“Why Not Do What I Love?” — Playwright Jenna Jane on Leaving “Safe” Work, Rewriting Bionic, and Building a Real Life in the Arts

After her newsroom position was cut, Jenna Jane chose the riskier path that finally made sense: “Once I found out that career wasn't safe… why not do what I love?” In this episode of the Tampa Bay Arts Passport Podcast, we talk about refusing stereotype roles, rebuilding her sci-fi play Bionic from the ground up, and what an actually open, actually safe theater community should look like.

Hit play for a candid, funny, unflinching look at how new work really gets made — and why “new work doesn’t sell” is usually a marketing problem.

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Highlights

• “I made a commitment… I was no longer going to play any roles that perpetuate stereotypes or involve my clothes falling off.”
• Therapy’s nudge → writing career: “Why don’t you just write better parts?” … “Within days, I started writing, and I haven't been able to stop.”
• On Bionic’s big rewrite: a dramaturg said “this needs to be one cohesive story… save the twist for the last scene and just destroy us with it.”
• The producing reality: “Cast sizes… are getting smaller and smaller,” driven by space and funding cuts; she writes Bionic so it’s playable with as few as six actors.
• Community standards: “Open auditions… that are actually open,” not precasting “your friends over and over again,” and creating spaces where “both adults and children can feel safe.”
• On leaving “the safe job”: “Once I found out that career wasn't safe… why not do what I love?”
• Multiple income streams: voiceover as remote, resilient work if theater stalls.
• Marketing truth bomb: “How can you expect a community to show up for new work if you don't tell them it's happening?”
• One-word hope for Tampa Bay’s arts scene: “Risk-taking.”

Full Transcript

For accessibility, research, and receipts, here’s the full, lightly edited transcript of our conversation with playwright / actor / voice actor Jenna Jane. Quotes appear as spoken. Please credit Tampa Bay Arts Passport if you excerpt.

Episode: “Why Not Do What I Love?” — Playwright Jenna Jane on Leaving “Safe” Work, Rewriting Bionic, and Building a Real Life in the Arts
Guests: Avery Anderson & Jenna Jane
Recorded: 2025
Host: Avery Anderson, Tampa Bay Arts Passport Podcast

INTRO

Avery:
Hi, hello, welcome to another episode of the Tampa Bay Arts Passport Podcast. My name is Avery Anderson.

Today we get to talk to one of my closest and oldest friends, Miss Jenna Jane. We met years ago and instantly clicked, so I’m thrilled to bring you her story — her artistry, her transition from investigative journalist to professional playwright, and her hopes for the Tampa Bay arts community.

We’re also talking about what it means to make a living as a full-time artist in Florida.

We are your insider edition to all things arts and culture in Tampa Bay. Enjoy!

MEETING & ORIGINS

Avery:
Hello, Jenna Jane!

Jenna:
Hello! How are you?

Avery:
I’m so good.

Jenna:
I’m so excited to talk with you today.

Avery:
Me too! Though… this is the first time we’re meeting, right?

Jenna:
Yes, lovely to make your acquaintance!

Avery:
(Laughs) We’ve actually known each other for six years — almost exactly six, actually.

Jenna:
Time is a construct, Avery. We met pre-pandemic, and after that nothing makes sense.

Avery:
And the crazy thing is — nothing’s changed.

Jenna:
Nothing. Literally not a single thing.

Avery:
We’ve stagnated — and thank goodness for that. (Laughs)

Jenna:
Right!

Avery:
But seriously, you’re one of my favorite people to talk to because we’ve both embraced change. We met working at 10 Tampa Bay — same week, right?

Jenna:
The same week! And theater people always find each other. We were two magnets in the control room.

Avery:
I think I was just quietly eating lunch in the break room…

Jenna:
And I was having none of that. I walked right up like, “Hi, I’m Jenna. We’re going to be friends now.”

Avery:
And I said, “Cool.” (Laughs) Then you told me you wanted to play the dentist in Little Shop of Horrors and I was like, “Okay, you’re my people.”

Jenna:
Still true! I’d kill to play the dentist — or the voice of the plant.

Avery:
So here’s what we’ll do: we’ll start a theater and cast you in Little Shop every year in a new role until you’ve done them all.

Jenna:
Perfect. I’m looking forward to playing Mushnik. Bit of typecasting, but fine.

FROM JOURNALIST TO PLAYWRIGHT

Avery:
You’re now a professional playwright — whoa. Talk to me about that journey from investigative journalist to full-time playwright.

Jenna:
Okay, so… where to begin. I was an investigative journalist, but I’ve always loved to write — since I was a kid filling up those black-and-white composition notebooks. Shelves of them. Couldn’t stop.

I became a journalist because I loved telling stories and writing. But I’ve also always loved theater — I’ve been an actor since I was a kid.

During the pandemic, I was talking to my therapist — as we all were — about how frustrated I was with the roles available to me as a young woman.

I’d made a commitment years earlier: I would no longer play roles that perpetuate stereotypes or involve my clothes falling off. You’d be amazed how much less work I got once I made that decision.

Avery:
Because you wanted to keep your clothes on?

Jenna:
Yeah, God forbid! (Laughs) And hot take — bimbos don’t exist. I’ve never met one. And yet, they’re everywhere in film.

So I’m venting to my therapist, and she goes, “Why don’t you just write better parts?”

And I said: absolutely not. Writing is work. That’s what I do for work. I’m not writing for fun.

She said, “That’s a big reaction — let’s talk about that.”

Within days, I started writing. And I haven’t stopped since.

Avery:
“New thing unlocked.”

Jenna:
Exactly! That feeling from childhood — not being able to stop writing — came rushing back.

PROCESS & WRITING HABITS

Avery:
Do ideas come first, or do you just sit down and write?

Jenna:
There’s no one answer. Sometimes it’s what my husband and I call “It’s here.” Like, stop everything — I need to write right now.

That’s when I’m most passionate, but you can’t wait for those moments or you’ll hardly write at all.

Other times, it’s discipline. I keep a notebook on my nightstand because ideas hit in the shower or the middle of the night. I jot notes like, “This character does this,” or “This actor plays multiple roles.”

Right now, my latest work-in-progress is mostly those notes. I’ve only written the first scene. I need to compile them all soon.

Avery:
Hollywood sells that idea that inspiration strikes, you write your masterpiece, and you’re done.

Jenna:
Yeah, no. Inspiration is the first draft, and honey, that’s not ready for performance.

The mistake some playwrights make is stopping there — getting it down and rushing it to the stage. But revision is everything.

ON “BIONIC” AND NEW WORK

Avery:
Let’s talk about Bionic. I’ve seen this play evolve for years.

Jenna:
Since 2021! It started as a one-act and grew into a full-length. At first, it was going to be a sci-fi anthology — three stories across generations of the same family in a future where people swap out body parts for the latest tech.

Then a dramaturg said, “This needs to be one cohesive story. The people in your first scene — it’s their story. Save your first-scene twist for the end and destroy us with it.”

So I did. I fully rewrote it. And I’m really happy with the new structure.

Avery:
Most audiences don’t see that process — the readings, feedback, rewrites.

Jenna:
Exactly. I believe in lots of staged readings. Hearing words out loud changes everything.

For example, I have a company in the play called LifeCorp. People kept pronouncing it like “Life Corps,” as in Marine Corps. It happened so often I wrote the correction into the play — a character mispronounces it and gets corrected. Problem solved.

Those are the little things you only catch by testing it.

WRITING FOR THE REAL WORLD

Avery:
I remember a talkback where someone asked why you didn’t add another character, and you said it’s because theaters are looking for small casts.

Jenna:
Yes — most professional theaters now cap submissions at six actors. They want smaller shows because budgets and venues are smaller.

Especially here in Florida, where arts funding keeps getting cut. Theaters are surviving on smaller budgets, so I write plays that can flex: Bionic has 11 characters, but it can be performed with six actors by doubling roles.

I also keep the sets simple. I want this play to be realistically producible — from community theaters to professional ones.

During a time when the arts are struggling, I try to fit what theaters need right now, not just what I want to make.

LEAVING THE “SAFE” JOB

Avery:
You decided to go full-time as an artist and voice actor. What was that moment like?

Jenna:
Scary. Vulnerable. And still is.

Actually, I didn’t quit journalism — my position was eliminated. But I realized my fantasy of what journalism should be was far from reality.

I’d chosen it because I thought it was safe and stable. Theater never felt “allowed.” But once I saw journalism wasn’t safe, I thought — why not do what I love?

If I’m going to do something risky anyway, it might as well be something I care about.

Now I survive through multiple income streams — acting, playwriting, and voiceover. I even built a professional recording studio at home.

If another pandemic happens, theater may pause — but voiceover won’t. It’s remote, safe, and flexible.

And honestly? Not working for a corporation has been great. I’m not built for it.

We grow up trained to be employees, not entrepreneurs. Unlearning that system has been hard, freeing, and worth it.

ON BURNOUT & FRIENDSHIP

Avery:
One thing I love about our friendship is how we can admit when our gas tank is empty.

Jenna:
Yes! And I so appreciate that. There have been friends I couldn’t say that to.

I love that with you I can say, “I just don’t have it in me tonight,” and you’ll understand. It doesn’t mean the friendship’s over.

As a socially anxious person, you always fear that if you cancel once, you’ll stop being invited.

COMMUNITY & ACCOUNTABILITY

Avery:
Let’s talk about “artistic community.” What does it mean to you?

Jenna:
It means celebrating and supporting each other’s art — not competing.

For theaters, it means having open auditions that are actually open — not precasting the same friends every time.

And it means diversity — not just racial, but gender, age, religion, and perspective. Art gets richer when more experiences are included.

It also means safety. We can’t look the other way when dangerous people stay in the room. Both adults and children deserve to create art without fear of exploitation.

RISK-TAKING & NEW WORK

Avery:
One word: what’s your hope for the Tampa Bay arts community?

Jenna:
Risk-taking.

As a playwright, I wish more theaters would produce new work. Classics get people in the door, but what did we get into art to do — repeat old stories?

Old stories have old problems — sexism, racism — and they were written by the same types of people over and over again. We can’t progress unless we take risks on new voices.

And new work can sell. The problem is marketing.

Avery:
Amen. “New work doesn’t sell” usually means you didn’t tell people it existed.

Jenna:
Exactly. How can audiences show up if you don’t tell them it’s happening?

Most marketing is an afterthought — just the title and maybe the playwright’s name. My name won’t bring people in. You have to show them why it matters.

And if you’re a small organization saying “I ran out of time,” you need to realign your priorities.

CELEBRATION & CONFIDENCE

Avery:
You’re great at marketing yourself — even as an introvert. Why does that matter?

Jenna:
Because visibility builds momentum. Work begets work.

It’s not about bragging — people want to celebrate your success. When I meet artists I haven’t seen in years, they say, “You’re booking a lot!” That reputation matters.

As an introvert, it’s uncomfortable. But choosing to show up loudly matters.

Avery:
We could do a whole episode on introverts learning to celebrate themselves.

Jenna:
Right? I’m trying to celebrate offline too — actually feel proud before moving to the next thing.

I see people (mostly mediocre men) take credit for things they didn’t even do — and maybe that’s my inspiration. Sometimes you just have to say you’re doing something and people believe you.

WRAP-UP & RAPID FIRE

Avery:
All right, rapid fire.

What artist would you have dinner with?

Jenna:
Janice Hallett. She’s a novelist, playwright, and former journalist. Her mystery novels — told entirely through found documents — blow my mind.

Avery:
Perfect.

Thank you so much for coming on today. Please follow Jenna Jane, check out her upcoming staged readings of Bionic, and keep an eye out for her new work across Tampa Bay — and sometimes internationally.

Jenna:
Thank you for having me!

CLOSING

Avery:
Thank you so much for listening to this episode.

I hope you take away what Jenna said about playwriting, supporting new work, and finding joy as an act of defiance.

Go see new work. Support emerging artists.

And join us for our upcoming Book Clubs:

• November: Night + guided tour of the Florida Holocaust Museum
• December: My Broken Language + Latin History for Morons at Stageworks

Thanks for supporting the Tampa Bay Arts Passport Podcast. Please like, follow, subscribe — and we’ll see you next time.