I am a writer. Yet words can hardly explain the rush of emotions I felt this past weekend. I speak plainly because there is no way to convey the immense gratification of being treated as a professional playwright at the age of 16.
I walked into a room full of people surrounding a table stocked with Hershey's candy bars, lollipops and flyers for The Blank Theatre's Young Playwrights Festival. For a moment, I hesitated-was this where I belonged, in a building a couple blocks away from the Hollywood Walk of Fame?-but before I could back out, someone spotted me and asked, "Are you here for the 'Supermarket of Lost' table read?" and I said yes.
