My writing operates on a level that is both deeply emotional and highly musical. I compose my plays with the ear in mind—rhythm, breath, and musicality aren’t accidental byproducts; they’re primary tools. I rely on scansion—the metrical patterning of speech—to lift the natural rhythms of Southern dialect into something incantatory, something that approaches spoken prayer. It’s intimate, hypnotic, and deliberate.

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Silences as Meaning

Silences, beats, and pauses in my work aren’t empty space—they’re sacred architecture. They carry as much weight as the words, sometimes more. That’s where grief lives. Where memory curls up and waits. Where characters struggle to say what they mean—and where the audience starts to feel what they’ve been avoiding in themselves. Silences are also mirrors for trauma: what’s left unsaid is often louder than what gets spoken. My characters don’t always withhold because they don’t know the truth—they withhold because saying it might unmake them.

 

The Function of Italics

When I use italics in my scripts, it’s not a style flourish—it’s an emotional directive. It gives the actor a kind of map: what’s being emphasized, what’s being swallowed, what’s trembling under the surface. Italics hint at where the emotional weight is pooling, how it shifts, how it breathes. Sometimes a single italicized word carries the ache of an entire backstory.

 

Language as Passage

My dialogue may sound simple—rooted in Southern cadence, grounded in plain speech—but it’s meant to accumulate like a hymn. My phrasing circles back, repeats, almost like a mantra. That rhythm is intentional. It opens a passage—not just for the characters, but for the audience. The repetition, the breath, the stillness—it softens defenses. For me, language isn’t just a storytelling device—it’s a spiritual invitation. A way of saying: here, this space is safe. Lay it down for a while.

 

In Summary

My plays are spiritually scored—more like music than text. The silences matter as much as the speech. The italics are breadcrumbs. The cadence leads the heart, not just the ear. And all of it is calibrated to gently, quietly, open a portal—for grief, for hope, for healing. Not just for the characters, but for the audience watching them breathe.