Author: Amy Gorelow

Things I Did Today

A working day in the life of a voice actor:

  1. Walk Augie, or W’augie.
  2. meditate.
  3. check email.
  4. eat strawberries and granola, the breakfast of W’augers.
  5. edit 2 chapters. (they were short.)
  6. take a nap. (Didn’t get one yesterday.)
  7. warm up.
  8. check email.
  9. record a chapter.
  10. 10 minutes of Pilates to rest the voice.
  11. record 2 chapters.
  12. check email.
  13. lunch.
  14. let a fly out of the house.
  15. check email.
  16. research producers for what seems a ridiculous amount of time.
  17. send a single email to one of them.
  18. write this list so I can look at it and hopefully see that I am, indeed, not just sitting around wasting my day, and, universe-willing, be able to look back at it in a year or so and think, “Ah yes, back in the days before I was inundated with work, and had time to frolic, check email, and let flies out of the house.”

Here’s hoping.

Running a Marathon

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a short deadline to do a book. Now that I’m doing it as my job, I forgot how marathonic it actually is. I drank lots and warmed up and warmed down, but I felt like this week was a continuous trek. Is this what it feels like to finish a marathon? Feels pretty great.

And when I wasn’t recording, I wanted to be. I feel you now, my runners.

The P Women*

Here I was, fretting and freaking out about having something to express, and no project in which to express it, and forgetting that the universe gives you what you need when you need it.

Wendy, Kim, and myself, having not had enough of play time when we explored Eugenio Barba at TUTA, met again. Kim had us read a story, The Debutante, by Leonora Carrington (say it all high-class-like). Then we came up with about 3-4-10 projects that excited us, based on that story. We have a lot to do, and so I say, thanks, universe.


*What’s the P for? It’s probably better if you don’t know. After my mom learned what the song “25 or 6 to 4” was about, she was so disappointed. I don’t want that to happen again.


Place: my house.

Time: Dawn, buttcrack of.

Plot: I got up at 2:30, an hour before my alarm to finish taking the colon prep. It sucked. But the worst is over.

I think.


On a better note, scored two Tantor books yesterday!

And that made all the difference.

Smile! My colon’s on camera.

A colon does smile, in a way. Very broadly. Today is literally the shitty day, Colonoscopy Eve. I can’t eat, and later tonight I’ll have to drink prep, which is the crappy part (again, literal) of the experience.

The actual colonoscopy is delightful, entertaining, and informative. In the past, I’ve usually only been anasthesia’ed to the twilight level, and haven’t been completely under. And it’s a lovely time of being in the moment, because you’re too loopy to be anything else. And onscreen, you get to see the inside of your colon, which is incredibly interesting, and the part that blows my loopy mind is that it’s happening simultaneously with the strange thing you feel rummaging around in your body. It’s a fully immersive experience, so to speak, although I guess you’re the thing in which the immersion is happening.

And then there are the crackers and farting. David Sedaris says it much more eloquently than i do. I’m just excited. It’s like going to the science museum, or the zoo.

But it’s the reward for drinking the prep. How can you have any pudding if you don’t drink your prep?…Pudding might not be the right metaphor, here.

Back in my lake again.

I swam! The beach and the water have been filthy, but yesterday was hot and I needed to move. So I took my first swim. Everything had been cleaned up, and I did a swim that my watch said was .17 miles, compared to my normal .6 miles, even though I took the same path. So who knows. Maybe the water made Siri too cold and she took it out on me. But it was wonderful, and I went farther out than usual afterward, because i could. I’m back, baby.*


*The lake. The lake is my baby.

Painting at the Beach

On Saturday, The Rogers Park running club got a bench spot to paint at the beach near Farwell. I didn’t know about it until later in the day, on account of how i hate FB and don’t go there, but I eventually rode my bike over and got in some last minute painting. It was so fun, and there were SO many people down there! I painted for a couple of hours, and when we finished for the day, I sat and listened to a band playing nearby. The water was too wave-y and lifeguarded for swimming, but I bought some lemonade from some kids and walked through the nature path. I took some video for future projects, because I may one day need a tree blowing in the wind. Or waves on the sand. Or footage of walking down a path. You never know.

I walked by all the other spaces, and they ranged from kids’ painting to professional artists that I really enjoyed watching work. And it was bittersweet, because their work will only be around for a year. And I guess that’s the point; the pictures mark the year and what is happening, and they are ephemeral, which makes them even more special to see.

This is why I moved to Chicago. You cannot beat a Chicago summer.*


*Unless there are manatees. Manatees beat everything in the world.

Trolls Gotta Troll, I guess

It was inevitable.

About three weeks or so ago, I got a text from the boss lady to come to her office ASAP.*

When I got down there, the Big Boss was on speaker phone.**

The first words come from her: “Hi, Amy. First, you didn’t do anything wrong.”***

<dog head tilt> ****

Okay. Well, at any rate, I was very glad. What’s going on, though? I’m worried…and intrigued.

So here’s what had happened:

I posted on Twitter (a rare occurrence) about a lesson that I was really excited about, because it sparked connection, understanding, and more light in the world. I read a book for kids called, “Introducing Teddy,” about a teddy bear called Thomas who is sad, and finally tells a friend that they really feel like a girl teddy, and not a boy, and she would prefer to be called Tilly. It is a sweet book that you would think would lead to an excess of love and compassion, wisdom and understanding, rather than fear and wrath and ignorance and intolerance.

You would be right. But you would also be wrong.

A far right fearmongering account found my post.

Very few people comment on my posts, a couple of likes or loves, maybe a comment or two, but on this “libs of TikTok” site there was so much vitriol and hatred, I was floored. At first, I was shocked. Then…it was kind of exciting. I had an incredible amount of power over so many people! Evidently, I trigger AAAALL the MAGAs. But as I read on, I just got depressed at all the horribleness and idiocy in the world, or at least the ignorance and misunderstanding.

Some of it is funny. Like the guy/bot who wrote that I looked like a man. And I wish I could respond, so I could post an image of a person agape**** and explain to him that the ENTIRE LESSON is about the fact that gender is a SOCIAL CONSTRUCT! And why does he think there’s anything wrong with the way men look? Some are quite decent looking. <Photo of my love, and Gavin Rossdale.>**** But you can’t respond, because that’s just a dumpster fire waiting to happen.

There was a 5+ minute video with a woman who seemed sincere, who just didn’t understand that the book is not to suggest to kids that they might be trans (horrors!), but to understand and accept others who may not be cisgender, like probably the vast majority of people they see in their lives.

At any rate, now I’ve got some trolls. But it’s showing me that I’ve also got the loveliest friends, because they’re reporting my trolls/bots for me. And fighting for a better world like that is what fosters love and connection.

Fortunately for the trolls, I’m a little tech challenged. And I don’t know HOW to see their shitty posts. SO JOKE’S ON THEM!



*Oooooooohhh, girrrrrl, you’re in trooooouuuuble….


***…general troooouuuuuble? Uh oh…

****Look one up on your own, bitches, I’m busy.

Not all beaches and cream

So yesterday was horribly frustrating. I couldn’t get my demos to upload to my site, so I couldn’t send out queries to producers or authors, so I felt stuck, and all I did was look around sites like The Voice Over Network and Facebook* and get overwhelmed. I had to edit a chapter to calm down and remember, “Oh. This is why I do this.” And also, “Oh. This is why I’m a theatre actor in Chicago, and not hustling in LA.”

So, my body, feeling awful, told me that this is unsustainable. And I decided to make a plan: Post, don’t look. The internet is mostly ugly, and it’s not for you. You get to exist in the real world, in forests, backyards, beaches, and your own private Disco Booth.



*Feh. May Meta grow like an onion, with its head in the ground. But now that I’m Marketing Me, I kind of have to.

Seeing More Art!

I cannot believe how much I’m getting out these days. Last night, my friends from the night before and I went to Berger Park Coach House and saw another friend workshop her one-woman piece “about” bathtubs. The script was excellent, the acting was astounding, and the directing was amazing. The complete piece was lovely, in the most sensory sense of the word. It really just needs a producer to make it happen. Autobiographical, but fictional. I’ll yell all about it when it happens for real so you can see it.


“Eileen Tull is a theatre QUEEN!” -me, in awe