I’ve always been obsessed with dressing up. I dress up to remind myself of who I am, who I’d like to be, or who I’m not (I DON’T look good in earth tones). People who are thoughtful about gender and performance call that “drag.” But lately, more than a gown or heels, my playwriting is my drag. In my work, I can dress up in the loneliest parts of myself and write down what they have to say; I can create strange, glamorous worlds and populate them with electrically compelling characters desperate for acceptance or transcendence. I write to build homes for the parts of myself that need shelter, and I write to honor my fellow queers, queens, and peoples-in-betweens.