on interviewing playwrights

Fifty is a lot of playwrights but if I think about it, I probably know five hundred or more. I know there are many I have not yet interviewed. I also know I might burn out or run out of questions before I get to one hundred. At the same time, I am constantly inspired by the playwright responses. There are a lot of amazing intelligent interesting people writing plays. And I feel distant from theater right now and this is my way of staying involved while I'm so far from NYC and unable to see many plays or write my own stuff. Anyway, I hope you've been enjoying them. Here's to 50 more!

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In Asheville, NC

My play Nerve  (Production #6)

http://www.ncstage.org/pages/on-stage/catalyst-series.php

I Interview Playwrights Part 50: Mark Schultz

Mark Schultz

Hometown: I was born in Pomona, CA but count Upland, CA more of my hometown. They’re both like 60 miles or so inland from LA.

Current Town: New York, NY

Q: What are you working on now?

A: Finishing up a couple commissions. Am really happy with them, too! One’s loosely based on the old dying god myth (particularly Baldur), and the other is about John Dee--astronomer, mathematician, advisor to Queen Elizabeth I and a frequent converser with angels via his “shewstone.” Lots of fun!

Q: You are the man who wrote one of my favorite plays of all time: Everything Will Be Different or A Brief History of Helen of Troy (available from Dramatists Play Service) But really, the plays I've seen of yours have always impressed me and I'm very sad I missed Gingerbread House at Rattlestick. Can you tell me a little bit about that play? Am I going to hate myself forever for missing it?

A: Thanks for the good word, Adam! Gingerbread House is concerned with what I think is a very American (and certainly very Bush administration) notion that we can do whatever we want with impunity because we’re good people and somehow deserve good things. We can justify anything--all it takes is slightly redefining our terms or adjusting our worldview. The main character in the play, Stacey, really wants to be a good mom, wants to love her kids, but she finds the going a bit difficult. Her husband helps her to define responsibility to her children out of her conception of what it means to love them--she can be a better mother if she just gives up motherhood. She agrees to get rid of her kids, to sell them off. But as her life begins to become ostensibly better, more and more luxurious, her children haunt her. And she begins to realize that living in the world without going mad with grief or guilt at the knowledge of her complicity with evil involves a high degree of story-telling and self-deception. But being honest with herself about what she’s done becomes less and less of an option just as lying to herself becomes more and more difficult. Ultimately, she’s forced into the position of having to lie in order to live while being painfully conscious of the flimsiness of the lie. The one consolation of that pain, though, is that it’s the last connection she has to her children. I hope there are some subtly Senecan things going on in the play. Seneca’s major pre-occupation in his work was with the question of justice--does it exist? If it does, is it possible to have a relationship with it? If it doesn’t exist, or if I can’t be in relationship with it, what does life mean? How do I go on in the face of the endless parade of atrocities life lays at my doorstop? And how do I go on in the knowledge that, as Heiner Mueller puts it, someone somewhere is being ripped apart so that I can dwell in my shit? Writing in Nero’s Rome as he did, Seneca’s vision of the world made a lot of sense to me, writing in Bush’s America. In that sense, the question in Gingerbread House is not, “Is selling your kids to what you suspect is a sweatshop-brothel in Albania a bad idea?” It’s taken for granted that it is a bad idea. The question is, “If you sell your kids to a sweatshop-brothel in Albania, if you sell out the future, will anyone really care? Will anyone call you to account?” The answer suggested in the play is: “No. Not really.” I don’t usually think of myself as much of a pessimist, but…the play’s a bit pessimistic. More than a bit, I guess. And while I’m not completely lacking in hope, I nonetheless find myself feeling that, while the administration has changed in Washington (for the better!), the political realities of what it means to be alive in this country, in this world, at this time remain brutal, Faustian and Spenglerian. What it comes down to, I think, is that for me, hope means something like the will to love through adversity without the expectation of comfort, succor, reciprocation or relief. Anyway--I was also really conscious when writing the play that I’m afraid I’ll be a bad parent. Very afraid. My partner and I would like to adopt one day. Erich (who honestly really is my better half) would be a great dad. Me I’m not so sure of. Are you going to hate yourself for missing it? Hrmm. I don’t want you to hate yourself! But I was really proud of the production--the cast, director, designers--everyone was great! I was and am very grateful to everyone.

Q: What do you look for in a director. (You've worked with lots of good ones including one of my favorites, Evan Cabnet.)

A: I LOVE Evan Cabnet. Love him. Love him love him love him. Everyone in the world should love Evan Cabnet. That’s a plain moral imperative. The rhythm of a play is very important to me--the music of it. Someone who understands how that rhythm works from line to line, scene to scene, how that rhythm informs structure, how that structure contributes to the articulation of a particular emotional gesture and how that gesture suggests or demands a sensual movement that in turn reflects back on the fundamental rhythms of the piece in really important. That understanding is key! A sense of economy is also nice--I tend to like things a bit stripped down, stark, simple. Less is always more, I think, when it comes to production elements. Simplicity is best. I think suggestion in design and staging feels more conspiratorial, more intimate, more lovely than stating something openly. I’m not really a fan of strict realism in that regard. One of the things that I’m least fond of onstage is working plumbing--you know what I mean? To me, there is nothing particularly theatrical about working plumbing. When I see a sink onstage, the first thing I think is: will it work? And until it does, the dramatic action of the play, to me, is always about whether or not the tap will work. A sense of humor is also important. And a sense of the absurdity of life. Also, I’m very very conscious that I’m not a director. Or rather, I’m very very conscious that I’m a really bad director. The last time I tried directing something, it was pretty unwatchable. Really. Gouge-your-eyes-out bad. And it was a long time ago, thank God. I’m really am awful at it. Directors I work with need to understand that I can’t direct my way out of the proverbial paper bag. I know what good directing looks like and where good directing can take a play, but I’m just not able to provide it. Which is to say that the director should take whatever I have to say regarding staging with a huge huge huge grain of salt. A mountain of it, preferably. Literally, I try not to write too too many stage directions in part because I don’t want to infect directors with too too many of my own poisonously bad ideas regarding staging. I guess what I’m really looking for is someone with whom I can share the play. That may sound touchy-feely, but I’m happiest when I can look at something I’ve written and I can feel that’s not all mine. That it no longer belongs to me alone. That it’s more than just mine. I’m very grateful that I’ve had a lot of good luck with directors.

Q: You're a bit of a religion scholar. If I wanted to catch up with you, what books would you recommend I read?

A: I’m a very very amateur religion student. But I love studying--mythologies, comparative religion, ritual--I love that stuff! There are a couple areas, though, that I often find myself looking into for various reasons: esoteric traditions and theodicy, the problem of evil. And there are a couple figures and topics lately that’ve loomed large in my…er…studies in these areas. Jakob Boehme is one of them--17th century Lutheran mystic. He was a cobbler who had a couple visions tried his best to write them down using alchemical language and symbolism. Great stuff! He had a big impact on lots of folks from Swedenborg to Blake to Hegel. His understanding of God is really quite dramatic and seems to suggest that all things arise out of a kind of struggle in God between movement / expression / expansion and stillness / silence / contraction. The pain of this struggle is nature, the world. The friction this struggle causes creates fire, life. The struggle of life finds rest in the light of the fire. Things take a turn for the worse, however, when creatures attempt to separate the light from the fire. There’s so much to get into with Boehme that I don’t think I could do him justice here --Six Theosophical Points with an introduction by Berdyaev is really good. Another is the sophiology “controversy” in Eastern Orthodox theology. I put controversy in quotes because whether or not it’s controversial just depends on who you talk to! Anyway, it comes down to whether or not it is possible to speculate regarding the substance of God. In Trinitarian Christianity, God is One Substance in Three Persons and while much has been written about the Persons, little attention has been paid to the Substance (according to the sophiologists). But how do you talk about something that your tradition teaches you is something it is impossible to talk about? Well, Sergei Bulgakov gives it a go by positing that the Substance of God is the non-personal but personalizing Sophia. John Milbank of the University of Nottingham wrote an interesting essay called “Sophiology and Theurgy: The New Theological Horizon” which is quite lovely, and Bulgakov’s most comprehensive work is Sophia, the Wisdom of God. Both Boehme and Bulgakov deal with the Sophia figure in interesting ways, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Bulgakov was a Boehme admirer--Boehme’s Eternal Nature and Sophia imagery find some lovely parallels in Bulgakov’s distinctions between the created and uncreated Sophia. Currently, though, I’ve just finished the First Book of Enoch following a brief flirtation with Margaret Barker’s work and am re-reading Rene Girard’s great Violence and the Sacred. I’d like to re-read Robert Thurman’s translation of The Tibetan Book of the Dead, too, and I really want to find something on the Druze and on the Ismaili in general. I know next to nothing about them! Also, I wouldn’t mind a good book on the history and development of the Sarum Use. My God, I’m such a geek.

Q: You were the guy who got MCC to start their Playwrights Coalition. Can you talk a little about the Coalition, how it started, what it does, etc?

A: I wasn’t the only guy! Before graduating from Columbia, I did one of my internships at MCC and became friends with Literary Manager Stephen Willems. (I love Stephen very much--he’s become not only a great friend, but a real mentor to me and a keen critic of my work.) After the internship, I was able to stick around for a bit as an interim Assistant Literary Manager. But I had to move on and get a day job. Before I did, though, Stephen and I were talking, and he mentioned that they’d tried developing some sort of support program for playwrights in the past at MCC, but that it never quite stuck. I thought it was a great idea, so we started trying to develop something that would stick. We called it the Coalition because I’m more than a bit of a socialist and the word suggests to me both solidarity and mutuality. This was in late 2000, early 2001. By the way, I LOVE the writers in the Coalition! I’m incredibly humbled, challenged and amazed to know and work with people of such staggering talent--folks like you(!), David Adjmi, Cusi Cram, Itamar Moses, Daniel Goldfarb, Blair Singer, Crystal Skillman, Annie Baker--all of whom you’ve interviewed here! (Speaking of your interviews, they’re really fantastic! It’s such an incredibly generous thing allowing us all to get to know these artists better--it’s great!) Anyway, what we try to do in the Coalition is provide resources, an ear, a home-base. We have three major programs: the first is a public reading series which takes place in the Fall and in the Spring; the second is a series of seasonal intensives--a few writers around a table, reading each others’ works-in-progress and giving feedback; and finally the roundtable reading, a private reading with actors which is available to our writers on request. The hope is that the Coalition will be there if needed during whatever part of the process a writer may find themselves, from initial scribblings, scenes and thoughts (intensives), to a first draft and re-writes (roundtables) to knowing how a play sounds in front of an audience (public reading). In the process of doing all this, we hope to build a network/community of writers committed to mutual support.

Q: What kind of theater excites you?

 A: I like theater that’s brutally honest. Really, truly brutally and/or viscerally honest. I really respond to plays that are unsentimental but emotionally gut-wrenching, that are not easily digestible, that grab me by the throat and won’t let go, that have a certain violence to them akin to Rothko’s definition of sensuality as “a lustful relationship to things that exist.” Plays that are conscious of the overwhelmingly dazzling and awful beauty of what it means to be alive and human. Plays that are not afraid to go to dark and “ugly” places.

 Q: What advice do you have for playwrights just starting out?

A: In saying the following, I hope no one believes that I’ve somehow been able to implement all of this myself--these are more personal aspirations, stars and constellations I’ve found helpful to steer by when I can bring myself to look up and remember them! So here goes: --Be true to your experience of life and the world. Emerson says that believing what is true for ourselves is true for others is true genius--which is to say, in part, that our experience of what it is to be human is not separate from the whole of the human condition. We should be able to say, with Terence, “I am human, and consider nothing human foreign to me,” or with Tennessee Williams, “Nothing human disgusts me.” If we can be honest about who we are, how we desire, what we desire, then we will discover in ourselves so many points of connection to so many disparate aspects of what it is to be human that no matter what we write about, we will write truth, and we will write it fearlessly, unsentimentally, but compassionately. We will find in ourselves the capacity for every heaven and every hell, every act of beauty and horror of which it is possible to conceive. We will know what it is to wound and to be wounded. And we will find it impossible not to love the world and the people in it so much that we happily break, bleed and suffer for that love. -- I don’t think it’s healthy to begin writing a play with the expectation that it will be any good. What “good” means is often an external value, but the play has values of its own. You cannot judge whether or not it’s good until you know what those internal, intrinsic values are. Often, failure is the best teacher of what those values are or should be. Being afraid of failure is pointless. So fail often. (And, as Beckett says, “fail better.”) --Find at least one person who loves you enough to be devastatingly honest about your work, someone you can trust to encourage but not coddle you. --Do yourself an immense favor and read David Sylvester’s Interviews with Francis Bacon: The Brutality of Fact. It’s as close to a guidebook to the creative process that I’ve ever seen. --Finally, you can’t do better than remember this from Lorca: “Life is no dream. Watch out! Watch out! Watch out!”

I Interview Playwrights Part 49: Lucy Thurber

Lucy Thurber

Hometown: Huntington/Northampton MA

Current Town: New York City

Q: Tell me a little about the play you have going up at Rattlestick?

A: Actually it is a remounting of my play Killers and Other Family. Killers was my first reviewed production. It did not go well. I had wonderful actors but the directors interpretation of the play was a mile away from what I wrote. I was to young as a writer to communicate well or even be sure what I wanted to communicate. For years David Van Asselt the artistic director of Rattlestick has wanted to remount the play and do it right. He finally gave in to his temptation and I'm very happy about it.

Q: You just finished a run of Monster at 13P. You must be exhausted. Is it hard going from one production right into another?

A: They are both so different in terms of size. Killers is my only 4 character play where as Monstrosity was 30 people. So from a writing perspective the characters in Killers are easier to keep track of because there are only 4 of them. But at the same time, I wrote them both so it's me and more of my age old obsessions--loyalty, love, violence, sexuality, class issues, power and family. But I love being in production. It's such a relief to have other people to help make the world of the play actual and bigger than what I wrote.

Q: What are you working on next?

A: My play Dillingham City. It's another big cast with a singing chorus this time, but same old obsessions.

Q: Tell me a story from your childhood that explains who you are as a person or as a writer.

A: One day my Mom and me where walking home from the local country store. It was the end of the month and we had run through most of the money and food stamps. My mother had splurged and bought us a bottle of pickled bean salad. It was spring and sunny. I was carrying one of the food bags and dropped it, smashing the bottle of bean salad. My mother freaked, she was always scared at the end of the month and the treat she'd bought us to give a little luxury was broken on the ground. My mother yelled at me, The broken glass looked pretty in the sun with all the different colored beans. I bent down and picked one bean out of all the other beans and broken glass. It was unbelievable delicious. I was so happy to eat it and so sad I couldn't eat more.

Q: What kind of theater excites you?

A: Daring theater. Whether it's big and theatrical or small, gentle and romantic I like theater that asks me to be human and I also sometimes just like a bit of fun, gorgeous entertainment.

Q: What advice do you have for playwrights just starting out?

A: Be brave. Write a lot. Make your own work.

Link to Lucy's show here: http://www.rattlestick.org/

Pretty Theft from Sam French

http://www.samuelfrench.com/store/product_info.php/products_id/8517

I Interview Playwrights Part 48: George Brant

George Brant

Hometown: Park Ridge, Illinois Current Town: Providence, RI

Q: Tell me a little about your show Elephant's Graveyard going up at Balaban Theater in Seattle.

A: Elephant’s Graveyard is the unfortunately true story of Mary, an elephant who went berserk during a parade through the middle of a small town in Tennessee in 1916. The townspeople demanded justice for her actions, which led to a very unfortunate set of circumstances. The play combines historical fact and legend, exploring the deep-seated American craving for spectacle, violence and revenge.

Q: What are you working on next?

A: Next up is Any Other Name, a very different play, one about identity theft in Victorian England. Any Other Name actually makes its debut at Premiere Stages the same day as the Balagan production of Elephant’s Graveyard – it’s quite thrilling to have two plays opening on the same night!

Q: How did you like the playwriting program at the Michener Center at UT Austin?

A: My time at the Michener Center and UT was a truly transformative experience. In my fellow students, I was surrounded by wonderful and generous playwrights, as well as poets, novelists, and screenwriters – having all that creativity and energy around me was inspirational. I was also fortunate enough to study under four very different but equally wonderful professors: Suzan Zeder, Steven Dietz, Daniel Alexander Jones, and Sherry Kramer. I miss Austin daily!

Q: You've written scripts for a clamation company. What is that like? Is it much different than writing plays?

A: A great experience. That was when I was in Chicago – I was the head writer for Bix Pix Entertainment, a claymation company. It’s very different than writing for theatre, primarily in its length. We had a few programs that made their way onto the Disney channel, and some of them were as short as 30 seconds! It was quite a challenge to tell a story and get a joke or two in there in such a short time. Another big basic difference was the visual aspect of claymation, or any kind of animation, I suppose – it was all about telling the story with as little dialogue as possible. Looking back, I think that the work probably taught me a lot about the use of rhythm in writing, which definitely is a major component of Elephant’s Graveyard.

 Q: What kind of theater excites you?

A: I’d say anything that respects its audience, that engages them and doesn’t leave them out of the room. That could be as varied as keeping us guessing like Pillowman or acknowledging our shared experience of existence like Our Town. But once you get the sense that a play could exist without you there, you’ve lost me. It all happens in the audience.

Q: What advice do you have for playwrights just starting out?

A: Write what you want to write, what engages you, excites you. I’ve certainly found in my own work that the surest way to write a lifeless play is to write one for an imagined audience that doesn’t include you.

Links: The Balagan production of Elephant’s Graveyard: www.balagantheatre.org The Premiere Stages production of Any Other Name: www.kean.edu/premierestages/

I Interview Playwrights Part 47: Brooke Berman

photo by Jennie Livingston 

Brooke Berman

Hometown: Born in Detroit, raised in the North Shore suburbs of Chicago, re-raised in New York City, where I have lived ever since.

Current Town: Los Angeles

Q: Tell me about your book coming out. Can it be preordered?

A: The book becomes available this Spring, publication date is Summer 2010. There will absolutely be pre-ordering through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Borders.com, but probably not for a few more months. It's being published by Harmony Books at Random House. In addition, I am going to build a website, which will have links to those e-commerce sites. But if you notice, if you go to say, brookeberman.com, I have not yet built said website. (actually, brookeberman.com links you to an art gallery in texas. no joke.) The book is a memior about coming of age in New York City and trying to find one's way as an artist and person, but really, it's about the 30-odd apartments that I have lived in over the past 20 years. My fiance calls it "Eat Pray Move." And it's been a joy to write. I'd been wanting to write about The East Village in the early 90's (I arrived in 1988) for some time, trying to figure out what story to tell, whether it was a play or a movie -- and then, the book came, and my love for that time and place could be channeled effectively.

Q: What else are you working on?

A: I'm finishing a new play called CASUAL ENCOUNTERS, about people who meet through NSA sex sites. The play posits that no encounter is ever really "casual" and that the people who think you know are often the ones who wind up feeling the most like strangers, while actual strangers can provide startling insights and intimacy. And I'm working on the second draft of a movie for Steve Shainberg's company, Vox films. It's an adaptation of a beautiful Jane Hamilton novel, DISOBEDIENCE.

 Q: Can you tell me a little about your experiences writing for film or your time in LA?

A: First of all, I love LA. I live in an arts colony here, a converted PBR Brewery downtown -- something like Westbeth in New York -- in a loft. So, there's that. But also, working in film has taught me how to think about structure differently and how to write from a more ordered and linear part of my brain. It's like calling one's shots in a pool game. In playwriting, I don't call my shots - I just write. But in screenwriting, there's this sense of needing to know where you're going to end up, or at least, being able to project, for the other people involved, producers and whatnot, where you think the game will go, before you ever write a word of the script. So this has been a great education. The two divergent processes ("let the writing guide you" versus "call your shots") have a lot to say to one another -- neither presents a full picture. Anyway, once I realized I had to learn some new tricks, it became less frustrating and a whole lot more fun. And now I'm having a blast learning. I've developed a great deal of respect for what screenwriters do. They're like detectives, looking for clues, building plots; I'm more of a dream analyst, interpreting what the unconscious mind presents. I could say way more about this, because I love process, but we'd be here all day.

Q: Are you teaching now? If so, where? What do you like most about teaching writing?

A: I just taught a two-day workshop with Karen Hartman in New York City called "Pleasure and Risk". I plan to do another (with her) the next time I'm in New York for an extended period. I also teach roughly once or twice a year with Anne Garcia Romero in LA. And occasionally I do workshops through Primary Stages Theater School. At the moment, I'm immersed in finishing all three projects - book, play and movie - and have to put teaching on hold. But I'll probably teach somewhere this winter. January is always a good time for a workshop. New Years resolutions and all that. What I like most about teaching writing is the chance to engage directly in the creative process, both mine and my students. It's my favorite thing in the whole world. In class, we are explorers, astronauts, spiritual seekers looking for new terrain, new states of consciousness, excavating the imagery and sensibility of the unconscious mind and then, sharing what we find there. It's exciting! It's where everything starts.

Q: What kind of theater excites you?

A: Well, I'll tell you what excited me last year: Becky Shaw. And Trip Cullman's revival of "Six Degrees of Separation" at the Old Globe. I also have a great love for very physical imagistic theater. Meredith Monk. The late Pina Bausch. Pippo Del Bono. And theater that deals with the transcendent/sacred and the physical as part of the same conversation. Tony Kushner's work thrills me. Irene Fornes. Caryl Churchill. I really, really wish I'd been able to see "Wig Out." I loved reading that. I love drag.

Q: What advice do you have for playwrights just starting out?

A: Write, write, write, write, write. And self-produce, so that you can see what your work looks like in three-dimensional space, with design and lights and sound and all that, before you start to get produced by institutional theater. Hear your work out loud, however and wherever you can. Work with actors. And have faith. Despite what everyone says, if you keep at it long enough, you do get somewhere.

I Interview Playwrights Part 46: Julia Jordan

Julia Jordan

Hometown: Mostly St. Paul Minn. But we moved around a lot. England and back.

Current Town: Just above the Bronx, Fleetwood, NY

Q: What are you working on now?

A: I'm working on two musicals. One is about the closing of the N. Orleans red light district just as we were entering WWI, with a hopefully juicy melodramatic story... One is an adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's first published story, BERNICE BOBS HER HAIR. It's set in the same time period. I'm not sure why I keep going back to the turn of the last century. It's my favorite short story ever, bar none. And I'm working on a film version of my last produced play, DARK YELLOW. The film however is called TELL ME SOMETHING I DON"T KNOW which is a vastly better title. And it has become a very different narrative.

Q: According to Wikipedia, you were a painter, CNN copywriter and actor before you started writing for the stage. How did you become a playwright?

A: I was a mediocre to bad painter, a mediocre to bad actress, and a mediocre to bad journalist. I just kept trying things. I always tell my students that it's almost more important to know where you talents do not lie. I turned to writing while in acting school at the Neighborhood Playhouse. They had us write personal monologues to perform. I just didn't feel comfortable letting my personal demons out or spilling any deep dark secrets in that venue, so I made one up. Went over gangbusters. Made my teacher cry. I enjoyed it immensely.

Q: You've also done some film and TV. Can you talk a little about what that was like?

A: Didn't love the TV writing. But that was probably more to do with the shows I worked on. I'm really enjoying this film script, but its kind of an ideal situation. The director and I are completely in tune and our producer has worked on some of my favorite films so I trust him completely. Plus, he loves theater, and he was a jeopardy contestant, so I know he's smart.

Q: How does musical book writing compare to playwriting?

A: Musical bookwriting is more concrete. You have to be crystal clear about who is doing what when and why. Music is many things but it is better at expanding a moment than progressing the plot. That said, when in the hands of certain composers and lyricists it can be done beautifully. I adore plot. I think it's the hardest thing to do well and the most delicious. Plot with music, double delicious.

Q: Why do you think there aren't as many women as men being produced on American stages?

 A: Okay so here's the deal. We can prove bias is at work. It's been proven over and over and over again in many different fields. When respondents believe work, or a resume, belongs to a male they rate it higher, are more likely to produce or hire than when they believe it to belong to a woman. Men and women both hold this bias, though possibly, I think probably for different reasons. In Emily Sands' study of theater, she only found bias by women. This doesn't mean that she found that men don't hold bias. Not finding something means little to nothing in economics. You can't prove a null hypothesis. Bias is easy to hide. Finding something however means that there is AT LEAST as much as was found. What Emily found was that the female respondents rated scripts purportedly by women as having overall lower value, but it was entirely due to their belief that others would discriminate against the work. They rated the artistic excellence the same whether they thought the script was written by a man or woman. They thought however that audiences wouldn't buy tickets, that awards committees wouldn't honor the work and that the theater would suffer financially if they produced scripts by women (and specifically scripts they thought were by women that had female protagonists) so ultimately they said that though they would like to produce them they would not. This has been entirely missed in the media... They reported women hate women. So there's bias, and then there is discouragement. Just as in all cases of discrimination, whenever the possibility of making a living is lessened you will have fewer people going in to a profession, and those already in will be more likely to leave or to stay in only part time. So fewer women become writers, fewer are able to find representation (agents know they don't make as much money) fewer are produced, fewer find work in TV and Film (the numbers in hollywood appear to be worse that theater and have taken a dip in recent years.) So for more women than men, writing becomes something on the side or is given up completely. As much as we seem to love the idea that the truly talented write no matter what, I find it hard to believe. Economics plays a huge part in everyone's lives. Only so many folks have trust funds. We need health insurance and roofs and food. And even for those who are independent of these concerns, writing plays that never get produced is obviously discouraging and... pointless. Its hard for anyone to be a playwright. But it's easier if you are male. So it's a vicious circle. The theaters are getting fewer scripts from women, and they are producing even fewer, and of the ones they do produce, they are usually off on the second stages without the degree of talent and names and money afforded mainstage work. The bar is set higher for women's work. And the proof of that is in the simple fact that though less that 20 percent of the productions are by women, around 40 percent of the most successful plays in the past ten years were by women. Basically there are two choices, women are vastly better playwrights than men OR only the best women are being produced and the men's average is being dragged down by lesser works by men. I don't think men or women are inherently more talented by virtue of their gender. There are just way too many excellent male writers out there and thru history. All this bias is largely unconscious and maybe a bit willfully misunderstood. There is comfort in stasis. And a lot less work involved. A lot fewer scripts to read. So there's my two cents and then some. I find the whole thing endlessly fascinating.

Q: What kind of theater excites you?

A: What kind of theater do I like? I like plot. And I love a little political intrigue. And a good fight. And bad language. Martin McDonagh is a huge favorite. And a guy.

Q: What advice do you have for playwrights just starting out?

A: Advice... Send out your plays yourself. Move to Chicago, LA or New York. I think being present is an even bigger factor than gender in whether or not you get produced. Know what kind of theater you hate and address it in your work. When you are young, go ahead and be reactionary. It's not the time to emulate, its the time to create something new, something else.