As a kid, I was the one who got the weird looks from other kids—and even grownups—when I questioned something too hard, delved too deep, debated too much, tried to figure out the why of it from a deep human place. It wasn’t until I began writing plays that I found a place to put all those thoughts, and not only put them, but also put them in a place where they make sense, a place where I can not only ask the questions, but also get other people to consider them. Where I can put forth an uncomfortable truth, even if it's through history or comedy or adaptation.

Beyond theme, beyond character, beyond my *voice*--what every single one of my plays has in common is that it sits unapologetically in the gap between seeming or recognized absolutes. In that blurry space, my plays are populated by complex characters whose natural interactions and histories allow conflicts to organically emerge. My plays are not arguments; they are stories.

For a long time, my work centered on posing myriad complicated questions and asking audiences to consider all sides. That’s why I write. It’s only when we admit the answers aren’t easy, only when we allow ourselves to receive insight from the other side, that we can really begin a meaningful conversation. But the pandemic made me realize something else at the core of having been the kid who always got weird looks, was mocked and bullied, who always felt on the outside: a desperate need for connection. And when you connect asking the complicated question to that, you end up with the grandmama of all questions: why do we find it so difficult to connect with people who are not like us? This feels to me like an extension of all I’ve written before, a discovery of the theme that underlies everything, and a particularly relevant theme that continues to drive my work.