How to Make Progress When You Don’t Know Your Show’s Ending Yet

How to Make Progress When You Don’t Know Your Show’s Ending Yet

For Playwrights and Musical Theater Writers Who Thrive in Discovery Mode

You’ve got a great setup. Characters who pop. A world that feels rich with possibilities. But there’s just one little issue…

You have no idea how your show ends.

Or you have an idea, but it’s not landing yet.

Sound familiar?

If you’re a playwright or musical theater writer trying to write a new piece without a clear roadmap, you’re not alone—and you’re not doing it wrong. Sometimes the ending comes to us first, but then other times it doesn’t. We’ve created characters first, maybe, but we can’t quite nail the ending.

What to do?

This is very much on my mind currently, as I’m producing a play to open in June and, well, the ending still hasn’t “revealed itself.” Yikes.

Plenty of brilliant, finished shows started out as messy, half-formed drafts written by writers who trusted the process before they knew the destination.

Here’s some suggestions we’re using to keep making progress on your new script without knowing the ending yet.

Embrace “Discovery” Writing

Not everyone writes from an outline—and that’s okay. Discovery writing (also called “pantsing”) means you find the story by writing it. You let your characters talk, get into trouble, and surprise you. It’s organic. It’s chaotic. And it can lead to some of your most original ideas.

The key is to stay curious instead of panicked. If you don’t know where it’s going yet, that’s not a failure—that’s fuel. You’re exploring the terrain while building the map.

Explore Your Characters’ Wants and Raise the Stakes

When you can’t see the end, zoom in on your characters’ desires. What does each of them want—emotionally, practically, spiritually? What’s in their way?

The more clearly you understand what’s driving them and the obstacles in their way, the more naturally plot points and conflicts will arise. Ask yourself:

  • What would they do next to get what they want?
  • What would challenge them the most?
  • What are they afraid of losing?

The answers might lead you to your next scene—or your eventual ending.

Write the Middle with a Flexible Mindset

The middle of your show is where things evolve, deepen, and get complicated. Even without a firm ending, you can write scenes that test relationships, raise the stakes, and introduce twists (typically the midpoint reversal) that excite you.

Be flexible. If a character veers off course or a subplot emerges unexpectedly, follow it for a bit. Revision is where you make it neat. Drafting is where you let it be messy and alive. Have more fun with this! The more fun you have now, the more fun your audience will have later.

Use “What If” Scenarios as Your Daily Prompts

Stuck? Try “what if” questions to jumpstart your writing:

  • What if the antagonist suddenly helped the protagonist?
  • What if the lovers don’t end up together?
  • What if someone makes the wrong choice and it spirals?

These prompts don’t have to “fit” your eventual structure. They’re experiments to discover new layers in your story. Some might stick. Others might spark ideas you didn’t expect.

Track Your Theme and Emotional Arcs

Even if the plot isn’t clear, your theme can be. What are you trying to say? What feeling or idea keeps bubbling up as you write? What “gift” are you wanting to give the audience at the end?

Track how your characters are emotionally changing from scene to scene. Are they getting closer to something? Losing something? Growing?

Emotional arcs can anchor your show even before the structure is solid. If you follow the emotional truth, the ending often reveals itself when the time is right.

Keep Going, Even If It’s Imperfect

A draft doesn’t have to be linear. It doesn’t have to be “complete.” It just has to exist.

You’ll revise. You’ll cut. You’ll rewrite the ending three times. But if you stop writing because you don’t know where it’s going, you’ll never find out.

So trust your instincts. Let the show teach you what it wants to be. And remember: the ending might not be what you planned—but it might be exactly what your show needs.

Remember, a play is never “finished” – it’s just produced.

What We’re Doing Now:

Among other things, I’ve hired a director who lives in the world of the play, and a really smart playwright/dramaturg who does not. It helps to have divergent opinions to fully round out the characters clearly.

We’re having heady intellectual and psychological discussions between the four of us (playwright, producer, director and dramaturg) about every character, motive, and scene, reviewing the moment-to-moment stakes and thoughts motivating action. Over Zoom, as we’re working artists with commitments out of NYC.

We’re reviewing external documents that shape the issues in the world of the play together, to fully understand the lived experience of the family we’re portraying, and the issues they believe in.

Heady stuff, but all in all an exhilarating creative process. And I know the show will benefit from this research.

Your Turn:
How about you? Are you writing a musical or play without knowing the ending yet? What helps you keep going?

Share the way you go about your creative process (or pose questions) in the comments! We’d like to hear what you do.

Why Most New Plays and Musicals Stall in Development

Why Most New Plays and Musicals Stall in Development


Why Most New Plays and Musicals Stall in Development

(And What Actually Moves Them Forward)

Let’s say the quiet part out loud.

Most new plays and musicals don’t stall out because they’re bad.
They stall out because the people making them are doing many different things—but not building momentum.

If you’re a playwright or musical theatre writer, this probably sounds familiar:

You’ve had a reading. Or three.
You’ve gotten “great feedback.”
People say things like, “This has real potential.”
You’ve revised… and revised… and revised again.

And yet?

Nothing is actually moving forward.

No next step.
No clearer path.
No traction with the industry.
Just a vague sense that your show is perpetually “almost ready.”

Welcome to development purgatory.

At CreateTheater, we see this every day—not because writers aren’t talented, but because development is deeply misunderstood. The industry rarely gives creators experience on how projects move from script to stage. So new writers especially default to what feels productive instead of what actually is productive.

Let’s talk about the real reasons shows stall—and what to do instead.


Reason #1: You’re Confusing Activity With Progress

This is the #1 killer of new work momentum.

Readings. Workshops. Feedback sessions. Script swaps. Festivals. Another round of notes. Another rewrite.

It feels like progress because you’re busy. You’re doing “writer things.” You’re engaging with the community. You get to invite friends an family to the “next exciting step.”

But activity is not the same as movement.

Progress means:

  • The show is clearer than it was before

  • The next step is more specific

  • The circle of people invested in the project is growing

  • Someone new can now say “yes” to it

If your development doesn’t change the trajectory of the project, it’s not progress—it’s maintenance.

One of the hardest truths for writers to accept is this:

You can be working very hard on the wrong thing.

Endless activity without strategy doesn’t move a show forward. It just exhausts the creator.


Reason #2: You Don’t Have a Development Path—Just a Pile of Experiences

Most writers approach development like a buffet.

“I’ll do a reading here, a festival there, maybe a workshop if I get in, and then… we’ll see.”

There’s no order. No logic. No sequence.

But development isn’t a grab bag. It’s a path.

Every strong development journey answers three questions:

  1. What is the show right now?

  2. What does it need next?

  3. What does that step make possible afterward?

Without that clarity, writers bounce between opportunities that don’t build on each other. They get stuck doing early-stage development forever—or they leap ahead before the work is ready.

This is why shows stall after their “first good reading.”
That reading wasn’t connected to a plan.

A reading is not a strategy.
A workshop is not a roadmap.
A festival is not a guarantee.

Development only works when steps are intentional.


Reason #3: You’re Collecting Feedback Instead of Making Decisions

Let’s be blunt: feedback does not move a show forward.

Decisions do.

Writers are often told:
“Let <insert name> take a look at it.”
“Get more feedback.”
“See how audiences respond.”

So they do. And do. And do.

But no one teaches them how to filter feedback—or how to decide what actually matters right now.

As a result:

  • The script gets pulled in multiple directions

  • The writer keeps “fixing everything”

  • The core problem never gets addressed

Development becomes reactive instead of strategic.

Here’s the insider truth:
Producers don’t care how many notes you’ve gotten.

They care whether you:

  • Know what the show is

  • Can articulate what you’re working on

  • Can explain why certain choices were made

Strong development isn’t about pleasing everyone.
It’s about choosing intentionally.

If your revisions aren’t driven by clear priorities, your show will stall—no matter how smart the feedback is.


Reason #4: You Don’t Have an Advocate (And You’re Trying to Do Everything Alone)

Shows don’t move forward because scripts are “good.”

They move forward because someone pushes them forward.

A producer.
A director.
A dramaturg.
An artistic leader.
Someone who is willing to say, “I believe in this, and I’ll put my name behind it.”

Many writers try to carry their projects solo for far too long. They pitch, submit, rewrite, and plan entirely on their own—assuming that once the script is “ready,” support will magically appear.

That’s not how it works.

Advocates don’t arrive at the end.
They’re part of development itself.

Without an advocate:

  • Opportunities don’t stack

  • Introductions don’t happen

  • Momentum dies between steps

One of the most important development realizations a writer must understand is this:

The goal is not just to improve the script—it’s to expand the team.

If your development process never brings new people into the project, you’re building in isolation. And isolation is where shows stall.


Reason #5: There’s No External Pressure For the Next Step

Deadlines are not the enemy of creativity.
They’re the engine of it.

Many shows stall simply because nothing is forcing them to move ahead.

No timeline.
No accountability.
No concrete next step.

“I’ll revise when I have time.”
“We’ll plan another reading down the road.”
“I’m waiting until <insert current excuse>.”

That’s not a plan. That’s avoidance dressed up as patience.

Professional development includes:

  • Target dates

  • Clear milestones

  • Real-world consequences

External pressure doesn’t mean rushing.
It means structure.

At CreateTheater, one of the biggest shifts writers experience is realizing how much lighter the work feels once there’s a framework holding it. When they understand that they’re not making decisions about their work alone.

When everything lives in your head, it stalls. 
When it lives in a structure, it moves.


Reason #6: You Think the Show Is Further Along Than It Is

This one stings—but I see it over and over again.

Writers often overestimate where their show is in the development life cycle. Not out of ego (usually)—but out of hope.

They start pitching too early.
Submitting too early.
Asking producers for things the show can’t yet support.

Then they hear:
“Not ready.”
“Come back later.”
“Interesting, but…”

And the writer loses confidence in their own process.

Every stage of development has different goals:

  • Early development = discovery and clarity

  • Mid development = structure and alignment

  • Late development = readiness and team-building

When you skip steps, you don’t move faster—you stall harder.

One of the most powerful things a creator can say is:

“This is where the show is, and this is what it needs next.”

That clarity builds trust.
Advocates lean in to help the show with a clearly defined path.


Reason #7: You’re Waiting for Permission Instead of Building Leverage

Many writers believe the next step in development requires someone else’s approval.

A theatre has to say yes.
A producer has to say yes.
A festival has to say yes.

But shows gain momentum when creators build leverage—not when they wait.

Leverage looks like:

  • A clear artistic identity

  • A strong development narrative

  • A team forming around the work

  • Proof that the creator understands the business side

Industry professionals are far more likely to engage when a project already feels in motion.

Waiting to be chosen is a stall strategy.
Building readiness is a momentum strategy.


So What Actually Moves a Show Forward?

Momentum comes from structure.

From understanding:

  • Where the show is

  • What it needs next

  • Why that step matters

It comes from:

  • Intentional development, not random opportunities

  • Decision-making, not endless note-reviewing

  • Team-building, not isolation

  • Strategy, not wishful thinking

This is why CreateTheater exists.

Not to give more feedback.
Not to run endless readings.
Not to keep writers “busy.”

But to help creators:

  • Build development paths that make sense

  • Align their work with industry realities

  • Create momentum that compounds

Because talent is everywhere.
What’s rare is clarity.

And clarity is what keeps shows from stalling.


If you’re tired of feeling like your show is stuck—if you’re ready to stop spinning your wheels and start moving forward—then it’s time to stop moving in circles and start developing with intention.

Momentum doesn’t come from doing more.
It comes from being guided by people who understand how this industry actually works.

New plays and musicals don’t need another round of opinions. They need experienced judgment, clear sequencing, and development that happens in conversation with the professional field — not in isolation from it.

At CreateTheater, development is mentored deliberately, not randomly nor academically.

We work inside professional industry standards. We ask the questions producers, artistic directors, and programmers ask behind closed doors. We help writers understand not just what needs work, but why — and which choices will materially change how the project is received.

That means:

  • Development decisions grounded in professional reality

  • Projects shaped by people who know how shows move in NYC

  • Writers who aren’t left guessing at the next step

Shows don’t move because someone “likes” them.
They move when they’re built with clarity, pressure, and guidance from people who know the system.

That’s how work advances in this city.
And that’s the work CreateTheater exists to do.

Don’t Write Passive Protagonists

Don’t Write Passive Protagonists


Stop Writing Passive Protagonists

(Or: Why Your Play Feels Flat Even Though the Writing Is Good)

Let me say something I wish more writers heard early:

Most scripts don’t fail because the dialogue is bad.
They fail because the protagonist doesn’t do anything.

I read a lot of new plays and musicals—early drafts, mid drafts, “this is almost ready” drafts—and one of the most common problems I see has nothing to do with talent or voice.

It’s this:

The lead character is present, but passive.

They’re onstage the whole time.
They have feelings.
They react intelligently to what’s happening.
They talk beautifully about their situation.

But they are not driving the story.

And no amount of lyrical language, clever structure, or emotional insight can compensate for that.

Here’s the core rule of dramatic writing

Strong scripts come from protagonists who make decisions.

They want something.
They choose actions to get it.
Those actions create consequences.
Those consequences force new choices.

That cycle—want → decision → action → consequenceis drama.

If your lead character is mostly observing, responding, processing, or waiting for clarity, the engine never turns over.

Presence is not agency

One of the most common traps writers fall into is confusing being central with being active.

Your protagonist can:

  • Appear in every scene

  • Have the most lines

  • Be emotionally articulate

  • Be deeply affected by events

…and still be passive.

If the plot would unfold essentially the same way without their choices, you don’t have a protagonist. You have a narrator.

Audiences don’t come to the theater to watch someone understand their life.
They come to watch someone try to change it.

What passive protagonists usually look like

Passive leads tend to fall into a few recognizable patterns:

  • They are waiting for someone else to decide

  • They are reacting to crises they didn’t initiate

  • They spend most of the play talking about action rather than taking it

  • Their biggest moments are emotional realizations, not choices

  • Things happen to them far more often than because of them

This doesn’t mean the character is weak or poorly drawn. Often, they’re beautifully written. But dramatically? They’re stuck in neutral.

Want is not a vibe

Another common issue: the protagonist’s “want” is vague, abstract, or purely internal.

“I want to be loved.”
“I want to be seen.”
“I want to understand myself.”

Those are human desires—but they’re not dramatic objectives unless they are translated into concrete action.

A playable want answers this question:

What is your protagonist actively trying to make happen in the world of the play?

Not feel.
Not realize.
Not accept.

Do.

Decisions are the story

Here’s a blunt test I use when evaluating a script:

Can I list the five biggest decisions the protagonist makes?

If the answer is no—or if the biggest moments are things they agree to, discover, or respond to—the script is probably underpowered.

A decision means:

  • Choosing one option over another

  • Risking something

  • Closing off other possibilities

  • Creating irreversible consequences

If your protagonist never puts anything on the line through choice, the audience never leans forward.

Yes, protagonists can react—but not all the time

“Reactive” doesn’t mean “bad.” You create the situations they react to. But we have to know what they want first, before they react.

Every strong protagonist reacts at some point—usually when circumstances change or when new information blows up their original plan.

This often happens around the midpoint.

They try one strategy.
It fails or creates unexpected fallout.
They reassess.
They choose a new approach.

That shift is compelling because it follows action.

Reaction without prior action is just stasis.

If the antagonist is doing all the work, that’s a problem

Another red flag: the antagonist (or circumstances, or other characters) is making all the interesting moves.

If the most decisive character in your play isn’t your lead, ask yourself why.

Your protagonist doesn’t have to win.
They don’t have to be likable.
They don’t have to be right.

But they do have to initiate.

Craft exercise: upgrade your protagonist

Try this with your current draft:

  1. Write down what your protagonist wants in one sentence.

  2. List every action they take to pursue it.

  3. Circle the actions that were their idea.

  4. Underline the actions that created consequences.

If most of the action is reactive, it’s time to re-engineer the story.

Then ask:

  • What choice could they make earlier?

  • What risk could they take instead of waiting?

  • What happens if they act before they’re ready?

Drama lives in premature action.

The hard truth (and the good news)

Passive protagonists are rarely a sign of bad writing.

They’re a sign of a writer who is being:

  • Careful

  • Thoughtful

  • Emotionally precise

  • Afraid of breaking something

But plays don’t come alive through caution.
They come alive through commitment.

When your protagonist commits—to a course of action, to a desire, to a flawed strategy—the play finally has something to push against.

Final thought

If you want your script to feel alive, stop asking:

“How does my character feel about this?”

And start asking:

“What do they do next—and why?”

Make your protagonist choose.
Make them act.
Make them responsible for what happens.

That’s not just good writing.

That’s good theater.

Building Your Musical One Song at a Time

Building Your Musical One Song at a Time

How Daily Songwriting Habits Can Move Your Musical Forward

Writing a musical can feel like climbing a mountain (I see you singing the song right now) —and doing it alone makes the peak look farther and steeper.

And definitely harder.

Here’s the truth: the best musicals aren’t written in giant leaps. They’re built one song at a time.

If you’re a playwright or musical writer dreaming up your next show, it’s time to think of songwriting as a daily habit, not as a once-in-a-while burst of genius.

Yes, life gets crazy busy. You don’t have to tell me! But if our goal is to write a musical, it won’t write itself. So – let’s explore five practical ways you can build your musical steadily and intentionally every day, starting today.

Isn’t the new year the time to begin a new routine, to make sure that get what’s really important in life?

1. Balance Book Scenes with Musical Moments

Before diving into the music, zoom out and look at the big picture: where should a song live in this scene? Or maybe, does this scene need a different song?

Every song should earn its place in your story. It needs to do something mere dialogue can’t do as well—

  • capture a surge of emotion
  • reveal a character’s inner world/fears/dreams
  • escalate a situation beyond words.

So, as you’re outlining or drafting your book, ask yourself:

  1. Is this a “song moment”? Song spotting is a skill that gets better with practice.
  2. Would music elevate this scene? Remember, when the emotion gets too high to speak, characters sing.
  3. Is the character emotionally charged enough to sing? Tweak the lead up to the song, and maybe increase the stakes for the character in the story.
  4. Keep the energy moving in the scene. Watch the overuse of ballads, and always look for a more active song choice. Extra kuddos if you make it fun!

Think of your songs as emotional anchors in the book. When you spot one, jot it down—even if it’s just a placeholder title or emotion. That’s your cue to imagine a new song and start writing.

2. Create a Songwriting Ritual (Lyric, Melody, or Both)

Like any craft, songwriting grows with consistency. Whether you’re a lyricist, composer, or both, carve out daily (or at least weekly) time just to concentrate on your musical.

Your ritual doesn’t need to be long or fancy:

  • 20 minutes each morning with your coffee
  • A lyric brainstorm on your lunch break
  • Improvising melody ideas in voice memos during walks

Some writers work melody-first. Others start with lyrics. Some begin with a hook or a strong concept. The key is to find your rhythm and make it regular.

Even allowing yourself permission to write one “bad” song per day – to just get something down – will push your musical forward. Chances arre your song won’t really be that bad.

Rituals remove the pressure to be brilliant and replace it with permission to explore. You’re not writing a perfect song—you’re developing a habit that builds momentum. Every day.

3. Build a Song Map for Your Show

A song map is your musical’s emotional and narrative blueprint. It’s a living document that tracks:

  • Song titles or ideas
  • Who sings
  • What the song accomplishes
  • Where it lands in the story

It helps you spot pacing issues, character arcs, and tonal shifts. More importantly, it shows you what to write next by showing you what you still need in your show.

Think of it like a musical’s table of contents. You can even color-code it: solos vs. duets, reprises, ensemble numbers, etc. This gives you structure—and structure fuels creativity.

4. Know When to Collaborate (and When to Wait)

If you’re not writing both music and lyrics, collaboration is inevitable—but it doesn’t have to be immediate.

In fact, having a few lyrics or scenes sketched out before bringing in a partner can give your project clarity and momentum. It also helps you:

  • Attract the right collaborator
  • Share your vision clearly
  • Avoid starting from a blank page together

Once you have a few ideas or songs drafted, start the conversation. Look for someone who complements your style and shares your storytelling values. Chemistry is everything in a creative partnership.

5. Use Tools to Demo Songs on Your Own

Don’t wait for a fancy studio to bring your songs to life. You can build simple, expressive demos with tools you already have.

Try these:

  • Voice Memos (iPhone/Android): Sing lyrics or melody ideas on the go.
  • GarageBand (Mac/iOS): Record vocals over instrumentals, add loops, or play with arrangements.
  • Logic Pro / Ableton / FL Studio: More advanced DAWs for fuller demos.
  • Noteflight / MuseScore: Score and share written music easily.
  • Audimee: “Audition” different AI voices to create demos using different characters
  • Suno: upload your song into Suno to brainstorm different instruments or rhythms, to modulate a new ending, or to even switch your song into a different musical genre.

Even if you’re “not a singer,” your voice can still carry emotion. A rough demo is better than a silent idea—it makes your work feel real, and that feeling fuels progress.

Final Thought: Songs Tell Stories

Each song you write adds dimension to your characters and shape to your story. So don’t wait for inspiration—create space for it for it to happen.

Make sure that your song begins in one place and moves over the three minutes to end in a diffeent place.

Build your musical one habit, one page, and one song at a time, with a routine that works every day.

Your mountain isn’t as high as it looks when you climb it step by step.

Want to find the perfect collaborator this year?

Register for the FREE CreateTheater Jumpstart January Event on January 31st!

The Daily Draft: How to Avoid Getting Lost Rewriting the Same Scene

The Daily Draft: How to Avoid Getting Lost Rewriting the Same Scene

Ever find yourself “working on your show” for hours… only to realize you’ve just reworked the same five lines over and over again?

Yeah, it happens to everyone.

Rewriting is the very essence of writing—but if you do it too soon, it can also become a trap. You start chasing polish when what you really need is momentum.

Let’s talk about how to move forward, not in circles.

Why Rewriting Too Early Can Stall Momentum

Early rewrites feel productive. You’re refining! You’re crafting! But sometimes, you’re just treading water—you’re avoiding the possibility of new pages, new choices, and possibly taking a greater narrative risk.

Why? You can’t refine what doesn’t exist yet.

If you keep rewriting Act One before you’ve written Act Two, you might be perfecting a setup with no payoff—or worse, writing yourself into a corner.

You need to get all of your early ideas into a “vomit draft.”

Draft First, Refine Later

There’s a reason “write a terrible first draft” is classic advice.

Your first goal is completion, not perfection. That raw, messy first draft will give you the whole shape of the story—so when it’s time to revise, you’re sculpting something solid instead of trying to polish fog.

Think of it like building a set; you can’t paint trim before the walls are up.

3 Tips to Follow with Early Drafts

Want to make future rewrites easier and stay in forward motion? Try using these tried-and-true tips as you get that first draft down.

1. Leave Notes for Future You

Instead of rewriting a scene, jot down notes: [This moment feels flat. Add more tension.]
Keep going. Come back later.

2. Highlight Instead of Fixing

Use bold or colored highlights to mark moments you know need work. That way you don’t break your flow mid-draft.

3. “Scene Zero” Writing

Write exploratory scenes (monologues, backstory moments, offstage events) that don’t go in the draft. It really helps to develop your characters and context without stalling progress, especially when you’re in that delightful space of working the play out in your head.

Timeboxing: Write Fast, Rework Smarter

Try giving yourself clear windows for writing and revising:

  • Drafting Window (30–60 minutes): Write forward only. No edits.
  • Revision Window (15–30 minutes): Review past scenes or make light adjustments.

Keep the two separate, ideally on different days. Writing and editing are two separate processes; don’t combine them.

How to Know When It’s Actually Time to Rewrite

Not sure if you’re stalling or genuinely need to rework a scene, an act or an opening number? Ask yourself:

  • Does this rewrite fix a story-level issue (stakes, arc, clarity)?
  • Do I have a complete draft—or am I trying to polish the puzzle without all the pieces?
  • Will revising this now help me move forward—or just feel safer than starting a new scene?

If your answer leans toward progress, go for it. If not, trust the draft and keep going.

Did Your Writing Group Get It?

One of the benefits of having a writing group is that it’s one of the best places to try out your new scenes. If there are any questions, any confusion about what’s happening, or thoughts about whether your new pages are too expository, pushing the action forward sufficients or stalling it, your writing group will let you know.

If it’s a good writing group.  We’ve got some really good ones. (Check out ETC if you’re interested…)

Final Thought: Forward Momentum Is a Skill

You don’t need to “earn” the right to finish a draft. You need to build the habit of finishing.

Let your first drafts be messy, unfinished, imperfect. Give yourself a chance to find the story and live with the characters before you try to fix it.

Because no one ever polished a scene that didn’t exist.

Want help turning this into a daily writing habit?
I’ve got a free worksheet for that—just say the word.

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