ARTIST STATEMENT
The first time I realized I was different was in the first grade.
I suddenly became aware that it wasn’t “normal” to think girls were pretty. My classmates didn’t worry they would wake up one day to find that their entire family had left them behind. Six-year-olds didn’t fear they were going to hell because they didn’t eat all of their dinner.
Six-year-old Abby found solace in the tales of other worlds. Stories that could transport me from my small, west-Michigan town to space, or ancient Greece, or a magic treehouse. My parents lost their jobs six months apart in the 2008 recession. The summer after second grade was spent with my siblings and mom at the public library and the park. It was then that I discovered stories of found family; the unlikely pair of a spider and a pig, a boy finding his place among the Wild Things, and a shiny rainbow fish.
As I got older, it became stories of resistance, of revolution. From uprisings in District 12 to the Ceremony of Twelve, I ingested stories of injustice and began to apply this knowledge to the world around me. ​
In eighth grade, I realized I was a lesbian, and I was terrified. I spent my formative years wishing I was different—normal. Queer media wasn’t readily accessible in my middle school library in 2014. It was then I knew my hometown wasn’t big enough for the stories in my head.
It was in my college theatre department that I learned identity is not stagnant but exists on a fluid spectrum. I discovered that my comfort did not lie in either the feminine or the masculine–but rather somewhere in between.
The world we inhabit is constantly evolving. Each day, we learn, grow, and shift our perspectives. It is crucial that the theatre we write, produce, and perform reflects these changes and challenges, embraces new ideas, and celebrates the diversity of the human experience. By doing so, we create an inclusive space where everyone feels seen, heard, and valued.​ I believe that representation matters. All underrepresented groups—including queer folx, people of color, disabled individuals, and plus-sized—should have the opportunity to see themselves portrayed realistically and authentically in the media they engage with.
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I write stories of resistance, acceptance, and finding your place in the world. I write stories of strong women. I write about nonbinary people who are misunderstood and fed up. I write stories about the queer experience—of a team of queer softball players, of growing up queer, of the aftermath of overturning Obergefell v. Hodges. As an artist, I strive to create the art I wished I had when I was young. I aim to write and produce theatre that helps others feel seen—so that young, undiagnosed queer kids in military families can attend the theatre and think, "hey, that's me," and feel a little less alone.