Buffalo Creators: We Want You!

Green Buffalo Productions is looking to expand our services, but we need your input!

Please complete this survey to the best of your ability so we can help you reach your writing, performance and other creative goals.

Green Buffalo Productions strives to function as a pragmatic bridge between creators and the community of Buffalo, New York. We aim to inspire, uplift, and empower underrepresented voices in theater and performance art. Our three main objectives are: to foster the creation and production of original works of theater, to increase accessibility for local creators, particularly those with silenced voices, and to enrich and educate our community.


Can You Turn Your Hobby Into a Successful Business?

In a world of company-sponsored makeup tutorials, Instagram influencers and twitch streamers, generations Y and Z are proving they can thrive in the business world by doing just about anything!

Sounds great, right? If you are anything like me, your dream is to make millions by writing book reviews and poems, while guzzling down pots of strong coffee and belting out show tunes. (Oh… Just me? Ok.) Anyway, whatever your favorite hobbies might be, there may be a way to transform them into a source of income.  But before you take the leap, I suggest you ask yourself the following questions:

  • Can others benefit from your work?
  • Can you find a way to make a profit?
  • What sets you apart?

You’re going to have to think about how other people can utilize your hobby as a product or service. Let’s say you want to start a business based on your crochet hobby. Will you produce a product that other people can buy? If so, what kind of products will you make?  How much will you charge for these products, and what makes them different from other products you’ve seen in the past? Why is this so complicated all of a sudden?!

Multitasking WomanEasy as it may seem from the outside, the decision to start making money doing what love can be a big risk. Within each of the three major questions above, there are hundreds of follow up and related questions.  You have to think about your decision to monetize your hobby as an investment in yourself. You have to be willing to put in the work and remain dedicated to your goals. You have to be flexible because there will be several unanticipated issues that you will need to solve. My suggestion? Do a lot of research and ask for help. Other people have been where you are right now and are willing to help you succeed.

Here some great resources to get you started. Good Luck!

You Woke up in a Hospital Bed

You Woke Up in a Hospital Bed

I live someplace else now, I don’t know where that is.

                                                          Eve Ensler- The Vagina Monologues


You are propped against overstuffed pillows

chin up, knees up-

a needle invades the natural fold in your left elbow

and the nurse is at your side, scooping grey applesauce

into the corner of a partitioned plate.


The rotten peach walls whirl across your pinched vision

and what you wouldn’t give to have your mother

masking her whimper in the corner…

must have stocked up on self-pity.

The nurse insists “You’re lucky.”


“Lucky” you mutter

and the word smears itself across your lips

like the blackberries Sam would steal for you on Sunday mornings,

juice trickling down to a sun-baked porch.

Wipe it up with a rag— good as new.


He knows what his mother went through.


Your eyes scrape up sleep

and in the background

you detect the nurse’s amateur tune

barely audible above the ventilation system…

“Someday, my prince will come.”




When I found her,

she was a shredded pansy petal,

died indigo

trapped against damp pant-suits, stiff collars & lash lines smeared with distracted tenderness.


When I found her,

she was curled tight to the chipped linoleum.

Her palms clutched her kidneys

& the sharp edge of sympathetic Hallmarks slapped with mass-produced emotion:


sorry for your loss…

thinking of you…

heartfelt feelings…


When I found her,

She sniffled & choked twice on a cough that I pretended not to hear.

This woman leaked through her eyelids. 

I squinted through mine from the fluorescents in the funeral home bathroom.


When I found her,

I crouched to hand her one last cut of cardstock.

It was a leftover scrap from the photo collage they made together last winter

when he was still here.


The torn edges of the paper scraped her fingertips

as she saw the large scrawl in pomegranate:

I miss him too, mommy.