I wrote that in my pocket notebook while bussing it home recently from a happy hour with a highly placed Big House theatre administrator. We were having that well-worn vodka-sodden conversation about how, while very few new works get developed in Seattle lately, the ones that do tend to be by the same “go-to” authors, invariably defended with some variation of the following:
“Say what you will about the innocuousness of his plays, _______ really is the nicest guy.”
“Sure _____’s work isn’t that strong or well-researched but she’s just so darned sweet.”
Having jotted down that title, it was my intention go back and explore the idea in one of my longer essays, but now, looking at them I realize that if those five words don’t already make manifest the problem, another thousand won’t paint the picture any clearer.

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