I typically write my blog posts curled up on my couch, in a room lined with bookshelves. That’s how it was when I started this blog, living in the Bronx; that’s how it’s been since I moved to Brooklyn. And so, this is a typical week, in that I’m curled up on a couch in a room lined with bookshelves, typing away.
Of course, I’m a hundred or so miles away, having a play of mine read, so that’s new.
I’m out in the Hamptons this week, at the John Drew theater in Guild Hall, East Hampton. To be more specific, I’m in Guild House, the residence directly behind Guild Hall, which is used for guest artist housing. (Yes, Gentle Reader, this arts organization is able to provide housing for artists. Hamptons, baby.) And I’m with six of the actors from Dead Playwright’s Society, the classics reading group that helped me develop Philostrate and The Tragedie of King John Falstaff, the latter of which is what’s being read.
Our monthly series is already tricky enough from a logistical standpoint, as we try and corral a dozen or so actors into the same room on a Sunday afternoon. So this weekend has been the DPS experience ratched up exponentially, as we’ve tried to get our team by bus, car, and train across an entire state. And instead of just going to the local bar afterwards, we’re ensconced in Guild House. A huge, historic, converted farmhouse, with five bedrooms all interconnected by literal secret passages.
But if you’ve done the math, you’ll note that there’s seven of us. And so, to make sure my actors are happy, I’m crashing on the couch in the library, surrounded by books.
I mean, the hospitality so far is absurd. Our digs are amazing. And Guild Hall literally has my name on its marquee as the subject for its Monday JDT lab reading. My name is on a marquee in the Hamptons. This is pretty damn amazing. And yet, at the end of the day, I’m a guy on a couch typing on a laptop, surrounded by shelves of books. Like always.
Which is how it should be. The work is the work, after all, wherever you happen to do it.