At 57, Now an Empty Nester, I’m Writing a Broadway Musical

After the Tony Awards: What began as a leap of faith led me to a place of power

This essay is part of the Between Chapters project, inspired by the upcoming book. What chapters are you between? How did you get from one chapter to another? Share your story here.

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Sheryl Berk with (from left) composer Billy Recce and Broadway/West End Star Ramin Karimloo in the recording studio

“Mommy is writing a musical.”

When I announced the news two years ago to my family at a Mother’s Day brunch, everyone stared at me, confused.

“Why? Will you make any money? And why?”

At 57, I’m at the age when many people start thinking about slowing down, not starting over. At the time, I didn’t really have an answer. Just a feeling—and an endless supply of self-doubt. Imposter syndrome, if you will. Who did I think I was?

But the truth is, it’s not such an out-there idea. I spent my college years interning at Theater Week magazine and later wrote for InTheatre and American Theatre. I’ve interviewed countless theater professionals and have ghostwritten memoirs for several stage stars. I have been lucky enough to attend press and opening nights, the Drama Desk Awards and the Tonys. I count numerous Broadway actors, critics and publicists among my friends.

This world isn’t foreign to me. It’s familiar, lived-in.

I was a theater kid who took tap and singing from an old Vaudeville guy every Sunday at Carnegie Hall. My classmates were Donny Most, Sarah Jessica Parker, and what felt like every Annie on Broadway. I was a classical voice minor in college, and have written several scripts for TV, Film and children’s theater. Heck, I’m a card-carrying member of The Dramatists Guild.

But a commercial musical, one with the lofty goal of landing on Broadway? That’s a whole other ball of wax.

Photo by nooooodles 1337 on Unsplash

At the beginning of the 2024 Broadway theater season, I went to see a highly hyped production with a close friend who reviews shows. About halfway through, during one particularly cringe-worthy number, I leaned over and whispered, “I can do better than this.”

He didn’t laugh. “Yes,” he said. “You can, and you should. You know everything about musicals. I say go for it.”

I didn’t take him seriously at the time. But that moment, sitting in the theater, half amused and half horrified, a seed was planted. For days, all I could think about was, could I? It felt daunting, even a little terrifying. I understood musical structure and form, but I was far removed from the business side of Broadway. How does one find a collaborator? Raise money? Stage a reading? What are the actual steps to getting a show up on its feet?

I sat down one evening, when my husband had gone to bed and the dog was snoring in harmony next to him, and opened up a blank document. I started a list of characters. Then a first scene. Then a second. Then a third. The words poured out of me, as if I was possessed. When I finally went to sleep, the sun was coming up. In a week, I had an entire first act written; in two weeks a complete 90-page first draft.

Photo by Kaitlyn Baker on Unsplash

I began a fact-finding mission, speaking to friends and friends of friends and gathering advice. Each gave me plenty to think about: places to trim or expand, ways to build layer upon layer to create resonance and deeper meaning. One composer suggested I write lyrics. “Oh, no! I am not a lyricist,” I protested.

But he was insistent. “You have a clear vision of who the characters are, so just let them speak in song.”

So, I did. I wrote the first of what would become 18 songs: some ballads, some bangers, some modern storytelling. A few I could actually hear the tune of in my head, while others simply had a rhythmic flow. I wasn’t sure it was the “right” way to go about it, but it felt natural.

Over blueberry pancakes at Friedman’s in the theater district, I met with my best friend’s sister-in-law, an actor and theater manager with over 40 years experience. She had read my script and told me she liked it and saw its potential. Best of all, she knew a wonderful young composer for the project.

Photo by Dayne Topkin on Unsplash

“I think he will get it. I think he’s the perfect collaborator for this,” she said.

She introduced us and we instantly clicked. He was excited, I was excited. We spent hours brainstorming and bouncing ideas off each other. Yes, he is half my age, but he doesn’t see me as past my prime. We compare notes on our favorite shows and he appreciates that I have a deep frame of reference.

Since we signed a collaboration agreement two years ago, we have done table reads, brainstorming sessions, recording sessions, benefit concerts, and endless rewrites. We have a Broadway development team in place, a director, arrangers, as well as a talented stable of performers. Each one holds my “baby” in his/her hand, nurturing it and helping it grow.

I often worry that we still have such a long way to go. But then comes the new song, the new scene, the “A-ha!” moment when I see how far we’ve come. The puzzle pieces are fitting into place, and my place in this mix feels more cemented, more certain. What started as self-doubt is slowly turning into something else, something that feels a lot like purpose.

Now, somehow, the project has taken on a life of its own. We have secured investors, a producer, even Broadway stars to record a concept album. I wake up every morning in pinch-me mode, so grateful, but also a little stunned that I am actually pulling this off.

My husband still teasingly calls it my “passion project,” but it’s so much more than that. For me, it’s a chance to share my heart through art, to open eyes and minds, and create something with real social impact. I am telling a story born out of my own experience, rooted in the most universal of truths.

Photo by Paolo Chiabrando on Unsplash

I don’t expect everyone to understand it. There are always naysayers, the ones who call it “a hobby,” or worse, “a waste of time.” A friend recently questioned if I should be starting something new “at this age,” as if a few years short of sixty is a moment to wind down. I see it differently.

This time in a woman’s life, when you find yourself an empty nester with more space to think, is Life 2.0. It’s when you finally return to the dreams you once put on hold. Back then, I didn’t have the luxury of stepping away from a steady career or raising a family. I didn’t yet understand that simply living your life is preparation for telling a meaningful story. There is love and loss, failure and forgiveness. There are dots that only connect when you step back and see the full picture. Not coincidentally, these are the very themes of my show.

I have an autograph from Stephen Sondheim framed over my desk. I touch it every day like a talisman, a quiet reminder of the power of music to lift us up and light the way. It still shakes me to my core that this work is mine. It has found me as much as I have found it.

Photo by Jordhan Madec on Unsplash

I am surrounded by creatives who eat, sleep, and breathe theater, and their energy is electric. It reminds me I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like an outsider looking in. I feel like I belong.

What began as a leap of faith has led me here to a place of power I didn’t know I was still allowed to claim. So yes, Mommy is writing a musical. And somewhere along the way, she stopped asking who she thought she was — and started becoming her.