Tamzin Merchant Changed Her Approach to Acting—and it Landed Her a Book Deal

The following Career Dispatches essay was written by actor Tamzin Merchant, whose debut book “The Hatmakers” is now available in the U.S. and will be published in the UK Feb. 18.  

I got my first acting job when I was 17. It was the role of Georgiana Darcy in Joe Wright’s “Pride & Prejudice.” I wangled an audition by cold-calling the casting director (Jina Jay, who I later discovered is one of the most brilliant and intimidating casting directors in London). They gave me the role after three auditions. Goodness knows exactly why they did; I wore a joke t-shirt to my last callback and I’m pretty sure I blinked way too much out of sheer excitement and nerves. 

I never went to drama school; I’ve actually never had any professional acting training. I’d only ever acted in school plays before “Pride & Prejudice.” The first time I stepped on set, I didn’t know what I was doing. And I LOVED IT. 

So. The thing I’ve relied on to guide me since the very beginning of my adventures in acting is instinct—OK, not that compulsion in my first audition to blink too much, or my weird inner prompting to wear a t-shirt with “spot the maniac” written on it below a cartoon of an axe murderer. I’m talking about that deep-rooted instinct some people call a gut feeling. That’s the instinct that made me pick up the phone and politely inform Jina Jay that I would like to audition for “Pride & Prejudice.” It’s the inner-knowing that my gut will lead me to what is best for me. By “best for me” I don’t necessarily mean the jobs that bring massive fame or a ton of money. I mean: My gut will guide me towards those stories that are most meaningful to me, stories I feel an urgency to tell.

Instinct is something we all have deep within us. I think it’s usually found in our hearts and in our guts. Accessing it—and learning to trust it—is one of the most transformative things I think we can do as artists, creators, and humans. 

When doubt creeps in and I wonder whether I am enough, whether I’m worthy or good enough to be an actor (why hello there, Impostor Syndrome, you old bastard), I try to remember that human beings are born storytellers. Every life is woven together with story. We each have something deeply unique to bring to our art that comes from the stories of who we are. As actors, we embody this. We’re story, walking and talking. 

I’ve really enjoyed collecting lessons from the wise and brilliant people I’ve been lucky enough to work with in my career. Actors and directors have taught me to hone my craft, of course, but so have focus-pullers, sound recordists, hair and makeup artists, DPs. I’m a magpie, collecting shiny bits of treasure as I go along. Instinct, then, has to tell me which lessons are useful to me and which ones don’t fit. You don’t need to take every bit of advice you get (now that’s some good advice!). 

The practice of bringing a "Beginner’s Mind" to my work has been key for me ever since I discovered the concept. It’s actually from Zen Buddhism and it basically means you approach something without the pressure of being an expert at it—in fact, you’re allowed to be the opposite of an expert: a student.

Wikipedia (that oracle of vaguely-accurate knowledge) tells us, “Beginner’s Mind refers to having an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when studying a subject, even when studying at an advanced level, just as a beginner would.”

For me, approaching anything creative with a Beginner’s Mind means I can be foolish, try things without worrying about failing, without feeling the need to look cool or slick. It’s an excellent antidote to that joy-killer (and my oldest frenemy) Perfectionism. A Beginner’s Mind gives you permission to discover, try, fail, re-do, learn and grow. I’ve done a lot of all of those things. 

Even failure becomes strangely joyful when you approach it with the curiosity begotten in a Beginner’s Mind (still hurts, though).

My pursuit and cultivation of the Beginner’s Mind has taken me on journeys far beyond acting. Learning anything new puts you right back in that sweet beginner’s headspace. At university, I took studies in psychology and philosophy, which were totally new to me), did a garden design course at a farm college, studied herbalism, and learned oil painting (this is something I’m absolutely terrible at, and I LOVE it. I have done several oil paintings of sheep that look like dinosaurs, which are a testament to just how bad I am at it).

READ: How Jeremy Strong Accessed His Beginner’s Mind

Beginner’s Mind served me most interestingly when I woke up one morning three Januaries ago at 4:30 a.m., having just had the most vivid and magical dream. It was a dream about a family of hatmakers who create magical hats for English royalty. I gabbed excitedly about the dream to my (not-for-long-sleeping) boyfriend. He blearily advised me to write the dream down. I took his suggestion to its most extreme conclusion. Although I’d never written a book before, I knew I had to try and see if I could turn this amazing dream I’d had into a fully-realized story for children. 

It took three years and seven drafts (a lot of failing and trying again) but my first book, “The Hatmakers,” is being published this week in America by Norton Young Readers, and in the UK and across the world by Puffin. (Shameless plug! I also recorded the audiobook, in which I do all the voices!)

Listening to my instinct and practicing a Beginner’s Mind both help to enrich the joy I take in my creative work. And learning the lines. Learning the lines is literally the only thing I absolutely have to do before getting to set. Knowing the lines sets you free! 

Lastly (I know, I’m rambling now), I want to share a quote from my favorite poet, Mary Oliver. If I’m ever feeling a little uninspired, I think of this question Mary Oliver asks of the reader, in her bewilderingly beautiful poem “The Summer Day”:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do 

with your one wild and precious life?

Tell stories.