CSI: crime scene insider: she writes and executive-producers TV's monster crime hit CSI. She does the work she loves and lives with the woman of her dreams. Could life get any better for Ann Donahue? (fall TV preview).

Remember when nobody knew the meaning of the initials CSI? No? Well, neither does anybody else. In two short seasons we've all become armchair forensic experts thanks to CSI: Crime Scene Investigation--CBS's runaway hit drama about a fictional Las Vegas team of men and women who catch murderers by finding hairs in the carpet and DNA on the drapes.

What gay and lesbian fans may not realize is how much the show's crackle and snap is due to executive producer Ann Donahue. As one of the principals who run the show, Donahue is hands-on with every phase of every episode. Plus, she writes or co-writes many of CSI's hour-long installments. Charming, cheerful, and down-to-earth, Donahue makes no secret of the fact that she's a lesbian--hasn't for years. Anyway, with her breakneck schedule, who has time for the closet?

This fall we'll see how the CSI craze travels, as CBS premieres CSI: Miami, for which Donahue has been hopping back and forth from the Nevada desert to the Florida swamp. "It's almost like Florida's the new California," Donahue says. "Everything that's new is happening there. There's a lot of big money there, a lot of bad crime. So it's a fertile place to set a forensic show."

But just how does this genial 47-year-old Cleveland native plan to keep two shows on track? During a hill in a recent night shoot, she took time to talk--and laugh--about murder, marriage, and earning her tag as "a gay woman in the business."

How did you get interested in crime? You've worked on crime shows for quite a while--at least since 21 Jump Street, in the '80s, while you were working with [producer] Stephen J. Cannell.

All good drama is conflict. I don't think there's a bigger conflict than murder. It's against nature. It's against God. So that's where a writer goes. It's like, death is boring, murder's sexy. That sounds terrible, but it's true. [In real life] it's not sexy. I mean, my girlfriend's father was shot and murdered. She was 21.

But murder is like a car wreck--you don't want to look, but you don't want to look away either.

That's what [show creator] Anthony [Zuiker] came up with for CSI: that people got to see the process, the minutiae of death.

So do we immunize ourselves by watching?

I think so. That's a great comment. What people love, particularly post-O.J., is the definitiveness. It's not situational ethics. Forensics says, "Here's the DNA, here's the blood," and there's closure. I know I crave it.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer?

Always. I think writers are born. I was probably 5 or 6, and I told my dad--this is when [I Love] Lucy came around the first time--I told my dad I was going to write for Lucy. I had two jokes; I can't remember what they were. When he laughed, I thought, He's not laughing at my jokes. He's getting a kick out of the fact that I think I'm going to be a writer.

When did you move to L.A.?

When I moved here I was married. My husband wanted to live here 'cause you could play baseball in January. So 25 years later here I am. When I was having to be a secretary [at a law firm] and write at night, I was learning so much about the human condition. And it was so clear to me that I didn't want that life--being in a law firm or marrying a lawyer or any of that. My husband and I got divorced after four years.

You taught yourself? What'd you do?

Literally, I wrote. All the time. I had so many things I wanted to tell. I'd go to [the American Film Institute] on my one day off, and I'd get in there and I'd take out [the script for] The Way We Were. That's my all-time favorite--

Come to think of it, that's kind of what CSI is: "the way we were."

You're right, you're right! [Laughs] The way we were. The way we decompose.

Anyway, when you're trying to learn a format and you're trying to tell a story, you just keep doing it. I used to always go to [the restaurant] Basix in West Hollywood. It was the same time I was coming out, so it was perfect. I would write there every day from, like, 7 to noon, and then I would drive downtown to type wills from 1 to 5. It was the time of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" and Pink Floyd. Such a great time. I didn't have any money, but I had a lot of good friends, and I was doing what I wanted.

It wasn't till my fourth script, on about page 13, I thought, I know what I'm doing! I still learn stuff. On this script [we're shooting tonight], I'm still wondering, Are the transitions right?

Still, you exude confidence. And you're so unafraid about being gay. I was shocked to see it in your professional bio. I never see that.

This'll sound wrong, but I feel like I did my time. I tried to be what everybody [expected]. I lived "the straight life." And it was so wrong for me.

Did you know right away?

I knew when I was 3. I knew way back when. [But] I wasn't with women until I was divorced and went through the--what do you call it?--the obligatory affair with a married man.

Actually, I wrote a play in the '80s about two sons that come back to Boston for Christmas, and one of the boys, the perfect one, the football captain, was gay. The theater asked, "Would you mind if this lesbian and gay theater group comes to watch your play?" So these gay people come, and some of these girls were really good-looking. So I'm thinking, Their sisters must be gay! They're trying to understand them. These beautiful blonds, right? [Laughs] Through meeting those girls--who, of course, were gay--I started to make friends. I discovered West Hollywood, and then little by little I crone out. I guess it was difficult for, like, three years until I told my parents.

Was that hard?

Very hard. I still have to write the short story. Course, my dad's line, which was very sweet, was, "But you're such a beautiful girl." I felt bad for him. He sat there in his chaff in the den, and I could picture bricks all around him. But they've been wonderful [since then]. My whole family's been wonderful.

Tell me about your partner, Anne McGrail.

We're two Irish Catholic girls named Ann who are drama writer-producers for CBS shows! [McGrail worked on That's Life] She's from south Boston, so everyone always calls her McGrail [instead of Anne]. So it works out. We've been together four years. It's a good fit because there's so much we don't have to explain to each other. She has such character about her.

She's also beautiful, by the way. People kept telling us we should know each other. We hadn't met. And I thought, So many people have asked me, "Have you met Anne McGrail?" She must be gay. So I had to go to a meeting at CBS, and she was there. I saw her, and she had this great hair and this Waspy blue blazer--just looked like a million bucks--and I said, "I hope that's Anne McGrail!"

Do either of you have kids?

No, we're in the process. We're eager to do that. I don't want to jinx anything, but it's like anybody--we realize what we have to give. We've been fortunate. We've accumulated nice things. But we kinda joke--it's like, so? Certain things you can't give to each other. It's really about sending it on and passing it on, and it's a different kind of love.

Do you ever want to write stories you can't tell in an hour? Or is TV the medium for you?

I have to tell you, I love TV. Most stories don't need to be more than an hour, unless you're doing Gone With the Wind or The Godfather. For me, TV is a revelation of secrets. You get these characters, and you get glimpses into them every week. So if they just tell a few things, that's big. I always joke, "A CSI sex scene is if someone touches someone's face." That's big. And I love the stories we tell: the process of understanding a murder and understanding not only how it was done but sometimes getting a glimpse into why.

Does it ever freak you out?

No. What freaks me out is if I ever see any actual crime scene photos. Then I'm just sick. I can't even eat. I've gone to the coroner's office. We've been in rooms with dead bodies. But it really freaks me out. I could never be a cop. I can't take it. Most writers are kind of passionate cowards.

All the years you spent working with Cannell on these hard-boiled crime shows--did you ever run into any trouble about being gay?

I was in the closet [during] my first job at Cannell. My mentor, a guy named David Levinson, was writing a screenplay about this lesbian cop, and he said, "Do you know any lesbians I could talk to?" I said, "No! Why would I know any lesbians?" What you'd do as a gay person--you'd always get your work done before you came out.

I wrote a script called "Poison," and once everyone said it was great, David said again, "Listen, I've got to talk to a real lesbian." I said, "Oh, you can talk to me." He just like stared at me. He said, "Really?" He was so sweet.

I did always carry that [worry], believe me. I never wanted anyone to say "That dyke can't write." They could say "That girl can't write," but I never wanted it to be presupposed I couldn't do it. I can write men. I have trouble writing women! Back when it was a real compliment, producers would tell me, "You write like a man." And I'd think, Hey! Thanks, I think! Coming up, you get insulted and the poor guys don't even know they're insulting you.

What about coming out on the job?

I guess you just assume people know. I mean, that's the best gossip going. And I kind of could tell that it would precede me to places.

How would you know?

Oh, they'd try to treat you like, "Hey, you're cool, and I'm cool," and I'd think, I'm not cool! I'm still against abortion, you know what I mean? What, do you think I'm not for the death penalty? It's interesting to me how people think that if you're gay, you're left-wing, and it's like, No, each one of us is different.

And people do a lot of pronoun stuff. "Are you bringing someone to the barbecue? Are they coming?" And you'd realize they don't want to insult you. And I'd say, "Yeah, I think I'll bring my girlfriend." At one point I asked somebody, a girl writer: "You guys know I'm gay, right? I'm just curious." And she goes, "Oh, yeah! Everyone knows you're a gay woman in the business." It was this great phrase--"You're a gay woman in the business."

Like a "career girl."

Right! [Laughs] A career girl! It's Rosalind Russell! Don't you love that? Here's the thing I notice: When I was coming up nobody could be gay, or you were a freak. Now girls fake being gay. They make out [with each other] on Girls Gone Wild. They're not gay! It's just they know it turns men on. So it just figures--by the time I'm gay, it's chic. But I needed chic 15 years ago!

So you just tell people now.

I never don't say it. I go to any doctor, I tell him. Because who knows? I don't know how to be any other way.

For more of The Advocate's exclusive conversation with Ann Donahue visit www.advocate.com