My plays inhabit the uneasy space where the familiar begins to tilt, ordinary places where ordinary people are just trying to get through the day. Yet something is always pressing beneath the surface: a secret, a grievance, or a bad decision waiting to be made, and once it starts to push its way out, things rarely go according to plan. My writing has been compared to that of Pinter, Beckett, Albee, Shaffer, Shepard, and even the Coen Brothers, artists whose works have profoundly shaped my sense of rhythm, tension, and the strange elasticity of human behavior. While I am grateful for those comparisons, I make no claim to their depth or output; what I do claim is a love of storytelling that refuses to sit still. I describe my style as dynamic realism, with stories grounded in recognizable worlds that are always nudging against the limits of that reality, stretching it, testing it, and sometimes cracking it wide open, where humor and danger often arrive in the same moment because people are rarely as stable, rational, or predictable as they believe themselves to be. I am not interested in inviting an audience to settle in politely; I want them to buckle up and feel like they have boarded a ride that might take a sharp turn at any moment. Above all, I write to entertain, offering actors characters they can sink their teeth into and audiences stories that are vivid, unsettling, and funny, and, if I have done my job right, impossible to look away from.