Posthuman Blues

I'm completing a play -- my first -- for Nova Scotia's Semaphore Theatre. I just got an email from Google (which I've trained to do my ego-surging for me) and was directed to this update.

Knowing that "Doing Time" (very loosely based on a short-story I published in 1995) will actually be performed by living, breathing actors is a fairly trippy prospect, somehow more dire than merely committing words to paper (or, more often than not, a computer screen). And I still haven't ironed out the back-story about Martian pharmaceuticals . . .