bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY
playwright in brooklyn, NY


July 2nd, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter

YOUR WHOLE LIFE HAS LED YOU TO THIS MOMENT! I reveal to you: my July calendar drawings, featuring weird clowns, lazy birds, sand sculptures, my concept of love which was basically two people touching hands and staring at each other, and a general lack of understanding of how elbows work.

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These two.

July 1st, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter

Happy Anniversary to my sweet parents, who got married at the age when I’m pretty sure I had two roommates and was writing monologues to afford my Lean Cuisines. Growing up, my brothers and I used to make them dinner on this day. I would pour through culinary magazine (because there was one, and no internet,  and so I poured through it annually), and plan an elaborate menu. My mom would give me sixty bucks and set me free in the grocery store and it was euphoria, to have a shopping list, to have a dinner to make. (To this day: my most favorite thing.) My bros and I would then get to cookin, while they most likely drove around in circles or wandered the aisles of a Kohl’s until it was time for them to return.  TADA! does not even remotely express the INSANE AMOUNTS OF PLEASURE AND JOY I felt when they returned, and I escorted them to the dining room, where their cornish hens waited, nestled in lukewarm mash potatoes, dim light, roses from the yard, name tags so they knew where to sit. Mom and Dad, I would give limbs to marinate you some cornish hens in old salad dressing tonight, burn, present.   There in spirit, and in body in a month. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

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June 30th, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter

Cinderella was all: A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you’re fast asleep. But lately for me, a dream is a HORRIBLE NIGHTMARE YOUR HEART VOMITS WHILE YOU SLEEP FITFULLY. Dreams lately:

- that I’m out for a walk behind my office and I get bucked in the head by a giant deer and the writer’s assistant takes me in for brain surgery.

- last night: that my co-workers and I were trying to re-break an episode but we could because we were DROWNING IN A VAT OF BALSAMIC VINAIGRETTE.

-That I come home and some giant rats that wear clothes have moved into my house

- actual dream my boss said she had about me: that her face was falling off and I wasn’t driving her to the hospital fast enough.

As all of these fever dreams indicate, it is nearly time for hiatus, in which we rest, think new and other thoughts, and dreams return to normal, sweet unicorn birds, calming cupcakes cars, breezy teachers from middle school trapped in large jello molds.

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June 29th, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter

My sunglasses broke this weekend, which is a perfectly normal thing to occur, as they were plastic and fallible and made by  humans, not magic or indestructible or made by gods. Human Things: they break, and to get attached to them is waste of time, unless of course THEY ARE THE MOST PERFECT SUNGLASSES THAT EVER WERE.   These sunglasses fit my face like a face glove and transported me to another place, made me Janis  at a summer garage sale, Janis on a vacay, myself if I lived in 73, if I had Stage Presence, myself if I were her:

And so today I marcheddrove down to the store where I found them a year ago, and for nineteen dollars, procured the exact same pair. Rest easy, face. You’re not here. You’re There.

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Thoughts of dark things 

June 28th, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter


Our brains are rebellious daughters with nice soft lives, who still sneak out after bedtime to meet boys by train tracks just to See. To balance the good with bad.  I’m away at a beautiful, relaxing place, and yet: Talk of whales yesterday turned to me devoting a fair amount of brain space and energy to wondering exactly what it would be like to be eaten by a whale and die in its gut. My thoughts kept turning back to this, the details, the specifics, the tiny fish, the dark, the guts, After careful speculation I have hereby decided that NOPE DON’T WANT THAT AT ALL NO THANK YOU. 

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June 27th, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter


James / Morrison / James Morrison’s delightful folks and sister own and run a charming Marina up in Olympia, Washington, which they’ve turned into a community center / cultural hub featuring local beer / coffee / bald eagles / seals / whales. They conveniently habiter in a house up the road and This is their view every morning. I DARE YOU TO GET ME TO LEAVE.  

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June 26th, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter


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ride it out / let it go

June 25th, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter

Every now and then my brain just burns out and quits. It has no fresh ideas or stories. It has no thoughts besides sandwich and dress and bed. It has no dreams besides standing in a Target. (Like that is the actual dream. Just standing there.) I like to panic during this phase and tell myself that I will never have an original thought ever again and I will live the rest of my life inside of a head that is filled with Netflix and  mayonnaise and quotes yanked from writers far better than myself. BUT. I have finally, finally learned to just let it be, because new thoughts / words / questions / ideas always come. ALWAYS. (HEY: PLEASE COME.)

Posted in a lot, awesome, the future, the writing of drama plays, things that I Have, trying too hard, whining, words, working, worrying | No Comments »


June 24th, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter

I am a person who is delighted by most people and most things, and so there are few things that I hate. Even when something or someperson is frustrating or annoying, I try to locate somereason to appreciate the personthing. But there is NO EXCUSE AT ALL FOR USING K INSTEAD OF C. THERE IS NEVER AN EXCUSE AND NOTHING MAKES ME ANGRIER. Welcome to my system of how to know whether or not to give a place your money. It’s simple. NEVER GIVE ANY OF THESE PLACES ANY OF YOUR MONEY.

Kids Dental Kare

Kars for Kids

Katie’s Kleaners

Kozy Krafts

Kandy Shack


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What the Heck I gotta do (to be with you)

June 23rd, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter

Hi, I’m in my car two hours a day and This American Life is my buddy and Savior. They recently re-aired an ep from a year ago — a live show recorded at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, in which they turn old (journalistic) radio stories into live pieces of art — operas, musicals, radio plays. The best one is  an adaptation of a piece about undercover cops in a high school — a love story.  A good kid, straight A student falls in love with an undercover cop, pines after her, gets entrapped, turned in. It’s transformed into a fourteen minute long musical by the incomparable Lin Manuel Miranda, who is saving musical theater by keeping it vibrant, relevant, who can turn feeling into song like Rogers and Hammerstein at a backyard Beyonce concert. I cannot, CANNOT stop listening to it. Going somewhere? Going nowhere at all? Get in your car or subway car anywhoo, and JOIN ME IN MY OBSESSION HERE.

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