Your plays are always personal. You can't help seeing yourself in the serial killer you've just written. But they get less specifically personal.

From all accounts, Ted Bundy had been a good looking and charming man. How many women had he tricked into his van, raped, and then killed?

It doesn't escape him that the rock holding it up is the perfect fit for his fist. Or how easily one of those needle spokes would slide right through the girl's eye like Jell-O.

And I admit it: there's a rather dirty thrill when 700 people laugh at a joke you've written.

That's relatively old for a serial killer. What has this guy been doing for the last 10 or 15 years?

So far, the serial killer has targeted three known prostitutes who got into a car with a stranger, were shot to death and then dumped into secluded areas.