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

Working Man’s Clothes

June 25th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

475_logo_finalmd.jpgSo I have officially invited other ‘delicately’ emerging playwrights to read my blog for small pieces of joy/inspiration/brutal doses of reality/cute little ha-ha’s in the privacy of one’s own apartment.

I hope I get response! I think it’s a fantastic idea, she said as she patted herself on the back, which is sort of odd and hard to do.

So because of this invitation – I thought I would introduce my theater Company – Working Man’s Clothes Productions – to my blog -as I introduce my blog to Smart People I Don’t know.

WMC, meet the blog. The blog, meet the Smart People I Don’t Know. (You guys are all smart, just so you know. Let no one make you feel like you’re not.)

By ‘My’ theater company, I don’t mean MINE, I don’t mean to insinuate that it runs out of my head or my living room. I mean that I helped start the company three years ago, with some stellar people I met at Grad School. Since our genesis, we have produced like 30 plays or something crazy stupid like that. We work out of the American Place Theater, mainly – (this is nYC by the by) – we have three main stage productions – 6 readings – and two festivals a year.

Hats were seriously tipped to us last fall when we won 6 New York Innovative Theater Awards including best new play for a production of my play, To Nineveh.

We are at please come play with us!

For WMC, I serve as Director of New Play Development. This means, I am totally your friend. Please send me plays at

I love these people. All the Working Men. We survive because we love each other and love working hard and making something out of seriously nothing. (Money? Ahem. Hmm. Right. We don’t really have any of that, per se.) This makes what we do minimal, hardcore and magical.

If you are a writer – do it yourself. Put your show up yourself with your friend who does ‘sound design’ i.e. obsessively makes playlists and listens to too much Django. Kiss the ass of that guy you once met who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows of a space. Print the programs off at the computer lab. Stay up all night eating too many Doritoes talking about the play. Get lost in it.


So that’s Working Man’s. I’ve got a bottle of lukewarm Chardonnay and an unfinished Drama Play calling my name.

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On Pancakes

June 25th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

images.jpegI’m realizing that if I’m ever going to make any money blogging – I need to blog – like – ABOUT something – right. So this is henceforth not a journal, but an Important Thing about Things that are Significant.

Culturally, Cosmically.

See how long it takes me until I turn back to my own thoughts and sentiments.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Yesterday, I made blueberry pancakes. It was hard. The first one always sucks. One must get the hang of it. Why does it never turn out as well as Mom made? Never? Served with breakfast sasauges and scrambled eggs, this savory Sunday morning Simple morningsupper is guarenteed to please any boyfriend.

I have faith that I could actually write ‘about’ something. I think I’m just getting the hang of it first. But if someone were to say: Bekah – I really, for the love of God, I really need you to blog about Dry Erase Boards. Darfur. Stinky Shoes. Fake Ten Dollar Bills. Grandma clothes. I could totally do it. I’ve sent a link to this to a few ads on Craigslist for bloggers – no response – ahem – embarassing. Maybe one day.

But see, look – watch me blog ‘sassy and satirical’ about a given thing. I can do it.

Here I go.

On Underwear

‘Ladies – seriously. Think twice if your underwear is tighter than the already tight clothing you are donning. We do not need to see the exact lines and intricate details of your sassy thong beneath your Summer dress as it constricts and molds itself it your back fat.
Virtually any amount of back fat can be concealed with the proper size underwear – nearly invisible.
I reccomend the lacy thong from Gap Body – Just 3 for $24. These comfy lil bitches are cute and barely there, and go up to size XL. You’ll have the comfort of knowing that yes, you are wearing underwear, no: you did not forget; with the added assurance that not Everyone and their Mother can see your lady business.
Repeat the same logic when it comes to regular underwear, as well. If they hug your butt cheeks so bad – wear them only underneath clothes that allow the freedom of this hugging.’

Omg I’m so gifted. Humph. That was lame. But I really do feel strongly about really tight underwear. I don’t get it. I hate to see ladies spilling out of their clothes for no reason.
Like cramming themselves into smaller sizes just to wear that size.

I am the same height and weight as Tyra Banks and mandy moore when the magazines started calling them fat – so they switched to like salmon fillets and strange things with millet and grape fruit and 45 min work outs and now at 135 – they are normal.

But I like pancakes.

No but on the serious for real for real – an idea I DO have for this blog – is that other young/emerging playwrights can read it- we can all read each other’s – learn from each other’s victories/mistakes – where to send or not send our plays – what groups to get involved with – daily inspiration/ affirmation/tricks that help us keep writing.

So on that note – the playwright thing I have to say today – yesterday I was at the computer lab for 4 hours – working on one scene – the last scene in the first act of YMGN, the beast I’ve been trying to fix. I was going through it painfully, slowly, REALLY trying to FIX. Not just add words. At first I was like -what the hell am I doing? I am accomplishing anything? This is taking FOREVER. Then I realized – this is actual work. This – is what they call WORK.


I had a moment about it. I really did.

And when I emerged from the computer lab with new first act – having shaved off ten pages – I felt legit.

Then I stepped in gum.

My Dad has a great idea for a TV show. I’d put it here, but then I’d have to kill you.

That’s the first time anyone has ever said that, ever.

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on Park Slope

June 23rd, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


see – it totally 100% fear of the unknown that keeps us from making drastic and smallish changes in our lives. like trying – just for a like a week – to NOT eat cheese. Or quitting smoking. Or wearing high waisted things.

Or trying a different neighborhood in brooklyn.

Steve and I biked today from Greenpoint to Park Slope – visited Ms. Marilyn LB at her hair salon- then biked through Prospect Park, went all the way up to the Botanical Gardens/ Brooklyn Museum (but did not acutally enter either – another day.)

some serious beautiful

People, it was some serious beautiful the whole way. Granted, the weather has been PERFECT lately and not too hot but – the areas we rode through – Cobble hill, Park Slope, Prospect Park – were adorable, beautiful, awesome. Beautiful tree lined streets with happy people selling books and drinking iced coffee and walking dogs, babies. Loves it.

There are so many places to live in Brooklyn that are great – granted a lil further from manhattan but -cheaper – lovely – coffee – people – beer – wait i dont really drink beer – errr –

eliz my new roommate is here to measure her new room. she likes french stuff and is cute. i am stoked to live with her.

sara ruhl’s eurydice selling out like nobody’s business. i GOTTA see it. or i will implode.

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Affirmation, Loud Gay People, Evian. Oh, and the Drama Play.

June 22nd, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

1. There is is loud mf ing gay guy who always is transferring from the G to the E with me. He is so mf ing rude I could slap him a foot long. With like toasty roast beef slapping him upside the face and getting stuck in his hair. He is so loud and rude. He wears big headphones and dances and walks and he’s got one of those gay butts that sway really deliberately. And he pushes past people and yells at them if they cough or if they are in his way.

Now, see, everybody coughs. I understand being coughed ON – but these innocent MTA patrons are merely coughing to themselves – a morning cough – a clearing. There’s no need for him to freak out and mortify them.I’m just saying, the loud and the gays – must you be SO loud and gay? I know you are loud and gay. There is no need to remind me.


What you’re looking at is A Princess Grace.

Which leads me to Affirmation: I got the best rejection letter ever Yesterday! From the Princess Grace Awards. This is one of the best and biggest grants for emerging playwrights. Like ACTUALLY emerging playwrights. Not like – look at me – I am so emerging – look at me with my shows at Playwrights Horizons and my studio apartment and my Guggenheim.

Like the REAL emergers. We know who we are. We get EXCITED about rejection letters, because it makes us feel noticed, we live in Brooklyn, owe to much money and drink too much wine to forget about it. Also, we talk to our cats. I digress.

Back to the letter and my Affirmation – the letter was like – hey now – you didn’t get the grant – BUT YOU WERE A SEMI-FINALIST! This made me happy and I actually made a happy little sound like ‘humph’ but in a happy way. This award is VERY competitive and there were only 60 semi-finalists out of 300 or something, so i feel like 33% more special than I did before.Which is why I write plays I think. To feel special.

Pay Attention to me.

I do not like Evian. It’s like thick. It’s like lotion water. But since everyone at the this office is French, it’s what they prefer, so it’s all they have. It like slides down in an off sort of way that is not water-like.

Re: The Drama Play: I’m struggling now with revising my thesis play, You May Go Now: A marriage play, which had a reading at my school that did NOT go as swimmingly as I had plan – it was way over written, nobody got it – my teacher had made me believe all year that it – and I – were brillant – but now I realize – that’s sort of his job. But he is smart, and we know this, because below is his book.


Anywhoo – play is going up in September through Babel Theater Project, either way – I have til mid July to fix it – director gave me really good notes that I understand intelluctually but – I sat down last night to work on it – and yes – I wrote – yes – I changed things – but I feel like I was just making it fatter. Adding more words. Words that I like, yes – I write them and then I’m like oh, what I pretty little set of words. But that is not a PLAY. That is not DRAMATIC.What am I actually ACCOMPLISHING by just adding pretty words? The problems lie in the STORY.

I feel like ever since I started learning dramatic craft, it’s cock blocked my natural tendencies – so my full lengths from Grad School are a mess. I’m hoping it’s just a phase, and i will come out triumphant on the other side – I know you learn it and forget it – maybe I just haven’t remembered to forget it yet.Everyone at work today is in a bad mood and they’re yelling at each other about keywords and pyschics.

It is the french american war, and I sit in the middle, neutral and having to pee.

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if i want to live here forever

June 21st, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

I mean do I?

Here is where I’m from. Winston-Salem, NC. The penis building especially makes in an extremely hospitable place to live.


Technically – at this point in mon vie – I can do whatever I want. I have no kids, hub, property – I do, though, have two bikes, sort of part of a cat, a growing collection of plays and books that are spilling off of my cheap ass leaning tower of pisa that is my cheap ass bookshelf and onto my floor, excessive amounts of soft shirts and dresses, a few nice dishes, a futon (thanks bud), A Stellar Garlic Knife, a mac book, a nice pair of pearl earrings, and retarded amounts of debt.

These are the things that I have.

I could sort of take these things anywhere. Do I want to live here forever? Do I want to wake up mid life and only have these things, and not have gone anywhere?


Why can’t I just be one of those people who just does whatever they want – hops planes places – eats big dinners and doesn’t get fat – or is any body really like that? Or is that just tv. Movies I’ve seen. Hmmmm. Well, that’s what I want. And I want to think that if I try hard enough – I can have it. Get grants, travel, write good movies, sell one, make ass loads of money, pay my loans, afford the life of walking around and writing and going places I’ve never been. But that is so self-centered, in a way. How can I take what I do and put it outside myself? Involve the whole world? Not be so stuck in my bedroom.

Actually, I don’t spend that much time there. I really don’t.

I saw an apartment yesterday – Greenpoint – just 850. Listed as a studio. I knew there must be something wrong with it – it was cute as shit – this cute girl, also Rebecca, had made the space cute and her own. But it was the size of a bedroom – with a tiny kitchen – no stove – meaning I could not make banana bread – meaning life would not be worth living.

But really – I could probably survive in a place like that – but I have convinced myself that i need to have a place where I can entertain. Have friends over for dinner and not make them eat pasta on my bed.

But If I want a place like that – If I really want it – a place to myself where I serve people pasta – I don’t know if it can be here. So where, then? I seem to really like urban environments – but they all seem to be as expensive as here. Boston, Chicago, DC. The same. Maybe a little bit more space, though, perhaps. Philly is supposed to still be cheap – and starting to have a pretty sweet lil indie theater scene. Or then – WHERE IS MY TUSCAN BUNGALOW?! Something like that. Something in the middle of nowhere. But I would have no friends in any of these places to have over for dinner – most of the people I love (MOST, mind you – ) are here.

It really is fear that keeps us from making any huge life change. I fear that if I moved somewhere else – I wouldn’t like it. I would miss nyc. A lot. I would know no one – I would have nothing to do. But see – maybe – it would be GREAT – and the best choice I ever made.

Who’s to say I wouldn’t be happy for a bit living in WS close to my parents – there are things to do there – I could take little trips to the moutains, beach, space out – AFFORD TO LIVE. But what would I do for work? Nothing? Anything?

This I know – I DO NOT WANT A CAR. CARS ARE STUPID. Driving is annoying. You gotta like, stop and get gas, which is stupid. ANd like – put oil in it and stuff. Stupid.

Just thoughts.

In Summary, I have two bikes, my bookcase sucks, I miss my Mom, I want to travel, I want to be happy, I want to write, and cars – yes – are stupid.

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if i were born pretty

June 20th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


i would be a totally different person. I might be bitchy, sluttier, and have more kids or venereal diseases.

i am happy with the cute nose that is me.

my turkey sandwich tastes like cinnamon, but three cheers for welches fruit snacks.

I ride the G train each morning now with a new couple who hasn’t been together long, i don’t think – she says thanks for dinner last night, it was really sweet, he blushes, she kisses his arm, they talk about her cat and how it sleeps on his face, or how she tossed and turned, and the things they are observing about each other’s sleep patterns – as they are just getting used to each other’s sleep.
She gets off at 23 Van Ely St, he goes on to Court Square, and they both most spend the day wondering if the other will call, though they both said call me/ I’ll call you. It is still new and unsure and they can’t yet remember each other’s siblings’ names, or what they are allergic to.

It’s cute.

In two years the population of NYC will swell to 9 million. Would I still want to live here? Or would I rather live near my Mom and we can go on walks together and make beef stew and wrap presents? Or do I want to teach English in Japan or go somewhere else I’ve never been where I don’t know anyone and get really lost and confused before I settle down? Or will I settle down even? Or will I wake up 35 and by myself and steal someone’s kid and take it to cottage? Teach how to ice a cake, put it in dresses, keep it warm, tuck it in at night. Make it read the Boxcar CHildren.

The Box car Children would make a great play/movie. I’m going to read that again. I’m going to buy it online. Right now.


Maybe that kidnap drama play is not as crazy as I think – maybe I am secretly seeing the future.

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heat, not sunlight, ripens tomatoes.

June 19th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

so says the snapple.

it is sad this going downstairs to buy a snapple becomes an event.

i tried having a blog thing in college – live journal – but stopped because – it seemed like everybody else was so good about being witty and cynical and smart about their own lives and observations but – mine seem so dull. Which is lame because I’m supposed to be a writer, right?

Which leads me to this thought: when I write, I don’t write about my self, or this world, really – details of the things I feel/see/experience make there way into what I write but – I am not trying to capture this actual world. It is a completely different world. Because it doesn’t feel real to me, it’s easier to write. i don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I don’t know if this means that I don’t write truthfully- because I’m not writing about the actual world.

I read an interview with Sara Ruhl – wonderful things happen in her plays like people turning into almonds and love-striken men cutting down Alaskan trees for their lovers and dragging said tree across the stage – she says that these poetic things ALL stem from her perception of the world around her – the acutal world – so does she write more truthfully than me? If I find a way to connect what I actually feel and see every day to the playground of words and strange things that are my plays – will I write better?

How do you actually change yourself, as many times as you might acknowledge the thing that needs changing?

Why does the top-ish button my grown-up dress keeping popping me open, revealing my supple side boob?

Why, now that I’ve found two sweet girls to move into my apt – are there tons of greenpoint studios online?

Why did I sleep like some contortionist last night and now Looking Left hurts like hell?


I’m going to have kids named Hazel, Nelly and Valentine. They will each have their own kitten.

Last Night Michael made it abundantly clear how much he’d like to raise a chicken farm. nay, a chicken village. They would all have costumes and homes. The butcher, the barber, the baker. After fostering a relationship with them as caregiver, he would then dress up like Godzilla, tear into the town, and fry those little sons of bitches. And eat.

His brother is coming this weekend, who has been viscerally described as ‘little jaundice goat.’ I can’t wait to meet him.

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not a still born. It’s alive and stuff.

June 18th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

So i have deemed it important that I start ‘blogging’ to keep me actively writing every day. I don’t know if anyone will read this besides me – but this is not important. What is important is that as I undergo this life transistion from student person/person who spends too much time in pursuit of gladiator sandals/person who spends thirty bucks a week on iced coffee/person who lives life of blissful abandon – to person who goes to work/has no time to write/has no money for frivilous things – it is important that I approach writing as work, as a career, as a necessity, so it does not become a thing of my youth – but I think that I am obliged to do.
Not that i think I will ever stop writing – I get punched in the face with 6-7 ideas daily – Student Loans the Musical – or a play about somebody’s who’s most humiliating and horrifiying life event gets captured and spread on youtube – like that poor stoned cop (Time is moving really really really slow. I think we’re dead.) – like that. But the important thing is that I make the time to write. It’s so much easier when you feel like you have all the time in the world – now I know that i do not. Because I have a ‘job.’ And when I leave said ‘job’ after being in front of a computer all day – the last thing I want to do is sit right back down in front of it – as creative and wonderful and cathartic as writing something new is, it can still seem like work.
Something I’ve found myself doing a lot lately – or at least since school finished – It’s easier for me to sit down and revise something that already exists – work on a script that needs work – instead of write something new.
I did, though, manage to muster up my new one act, ‘I Have It,’ in which two herpes ridden youngins meet for their first date. I also have begun ‘Dishwar/How are You’ – in which two roommates fight to the death over dishes.
Other things in the mix are expanding my one act ‘Fat Kids on Fire’ – setting it in the 80’s – moving it into a full length for later WMC Production – and possibly into a film as well.
I’m also working on two new full lengths – ‘The Arbitrary Adventures of White Crayon Women’ – about a young girl on Oregon Trail who is depressed – and ‘Mariage Blanc’ – about the birth of coiture and department stores in Paris in the late 19th century – where women sit around being pretty and writing long letters to their lovers. I like that.
And by ‘working’ on them I mean I haven’t written a word – but I think about them. A lot. Yay.
I think ‘blogging’ is incredible narcissistic and self induglent and awesome. I think. I’m stoked about making myself put strange observations and feelings into words on a daily basis – and perhaps forcing those close to me to read said blog – so that I do not have to actually ‘communicate’ these thoughts/feelings/events with loved ones –
thus, I will avoid all phone calls and actual conversations all together.
PS – this blog is arranged and brought to you by Mr. Steven Baughman of 117 India St., Greenpoint, Brooklyn. If you want to meet my cute boyfriend, you can see him talk about his life at On his front stoop. Starring the bear. It’s pretty cute.


And these are my brothers. p1012110.JPG

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a blog is born.

June 18th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

born and stuff.

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