Much of my time is spent thinking about community, as both an object and an idea—a group of people and a physical environment which I inhabit. With all humanity in deep mourning, it seems this definition of community has shifted from a shallow quest for acceptance to survival. What is creative community, and how does it function in a world that can no longer look backwards? I have always tried to write plays about the systems that fail us- as women, as queer folk, as constituents, lovers and creative minds. And now, as vulnerable, deeply flawed human beings. The examination of these corrupt institutions is why we were, at least why I was, attracted to theater in the first place. Time and time again I consulted plays as a way to broaden my knowledge, and examine my privilege. I write plays as an extension of that research, while simultaneously finding joy in the community this examination builds. I want to upset expectations while tapping into the theatricality and absurdity of existence. And now, more than ever, I want theater to be a magnifying glass to people and places that feel lost. Not only on the stage, but behind the scenes. Writing plays that create worlds that are queer, recognizable but skewed, with characters and collaborators equally complex, this is how I see the community we will build. With space for mistakes, stories about mothers, gentleness, collective questioning, rigidity and softness. The theater I write is an entrance into a more holistic community, full of beautiful contradictions.