Occasionally I get e-mails asking about how I write, where I get my ideas, what my influences are – the usual stuff playwrights get asked. Rather than keep my replies private, I thought I’d share them with anyone who might be interested.
Do you have a favorite writing experience?
Several, but one quickly pops into mind: Several years ago I was working on the umpteenth draft of my comedy VERONICA’S POSITION, which had a dull stretch in the middle of the second act which I just couldn’t solve. The play worked fine up to that point and after that point, but there was a piece missing, and for several drafts, every scene I wrote to fill that hole was contrived and unengaging. Finally, I just told the two main characters to start talking to each other, and I took notes. For over an hour, everything they said was completely boring, but I just kept writing it down and not judging. Finally, one of them said something which amused me (“I expect more from you than I expect from most of my ex-husbands”), and the scene took off. I trimmed the numerous boring pages leading up to that moment to about two or three sentences. I knew the new scene would work beautifully, and it has.
You seem fairly prolific. Have you ever “hit the wall” when writing, and if so, what do you do?
Of course I’ve hit the wall writing! All the time.
Sometimes it's just for a moment, and all I need to do is take a walk or go for a swim or do something to clear my head. More than once, I’ve tried to make a scene work, given up, decided to go for a walk, and had the solution come to me by the time I’ve put on my coat. Other solutions have come to me while swimming (as long as I’m not trying to think about anything as I swim) or showering or sitting in a park. Sometimes the subconscious just needs a little time to breathe, and you have to get out of its way.
Sometimes I'm not ready to actually write the play I think I should be writing, and so what's coming out is forced and uninspired. If I feel I've made a good will effort writing a play and it's getting nowhere, I set the play aside. Usually I come back to it, and some of my best plays have resulted from waiting until they're ready to be written. My comedy DOMESTIC TRANQUILITY took three tries before I successfully entered its world. It’s now an award-winning, well-reviewed, audience-pleasing comedy.
Sometimes I'm trying too hard to fix a scene, and I'm getting nowhere. This is usually caused by not actually knowing how to fix that scene, and once I notice this, I shift from writing to thinking, even if it takes me many walks, swims, and time lying on my couch staring at the ceiling. I don't return to the scene until I have a plan on how to fix it.
Once I found myself cranking a play out, and I realized I was writing out of habit and not inspiration. I took months off until the fire built up again, and I had to write. It was a little scary to make that decision, because I didn't know if the fire would build up again. But it certainly seemed like a wiser path than cranking out crap.
I don't recommend any of the above as answers for every playwright; some need to write every day for X number of hours or X number of pages. Every writer finds a personal system that works for them.
A playwright friend became consumed with doubt about both a play she wrote and her ability as a playwright after it received a harsh assessment from a theater. She wondered, “When you’re writing a play, how do you know if it’s any good?” I replied:
I don’t.
After I finish a first draft of a play, I have readings in my apartment, so I can get feedback from people I trust and so I can hear it aloud. After the inevitable revisions, I’ll have additional readings, in my apartment or at theater groups to which I belong. Along the way, I learn what engages an audience and what is confusing, longwinded or trite.
But when I’m in the initial process of writing, I never know if the play I’m writing will work or not.
However, I don't write plays because I think they'll turn out well. I write plays for one and only one reason: I want to.
The reasons behind that want can vary widely: to amuse myself, to exorcise demons, to explore a personal issue I haven't yet resolved, to metaphorically kill people who have tormented and/or infuriated me, because I've fallen in love with some characters, because every time I think about the play idea I laugh, because I've written five short comedies and need two more to make a full evening, because I've been asked, because my soul demands it, and because I love to write. I've written plays for all of these reasons, although I confess the last reason - I love to write - is always involved. I don't write for any noble or altruistic reason. I’m selfish. Writing plays has been one of the most pleasurable and amazing experiences in my life, over and over again.
Twice I've worked on a play for a year, taken a good look at it, and put it away. Sometimes it isn't until a play is fully produced that I can see, "Well, that doesn't really work."
So what? If I had a rewarding time writing it, that's enough for me. I mean it. Writing should always be an adventure. The outcome is never certain. For any playwright. EVER.
I certainly don't demand or expect my plays to be appreciated by everyone, especially artistic directors and producers. Maybe it's not their taste. Maybe it's not for their audience. Maybe they're stupid. Maybe the play reminds them of a bad experience they once had with a poodle. All of my plays have received oodles of rejections along the way. Other plays which got rejections before being produced include DEATH OF A SALESMAN and THE GLASS MENAGERIE. Until a play gets a good production and one can observe its effect on an audience, its worth isn't proven.
And sometimes, not even then. My comedy SOMEONE’S KNOCKING, one of my favorite plays, got a wonderful production in its world premiere, and it was still rejected by most of the audience. Apparently, absurdist comedy doesn't always go over well in rural summer stock. Other productions of the play haven't necessarily been better, but the audiences have been a better fit for the play, and they've loved it.
In short, don't worry if the play is good. Maybe the play isn't good. Maybe it's simply the one you need to write now to learn the lessons you need to learn to write the next play. Maybe it's one draft away from brilliance. Or maybe it’s five drafts away from being decent, but it’s the draft you need to write before you can write the next one.
In short, let yourself have fun.
By the way, I think the Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA is a piece of theatrical mush. It's probably good that he didn't ask my opinion of it before deciding to get it produced.
Are you and Noël Coward related?
No, but he’s certainly been an influence. We also have an unusual connection.
In 2008, South Walton High School in Florida planned to stage BLITHE SPIRIT, the Noël Coward comedy about newlyweds haunted by the husband's deceased first wife. When the play was first produced in London in 1941, it ran for 1,997 performances. It also became a smash in New York, and it was turned into a hit movie with Rex Harrison. BLITHE SPIRIT has had thousands of productions all over the world, from community theaters to Broadway, entertaining millions along the way.
However, it was never seen at South Walton High School, despite a production being in the middle of rehearsals, because of a complaint lodged by a group calling itself Concerned Walton County Parents. According to the complaint, the play's content "hurts students' view of marriage and monogamous relationships," and "encourages young people to explore occult/witchcraft."
"This is nothing but a demonic action that is happening and reaching and spreading through our schools," said Destin Assembly youth pastor Brad Odom at a school board meeting. Odom admitted he hadn't read the play.
The county's superintendent of schools canceled the production.
In a show of support for both the students and the First Amendment, the artistic director of the local professional theater, Seaside Rep, decided to host the production. The play was a big hit, and to the best of my knowledge, nobody in the audience became a devil worshipper. The success of the production inspired Seaside Rep to start an annual "intern production", where local high school students could produce plays which weren't likely to be acceptable to the conservative school board.
In early 2009, I was at an artists' residency program in Seaside and met the folks who run the theater. As they were looking for a play for their second intern production, I suggested my one-act comedy THE WHOLE SHEBANG. The play has had over a hundred productions, including at high schools and churches in all areas of the country. I've also met a few religious conservatives who are offended by the premise:
What if the entire universe was just a science fair project of some nerd on another dimension?
Seaside Rep decided to produce THE WHOLE SHEBANG, and once again, nobody in the audience became a devil worshipper, although I did hear a rumor that one impressionable student entered a science fair. I was not only pleased Seaside Rep produced my play, I was also thrilled to be part of their fight against censorship and the fear of ideas.
What was the inspiration for ROMANTIC FOOLS? Were you dating at the time you were writing it?
Actually, I was going through a divorce. I had written numerous sketches over the years dealing with sex and relationships, and I liked the challenge of weaving them together into a full-length piece. I had to write several new sketches, but fortunately I’ve had enough problems in relationships - from dating through marriage - to give me plenty of material.
What makes a good comedy?
I’ll skip the temptation to be either profound or sarcastic and instead approach the question as a craftsman. To create a successful comedic piece of theater entails all of the elements of any successful play: engaging characters and situations; a core journey which weaves through those situations with a logic consistent with the world of the play; a resolution which is emotionally satisfying and which, at its best, has elements of both surprise and inevitability; and the underlying sense that the playwright knows what the fuck he or she is talking about. In addition, a comedy includes a certain perspective which can range from satiric and sardonic to compassionate and forgiving but which always includes an awareness of the humor inherent in the situations being dramatized. If one or more of the characters have a natural wit in their way to relating to life, all the better! The best comedies both delight in their dialogue and charm in their knowingness.
What types of comedy do you enjoy writing?
My plays generally fall within two categories: Sometimes I want to explore the challenges and inherent humor of being human. In these slice-of-life plays my main concern is that every moment fits the story and characters, and that the essence of the drama could work even without the laughs.
Other times I just want to celebrate the joy of funny. I want the audience to laugh as deeply and constantly as my talent can provide. These wackier comedies often include absurdist attacks on logic and language, including juicy wordplay.
Many of my plays are a blend of these two styles. Whenever I imagine a story, one of the first questions I ask is where on the comedic spectrum it belongs. Usually, the characters reveal the answer as soon as they open their mouths.
In 2006, a student asked me to supply a profound quote for a term paper for his theater appreciation course about the important contribution of playwrights to the world.
Thanks for your invitation for me say something truly important about how playwrights are truly important. Alas, I don't write plays to say anything important, and I'm suspicious of writers who are so motivated. I've seen too many plays which the playwrights clearly viewed as important but which bored me silly.
The plays I write come about because ideas pop into my head and I become enthused about exploring them. My hope is that if I do my job well, the audience will become involved in the world I've created and let me take them on a ride. With each play I write, I'm asking the audience to trust that they won't regret giving me some of their time. To me, one of the worst responses from an audience is "Well, that was interesting". One of the best responses is "Wow!"
Did you write the two one-acts in ADVANCED CHEMISTRY separately or together?
Separately, but I would’ve never written MOURNING GLORY if I hadn’t written GETTING LUCKY.
GETTING LUCKY is one of my earliest plays. Inspired in part by an article I read about a ninety-year-old woman about to have sex for the first time in years, her story both amused and touched me.
Then several years passed. I was in rehearsals for a play with two wonderful older actors, Eugene Elman and Dona Hardy. One morning, lying in bed, my mind wandered and I began to hear them saying some the dialogue which became key moments in the play. Over the next few months, at different times, more dialogue entered my head. This is one of the most fun parts of playwriting: not working, but just imagining. It’s not too different from playing "Let's pretend" as a child.
Finally I gathered my notes and wrote the first draft of the play. Like all of my work, it's gone through several drafts since, aided immensely by feedback from Eugene and Dona and other older actors and friends.
Although a few people suggested expanding the play into a full-length piece, to me the play felt complete as a one-act. The characters’ journey came to a place where I was ready to say goodbye to them. I hoped one day I'd come up with a compatible one-act so I'd have a full-length work. But for years I didn't have any ideas, just hope.
One morning, while trying to come up with sketch ideas for my comic revue OY!, I imagined the dialogue which became the beginning of MOURNING GLORY. I realized it covered similar territory to GETTING LUCKY but had a distinctively different tone. Over the next year or two, while working on other plays, I just thought about the idea on occasion and made notes (the “let’s pretend” phase once again). When I had gathered enough notes to have a sense of what the piece would be (not an outline, but lots of moments along the way), I wrote the first draft, hoping it’d become not only a fun one-act in itself but also a good companion piece for GETTING LUCKY.
Since then, the plays have won awards both individually and together. ADVANCED CHEMISTRY isn’t just a pair of one-acts; they combine to make a diverse full-length evening of theater – and an opportunity for older actors to show off both their comedic and dramatic acting skills.
In March 2006, a student asked about the genesis of my short comedy PLAYWRITING 101: THE ROOFTOP LESSON and the themes I wanted to explore. I replied:
The play was originally produced as part of a series of short plays produced on an actual rooftop in Manhattan. When I was invited to submit a play to the festival, every idea I came up with seemed completely clichéd. So I gathered the clichés into one story and satirized them. Voila, an original play!
I don't discuss "themes" of my plays; I like to think the play speaks for itself. Besides, if you or anyone finds a theme in it different from what I was thinking when I wrote it, that's fine with me. I hope people will be engaged by the story; everything else is gravy.
In December 2005, my colleague Jon Tuttle asked me a few questions in a survey he sent to several playwrights:
When you talk about playwriting, is there one particular mistake or misperception about plays/playwriting you find yourself addressing or focusing on? Some pet peeve?
My biggest pet peeve is those who think that playwriting is about dialogue and not structure. Dialogue is an essential ingredient, but it’s never enough to make a compelling work. The best plays follow a journey, with a clear sense of cause and effect. The cause can be psychological, social, political, religious or a mix, but it should always be logical (even if it’s a warped logic created by the world of the play.)
When you write, to what extent do you keep in mind the theatrical marketplace, the commercial potential of your plays? To what extent does the business of playwriting encroach on the craft?
I'd use the word "practical" instead of "commercial". Contemporary economics make it increasingly difficult to get a play produced with more than a few characters and almost impossible with more than six. Of course, this hasn't kept me from writing a play with seven characters when I felt the play demanded it. It has, however, kept me from writing a play with more characters than the play absolutely needs.
Is there a play--a "modern classic"--that you think can "infect" an apprentice playwright with the wrong lessons? To put that another way, are there canonical plays you would advise young writers to steer clear of?
I think any play can steer a budding playwright in the wrong direction. The works of Sam Shepard and David Mamet come to mind quickly, as they have specific (and attractive) styles that can disguise whatever craft lies in their construction. I think the key is not in avoiding certain plays but making sure that playwrights become aware of the rules of playwriting (whether or not they choose to break them later) and that they don't prematurely seek safe haven in a tone already established by another writer. Writing like David Mamet doesn't make one another David Mamet; it just makes one an imitation. Writing in a distinct, fresh and compelling voice makes one like David Mamet. (Not that Mamet's voice came from nowhere. It has roots in Harold Pinter, who has admitted being influenced by Noel Coward. The best playwrights are but fresh variations on those who came before.)
In January 2005, Kat Warren, a high school student in Tallahassee, Florida, so enjoyed my one-act comedy THE WHOLE SHEBANG that she wrote me a fan note and asked five questions:
1. Where did you grow up?
I grew up in the little fishing village of Shmendrick, in lower Slobbovia, just near the border with Franistan. It was an odd place to grow up, for despite the local population's insistence on being a fishing village, the town was completely land-locked. Thus most of the fishing was for canned tuna in the municipal pool.
2. What sort of education have you received?
I was home-schooled. Starting at the age of five, each morning I would knock on the door of a new home and ask the inhabitant, "Tell me everything you know." Usually I was done by noon, including a break for recess.
3. Exactly how many plays have you written, give or take?
I have written ten full-length plays and over sixty short plays.
In terms of giving and taking, I've given several of them as presents to friends who don't like ties, and I once took a collection of plays by Ferenc Molnar (Hungary's most famous comic playwright) from the LA Public Library. I liked the plays so much that when the book was months overdue, rather than return it, I claimed I had lost it and paid for it. Although I felt guilty about this (it was the library’s only copy), I wanted to keep them.
Years later, the library later burnt down. When the library was rebuilt, I decided to return the plays anonymously. (I later found another copy at a used book store, and so it worked out well for everyone.)
This is an absolutely true story.
4. Do you enjoy writing your plays?
I love playwriting. I love the inspired moments, the frustrations, the challenges, the revisions, the aspirations, the collaborations - everything. I love playwriting.
I also enjoy papayas, but not as much as playwriting.
5. Have you ever watched a play you've written?
I'm usually involved with rehearsals of initial productions of my plays, as I'm still revising them. I learn a great deal as I listen to the play over and over again, hearing what keeps my attention and what bores or confuses me, what words and phrases the actors struggle with and what is easy for them. Even when a play starts performances, I revise, as I learn from audience response what works and what doesn't. And then one day I think, "I'm sick of this play." And I start another one.
A student interested in my one-act play I DIDN'T KNOW YOU COULD COOK wrote me MANY questions. I think a homework assignment inspired him more than curiosity:
1. How would you describe the role of a playwright in contemporary American society?
2. How do you choose the subject for your stories?
3. Did you want to convey a special message in I DIDN'T KNOW YOU COULD COOK?
4. Where did the idea of this play come from?
5. What kind of audience does the play address?
6. How would you define your style as playwright? How is it reflected in this play?
7. How would you explain the roles/characters of Jerome and Mark?
8. Could you tell me something about the language you used for this play?
What an interesting array of questions. Most of them have little to do with how I work. For example, I’ve rarely “chosen” a subject for my stories. Usually a moment – a situation, a character action, or a line of dialogue – pops into my head and attracts me. I start exploring the situation, wondering what might come before or after, or pulling back to look at the larger picture. If more ideas for the situation enter my head, I write them down. Sometimes these ideas grow into a play.
I DIDN'T KNOW YOU COULD COOK came into existence because the National Theatre Workshop of the Handicapped asked me and several other playwrights to write short plays for them, all involving a disabled character and set in a kitchen. I was both honored and annoyed by their request. “What can I write about disability that isn’t clichéd?” I wondered. “I don’t want to waste my time.”
Nevertheless, I decided to think about the challenge when I walked – not special walks, just the walks we all take to go from Place A to Place B. All the ideas that popped into my head seemed unoriginal. I thought, “Perhaps if I don’t focus just on being disabled.” Disabled and female? Disabled and Black? Disabled and left-handed? Disabled and gay?
Without effort, I imagined two brothers at a dining table, the older one giving an ultimatum to the younger, “You can be gay or you can be disabled, but not both.” I loved the line, and I knew I could write a play to that line and extending from it. I quickly felt a sense of who would say such a line and who would be hearing it. I was no longer writing about disability or about gay issues. I was writing about two brothers.
For a long time, I just made lots of notes, imagining what they might say and do. One thought lead to the next. I used the ones that appealed to me and threw out those which bored me or didn’t fit. Writing is highly instinctual that way.
I didn’t want to convey a special message with the play and never do; I just want to tell an involving tale. I don’t define my playwriting style and like to think my plays vary in style. Usually the situation and characters define it, not me, just as they determine the language.
I never try to address a specific audience; my audience is always that hypothetical group who will respond to that which I write if I write it well.
I wouldn’t describe the role of a playwright in contemporary American society; I’ll let pontificators do that. I write plays and hope audiences will connect with them. As for explaining the characters in my play, I don’t do that either. I hope that if someone reads or sees a performance of I DIDN'T KNOW YOU COULD COOK, they’ll be as intrigued by what’s going on as I was. Explaining my plays will just take away the fun.
Finally, a beginning playwright once asked if I’d read his new play. I replied:
Although I'll pass on your request to read your play (I always decline such offers), let me recommend what I usually do when I finish a draft of a play: Invite friends over one
evening and have them read it aloud. Ask basic questions afterwards, such as:
1. Did you believe what was going on?
2. Were you ever confused or bored?
3. Did the story engage you?
Although some of the feedback may not be helpful (I'm sure if you had a reading of DEATH OF A SALESMAN, someone would say, "Can't you make Willy and Biff get along better?"), see what stays with you. I've learned a great deal from such evenings, and my plays have always improved because of them.
Best of luck,
Rich
