“I don’t write what I know. I write what I wonder.” I said this in a bar, hanging out after a show,
and was rewarded with a chorus of ironic “oooooo”s. It was during a conversation about the
challenges of knowing your own voice and drawing on your own experiences, while at the same
time engaging with a world that includes so many voices and experiences that are not your own.
I actually meant what I said, even though in the moment I was going for a laugh. Playwriting is
way to question and explore our world(s), and to celebrate the conflict, complication and
confusion that’s inherent even in the best of all possible circumstances.

As much as I write about what I wonder, I also write about what I fear. I believe fear is not an
obstacle to be avoided, but to be embraced. Only in confronting what we fear can we become
our better, braver selves. My greatest artistic challenge at present, and one that I’m consciously
keeping at the forefront of my thought process, is in writing what scares me. If it doesn’t give me
that funny feeling in my stomach, that feeling of “I don’t know if I would want my
parents/friends/classmates/partner/etc to read or see this,” maybe it’s not worth putting out
there. The challenge I’ve set for myself it to not let a play or scene or beat or exchange of
dialogue slip by without something to make the audience lean forward in their seats, even if it’s
to get up and head for the exit.