When Ruby comes across the street to our house she always comes to the side door, never to the front. She calls my mom Miss Mary, and everything she says begins with or ends with “sorry.”  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says over …

There is a silence brewing in American theater. It’s not a Pinteresque pause or the dead stillness that happens when an actor forgets his lines. It’s the systematic silencing of women’s voices. Women have been writing plays for eleven centuries. Without works by women the …