Sex with Strangers grows out of the instinct to go to the source of inspiration; to see if the spark of inception and, then, the act of an inspired execution can be more fully understood.
This is why Ethan seeks out Olivia. In her own pursuit to achieve some of what Ethan has achieved as a writer, Olivia wonders about the relationship between his art and the life he’s led. Should his life choices, which she doesn’t respect, impact how she views his work?
I hope the play reflects the current moment we live in where the question of what is public and what is private has never been more blurred. But it starts with this age-old idea—the relationship between the artist and the art they make.
In general, I have a resistance to being pinned down. To being defined. I think that’s one of the things I like best about being a dramatic writer, that I get to invent and give voice to a myriad of characters and perspectives that are then embodied by other living, breathing people. And, I think, one of the reasons I like to write in so many different forms—plays, adaptations, musicals, TV, film. I don’t like fitting easily into a box, being defined as being this kind of writer. In a world seeking fast and simple identification, defying easy classification can be a problem. But it can also avoid a trap. One Ethan falls into of being so strongly identified with one piece of work that reinvention can feel impossible.
The conflict between these characters and their different levels of comfort with what should be public and what should be private is a conflict of my own. I desire to write and write and write and share my ideas with the larger world, to be known in some bigger way by more than just my circle of friends and family. But I also feel the opposite. I desire to limit my writing output and recede; to step back, to keep my thoughts private and unshared beyond a handful of people I love and trust. I yearn in equal parts to shout from the rooftops and hide under the covers.
But please know this: whoever you are, wherever you are, I’m incredibly grateful to you for reading this. For having interest in this play. In plays in general. I hope the time you spend with this story will feel valuable to you. That is the one thing I want most of all.
As much as it was always the goal to connect with people through this play, I still find it strange sometimes, sharing something so intimate as this story I invented in the privacy of my own head with you, whom I’ve probably never met. Strange and, yet, totally thrilling. Sex with strangers, indeed.
Laura Eason
Brooklyn, New York