impact

I am a klutz. I fully admit this fact. So, whenever I’m in a show that requires me to learn any kind of choreography, whether dancing, fighting, or intricate movement details, I start to feel butterflies flutter in my stomach. My own nervousness has been known to get in the way and cause me to stumble. I would probably be fine if I could just learn to relax and go with the flow. But the language of choreography and movement is confusing to me. I just don’t get what I should do. Even as a kid, I always hated that silly game Hokey-Pokey. Case in point: I was in the middle of a reasonably simple dance in a show. We were performing outside, on the grass, and I was so worried about ruts or rocks in the ground that I wasn’t paying attention to everything else. One of my shoes went flying off! Horribly embarrassing! Though I’m sure only the people in the front of the audience even noticed. Did I mention I’m a klutz? Read More

Why is every conversation about wireframes I’ve encountered lately so tense? For instance, at a recent UX Book Club meeting whose topic was a discussion of some articles on wireframes, the conversation moved quickly from the actual articles to the question of what a wireframe even was. What the discussion came down to was this: no one knows the answer, and trying to find it feels like a wild-goose chase—or like wandering off on our own down a yellow brick road to find the all-knowing and powerful Oz to figure the answer out for us.

The Wizard of Oz asks questions like: What is courage or heart or a brain? Who should define them for us? As I see it, UX design suffers from similar definitional issues. We don’t all mean the same thing when we say sketch or wireframe or prototype. So how can we all get on the same page? There are differences between a sketch, a wireframe, and a prototype, but how can we understand the distinctions and the best use of each? And what is their value as communication vehicles? Let’s discuss what separates a sketch from a wireframes from a prototype. Read More

Recently, I played a character that was originally written as a male. Now, it was Shakespeare, so some gender bending wasn’t totally out of the ordinary. However, in this particular production, we did more than is usual. Things got a little confusing at first—with the pronoun changes and all—but it was fun hearing people called by the wrong gender for a few days. I did find myself having to think about my character in a different manner than I normally would though, making the role a challenge that gave my character-development skills a nice little stretch.

If I was going to play this role as a female, what did that mean for my relationships with the other characters? What did I want out of my interactions with them? How did I fit into the overall picture? I was a female who hung out with the guys and was better friends with them rather than with other females. But why was that so? Did it make me a tomboy? I didn’t think so, because when it came to push or shove, I was a woman, getting angry and ranting just as much as the other females. Plus, the director wanted me all decked out in jewelry. Not very tomboyish now is it?

What I came to realize was that I needed to understand my motives and objectives clearly to make this character make sense as a female. It was going to take some thought and plenty of frustrating run-throughs to find a character who would be believable on stage—one that most certainly wouldn’t live as written on paper. But that’s why we do theater—to experience the fun of the unexpected. Read More