I write about people who have performed competence for so long they've misplaced the person doing the performing — an actor whose craft stops working, step-siblings sorting through what a house remembers, a campaign war room where everyone can name the day they stopped noticing. The institutions in my plays believe a life is stored in their records. My characters keep insisting a life is stored in what they do next.
Thirty years of interactive dinner theatre trained me. When an audience is holding a fork, you learn quickly which lines earn their keep. You also learn that a lie delivered over dessert and a confession delivered in a lawyer's office are the same performance at different stakes. Comedy taught me how people hide. The dramas go looking for what it costs.
I try to write plays that understand an argument well enough to let every side land a punch. I cut half of every draft. If a play makes you want to argue with it on the drive home, it's working.