Acting Books and plays sit on the toilet tank, teeter in piles next to already-full bookcases, surround my computer in stacks on both the floor and desk, and lie scattered around my reading chair. It's all very picturesque. My feet never quite touch the ground while I'm at home, as I prop them on a stool or fling myself onto the couch with yet another riff on Stanislavski by another former pupil-cum-acting-guru, or with a play. The stack of plays from which I've found at least one monologue grows and grows; as desperation sets in, I'll start BACK down through that pile to raid second or third monologues from the same works (I'm only talking about the contemporary stuff--I have no problem taking many monologues from single Shakespeare plays, e.g., I'm doing Lear, Edmond AND Edgar.) My speed reading slows down when something catches my interest so that I can't help but get lost for a little while, time pressures be damned (e.g., Robert Cohen fascinated me; Ann Bogart's voice has caught me up; Shaw's CAESAR AND CLEOPATRA charmed me with the sheer charisma of the wise conquerer and childish queen.) Between waves of panic and second-guessing my very right to set off on this next adventure, I'm enjoying myself.
And today, I do get a break from all this reading. I get to act again. I complete my part of principle photography for DANGEROUS WRITING today with a couple of small scenes and a large, crowded one, in which Ezra Rosen seeks to make his comeback in a reading at a local coffee house, and in which I'll have more than a few friends and acquaintances in the audience.