from the playwright

A crazy amount of drafts.

Too many late nights writing to sad love songs.

All in the name of arrows.

Sometimes an idea slaps you across the face. For Spark, it all started with arrows. Cupid’s arrows to be exact. One day, while knee deep in a difficult relationship of my own, I thought, “What would happen if Cupid’s arrows struck you in the wrong place? Say the eye or throat?  What if love didn’t hit the right spot?” The image of people shot by misplaced arrows stayed with me for months.

Around that time, I heard the phrase “love is dead” more than once. First from friends, then in opinion articles in the New York Times. All sources debated the usefulness of monogamous romantic relationships in our rapidly growing self-sufficient modern world.

Is the idea of long-term commitment a primitive one? It is not a question of being single, but can we be completely autonomous from deep rooted intimacy and be satisfied?

These questions began to animate my arrow-filled fantasies and a story began to unfold. An inebriated Cupid walked on stage. A few poor mortals incorrectly struck by his drunken shooting sessions joined him. My theatrical exploration into the quality of a world without love began.

It is a play full of poetry.

It is a play that reveals in crazy.

And hot damn it has arrows.