When I first walked in to Writers’ Theatre two years ago, I thought I was lost. “Surely,” I thought, “this can’t be the place. Surely this isn’t the theatre I had heard so much about, the theatre all of my friends raved about, the theatre one of my favorite teachers had often cited as the very best Chicago had to offer. This place is in the back of the Women’s Library Club in a tiny town on the North Shore that I have never heard of. I wonder if I was supposed to stay on I-90…”

As it happens, I was walking in to Writers’ that day to audition for the following summer’s production of A Streetcar Named Desire.  I was 22 and fresh out of college. I had booked my first ‘real’ show a few weeks earlier, but it would be several months before it started rehearsals. In the meantime, I was busying myself as a seasonal employee at Toys-R-Us near my hometown, idling away my free time in my mom’s basement, and wondering just what the hell the last four years had been all about. I was going through the motions, experiencing the self-doubt and dread that plagues so many people my age as they are thrust out of the relative safety of a virtually consequence-free college environment and in to The Real World.

My first few months out of school found me auditioning at all of the major Chicago theatres. I was ecstatic to be in the city, finally starting my journey, and was hopeful that opportunities would come my way. But as May turned to June and July turned to August, and as the calls and emails from casting agents waned, and as I traveled up for one disappointing audition after another for dubious agents and in front of rude casting interns, I began to feel weary. So far, The Real World was decidedly disappointing. And it was with this prematurely-acquired cynicism that I drove up to Glencoe in November of 2009, still in my bright red Toys-R-Us polo, for what I fully expected to be another frustrating waste of time and near-crippling blow to my self-esteem.

Upon entering the theatre and being greeted by the production’s director, David Cromer (whom I thankfully hadn’t heard of, or my nerves would have surely derailed my audition), I was immediately struck by its size. It was small, but in that beautiful and wholly pleasing way that is the hallmark of great Chicago storefront theatres.  There’s something about the Tudor Court space that immediately welcomes the actor; you feel at home. I was so busy admiring the space, the politeness of the director, the talent of the actress reading as Blanche, and the friendly nature of Michael Halberstam (who was seated up in the back row, almost out of sight) that I forgot to be an entitled, spoiled twenty-something. I left the theatre feeling something I knew I should have been feeling all along: grateful for the opportunity. It really is amazing what can happen in seven minutes.

There’s a lot I could say about this place and about the extraordinary staff that makes it what it is. There’s a lot to be said for the two theatres (I haven’t had the opportunity to see a show in the Books on Vernon space, though I have had the chance to go in and walk around) and the intimacy that is their gift to the actor. There are a lot of things to be said for the community that supports this place, and for the subscribers that keep coming back year after year with such passion and joy. But in the interest of brevity I’ll simply say that there have been many times when I’ve looked around—either backstage or on stage during a show, or on a break in the middle of a tech rehearsal, or just sitting with the cast having a post-show drink—and a thought will occur to me: this is the way it’s supposed to be.

I’ve had the chance to work and audition at some really wonderful places and have gotten to know some great people, but Writers’ remains the yardstick by which all other theatres are measured. And sometimes, standing out on that stage with these extraordinary actors, I am still struck with disbelief that I have been gifted with such a rewarding experience, and graced with such magnificent good fortune.

There are several tools that I use to develop every role I play: casting unseen characters, filling in minute details, and creating a character playlist. I applied all of these to the development of Debbie in The Real Thing, but I also discovered a new tool in the process: using design elements for inspiration (particularly sound and costume design in this case).

I usually begin developing a character by “casting” all of the people who are mentioned in the play but don’t actually make an appearance. In Act 2 Scene 3, my character (Debbie) is making preparations to leave her family and go on the road with a guy she’s supposedly in love with. I wanted to have a clear image in my mind of who this guy was so I picked a real person. Sometimes I choose someone I know personally, but in this case I chose a celebrity: Ryan Gosling. I mean, who wouldn’t run off with Ryan Gosling, even if he were some kind of gypsy? He’s someone who I think would mesmerize even a very intelligent 17-year-old.

Since the play takes place about ten years before I was born, I had to do a little research to familiarize myself with concepts such as free love, and to work on interpreting Stoppard’s language. Then I was able to fill in the more minute details of Debbie’s life like her birthday, address, favorite color, and other things that every person knows about themselves, and therefore every character should too. I go even deeper and start thinking about things like what career she wants to pursue, what her favorite band is, and even whether or not she believes in God. I’m not sure yet whether having these answers enhances my performance, but they reassure me that my character is fully developed, and that I am presenting as whole of a person as I can.

I mentioned earlier that I thought about things like what her favorite band may be. Because my scene takes place in 1983, I looked at some UK music charts from 1980-1983 and discovered a lot of hits such as Duran Duran’s Hungry Like the Wolf, The Jam’s Town Called Malice, and others that I thought Debbie would listen to. That brings me to the point about how other artistic elements of the show actually informed my character, which has never happened to me so substantially before. I think Debbie may be like Henry in the sense that he doesn’t like artists; he likes singles. And perhaps she even shares his affinity for 60’s pop music, and therefore likes many of the songs played throughout the play that I jam out to while performing scene changes: The Zombies’ Time of the Season, Wayne Fontana’s Game of Love, and the Hollies’ Look Through Any Window. These artistic choices definitely informed my character’s music taste, as much as they informed what I listen to on the Metra to Glencoe.

Perhaps the element that affected my character the most was my costume. In addition to the ripped black jeans, checkered vest, and feather earrings, I have also dyed my hair red and painted my nails a solid black. Costume Designer David Hyman’s vision for Debbie really helped me tap into my character’s eccentricity, and also how she wears her ideals on her sleeve. It reinforces Debbie’s modernity especially in contrast to her father, and how cool Debbie is in contrast to me. Honestly, it’s awesome playing a character that is so much cooler than me.