Or, most likely the case, because most of the people I work with are pretty good about getting the promised material, is that the material will take forever to finish.
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The nature of indie work is that the really tough part is in post production. Audio craps on you. Color correction causes a face or two to melt. The editor vanishes mid-project -- probably to take a (better) paying gig. The hard drive finds the only opportunity on the planet to land in a toilet or a bowl of soup. The backup hard drive starts smoking. Generally, it is a life fraught with disasters looming in the shadows.

So, my actor reel languishes for months as I wait for a couple of new pieces. I'll sit, waiting, for three new clips because, why change everything for one clip when I know it could be only a couple of weeks before the other two show up? And, then they don't ...

And, I wait...

And, I wait ...

Until I can't stand it anymore. Then, I break and build a new reel with what I have.

So, here's this latest reel. I'm hopeful I'll see a couple more clips before the end of August, but at least I have this.

If you are a moving-pictures actor and haven't watched the short video essays of filmmaker and editor Tony Zhou (@tonyszhou), you've slighted your education. 

The series is called "Every Frame a Painting." Check it out. It is brilliant.

The bulk of Zhou's focus is on the other side of the camera ... but since flimmakers wouldn't have anything to work with without you there in front of the unblinking eye, you can pull a lot of his observations out and put them in your tool kit.

Then there are the times when Zhou just dumps it in front of you, as in this love letter to Robin Williams.

There's also stuff in there for directors who want performances that are true collaborations. So, pay attention, people.

As great as it would be to wake up one day with enough money from theater (or film ... or television, for that matter) to not have to worry about a life-raft job, it is a long shot in this business.

It comes down to skill, talent, luck and, most important, someone else's choices. You can control the skill, you can exercise the talent, you can make your own luck, but the largest chunk of the equation is someone else's choices and you can't do a damn thing about that.

Or can you?

Risa Bramon Garcia, a coach and casting director, thinks so.

Here's a link to her aritcle, "How To Get Casting Directors To Find You," in Backstage Experts. Read it and find ways to live it, because basically, she's talking about the core of being an independent theater (or film/television) artist.

My favorite part of the article is ...

"... you must be doing your best work in a production, in class, and in a workshop because you love to act and you’re compelled to be in the work all the time—not because your goal is to book a guest star on a show. You have to wake up and fall asleep craving the artistry of it. You have to love it for its own reward."

Believe it.

I like simple statements, like four steps to getting things done. Of course, nothing is ever as simple as a statement, but they can make what you finally figure out a little easier to remember.

For example:

More than 40 years ago, my grandfather told me a parable about a turtle on its back on a fence post.

There are a lot of versions of this story, and thanks to the power of the Internet, you can look them up if you want too. 

My grandfather's was different and it went like this:

Boy, if you see a turtle on his back on a fence post, think "What the hell? How'd that happen?", then take a second to imagine what the turtle is thinking.

He added. "And help the poor bastard down," but he was talking about the art of logical empathy. I'm not (although it is a good thing to learn).

I'm talking about a one-sentence acting class.

Your character is a turtle on its back on a fence post. As confusing as the situation is to you, the actor, your job is to imagine what the turtle is going through and act that.