Recently, a professor highlighted my use of diction, or rather, the lack of it. I’ve always been a writer, but that makes it sound like writing is the flaw. In part, yes. But in part, no. I thrive in stories and conversation. It’s when I try to sound smart, to feel like a fully formed, intellectual person, that’s when I start to feel hollow.

It doesn’t always seem easy to understand a complex human being. People are complex, yes, but to write a complex character is a whole other art form.

London was the first place I had dreamed of visiting since I was little. I think the dream had kept alive this idea of how it should be. But as soon as I landed at the airport, my dreams suddenly hit a large, aggressive wall. My excitement quickly turned into fear.

This is what flying would feel like…

A pet peeve of mine is a play ending with a biography of the protagonist. When done poorly, it can leave the audience yawning or checking the time. In the case of Kyoto, however, it felt bone-chilling. No one could play Shirley better than Jenna Augen.

The dialogue almost feels too casual for the stage, but when Julia McDermott performed it, everything became dark. The room shifted. It was no longer a bunch of people watching, but just her, the lights, water, and the intrusive sensation of being observed.

Jonathan Bailey feels everything. During Richard II, sometimes he was a pining child, an angry king, a spiteful human, a weak man.

It felt like something a writer is supposed to love. It felt like exactly what an actor desires: beautiful words and the opportunity to work freely one on one with other talents. But it also felt like a story that could be sent in an email.

When a 21st birthday party in a club meets two celebrities and a voice that stops a whole crowd just so they can listen, that only begins to describe Much Ado at Drury Lane.

Moments like that, when women can hold each other and experience something raw together, are what make theatre beautiful.

The Ambassadors Theatre is high enough that you can see everything below. Each instrument was set up intricately as the cast entered the stage.

Glib, in the sense of shallow or empty. The Tempest, directed by Jamie Lloyd, seemed to embody aspects of these words. So much was happening, yet everything felt hollow.

Live music is how it started. The stomping of feet, the musicians below, and the smiles all set the tone.