I grew up in a clearing in the woods, and started writing when I was 12. The first thing I wrote was “I want to be a writer”. College was poorly chosen and my performance — supremely underwhelming. Moved to Europe and married a drummer. Disillusioned and divorced, moved to New York City and married an actor. Clearly I wasn’t accepting advice from anyone during this period of my life. The actor and I have an exquisite child, a young woman now, who both confounds and delights me.

I was a founding member of Venture Theater in Chelsea, a tidy acting company doing challenging work—Albee, Pinter, Williams, and Becket.

I never waited tables, but I did spend several years on turntables extolling the suspension, drive shaft, and overall design of Buicks. Dozen of industrials, showcases, and auditions, all the while writing and sporadicly acting—a highlight was Mother Courage with Olympia Dukakis.

Of course I’m skipping over quite a bit of flotsam. I continued to write even when I could no longer juggle child and auditions. (I gave up the auditions.)

I taught and directed at Brooklyn Friends (and would like to note that there is nothing quite so gratifying as a high school actor hopped up on Shakespeare), and I continued to write.

Here is where my biography takes a queer turn. I took a four-day-a-week job at Discover magazine (black holes, invisibility cloaks, brain parasites, etc.), so I could subsidize my writing habit. Twelve years later I left as managing editor.

“Left” is a euphemism for the publisher’s decision to close the New York office. Which dumps me out here and now with all of that writing ready for market.

Please see PROJECTS.