It is 11 PM on a Tuesday, and I am sitting on the floor of my apartment in Washington Heights with a script in my lap that is not mine. I am learning lines for someone else’s play—a production I am grateful to be in, a job I auditioned for and wanted and got, and …
Month: August 2026
I used to think routine was the enemy. A slow, gray tide that washed away the spark. I was a waitress at a Times Square theme restaurant where I had to wear a wench costume and sing “Happy Birthday” to tourists from Ohio. My creative life was a series of panicked, 2 a.m. bursts before …