Listen, I cannot sit here and pretend like I'm a person who does not read reviews, who sits in this world knowing that people are writing things about my work and I'm just NOT reading them. I won't pretend like reviews don'…
Listen, I cannot sit here and pretend like I'm a person who does not read reviews, who sits in this world knowing that people are writing things about my work and I'm just NOT reading them. I won't pretend like reviews don't matter, because they do, even though they don't. They matter to my Heart. Heading to the airport the day after opening (one of the greatest nights of my life,) heart whiplashed by the high of the opening, the thrill of an engaged audience, and then the crush of some meh reviews (and a few nice ones, thank you to those who got it,) I got deja vu. I realized I'd been in this exact spot two times before. First in 2009 with my play Oohrah! at the Atlantic, which is when I learned the hard way that reviews are posted DURING the opening night performance. The next morning, it rained so much I felt like Brooklyn was crying with me. The second time, 2019, The Cake at Manhattan Theater Club. Hungover the next morning from all of the frosting, all of the feelings wine, heading to the airport, sky again gray, the exact color of withering hope. (Spoiler, I survived both of those Times.) The morning after the Notebook was that same feeling, but also so different because this time, I wasn't alone. I had my husband and my two kids with me, grounding me. Everyone needed bagels and wipes and naps, I was engaged in the business of keeping us all happy and alive, getting us through security and to our gate so that we could fly home. Reviews don't matter, but they do, but they don't. Morrison told Joe while I was gone these past months that I was working on my play that was going to make a lot of people happy, and this is what he will remember, and this is what I will remember. Do what makes you feel so happy, and so proud. Grab your people, and fly back Home.
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