A New Partnership: I’m Now a MasterClass Affiliate

July 30, 2025July 30, 2025 ~ duane ~ Leave a comment

Loyal Readers,

I have some news that’s equal parts exciting and “here, let me put it on the table so you can see every card I’m holding.”

Last week I was accepted into the MasterClass affiliate program. That means if you click one of their links or banners on this site and end up subscribing, I earn a small commission—at no extra cost to you.

Now At MasterClass : Helen Mirren Teaches Acting

Relevance > Revenue

I didn’t go hunting for any affiliate program that would pay a buck. I specifically looked for something that overlaps with what we already obsess over here: Shakespeare, acting, storytelling. MasterClass happens to have Natalie Portman, Helen Mirren, Samuel L. Jackson, and more teaching exactly those topics. Trust me when I say this, I’m looking at all the different ad campaigns available to me now, and you won’t be seeing anything about mastering the markets or designing every space in your home. We do Shakespeare here, and I don’t plan to stray from that.

All Ads Are Not Created Equal

Look, I know there are ads on the site already. I hate them as much as you do. But I’m also not a fan of the fact that I’ve run this site (which means paying to host it) for many years, and never really tried to make money from it. My daughter was just born when I started. You know what? She’s finishing college this year. You know what else? That costs a lot of money. I hope no one begrudges me that.

Where I can make money to offset my costs, I have to consider my options. And even though I have my core of loyal readers, I have thousands of anonymous people dropping in from Google searches, too. So, not monetizing their traffic is just leaving money on the table, honestly.

I’d much rather make money through partnerships like this. They’re less invasive, more relevant, and ultimately, I make more revenue. So if you bear with me for a little while as I continually try to optimize this area of site maintenance, I think we’ll all benefit in the long run. Click on some banners, explore what MasterClass (and possibly soon other affiliates) have to offer. Not for you? Maybe something you could give as a gift to the actor or Shakespeare geek in your life?

Of Course There Are Always Other Ways

Woman at the beach wearing a Nothing Like the Sun purple t-shirt — Visit the Shakespeare Geek Merchandise Shop

I’m going to go ahead here and say that merchandise sales can be a great alternate source of revenue, too! Please make it a point to stop by the Shakespeare Geek Merchandise Shop before you leave! What were we just saying about gifts for your friends?)

Or, you know, if you want, you can just go ahead and “buy me a coffee” as they say. I appreciate donations in all forms.

The Content Won’t Change

I’ve been in the web game for a very long time. I know all the tricks for how to “optimize” your content when really that means optimizing my revenue, not your experience. That’s not what this is about. I’m not planning on suddenly coming up with posts about how “Shakespeare Shows You How To Master The Markets” just so I can pull more Google traffic and get more clicks. I’ll say it again – we got here by talking about Shakespeare, and that’s not going to change.

Try Before You Commit

MasterClass offers a 30-day refund window. If you dip in and it isn’t for you, you can cancel – commission revoked, guilt-free.

TL;DR

I’m thrilled to partner with a platform whose acting courses line up with the work we already love. If you ever feel the ads are getting in the way, email me—seriously. The curtain only stays up when everyone in the audience can still see the stage.

Thanks for reading, and for trusting me with your inbox and your time.

Break legs,
Duane

Helen Mirren Teaches Acting at MasterClass

P.S. If you’d like to check out the acting lineup (and maybe support the site while you’re at it), you can start here:
MasterClass Acting.

Extreme Shakespeare? What’s That?

July 29, 2025July 28, 2025 ~ duane ~ Leave a comment

When I caught this headline about someone who “loves the work he does, even the extreme Shakespeare stuff,” it was a definite, “Ok, bookmark that and come back to it later.” What exactly is extreme Shakespeare? Titus Andronicus?

I don’t know if Brandon E. Burton created the term, but he’s using it to refer to their method of prep and rehearsal:

The actors are given a playbook, have only four days to rehearse, and often only know the last line their fellow actors will be saying. The playwright acts as the director, and if you read his instructions carefully you know how to play your part. That’s the way Shakespeare did it and that’s why its called ‘extreme.’

Makes sense to me, and I’d love to see notes from the actors on what it means to them. Much like the Original Pronunciation (OP) approach, there’s something extra added to productions that go out of their way to bring more of Shakespeare’s time and place to the performance.

The original "extreme Shakespeare", Titus Andronicus — Sorry, Titus.

Has anyone ever done this? I know I’ve got plenty of actors and directors in the crowd. What do you think about the playbook approach where you only know your own lines and interactions? I’ve been led to believe that there are movies that sometimes do this, often to prevent leaking story twists too soon. For Shakespeare I’m sure it was more about efficiency, cost, and other practical factors.

So Extreme Shakespeare is just … Shakespeare the way Shakespeare wanted it?

And am I the only one that gets a kick out of that last line? “That’s the way Shakespeare did it, that’s why it’s called extreme.” What? Doing the play the way it was originally done is extreme now? Reminds me of an old The Onion classic, about the unconventional director who set Shakespeare in the time and place Shakespeare intended. EXTREME!!!

In Defense of Reading Shakespeare

July 28, 2025July 22, 2025 ~ duane ~ 2 Comments

I’ve heard it a thousand times, “Shakespeare wasn’t meant to be read. He’s meant to be performed.” And sure, yes, go see Shakespeare. I’d never say don’t do that. But that doesn’t mean reading Shakespeare is a lesser experience. In fact, I’d say the opposite.

There’s an opportunity for depth in reading Shakespeare that live performance can’t offer. Theatre is ephemeral. Blink and you’ll miss something important – a gesture, a line, an inflection choice. You can’t pause a stage play. You can’t rewind. But the text? The text is always there, waiting for you to come back to it.

**Why Reading Shakespeare Might Be Better Than Watching It**

Reading Shakespeare invites close reading in a way most literature doesn’t. Even the longest play, Hamlet, is only about 30,000 words – less than half the size of a typical novel. Caught up in the “oh, the language is so hard and archaic” argument, people miss how powerful this can be. There’s a lot of blank space in Shakespeare. Room for interpretation, Filling in your own thoughts on what he didn’t say, in a way that flows seamlessly with what he did. Was Ophelia pregnant? Whose idea was it to kill Duncan – Macbeth’s, or his wife’s?

When you read a novel, how often do you flip back through 70,000+ words to find a clue? I can’t be the only reader out there who has had that experience of realizing on some random page, “My mind was wandering, I don’t think I remember what happened over the last three pages.”

My Own Personal Shakespeare: Macbeth Edition. Bring back reading Shakespeare! — Available Now on Amazon

And with audiobooks, forget it. I love audiobooks, that’s all I listen to in the car. But I can’t tell you how often I’ll be struck with a thought and think, “Wait, what? Hold on, back up …” but you can’t do that. You know how, on a video streaming service, when you try to rewind (or fast forward), some show you the video and some don’t? And how that makes all the difference in being able nail exactly where you want to be? Audiobooks don’t have any of that. Trust me, I’ve often brainstormed my idea of the perfect audiobook app that would somehow keep a transcription going while you listened, allowing you to shout “Bookmark!” at any point and remember where you were for later. (I confess, I’ve sometimes been known to go grab the ebook version of an audiobook when I really, really want to know exactly what I missed.)

With Shakespeare, it’s all right there. I mean, it’s literally public domain, you can grab the text from dozens of sources, for free, whenever and however suits you. And then you can go straight to a scene, pick apart the dialogue, literally examining each word. For extra credit you can even look at multiple editions and compare different decisions that were made. You decide how to interpret what’s said, and more importantly, not said. You become part of the process.

Sure, some of the language will be unfamiliar. But that’s part of the reward. Read slowly. Use online glossaries. Let the context guide you. You’ll be amazed how much meaning unfolds when you stop trying to rush through and instead sit with the words. Half the time, it made no sense only because it went by so fast during that precious live performance that you didn’t have any time to stop and think about it. Now you do, as much as you need.

Shakespeare should be seen, absolutely. Go to the theatre, watch the films, enjoy the performances. But reading Shakespeare is what gives you ownership. It’s what stays with you. Not just “I liked the Fassbender Macbeth,” but “Here’s what I think Shakespeare was really saying.” And if you really want it to stay with you, get your hands on an “annotation copy” that’s intended for you to write down exactly what you feel about individual scenes.

That’s the joy. Not just watching, but thinking. Not just hearing the lines, but developing your own personal relationship with them. Make Shakespeare your own.

Ink & Roses Chapter 2 – The Mill-Wheel’s Tremble

July 28, 2025July 28, 2025 ~ duane ~ Leave a comment

(Stratford-upon-Avon, 25 April 1592)

The river runs high after the rains, and the whole house trembles with the mill-wheel’s turning. I feel the shake in my bones the way other women feel church bells. It is the season when everything grows—even the spaces between us.

I sit at the little oak table that once belonged to my father, light thin as whey through the leaded glass, and count coins into piles: one for the baker, one for the butcher, one for the schoolmaster who says Hamnet is quick but too fond of birds’ nests. The fourth pile—six pennies and a clipped angel—bears no mark. I turn the angel over twice, then slip it into the purse beneath the loose board. It is the first coin to cross the threshold without another mouth already calling for it.

Upstairs Susanna recites her letters to the twins, who answer in giggles and thuds. Their voices chase each other like swallows under the eaves. I think: Will would smile at that. Then I think: he is not here to smile.

I was twenty-six when he was sixteen, and I liked the way he read verses to the river reeds as though they were an audience. I liked the way he looked startled when I laughed—startled, then determined, as if laughter were a riddle he could solve by kissing it. When the harvest failed and my father’s roof leaked, Will’s voice was the only warm thing in the county. I let him stay late; I let him stay later. When the consequence announced itself in the skipping of a month’s courses, he married me with a ring of barley straw he twisted while I wept. He wore it until the priest spoke, then tucked it into the prayer book he still carries. I have never asked if it is still there.

Some nights I count the years between us the way others count rosary beads—ten beads, ten years—and wonder whether love is a thread strong enough to stretch so far. Other nights I listen to the mill wheel and think: perhaps love is simply the sound of one person working while another is away.

He sends money when he can. He writes the children a nonsense rhyme for every shilling. He writes me one line only—“I keep the barley straw.” I do not know if that is love, but it is something I can hold in my palm like a warm egg. I do not know if it will hatch or spoil. I only know I am tired of wondering.

Tonight I will seal this letter with plain wax and no perfume. I will tell him the twins have grown two fingers taller, that the cherry tree blossomed early, that the miller’s dog still barks at the moon on his behalf. I will not ask when he is coming home. I will not ask if there is another woman, or another man, or simply another stage that keeps him later than I ever did. I will only ask that he remember the river is still running high, and that the wheel turns whether he listens or not.

—Anne Hathaway

—–

Next Time: Kit owes three pounds by Pentecost, and the dice are turning ugly.

<< Chapter 1

Comment below with the one word you’d send to Anne, or share with a friend who’d guard a secret on barley straw.

Did The Two Princes Live?

July 22, 2025July 20, 2025 ~ duane ~ Leave a comment

What really happened to the two princes in the Tower? It’s one of history’s most haunting mysteries—two royal brothers vanish, a crown is taken, and centuries of speculation follow. Now, the researcher who found Richard III’s bones under a car park is back, and she thinks she has the answer.

Richard III has a fairly high body count, however you count it.
He’s directly responsible for at least ten deaths—give or take, depending on how you tally things like Henry VI, whose murder happens in the previous play. But we all know Shakespeare wasn’t aiming for strict historical accuracy. He was writing to entertain and to please a Tudor monarch. Truth got a few edits along the way.

One of the coldest acts—on stage and in history—is the disappearance of the two princes: Edward V and Richard, Duke of York. In the play, Richard has them smothered in the Tower. In real life? They just… vanished.

Or did they? 🎵 dun dun DUNNNNNN!

What Happened to the Two Princes in the Tower?

Enter Philippa Langley—yes, the same researcher who found Richard III’s remains under a car park in 2012. She’s been on this case for years, and she’s not just speculating; she’s been digging (literally and figuratively) through archives, and she thinks she’s found something significant.

You may have heard of Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck, two men who claimed to be the missing princes after the death of Richard III. Both were dismissed as imposters. Case closed, right?

Not so fast, says Langley.

She and her research team have uncovered documents suggesting those boys may have been exactly who they claimed to be. One example? Receipts from 1487 supporting a rebellion by “Edward IV’s son”—the same year Simnel led his uprising and was crowned in Dublin. Langley has uncovered new references to the boy being “called” or believed to be “a son of King Edward.” She thinks that points to Simnel being Edward V himself.

So, what do the historians think? Langley has earned credibility with the discovery of Richard’s remains. This isn’t just a publicity stunt—it’s the continuation of a long, serious investigation. And it definitely has me curious.

Of course, even with new evidence, the question of what happened to the two princes is thorny. Traditional accounts lean heavily on Richard III’s guilt, but most of those sources were written under the Tudors—who had every reason to paint Richard as a villain. Thomas More’s account, for instance, is vivid and damning, but it was written decades later, under Henry VIII.

That’s why Langley’s work is so interesting. She’s not just rehashing old chronicles; she’s digging into primary sources that have been overlooked or misfiled, tracing networks of payments, correspondence, and political maneuverings that hint at something far more complex. What if Edward V didn’t die in the Tower at all? What if his identity was suppressed and replaced with the “pretender” label for the sake of stability?

Langley’s argument, if it holds up, would radically shift our understanding of that period. It suggests that the official story—the one we’ve accepted for centuries—might have been more propaganda than truth. It wouldn’t be the first time history was written by the winners, especially in a shaky new dynasty like the Tudors.

Naturally, not everyone is convinced. Many historians remain skeptical, arguing that the lack of hard evidence (especially forensic) keeps this in the realm of interesting theory. But Langley’s success with the Richard III dig gives her a level of credibility that’s hard to ignore.

Whether you buy the theory or not, it’s a fascinating reminder of how much we still don’t know about the past—and how much can still come to light, even centuries later.

What do you think?