On the PBS recording of 'The Light in the Piazza' backstage, you get to see me doing some sweet lunges down the hallway of the Vivian Beaumont.
I remember running down the hallway screaming 'We're Not Gonna Take It.' It was really one of those childhood anthems that really stirred you up and made you want to rebel.
You know how in every heist movie they get past the security cameras that show the hallway leading to the diamonds by jamming the screens with a fake signal of everything looking safe and quiet? Usually a guard coughs so they don't notice the blip from switching to the bogus feed.
Sometimes, to keep things exciting, I decorate my house as if I owned a child. I'll toss a tiny pair of shoes in the hallway or lean small wooden crutches in what I refer to as 'the baby's room,' which is actually a tiny space where I make things. I continue to call it the baby's room because it confuses people and it's creepy.
I remember when I was 5 living on Pulaski Street in Brooklyn, the hallway of our building had a brass banister and a great sound, a great echo system. I used to sing in the hallway.
When I grew up, there was still black and white TV. I was told to never get out of bed once you're put to bed. I'd sneak down the hallway, try to avoid the creaking floor boards and go in and watch the 'Midnight Movie.'
I can draw pencil lines to show something is moving, but if I'm writing, I struggle with how to write it. The boy ran down the hallway? The boy ran quickly down the hallway? The boy ran down the marble hallway? I agonize over the words. So my editor works very hard. I'm lucky to have her.
I'm not at the point where I'd feel safe in a house alone. I would be really scared. I'm the kind of person that when I get up to go use the bathroom I have this big long hallway, and I just know someone's going to jump out and get me.