sailsflyseaward:

Lin-Manuel Miranda for Rolling Stone // 

Perhaps inevitably, Miranda has been hearing the word “genius” thrown about. “You know what’s a great way of tricking people into thinking you’re a genius?” he says — when he gets excited, his speaking voice sounds nearly identical to Woody Allen’s, while he raps in an addictive whine that lands somewhere between Eminem and the guys from the Pharcyde. “Write a show about geniuses!” He’s in the back of an SUV on the way to the theater from his home in Washington Heights (where realtors use In the Heights as a neighborhood selling point). He’s wearing his usual pre-show summer uniform of shorts, T-shirt and New Balance sneakers, his long Hamiltonian hair in a ponytail. “And then everyone goes, ‘Oh, my God, he’s a genius! Hamilton’s a genius!’ They conflate the two. I’m not a fucking genius. I work my ass off. Hamilton could have written what I wrote in about three weeks. That’s genius. It took me a very long time to wrestle this onto the stage, to even be able to understand the worldviews of the characters that inhabit my show, and then be able to distill that.”