The first truth I have to admit is this: being a writer in this era feels like standing on a cliff edge while the ground keeps eroding under your feet. The world moves at a velocity that mocks reflection. Technology accelerates everything—communication, outrage, forgetting—until the human voice risks becoming background noise in its own century. And yet, paradoxically, this is exactly why the theater remains one of the last sanctuaries where a writer can still slow time, still insist on breath, still demand that an audience sit in the dark and listen.
These four new stage plays—bound together under the title Drama For High Society—are my attempt to carve out that sanctuary. They are not polite plays. They are not designed for a world that scrolls. They are built for the stage, where the spoken word still has the audacity to matter.