Being Good at Being

I went to college for acting, a fact that now has the faraway quality of other things about me that used to be true— that a high school boyfriend wrote me love poems in French in spite of me never having taken French, that I used to only really eat plain pasta and cheese sandwiches, that I could do a flip on the trampoline, that I used to be so scared of exposing my height that I was afraid of sneakers.

Still, it is a true fact, and so much of what I know about writing— and myself— is actually really from what I learned about acting— and myself— in those dusty studios on those long eight hour days, when other kids were learning, I don’t know, philosophy or physics and I was learning, I think, mostly how to be.

The bulk of my time in the conservatory training program was spent on the Meisner technique, which deserves its own newsletter and which I’ve lectured about as a faculty member at VCFA and which is a part of me in a deep down sort of way, an identity as solid as having grown up in New England, being a bookworm, having had a hard time in high school. But after my two years of Meisner training, I had to choose something new to study my junior year, and one of those things I chose was a methodology called Viewpoints.

I’m not sure I am the person to distill Viewpoints into something entirely solid and understandable to anyone who didn’t spend their college days rolling around on the floor of a studio on Broadway and 19th street shouting I have no apologies! before sinking deep into their emotional reservoirs to perform scenes from Top Girls by Caryl Churchill (both, I want to be clear, entirely valuable parts of my education, things that I am proud were part of my becoming). I did find a quick explainer here. Suffice to say it is a physicality-based method, and that one of the exercises that stuck with me was one where we were asked, one by one, to come to the front of the room, sit in a chair and just exist.

We were explicitly NOT supposed to act, during this exercise. We weren’t meant to be putting on a show. It wasn’t clear exactly what we were meant to do, except to be. And it was up to the teacher to determine whether or not we had done this correctly.

A lot of acting school was like this— being asked to do things without a totally clear understanding of what it would look like to succeed. Art is that way, I guess, although I could have done without getting a C in Mask class because I was too punctual.

This was even more elusive, though, and I truly couldn’t tell what it was the teacher was looking for as person after person went to sit in the chair, and person after person was told no, they were not just being, they were doing something. You can imagine that in a room full of actors, people brought quite a bit to the chair. In the previous two years of our training we had been praised and rewarded for opening ourselves up emotionally, finding ways to let out tears and rage, for being quick to extreme vulnerability and, honestly, controlled breakdowns. Or uncontrolled breakdowns. People sat in the chair and sobbed. They sat in the chair and moved their bodies in ways that indicated authenticity. They held back tears. They played with their hair. They tried to appear present. And maybe some of them really were. I can’t say. I was not the arbiter of being-ness. I was just a twenty-year old with big dreams, like everyone else in the room.

When it was my turn, I felt something in between nervous and excited. I was tired, honestly, of overthinking about dialects and emotional preparation and memorizing monologues to try to show off my authenticity. I hadn’t had the success I’d imagined and hoped for, when I’d moved to New York to pursue my dreams. And not just because of the C in Mask class. I didn’t know how to stand out in a sea of performers. I didn’t know how to make what I did memorable, worthy.

So I sat in the chair and felt happy that I didn’t have to say any lines, that I wasn’t getting asked to walk or talk like a character, that maybe in this situation I couldn’t be criticized for the way I looked or the foggy goals I did or did not meet. I sat in the chair. I did not tear up or hold back or explore the feelings that came up. I didn’t really do anything. I sat in the chair and let that be enough.

After a few minutes— 5? 10?— the teacher applauded. “YES,” she said “YES. That is exactly right. That was beautiful. Just beautiful. Really, really special. See? See???”

The room nodded. I practically levitated with glory.

It has been more than twenty years since that moment, and I still feel the pride but also the bemusement, both of which are deep and gratifying and airy. I went to a fancy acting school and I wanted to be good so badly and I never was seen the way I wanted to be and the only thing I was ever best at for all those years was sitting in a chair and being. And somehow here I am, in my forties, feeling honestly a little self-satisfied! Still! I sat in the chair, guys! I was. I didn’t do. I met an invisible standard perfectly! Why am I still glowing from the praise?

Acting school is strange. So many of you were out there, I don’t know, memorizing the periodic table of elements? Writing research papers on the political landscape of the 1800s? I don’t know. I’ll never really know.

I sat in a chair and just was. And honestly, at the time I wanted to succeed in such things as getting a leading role or landing an agent, but from where I sit now— as a parent working to sit with the feelings of two young girls, as a person navigating the rage and worry of the world we live in, grappling with scraps of my past, reckoning with dreams for the future, writing, writing, writing writing— I am heartened by the accomplishment. I sat. I was. I didn’t try to be. I just… be-ed. It is silly. It is deeply absurd. I still surge with pride from the praise. I still, somehow, ridiculously, optimistically, ruefully, longingly, stubbornly think it matters.

I hope my writing reflects that. The feeling of being and not trying to be, of being and not doing. Of existing without proving the worthiness of the existence.

I got that C in Mask, I never got a lead role in a college play, I didn’t land a fancy agent or get cast in anything but a Samsung commercial where I made out with a hipster dude, but I authentically was for at least 5 minutes, maybe 10, in a chair in the early 2000s. And I don’t know. That’s kind of a lot to ask for a person, isn’t it?

News!

There’s so much!

In really overwhelmingly joyful news, my debut adult novel recently sold to Sally Kim at Little Brown, and I am over the moon. I’m so excited to enter this new-to-me space with a book I’ve been slowly working on for years and years, and I’m thrilled it’s found the perfect home at Little, Brown. From the announcement in Publisher’s Marketplace: MOTHERS AND OTHER STRANGERS is “about two women, best friends since childhood, who reunite as expectant mothers after a mysterious falling out between their mothers (also best friends) keeps them apart for years, and who must finally contend with the secrets between them”

More soon!!

My upcoming early reader chapter book series, ZOOMI AND ZOE, comes out this summer.

The first book ZOOMI AND ZOE AND THE TRICKY TURNAROUND on June 3rd, with ZOOMI AND ZOE AND THE SIBLING SITUATION to follow in August. The first book got a lovely review from Publishers Weekly— “In this earnest early reader chapter book series opener, Haydu (A Place for Feelings) sweetly addresses the importance of communication and compromise in fostering positive relationships. Brightly colored illustrations packed with whimsical details by Appert (What If You Wish?) amplify Zoe and Zoomi’s tender emotional journey.”

And coming in February 2026 is my next middle grade novel, THE ORDINARY AND EXTRAORDINARY AUDEN GREENE. This one was pitched as a fairy tale Freaky Friday, and follows two girls, both named Auden Greene, who switch places— Auden (Denny) heads to the fairytale land of Sorrowfeld where she must save a kingdom from dragons, and Princess Auden winds up in Denny’s town of Magnolia Bend, where she wants to get the lead in the Spring musical… and help her mother’s tenuous mental health, another sort of battle with dragons.

Recommendations

My first grader recently got very into a debate show podcast called Smash Boom Best that takes on such divisive topics as Donuts vs. Bagels, Bluey vs. Elmo and, yes, even Sneezing vs. Farting. It’s a really smartly done show, it’s funny and informative, and it’s a nice interactive listening experience where everyone can think about where they’d land on the hot button issues.

I recently spent a cold night at a wine bar finishing my reading of The Hypocrite by Jo Hamya, a stunning, tight, tense, sharp novel about a father-daughter relationship and the things we draw on in our personal life when making art. I found it beautifully written and unusual in its scope and intimacy. A really special book.

If you, like me, are thinking about the ways in which you consume, and what that means both politically and environmentally and also financially, I really suggest watching the movie Buy Now on Netflix, which had a real impact on me and my ongoing effort to buy less, consume less, and have more awareness about what I’m buying, and where I’m buying it from. If you feel like you need a bit of a kick in the pants on the subject, this is a good place to start.