Two statements sum up my work as a playwright:
I believe light always beats darkness.
I think the dirt is a remarkable place.

My love abounds for the places people pass by and the overlooked people in the dusty and dull corners of our attention. Call me a miner, a pebble-picker, and a comber for every scrap of meaning in the place others cry out, “useless! meaningless!” I say, "Beauty! Hope!"

If you want to picture me rightly, set me in a dingy diner with two eggs over medium, rye toast, bacon, and a coffee. I know all the servers, and they ask about my mother. If you sat in the booth across, you and I’d end up talking about “the things we live and die for as if I knew you better than anyone else you may know.” (Tennessee Williams).

Some have called it intensity. Others have called my eyes a winepress. But my husband thankfully calls it “The I-love-you brain.” And as you visit with me in my work, know that I long to ignite a spark of deep thought in you. To wonder: what is the importance of your insignificance, failure, and fight? To take on eternally collective questions: grace in betrayal, usefulness, elderly and youthful purpose, un-broadcasted self-sacrifice, dying well, and withstanding suffering.

But I promise together we will face reality with levity, light, and relentless hope.