Recommended by Philip Middleton Williams

Some people will do anything to achieve their dream, and this young applicant will fight tooth and nail to get in to dental school: literally. This monologue is a full-tilt exploration of inspiration, motive, and determination, well-crafted, funny, and startling.

This remembrance breaks my heart because now I know what I missed in not knowing Rick Unterberg in person. But thanks to the truth, the joy, the tears, the anger, and the love that Scott Sickles brings to this tribute, this love note, this song of harmony and connection, I know him and miss him.

This is one of the Breath of Fire Latina Theatre Ensemble's Covid Monologues. See them all.

Yes, boys will be boys and age is just a number... two adages that fit this sweet and funny moment where Albert refuses to let time and his wife dampen his enthusiasm for holding on to his memories of being a skateboarding kid back when he was eighty. The best part is that Jack Levine isn't mocking Albert; he's lifting him up and taking us with him.

Vince Gatton is the rightful heir of the suspense drama embraced by the likes of Edgar Allan Poe, Alfred Hitchcock, and Rod Serling, doing it as well as they do, leaving so much to the imagination. The biggest monsters are not the real ones but those created by our fevered imagination, memories, and fears. In this short, sharp, taut piece he makes the most of it.

Aw, I dare you to read this without smiling and maybe even shedding a tear of joy... if not recognition. Scott Sickles has a delicate touch that brings these characters to life with just the right amount of steel in the sugar and spice in the tea. The chemistry and the gentle manipulation between these souls is a joy to read and savor.

Full disclosure: I'm about the same age as Hilary and Jack, and all I can say is thanks for the hope.

Nothing is more powerful than hope with a purpose and a need to be filled. This powerful monologue embraces the changes coming to society and the desperate need for those changes. Elisabeth Giffin Speckman channels Lillian Ward with a fire that cannot be put out, set aside, or ignored because what's at stake is the basic necessities of life: medical care for school children. The date is 1902, but it could be today or tomorrow.

If Max Berry's "Prior Engagement" is any guide, talking things out with friends and "friends" is the most dangerous way to communicate your true feelings. The dialogue is snappy, genuine, and achingly real for anyone who has ever tried to have a serious conversation with someone they thought they knew. This is a tense yet rollicking play, and it would be a great piece for three actors to take on, and the audience will be engaged by watching and seeing what happens.

Having written a play on similar themes, I am in awe of Robert Weibezahl's understated yet incredibly moving testimony to the way the war in Vietnam had an impact on the people who were in the war. There's no judgment about the politics or the sides taken, just the unbreakable bond between friends who are separated by it. This is a companion to another moving monologue, "Final Dispatch," and together we see how time has not dimmed the aftershocks of the war for them and for us, and we must not forget it.

I know this man speaking to his father in the twilight. I have heard him and tried to write about him myself in my own plays. The beauty of it, however, is that while Robert Weibezahl and I may be writing about similar situations, his unique and heart-breaking way of reaching out, trying to grasp both his past and his connection with his father soars while at the same time is grounded in breathtaking honesty that resonates and echoes. Thank you, Robert, for sharing this moment. It holds me, and it will touch anyone else who hears it.

Who among us hasn't gone through this ritual? It is human nature to rebel, resent, despise and kick back at authority, but it is the societal expectation that we suppress our instincts and go along, nod politely, and doodle furiously on the pad. In this crie-de-coeur instant, Nathan encapsulates all of the moments we've all had (I had mine in the car driving to work), and Steven G. Martin lifts the lid with deftness, heart, and insurmountable frustration.