AS the crisp white pages of the newest Bloodbound draft cascade from the printer into a scattered pile on my desk, I engage in the familiar refrain of questions that propel a writer to follow the path to his script’s elusive finish line.
A sensible self-critique is always upset by a gnawing neurosis that feels unwieldy as the printer’s flicking sounds produce the fresh pages. For over a year, I have spent hours huddled over my computer or scrunched in a theater seat, developing this full-length play that depicts the unorthodox relationship between two brothers who experience one night of lovemaking that would inform the ensuing decades of their lives as brothers, the love that dare not speak its name: incest. While it only takes the vivid recall of one night to confirm the perceived unnaturalness of blood-on-blood love—potentially dismissed as sick if not illegal—the theater of the 21st century allows the complexities of human behavior to flourish, both on the page and on the stage.
