In truth, I bear the fault alone, for a writer longs to see his words come to life, especially as a playwright to see the characters you create in your mind come to flesh and blood on the stage. What delight strokes the vanity of a writer to hear the swoons of the penny-stinkers clamorng at your feet and calling your name.

In truth, I bear the fault alone, for a writer longs to see his words come to life, especially as a playwright to see the characters you create in your mind come to flesh and blood on the stage. What delight strokes the vanity of a writer to hear the swoons of the penny-stinkers clamoring at your feet and calling your name.

Go ahead, speak my name. For what's in a name? That which we call a rose would smell as sweet by any other name. Ha! But you could not hear the irony in my thoughts when those words first erupted from the fertile womb of my muse. 'Twas a sprinkling, a hint, a clue to the truth and those that have "eyes" will see. Do you have the eyes for truth? Perhaps you need the stomach as well, for my tale is not for those comfortable with lies.

I began as every man does, a simple boy toying with lofty dreams and eating the promise-crammed air. You think you know who I am, and yet, you are deceived. Shall I speak the name with you? Come, let it fall. William Shakespeare. 'Twas easily said and now that I see you settling in for a tale about the man you think you know, a twist. I am not William Shakespeare.