Crissy, from Trans/Actions by K. Woodzick and Ayla Sullivan

CRISSY. I feel more comfortable choreographing for the girls now. (Beat.) I went to the hardware store the other day, to get an extra set of keys made and the clerk gave them to me and said, “Here you go, sir.” (Beat.) And I corrected her and said “My pronouns are she, her and hers and I actually go by miss.” And she said “Well, good for you,” and walked away. (Beat.) I told the management of the store and they kept asking me to give them more information. And I eventually got to the point where I was done. I choose to be an advocate, but I don’t have to put myself in a position to educate others all the time. (Beat.) Just once, I would like someone to ask, you know? To go into a store and have a clerk ask “What are your pronouns?” That would be…that would be….

(There are no words. The Song of the Roasted Swan from Carmina Burana starts to play. CRISSY begins to dance.) 

Playwrights: K. Woodzick and Ayla Sullivan

Context: This monologue happens in the last scene of the play. Crissy, a ballet dancer, is reflecting on the ways in which she moves through the world.

Website: www.woodzick.com

Contact: nonbinarymonologues (at) gmail (dot) com

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Woodzick, from Trans/Actions, by K. Woodzick and Ayla Sullivan

WOODZICK (they/them/theirs). I’ve always hated the term, “workaholic”. As if it was so bad to bring my work home with me. Or if there was something wrong with knowing what I want and doing what I have to in order to get there. When you love what you do, you have an intimacy with your craft. There is something sacred in the process and there is something holy about making your bed in your work and being committed to lying in it.

There are some days when I choose not to leave the apartment. Because if I don’t leave the apartment, I won’t get misgendered. My roommate isn’t going to do it, and her dog isn’t going to do it, and her boyfriend knows that he will get in trouble if he does it.

But then I remember what brings me home in the first place. It’s not always turning a key; sometimes it’s the audition room in itself, a callback without fear, a promise from a director. I have loved theatre for over twenty five years, since I saw Music Man and set up chairs in my living room to mimic a train. Home is made up of all the things we love the longest, isn’t it? And isn’t it also the place we hurt the most? The place that scars us as much as it loves us?

Theatre is an industry that is still very entrenched in the gender binary. There are male and female dressing rooms, character breakdowns that clearly read male and female, and you are told at an early age as an actor what your type is, in male and female terms.

When I was thirty one, I was cast in a production of The 39 Steps, where I played over sixteen male roles. And though I had played male roles before, it no longer felt like drag to me–instead, it was an extension of my gender identity. During that production, because of that production, I changed my pronouns from she, her, and hers to they, them and theirs. I lost friends because of it. I lost work because of it. It is the single hardest and best decision I have ever made.

Playwrights: K. Woodzick and Ayla Sullivan

Context: This monologue happens in the first scene of the play. Woodzick is reflecting on their relationship to gender and theatre

Website: www.woodzick.com

Contact: nonbinarymonologues (at) gmail (dot) com