I attended the Horton Foote awards last night – a new award for promising American playwrights in honor of the (recently deceased) super inspiring Mr. Foote himself who wrote magically and honestly about everyday people. Large bags of money, in the form of checks, were given to two very deserving playwrights, Lynn Nottage and Will Eno. They both gave super gracious and also inspiring acceptance speeches. Eno said, specifically, that he was so stoked to now pay his 2009 taxes and get two of his teeth fixed.

It got me to thinking about money. Or wait, it’s actually that I always worry about money, all the time. For a playwright, there are all of these incredible awards, fellowships, prizes, that sort of appear randomly like a gift from God. But: you can’t count on them. And the moment you THINK you might get one, or WANT to get one, is the moment the bags of money disappear or burst into flames. There’s money to be had, but you have no idea where it’s coming from – or if it’s coming at all. It’s hard to imagine living like this for the rest of my life – but I also honestly can’t imagine living any other way.

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