In the jungles of Puerto Rico, there used to be an enormous radio telescope one thousand feet wide. I spent a summer there researching asteroids and learning from a quirky and welcoming team of international scientists. The following winter, the telescope tragically collapsed, ending decades of observations. However, the visitor center is still open today. My plays are like that visitor center: they tell the stories of incredible communities often overlooked; they hold a fascination with science while welcoming people who know nothing about it; and they bear witness to a real grief that’s right next door.

I use my plays as telescopes to show audiences the detail and complexity of worlds they haven’t considered, whether it’s the turbulent world of 17th century astronomy (Good Heavens!) or the close-knit but manipulative world of campus ministries (Hands to Mold). Following my favorite type of science fiction, I explore how new discoveries could shake our closest relationships. Do marriage vows hold during time travel accidents (This Time Around), and does digital consciousness threaten best friends’ chances of seeing each other in the afterlife (Lifted Up)? Though I write with a playful voice and sprinkle humor throughout all my writing, I also leave room to let the sucky parts of life suck. Letting go of people and communities we love is an ugly but necessary part of life and one that my characters face often (all of the above plays, plus several more).

Ultimately, I write about ideas that keep me up at night. As a result, the Daniel’s Plays Visitor Center is built at the intersection of science, society, and spirituality. It’s a mess out back, but I promise there’s a great story behind the wreckage.