I write this from the MacDowell Colony in New Hampshire, where I am beginning (or trying to begin) a new play. MacDowell is amazing—they put you in the middle of the woods and give you a cabin all to yourself, with a fireplace and a big window and a square grand piano that’s been converted into a desk. They bring lunch to your door in a picnic basket. There are chickens running around (that might be my favorite part). And then there is the whole day in front of you, with nothing to do but write, and nothing surrounding you but trees. And crippling self-doubt.

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