Recommended by Ricardo Soltero-Brown

Gonzalez's play, I feel, if done correctly - or at least expertly - would be both mesmerizing and even hypnotic, just shy of David Lynch, clearer than Beckett or Pinter, and with all the emotion of Synge. The poetry informs and influences, ebbs and flows, haunts and dictates. It is grand like a memory piece, lofty as the absurd or surreal, and curious with the mythos the mysteries of life have given us. Only daring and committed actors may apply. Reflective and deceptively active, this is a fine work of style and structure.

Carnes' monologue play about a relatively tiny creature trying to make a big impact reminds me of one of my favorite poems, "Why We Don't Die" by Robert Bly. This piece, honestly, helps me focus on what ultimately distracts me and therefore by chance keeps me going, which is never my goals or big questions or grander meanings; no - it's the way a thing on the floor has a funny shape, a kiss on the forehead, a twitch of the thumb that then suddenly touches something wet or cold, the nonplussed head-cock of my dog. See? Look at her.

If you were bestowed any kind of award or scholarship at school which had a name and you took the time to research that name, you'll understand what must have been half the impetus for this piece. The second half is the tragedy that occurred at University of Iowa on November 1, 1991. Chelsea White makes poetry out of a 27-year-old's thoughts on where she is and how she got there. We all might look with reverence to those who made it possible for us to achieve opportunities or live a kind of life, especially if by their ultimate sacrifice.

A prime example of Partain's skill for characterization; she takes Riley's curiosity, anxiety, and what may or may not be pessimism on a truthful journey. Despite the soliloquy, the fourth wall breaking, the structure of a joke, the whole play is grounded and genuine. My reaction to the ending, "Yep, that's how it goes," was well earned.

This family's journey is a perfect drama. Partain uses the supernatural here in the best way possible. This energetic piece would be a highlight interjection of any short play festival.

Carnes cuts to the core of voter disillusionment with this nose-twitching, eyebrow-raising short. The rather remarkable punchline is that once one airs their discontents, there's really only one thing to do which might really fix them. Vote.

Like Wyndham's other monologues driven and delivered by a child, all lessons and irony befall on adults. It's clever and surprising and, in this play, charming. The piece's triumph is, despite the weight which comes with voting, it reminds us how simple a task it can be.

As the sole character (ever seen on stage) in this play, Miriam, ponders and expounds fundamental and foundational connections between mothers and their children, it becomes clear what a wreck of nerves she really is. This woman's spirit has been wrung throughout, although it is not extinguished, so she recounts personal memories, cooking, gardening, rituals, and time, associating all she can, applying everything to the narrative, the circumstances, and - yes - baking, in order to find, elucidate, illuminate meaning, reason, and significance from her final testimony, this last effort as (character) witness. Herein lies astonishing beauty, pain, and empathy.

A brilliant, but (according to some) starry-eyed woman is given what she initially considers to be grunt work and still manages to change the world. This piece bursts with poetry while following Henrietta Leavitt's personal and professional journey, all the while managing to remind us of historical context. When the climax comes, the weight of a life's work is genuinely felt.

Carnes' writing, these ten scenes, can be mined and studied for the foundations of drama and dialogue. Her characters are focused on the "here and now," "who's in front of them." It's proper playwriting, even when about tea or aurora borealis; ranging from true, to nervous, to hilarious; always engaging. I have a personal connection and affection for the sandwich, ant, and mug bits. Frances and Dana survive and communicate (or fail to) through conflicts centered on (anti-)change, catching up, food, family. The transitions, portraitures of human behavior, are delightful, extolling human anomalies, busting your gut, melting your heart.