Writing Samples:

Academic Excerpt:

The act of creating theatre and teaching theatre is, or maybe rather, should be a selfless act and never for self-glorification, or worse, a glorification of society or governing power. Theatre is not for me. It is not even for the audience. It is for a greater purpose, not a higher power, but for the greater good of humanity. It should incite empathy and stir up movements to squash oppressors. As Boal said in Theatre of the Oppressed, “The theater itself is not revolutionary: it is a rehearsal for the revolution." 

Fiction Excerpt:

"As you will see from this documentation of Case Study 435, Juniper, a Homosapien age 33, has learned to respond to my non-verbal command." Dr. Dane begins a holographic recording of his findings. “This is from Day 17 in the 'Dogs Best Friend Re-evolution Experiment'. It is 10:00 A.M. on May 1st, 4021."

A hologram appears of a scenic view of Sniff-N-Stuff Park and what is assumed to be Juniper.  A red rubber ball is thrown past Juniper who runs after it and kicks it back. 

The hologram disappears and the pupils of Barkmouth College erupt into howls. 

Poetry Excerpt:

Anyway by Bethany Burnside

I cannot stop the fear from spreading through my body. 

Fear escapes through my extremities, my orifices, anywhere it can seep out of

My brain knows that none of this is useful, logical or warranted

But my body tells me differently.

The earth fears

The fire fears

The water fears

The air fears

The universe is groaning with fear and panic

How can I be any different?

But, something has to change anyway.

Anyway, I have a fear of being swallowed by the whale and taken into the depths

Of my nightmares covered by the nighttime, faded into the background into the black ground

Under the waves of doubt, uncertainty, fear. 

Anyway, I hope you see things differently.

I hope you just plain see me.

I think I will be here, anyway.

I wish I were there.

This is too vulnerable. 

The only thing we can rely on is that everything will change anyway. 

That nothing is constant

There is no everything or anything.

Everything is always moving anyway.

Am I fearful enough?

Should I feel guilty for enjoying the sun?

Should I even be getting out of bed?

After all, I am not even essential.

That is to say that art is not essential.

They don’t need you.  

Anyway, I shouldn’t even be thinking of myself, after all, I am privileged

To have a warm, sheltered place to eat and sleep.

My problems don’t matter.

I should be doing something but I can’t hear anything

Beyond my thoughts that surround me

That are pounding 

Between my ears,

That have me gasping for air

What’s out there?

Anyway,

Is this self-indulgent?

Am I indulging the self?

The ego?

Anyway, how are you doing?