I’ve escaped to Idyllwild, CA for a few days to finally figure out my $&%^#(@* EXPLETIVE EXPLETIVE latest play that I can’t seem to crack. Play after Play, it really only takes a two hour drive and a few forced conversations with sweet old women who work in stores that sell bedazzled rabbit belt buckles, and maybe an aribtrary purchase of a blanket scarf to hide / live in — and suddenly, my brain is a bit more clear, and suddenly the profound playwriting thoughts come. Sure, once I’m back at home I realize they weren’t so much ‘profound thoughts’  as they were, say, ‘thoughts,’ but it always feels good to feel and share them. And so, humor me. Today I’m thinking about how, whenever I can’t figure out a character or a scene or plot point — THE ANSWER IS ALWAYS, ALWAYS the truth. It’s never something funnier, more exciting, more unexpected — it’s just always the truth. And my favorite thing about the truth is that it’s always there. OKAY, BACK TO SCARF HOME.