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


July 22nd, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

Miss Lilly sadly has closed. It all happened so fast! It was such a stellar production of a play that I’m so nostalgically fond of.  Incredibly specific and nuanced performances, direction that managed the ridiculous leaps in tone, lots of Dolly Parton and real sounds of elephants driving cars into homes. Amazing. Most sadly, I’m bummed to see Harold go (Harold being the life-sized elephant puppet constructed by the incredible James Ortiz, operated by the patient and insightful Adam Blodgett, Aaron McDaniel, and Brian Belcinski.) He was remarkably alive and angsty and vulnerable, both charming and terrifying. BUT, HE LIVES! Apparently Studio 42 has found a place to store him, just in case. So I’ll be visiting him occasionally, checking in with peanut brittle, asking him to do that thing where he wraps his trunk around my waist so I feel small.

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Instagram, or:

July 22nd, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

Today, on I Discover Everything Last: INSTAGRAM! WHO KNEW! This delightful app can turn a normal, fuzzyish picture of one’s adorable boyfriend into some sort of J Crew teams up with American Apparel for an ad in 1987. I’m basically hooked.

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July 21st, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

Obviously I, as well as everyone else on the internet, have a lot of thoughts and feelings re: the Colorado shooting, ie gun control, the randomness of life and tragedy, etc, but I’d like to hone in on one particularly troubling thing  (and by troubling, I mean in that deeply unsettling but also sickeningly fascinating sort of way.) So as we’ve all now read, the killer James was always a good, quiet kid, good student, etc etc, until lately, he underwent some sort of shift in personality – dropped out of school, dyed his hair, started buying guns and ammo, convinced himself he’s Joker. Seems like the delusional behavior of schizophrenia which oftentimes afflicts young men in their early 20’s. (I became a bit preoccupied with the disorder when I started researching the Maxwell family murder for House of Home, though Billy was in his early 40’s when he started to shift – rare.) I think schizophrenia has been attributed to mass shootings before, Gabby Gifford’s attacker, for one. But the thing that really gets me about this guy – he was a graduate student in neuroscience. To what extent was he sort of aware of what was happening in his brain, if at all? If you’re a person who studies the brains deepest workings, would you be at all aware when something starts to shift within your own? Or, did knowing so much about this beautifully complicated thing somehow drive him insane? It doesn’t really help understand why the shooting happened, or provide any sort of comfort, it just kind of makes me go Hmm. But also, GUNS: NO / WHY.

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Cover Letter

July 20th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

To Whom it May Concern / Aaron Sorkin:

I’m writing to express my interest in writing for Newsroom, as I just read that you’re firing most of your staff from Season 1. That’s right. I read the news. With fervor, even. I obsess over tragedies and stuff myself with meaningless details. When I wake up to find that a random gunman has randomly killed 14 people, I must immediately know everything and try and make sense of it. That’s what’s really human about the News, which I think you know: attempting to create some sort of order or sense behind illogical and tragic events, not so that we understand why they happened, necessarily, but the order with which they did, because this can, in a weird way, be comforting. So While I am often labeled a quirky writer, or maybe whimsical, or maybe silly, I really feel like I’d offer something specific to the voice of your show: that penchant for late night CNN, that tendency to google victims harder and harder until you find out who they really were. Please note that I also know that you will never read this, and that I would also never actually get this job, but merely FYI, I’m punctual, and I would make and bring muffins and mixtapes.

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For Lefties

July 19th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

Hand undies? What is happening? Actually, these fingerpants are meant to prevent lefties from smudging the ink of their love poems and notes of betrayal written quickly in fourth period all over their stupid left hands. If it weren’t for the fact that I rarely actually write anymore, save my day planner, birthday cards and ransom notes, I would probably need one of these immediately, but I can probably wait to Christmas (SANTA!)

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Because why?

July 18th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter




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July 18th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

I got asked the other day in a talk back how many full length plays I’d written. I guessed –  30?  Yesterday I swept through the ol’ desktop, re-organizing drafts and drafts and drafts (sidenote: playwrights, KEEP ALL OF YOUR DRAFTS FOREVER. Rewriting A Long and Happy Life these past few weeks, I returned to the very first draft from nearly 3 years ago, and pillaged it with great success.) I did a quick count, and sure enough, at the Ripe age of 30, I have now written 30 full length plays. Success, or lunacy? Either way, I love this symmetry. (I am intentionally not counting the Sound of Music Reenactments / House Fires / Swastika rain / crucifixions of my first plays, but rather, only the plays that I would, in my right mind, give to another human being to read.)

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The Elephant in the Room

July 17th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter


I caught a few private moments with my buddy Harold during tech today before his big debut. He’s nervous, but confident, especially now that he has eyelashes.

Posted in a lot, animals, awesome, Uncategorized | No Comments »

New Mindless Favorite

July 16th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

This morning while gyming, I happened upon a new reality show about some rich people in Texas. One blonde lady said to another, I’ve been really upset since Bonnie turned on me at the Pheasant Hunt. And then I watched it for nine hours, and we all lived happily ever after, our brains slowing turning to mush.

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I was Told it was a Popsicle

July 16th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

On a sunny, lazy beach afternoon post rehearsal, my buddy Ryan King announced, a bit unprompted, that I was Told it was a Popsicle should be the title of my memoir (Sloane Crosley similarity completely intentional) and I can’t stop thinking about how yep, that’s pretty much true.

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