No writer comes to a blank page truly blank. And no pain (joy, struggle, success, love or loss) is a one-time event when you are a playwright. Everything, sooner or later, finds its way to the page. I find this comforting. It gives the oddball occurrence and random heartbreak meaning for me. I came to playwriting through country music. Well-written country tunes are usually tightly packed, three-minute stories. My dad is a songwriter. Everything he does, everywhere he goes, he is listening and looking for a way to take an average saying and turn it into an exceptional turn of phrase/song title. All this said, I grew up in a world of word play. I also grew up surrounded by the odd. My Uncle Richard lost his left leg in a car accident. And then, went and paralyzed his own arm in a terrible moment of drunkenness. My Aunt Edna at four feet tall, had the mind of a second grader and a scar from when a neighbor dog bit her smack dab in the face. Why do I mention this? Because the people I write about are the nobodies, the un-cool, quirky forgotten ones. The one-leg drunks and the four card rummy players, the ones who’ve made mistakes they can’t undo; these are my people. I’m not trying to be cool. I’m just trying to tell great stories. I also come to playwriting through acting. I’ve been an actress in New York City for years: Off-Broadway, under-five soap work, indie films, commercials and at this point scores of random black box theatre experiences. All this said, my vision is to be a lifelong storyteller. My hope is to do this with excellence, originality and heart.