At the time I wrote my first two dramas, I was trying to provide myself with acting work. It seemed sensible to write plays in which a woman had the main part and said things that interested me at the moment.
I am aware of their imperfections but I leave to those interested in performing them the pleasure of cutting, changing, and throwing away whatever does not suit them.
Previously, as an actress, I had many occasions to re-editing texts of drab and dry intellectual babbling into suitable dramatic dialogue that might come alive on the stage.
When I held the home printed copies in my hand and I could say blushing that these were my dramas, the door of writing opened to welcome me.
Strangely my first love, the world of theater, seemed tiresome and sterile compared with the new delight that writing offered.
In this new context the miracle of what happened on stage was no longer enough to counterbalance the mud of backstage, with its feudal and hierarchical relationships built upon egomania, pettiness, envy, and coach distribution that are unavoidable in Eastern Europe of our times.
But these were no longer my concerns. I was not anyone's puppet anymore.
I run my show now, even if it is only on paper at present.