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An hour and 10-minute online theater festival composed of 5 short plays/performance pieces written by the performers.

This sometimes intense, sometimes funny, always touching festival delves beneath the surface of what society thinks a woman should be and looks at individuals to hear the stories of who they actually are. Featuring an all Femme/Female-identifying/Non-binary group of Sonoma County artists from multiple ethnicities, races, sexualities, and ages this festival is a true community event that seeks to give all those who identify as women a voice.

Please note that this festival aims to give a voice to all aspects of what "Womanhood/Femme/Female-identifying" is.*  

*As such, there are adult situations and adult language used along with some triggering subjects. Viewer discretion is advised and the advisable age is 13+ with adult supervision.


Tickets are $25 / Students $12 and available through Buy Tickets link below.

Special Ticketing information for IN THEIR OWN VOICE :

This show is pre-recorded and streamed as “scheduled content,” which means you will only be able to view the show on the date and time for which you purchased your ticket--just like a typical show (except online).


Since the show is online, you don’t need to be in the area to view, and you may watch wherever you have internet access.


After each ticket purchase you will receive a confirmation receipt email from CPAC/AudienceView for your purchase.


THEN you will receive a second email* from Showtix4u (our streaming platform) with an Access Code and information about how to view the show.


*Check your spam or junk folder if you are not seeing these emails, or contact us with any questions.


Thank you for your patience with this process, we are doing the best we can under these modified circumstances, and enjoy the show!


In Their Own Voice

Heroines, Harpies, Harlots Theater Festival

Producer: Beulah Vega

Cloverdale Performing Arts Board President: Jude Gibson

3 Bee Productions: Melissa Cooper Bingham

Production Manager/Compiler/All Around Good Egg: Amy Lovato


The Graces

Script Assembly: Beulah Vega

Director: Ellen Rawley

Poet/The Grace of Elegance: Natalie Burton

Poet/The Grace of Youth: Nayala Makinano

Poet/The Grace of Mirth: Emma Savok-Headington


Videographer/Editor: Julia Camp/Trimtab Media

Set construction: Martin Gilbertson, Ben Harper, Amy Lovato

Lights: Amy Lovato

Special Thanks: Jess Headington, Sam Makinano, Kristi Burton


Why Do You

Script Assembly/Director: Erin Lane

Choreographer/Musical Director: Jacinta Gorringe

Writer/Performer: Ashley Rollins

Writer/Performer: Daniella Jimenez-Perea

Writer/Performer: Lindsay John

Writer: Maya Babow

Special Thanks: Kev Rokken, and Russel




Barely A Person

Director: Jess Headington

Concept/Choreographer/Dancer: Rachel Wynne

Soundtrack: Laura LAIR

Camera Operator: Dana Hunt

Director of Photography/Editor: Sean Pettis

Special Thanks: Sarah Jenness, Laurie Schneider, Kayli Duncan

-and to all the anonymous mothers who contributed to this piece: Thank you.



A Settled Flowing Spring

Director: Crystal Carpenter-Wilson

Writer/Performer: Ariel Erskine

Special Thanks: Sumi Zook

Beyond the Mask 

A film created from a devised theatrical play

Produced by: 3 Bee Productions

Executive Producer: Melissa Cooper Bingham

Director: Laura J. Davies

Collaborative Scriptwriters:

Writers’ monologues written by Caitlin Strom-Martin

Maiden monologue written by Lillian Myers

Mother monologue written by Juliet Noonan

Crone monologue written by Laura J. Davies

Script editors: Laura J. Davies & Melissa Cooper Bingham

Editor: Marjorie Lewit

Videographer: Morgan Hamilton-Lee

Additional Video/Gimbal: Brian Davis

Sound: Renaud Ducom




Writer - Caitlin Strom-Martin

Maiden - Lillian Myers

Mother - Juliet Noonan

Crone - Laura J. Davies


Thanks to:

City of Santa Rosa

Santa Rosa Rural Cemetery

Santa Rosa Memorial Park




The Festival would like to extend a special thanks to:

Cloverdale Performing Arts Center, Harry Duke and the Bohemian, Dan Taylor and the Press Democrat, The Drive, Lennie Dean, and all the women everywhere who have refused to shut up when told to.

Triple H Productions would like to extend an extra special thanks to: The Kaiju Klub and Amy Lovato for always backing Gojira even when she’s taken on way more than she should.




Running Away
By Maya Babow

[leaning into cam] I can’t remember all the details about how I met Olivia. But with that
one meeting, she changed my life.
[sitting back, twirling in chair. Bring up cup] Sucking on my caramel Frappuccino, I sit by
myself outside of Starbucks. [excited] Me and all my twelve year old classmates hang out
here now. My worn grey Converse disappear in the sea of shoes that flood in the doors
after three PM. In another month it’ll be summer, and we’ll all be in seventh grade.
My friends aren’t coming: [feeling left out] they have soccer and band and other
commitments. We hang out here almost every day now. It’s a little after 4 pm, [start
watching people] and the crowds of pre-teens queuing to pick up their sugary drinks
have scattered. I play Solitaire on my iPod Nano, casually watching the strangers exiting
and entering the Starbucks.
When I see Olivia, [beat, starstruck] my eyes linger for a moment. [seductive,
enticing]Her high heels and slouchy bag show class and style. She stands hand on one
hip, phone to her ear. It isn’t until she sits at a table adjacent to mine that I allow myself
another glance. She notices, smiling at me and asks what my name is, her voice cheery
and kind. I say my name, [change voice] “Maya” and smile at her. As she asks if she can
sit down at my table, passing me a card that says she’s a modeling agent.
After she leaves, I hold the card before typing in her number and text her. ‘Hey I would
love to meet you some other time. I’m free after school.’ I press send. An hour later, a
notification pops up. ‘Tuesday at Starbucks. I’ll pick you up? You’re a caramel
Frappuccino right? Pretty sure I have a modeling client already lined up for you.’ I type
‘yes’, and my heart skips a beat.
The memories of our meeting flash through my mind as I race down the stairs, heels in
one hand, my clutch in the other. I can’t do this again. Be with them. The clients. I look
behind me, no one’s there. I’m on the fifteenth floor and the stairs are endless. I get off
on the ninth floor and race to the other end of the hall, in case they figured out I’m gone.
A quick glance at the emergency map tells me what I need to know. I look again, no one
behind me. There is a stair down to the garage if I can get to the service levels. My heart
races, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I haven’t tried running away before. As I
make it out the side door, I look behind me, arms grab me and drag me to a car.
They escort me into the bedroom. A knife sits on the table next to me. Do I kill me or
His hands grab me by the arm as I scramble to the door. He grabs me hard enough to
bruise. I'll have his fingerprints painted on my skin. It hurts...it hurts me. Please stop.
He doesn’t listen. He drags me towards the bed. Hot tears run down my face. He touches
my cheek lightly. It won’t hurt. I’ll be gentle. You just have to treat me nice. Remember
how I

taught you? Tell me you love me. I turn to close my eyes and think about a caramel
Frappuccino. I see Olivia to my right. I plead with my eyes to her. She sits and stares. She
always does.
Be a good girl. Show me that you love me. I spit in his face, my only rebellion.
The room is spinning. My body is on fire. In the distance I hear something pounding;
someone is crying. Could that be me? He groans. I stay still. Olivia is watching. Do I kill
me or them
Say it: say you belong to me. Tell me you love me…
I tell him I love him.
My hair is plastered to the sheets with sweat from his hands and my eyes feel as though
they are bulging out of their sockets.
My vision goes black, but the relief is short lived. My eyes flutter open to the same view:
he is becoming more vicious. I twist away, seeking a lungful of freedom, but wishing,
just for a moment, that the dark could return, that I could have relief again, short and
A slap to my face brings me into the present again.
I know you would never try to leave me. But you make me do these things to you, don’t you
I do understand. I nod. He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s looking at his phone, distracted.
In these moments, I am invisible to him. I stare at the knife. It’s only a few feet away. I
could make it over there. I could do it. I see myself holding the knife, blood running
down my wrists. Is it mine or theirs?
Get cleaned up. His voice is calm. It’s like he’s forgotten that moments ago I made him
angry. And if you try and run away again…. He doesn’t need to add the last part. Dead
girls can’t escape.
Olivia’s glazed eyes and smug smirk is enough to make me move towards the bathroom,
not the knife. The girl in the mirror has mascara running down her face, her cheeks
covered in black inky streaks. She looks defeated, lifeless, more like a doll than a girl.
With a few sweeps of a brush and some makeup, that girl disappears.
You better behave this time. I nod, His hand caresses my cheek and I freeze. My hands are
trembling. He turns my head to face him, but I can’t look him in the eyes. I don’t want to do
these things to you.
His voice sounds pained, remorseful. I love you. Olivia and I love you. I look to Olivia for
something, confirmation? She smiles, nodding. He stops talking for a moment to move a
stray strand of hair away from my face. But you have to understand, we do this because
we love you. You can make this easy or hard. It’s your choice. His lips brush my forehead. I
won’t ever hurt you. You do what we tell you to do. And if you try and run away again…. Do
you understand me?
Yes. I whisper, my eyes flickering to her face hoping to catch a sign, a clue that she was
happy with me now. My eyes flicker back from the knife to her face. She smiles. Knife.
Face. She runs her fingers through my hair. Knife. Face. I’ll meet with Olivia tomorrow.
I’ll dream about the knife.

The Graces Poems by Emma Savok-Headington


by Emma Savok-Headington

Able to do what she puts her mind to,
NEVER underestimate her.



by Emma Savok-Headington

Yellow like the sun
orange with a very small ribbon of red
A soft spoken, redhead
I think of fire
She may be small but she is as fierce as wild flames
When she blooms it's like lightning
Although her petals are silky, like a warm breeze,
Her thorns are poisonous
She has seen storms, floods, scorching hot sun
But she has never wilted or withered
She will shed her thorns when she deems you worthy of her trust
And when you leave the earth, she will sprout new thorns
No one will be able to touch her again (unless they are from your bloodline)
She is not to be messed with.



by Emma Savok-Headington

She’s a survivor, a warrior, and a leader
Leading those who are sad to their happy place again
She knows pain, she lost someone dear
gone from this world but never far from her thoughts nor her heart
Devastation, hopelessness, black and red heartbreak have brought her down
She had to claw her way, fighting battles on her own
Until she came to the surface, whole and new again
She is stronger, fiercer, and braver
She’s a survivor, a warrior, and a leader

The Graces poems by Nayla Makinano

By Nayla M.

Working hard all through the night
Oh, and in the morning to
More work piles up on her
And yet she is kind to those around her
No amount of work can diminish her spirit


By Nayla M

In response to Alice Skinner’s art piece
Tripping and falling along the way
The scrapes on her knees begin to sting
she has not called for help yet.
scrapes on her elbows now
and yet she still does not call for help
she will keep walking until earth runs out
she will keep walking until there is nothing more to walk on
she will keep walking until she has walked to her goal and further
and yet the walking hurts
to many stones to trip over
to many trials to overcome
to many challenges for her to complete
its quiet
almost a whisper
but she calls out
to anyone who will help
and then she sees them
the millions of invisible woman who have been helping her all along
the reason she has made it this far
the reason she will keep walking
only now she knows she is not alone
They will keep walking
walking to tomorrow
women do not work alone
a woman might prefer to work by herself
but if she is in trouble she can call out and millions
will hear her call
a woman may seem alone
but look closer

now you too can see millions of invisible girls and women alike
surrounding her
supporting her
seeing her to safety
because women work together.


Blind Trust
Nayla M.


Im scared of trusting blindly
To trust blindly is a thing that takes guts
It takes courage and the knowledge that everything can go wrong
So how do you trust when your in the dark?You don’t, Not fully at least
Be cautious and aware of others, but still be kind
That is the key to blind trust.


The Graces Poems by Natalie Burton

By: Natalie Burton

Wise women leading the way for others
Oppression should never reign, but let freedom come
Mothering care, her gentle hands make me feel peaceful and calm
Ambitious women, bravely achieving their goals
Noble, kind, brave, through the hottest desserts and deepest oceans, she will always
this is a woman.


Quiet Strength
By: Natalie Burton


A woman is strong
I despise when I hear on television, or read in stories, that people think real strength only
comes from being roughly built, loud and fighting in battles, like a fierce warrior.
But real strength does not have to be loud or proud.
My mother’s strength is resilience
She is smart and talented and I see her working hard.
When she is being knocked down, pushed aside,
her strength doesn’t come from fighting back
but by being smart enough to respectfully walk away
and never holding anything against those people who dismiss her or treat her like she is
Her strength is courageous
She fights both physically and mentally for the people she cares about
Listen, I hear the clicking of a keyboard late into the night
She is focused, quiet, resilient

Using her courage, to make an inspirational point that could change the world, knowing
all along that she could be rejected.
She tells the world that women should be recognized who they are, not who everyone
thinks they are supposed to be.
She has so much to prove, not just to everyone around her but to herself.
My Mom’s strength is devotion
She cares for everyone around her, making sure they are healthy and fed, but wait…
Do you smell the crispy bacon, freshly baked bread, and the slight sweat on her brow.
Now I realize that my mother is sustaining my life
no she is helping me live my life
The resilience, courage, and devotion in a woman’s heart, makes every woman a strong
and beautiful masterpiece.


Deep, deep waters
By: Natalie Burton

Why am I so frightened?
the deep deep waters of the ocean, the great unknown
It seems so friendly at first and then it engulfs me with its rushing tidal waves.
The waves start to pull me under and toss me like I’m a rubber duck, bobbing up and
Now I can’t touch the sand, and I’m helplessly.
The endless void of darkness below me creates a deep pit in my stomach, that seems to
twist my intestines inside out.
What could be lurking in the shadows? A dreadful monster with fangs and teeth,
gnashing at me as I try to stay close to the surface of the waves.
Something, something evil and blood thirsty that will grab my leg and tear me limb from
I have to stay above the water, I can't let the creature or the ocean or my fear consume
I am alone, no one knows where I am.
I have to get out of here but it seems hopeless, impossible
No! I will never give up. I will find help, someone to pull me out
Or will I pull them under with me?
Will we ever escape this vast sea of deep deep water?
A hand reaches out, I hang on.
As we swim to safety, I realize I am close to the shore, I’ve always been close to shore.
We finally make it out of this struggle, and now we are safe.
I’m scared still, but more grateful than ever.
Reflecting on this ordeal, I learn not to be afraid of deep, scary waters, because maybe
they aren’t so scary after all.
Just maybe they aren't so deep.
And if I bring someone with me, and pray for help, I can overcome my fear.
It seemed so scary, but it was just my runaway imagination.
Our minds want us to think that our fears should be avoided and we shouldn’t be afraid.
But I say be afraid, and find your courage, gather your friends, pray and conquer
your fears. Could we then face anything?