If love were liquid it would drown me In a place less place would find me In a heart shape come around me and then Melt me slowly down If love were a human it would know me In a lost space come and show me Hold me and control me and then Melt me slowly down Like chocolate
All my life all I’ve ever wanted to be was a writer. And the hardest thing about being a writer is what the art demands. A writer is a lone wolf. And most of the time, being a writer feels like you are chasing an invisible something in the middle of pitch black forest.
My main medium is the theatre. I’m a playwright. The term playwright doesn’t come from the obvious – writer of plays — it’s not playwrite. The “wright” comes from “wrought”. So a playwright is someone who beats and shapes words. Think of a wrought-iron fence from a hunk of iron.
Which brings me to the point. Doug Wright wrought the perfect sentence. The single sentence that has stuck with me more than any other in terms of who I am as an artist. In the play Quills, the laundress Maddie is caught reading the Marquis de Sade’s sexually violent Justine and is asked why she reads “that filth”. She responds, “If I wasn’t such a bad woman on the page, I couldn’t be such a good woman in life.”
What does that mean for me?
Writing is what keeps me sane. The deepest truth in me is that I am one of those artists. Emotionally self-destructive, violently moody and filled with intense, quiet, simmering anger. If you have read my work, you’d see all that and more live in my characters. In fact, the characters in my body of work are defined by the sexualized violence they wield as both sword and shield, their emotional tremors and their desperate grasping at a hope that continually slips further away.
By writing their stories, I am allowed to explore this terrifying and rabid part of me. And in doing so, the honest and emotionally dangerous part of me is free to ravage the world without consequence. Which leaves me as the slightly off-kilter, but mostly normal and sane person who interacts with the real world.
This is the way that I can stop chasing that something in the black forest and stand still. Stand still and let it come to me, turn on the light, and look at the scariest parts of me in the eye. I’m still a (mostly) lone wolf. But he’s a calm, well-fed lone wolf.
My mom reads everything I write before anyone else and after everything she has ever read she calls me and asks, “are you okay?”. The answer is an honest yes. Writing puts out the lit fuse. I’m the artistic equivalent of TNT.
Is this method flawless? No, I still fuck up all the time. But that’s okay, because good and bad doesn’t exist. Everyone is both at every moment. So a better revision for me as an artist is…
If I wasn’t such an animal on the page, I couldn’t be human in life.
It is something that grows over time… a true friendship. A feeling in the heart that becomes even stronger over time. The passion of friendship will soon blossom into a righteous power and through it, you will know which way to go… This song is dedicated to the power of the heart.