My second play The Birthday Party I wrote in 1958 – or 1957. It was totally destroyed by the critics of the day who called it an absolute load of rubbish.
I tend to foster drama via bleakness. If I want the reader to feel sympathy for a character I cleave the character in half on his birthday. And then it starts raining. And he's made of sugar.
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Since graduation I have measured time in 4-by-5-inch pieces of paper four days on the left and three on the right. Every social engagement interview reading flight doctor's appointment birthday and dry-cleaning reminder has been handwritten between metal loops.
