Red Shuttleworth eats tumbleweeds for breakfast. He would rope a few calves before noon if it weren't for a bum shoulder. The West settles down in him like a dog in the grass: the sound of his dialogue, the cadences of his characters, the smartness of their responses to one another. But it's deeper than that. In Rumors and Borders, there's a savage wind off the desert, the hiss of snakes in the rocks, and the faraway whine of a coyote at night. Shuttleworth's plays are surprising and unpredictable, poetic and tough. Most of all, his plays are informed by the land that shapes him, the land that shapes the characters who speak through him.
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