Recommended by Greg Burdick

“Do you ever feel like you don’t want anyone to be happy because you’re miserable?” Hageman taps into a familiar, deeply-rooted mindset that all of us have felt at least once in our lives. But the play becomes a beautiful lesson in altruism when three siblings learn to set it aside. Clever flourishes and realistic dialogue permeate, and the ending will change how you want the world to remember you when you’re gone.

Salsbury’s intense play about the devastating ripple effects of gun violence inside schools will sit uneasily on your chest long after you read it. A heavy, lingering weight. The mother painted in this piece feels like a grown version of the young girl in her “Route 84 House Fire:” broken, hollow, numb. Which you should also read. Now. This author has a genuine gift for ratcheting tension and suspense, and I can’t wait to survey more of her work.

I’ve enjoyed the liberty of taking an overnight trip as a student. I’ve suffered the anxiety of liability when sponsoring one as an educator. I’ve fretted about my daughter when she’s been away from home under similar circumstances. In Hoke’s “Solo,” all three perspectives meet in a fantastic story of negligence and leverage. Not a single character is blameless, but Hoke expertly presents just enough to help you lean the way of each one periodically through the play. The ending proves that when we’re in it for ourselves, no holds are barred.

Just the concept behind McBurnette-Andronicos’ 10-minute “miracle play” is perfect enough, (a dead parrot, a seemingly guilty cat on the lam, and three sisters attempting to undo the carnage.) But she packs the story with four hilarious and memorable characters and high theatricality, making it a genuine gift for young Latina performers. I was smiling during the whole read!

If you’ve ever spent time in the ocean on a surfboard, Stout’s play will call to you. Full of gorgeous, rich, sensual imagery, the play carves out heavy themes of survivor’s guilt, love and loss, and the steep price of redemption. I had never heard of the selkie prior to reading, but its inclusion is so achingly poetic, and so beautifully executed in the storytelling, I’m sure I won’t be able to keep from scanning the waterline for one whenever I hit the beach for the rest of my days. Beautiful. Haunting.

Farr’s short play is a shining example of how to show true empathy on the stage. The two women in her story, of separate generations, begin by NOT acting their age while attempting to connect with the other. The turn in the play comes when they show their true colors, ultimately allowing Eunice and Jane to be comfortable in their own skin. Loaded with genuine insight about clutching onto youth, and being forced to grow up too fast, I laughed until I crying-emojied...

Sue’s imaginary friend isn’t the only elephant in the room in this incredible short. Jordan Henry relies on powerful sensory imagery to set the audience up for the story’s gripping revelation... and she does not relent... it pounds, it vibrates, it shakes... and it calls to you. She’s the kind of author who lighting and sound designers have to roll up their sleeves for. What’s more, her famialiarity with the autism spectrum is plainly apparent, giving way to an authenticity in her characterization and storytelling. Beautiful and sad.

Rachael Carnes peers dreadfully into the future in “Egg in Spoon.” Three women are culpable in the destiny of a fourth in this dystopian world where reproductive rights have become as fragile as the egg in the childhood game being played outside. Carnes is reading the tea leaves of our current political climate... and speaking as the parent of a daughter, what she is foreseeing is frightening to me. A strong cautionary tale that I’m convinced isn’t far from the realm of possibility.

“What were you saying?” “Nothing.” This simple exchange perfectly summarizes the social ill at play in Face Time. Nobody talks anymore... we let the zeroes and ones, emoticons, memes, and 140-character hiccups speak for us. But at what cost? I’ve heard, and participated in conversations like the one depicted in this story, and immediately wondered afterward if we’re collectively losing ground in our ability to socialize. Angela’s not happy with a real-world gift; Kelly’s online order backfired... so they’re in the return line. But will we ever be satisfied living somewhere in between?

Had the townsfolk in Vintner’s play known about the Weekly World News, it never would have gone out of business. They’re all sharp as marbles. “Speak of the Devil” is packed with characters who would be wildly fun to play. Billed as a farce, the dialogue is rapid fire, the storyline is absurd, and the simple problem introduced at the top snowballs wrecklessly toward the ending with unexpected hijinx. Pure unadulterated brain candy that would be equally fun to produce and watch.