I came to playwriting the way I’ve come to most things that matter — sideways, late, and all at once.
I spent years writing in other forms: twelve books, dozens of short stories, a memoir that cracked me open and put me back together. Then in January 2024, I wrote my first play as part of London Playwrights‘ #WrAP — a writing challenge to Write A Play in January — and something clicked into place that hasn’t unclicked since. Six plays in fourteen months. Two produced in London. I suspect there are more coming.
I write about women who survive. That’s the thread running through everything — the memoir, the plays, the metal sculptures that look fragile and aren’t. Survival in a basement during a civil war. Survival on a tenth terrible first date. Survival of the ordinary, relentless kind that nobody writes about because it doesn’t look dramatic from the outside.
I lived in London for a total of four years, but I am American, which means I bring a particular outsider’s clarity to the stories I tell in the British fringe. Close enough to feel them. Far enough to see them whole.
I now reside in Portland, Oregon, with my cat, Smudge; my partner, Brian; and our other cats, Basil & Vincent. I live with C-PTSD, long Covid, and a titanium resilience that has served me well. I am also, depending on the day, genuinely funny or deeply intense.
As a playwright, I am looking for producers, artistic directors, and collaborators who want to make work that is politically urgent, emotionally honest, and not safe. Scripts are available on request.
As an author, my memoir One Reason to Live is available on Amazon and has been praised by Publisher’s Weekly, Manhattan Book Review, and Midwest Book Review among others.
As an artist, I work in metal sculpture, stained glass, and watercolor — because apparently I don’t know when to stop.
Christine Rose 