The only play that I’ve known what began it, was when I wrote a play about Bessie Smith, the great black blues singer who was allowed to die outside of Memphis in 1937, because she was black and the hospitals were white. Even there, she’s not in the play, her blood is. But, with the exception of that one, I write my plays to find out why I’m writing them — what’s going on in my head that is turning into a play. And, I become aware that it’s turning into a play, and so I write it down. So, simple and so easy and so true.