I was born without a socket in my right hip. It wasn’t noticed until I began to walk at the age of 10 months. The medical procedures in the early ‘60s called for me to be restrained in a lower body cast for nearly a year as my right leg was methodically spread a little wider each month in order to gouge out a socket. The result was spectacularly successful and I haven’t stopped since. Even when the gouged-out hip finally gave up the ghost (about 10 seconds after I turned 50) and I was faced with a total hip replacement, I did not hesitate for one second: I had the operation and was back on my feet in record time. So understandably, forward motion has always been of the utmost importance. As I have had to constantly evolve to meet the various challenges of my life, I have never let any roadblock stop my progress; I find the way around it and continue on the new path in front of me. From a career in advertising to a career in teaching, from acting to directing to writing, I’m fascinated by the possibilities to be found in every fork in the road. That ethos informs my work: whether it’s a young man frustrated by the career chosen for him (Kyle in The Fierce Urgency Of Now), a precocious child learning to deal with the homophobia that follows him into late-middle-age (Phillie/Philip in Phillie's Trilogy), or the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy member of the landed gentry who is forced to face the uncertainties of life in early 19th Century London with only her wits and a pearl necklace (Nell in NELL DASH, The Gruesomely Merry Adventures of An Irrepressibly Sensible Capitalist With A Vengeance), I write about people overcoming the obstacles, whether real or manufactured, which threaten to stop the forward motion of their lives by facing them and re-inventing themselves. And I do it with a humor, agility, and passion that keeps me – wait for it – moving forward. Not even a crushingly bad review in The Seattle Times stopped me. (You’re going to look that up now, aren’t you?) I read the review, I put down the paper, I finished my coffee – I was in Seattle, remember – and I looked at my options: I could fork down the road that was most comfortable (stop writing, and continue to just teach and dream), or I could fork the Seattle Times, revise the play, and then write two more in quick succession. I think you know which fork I followed: the fork that I will continue to follow for as long as I can. (And for what it's worth, all three of the plays I wrote (or revised) post-Seattle have won awards in New York. Fork you, Seattle Times.)