I write about women, young women, whose worlds are big and important and full, but so often dismissed by the authorities around them. I write about sisters, the way those we love most hold the power to hurt us deepest, the complexity of a shared upbringing, and the trauma that often accompanies it. I write about secrets, the various ways we keep them, and the consequences of either their inevitable revelation, or continued concealment. My plays are jawbreakers. I give them to my audience, showing them one thing, and then over time, as they become desensitized to the sweetness, the layers start to break down, revealing the core. A protector becomes a threat; a lover becomes repulsive; an enemy becomes a friend; a home becomes a prison. Nothing is entirely what it seems.

In my plays characters stutter, cut themselves off, mutter through ums and uhs to find the point, and put their feet in the mouths. As the world around them starts to breakdown, revealing that hard center, they must fight harder and harder to find the right words, sometimes becoming more articulate, sometimes not, but always battling to be heard, and for the truth to be found.

When I was a kid, a Friday night ritual in my family was an outing to our local Hollywood Video. We’d spend at least an hour roaming the shelves picking potential stories to carry us through the weekend. To this day my mother still jokes that if you were looking for me, you could always find me in the horror aisle, fixating on the dark, bloody covers and reading the descriptions on the back of the DVD cases, over and over. I’ve been drawn to the frightening, the spine-tingling, and the mysterious for as long as I can remember. Perhaps it was my exposure to Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, The Shining, and Silence of the Lambs all before the age of ten, but these elements of horror have somehow bled into every piece of work I’ve written. Whether it be literal monsters and demons hunting for blood, or that quiet unease you feel in the pit of your stomach when someone you trust lies to you, I haven’t found a way to shake the influences of this genre. In my plays, audiences will find thoroughly crafted settings, specific lived-in dialogue, and dark twisting intrigues threatening to rear their ugly heads. They will find flawed complex women, neither heroes nor villains, battling for survival. My plays will be messy, unable to be wrapped up in a tidy bow, leaving characters tangled in complicated webs, often of their own weaving. My plays will deal with women on the precipice of change, as the layers of their current lives start to break down, and when all the dust settles, they will be forced to see a core truth, and decide how to move forward, for better or for worse.