Back in the dark ages of my early twenties, I looked at the future and decided that being the lawyer my father wanted me to be was just not going to make me a happy nakedjen. Not at all.
So I went off to London and declared myself a playwright and started learning all about theatrical productions and character development and how absolutely crucial it was to own your own voice.
When I returned to America, I was still not "really" a playwright and continued to work very hard at becoming one while I toiled away at Trinity College. I had some very wonderful teachers there who were quite kind and actually convinced me that I might actually be able to write a decent play if I didn't allow myself to get in my own way.
So I wrote. And I wrote some more. Plays filled with love that had gone wrong, love that had never happened, love that was imaginary. Twenty-something angst ridden pieces that featured women who really knew that they were better off without a man.
I was very fortunate to be able to take two master play writing classes with Wendy Wasserstein. Not one, but two. And I will never forget her laugh, her smile, her sparkling eyes and her wit! She made me laugh so hard that my sides ached. And she implored me to write only about the things that I know well and to always write with honesty and integrity. She told me that if I truly told the truth in my writing and wrote just how I talked that the stories would tell themselves.
I have never forgotten that.
Wendy Wasserstein died from lymphoma at the very young age of 55 today. Our American Theatre has lost a wonderful, generous, kind playwright and teacher who always spoke her truth and who made us all laugh.
Thank you, Wendy, for your shining light and for giving me the confidence to continue and not worry about what others thought. Your words and voice will carry on every time a character in your plays gets to take the stage.
Fare the well.












