Stay True to Yourself

Stay True to Yourself

by | Apr 12, 2026 | Directing Theater, Dramaturgy, Getting Produced, Writing Tips

Stay True to Yourself (Or Watch Your Play Disappear)

I’ve been telling our writers something over and over the past few weeks:

Stay true to yourself.

Yes, it sounds generic. It’s not.

I mean it in a very specific way: knowing exactly where your play lands.

Playwrights—especially early and mid-career—are hungry to be produced. And because of that, they become incredibly good at working with  notes. They implement changes quickly. They listen closely. They adjust to make the play better.

Especially when the notes are coming from a “successful” director.

And that’s where things can go wrong.

Because in the middle of rewrites, it’s very easy for a writer to lose their way.

And once they lose it—they don’t always get it back.

Let me exlain.

The Mistake That Kills Good Plays

Here’s what just happened:

We had a writer who had done the work. Months of development. The script was strong. Funding was in place. A venue was secured.

We brought in a highly recommended director. Enthusiastic. Experienced. Seemed like the right fit.

At first, everything looked good.

Then we scheduled a table read—because after major rewrites, you have to hear the piece out loud.

What we heard wasn’t the writer’s play.

It was the director’s.

The original piece was about a family navigating grief, disconnection, and misunderstanding.

The new version? A political debate.

Same characters. Same structure. Completely different play.

And here’s the part no one wants to say out loud:

If that version had gone forward and succeeded—it wouldn’t have been the writer’s success.

It would have belonged to the director.

Fortunately, we hadn’t signed the contract yet.

What This Cost (And What It Taught Us)

This wasn’t just creatively frustrating—it was expensive. Time, energy, momentum.

But it clarified three non-negotiables:

1. Stop trying to please the room.
If you’re making changes to keep a director or producer happy, you’ve already started drifting.

2. Know what you want your audience to walk away with.
Not your “message.”
Your impact.

What should they understand, feel, or question when the lights come up? What do you want them to think about on the way home?

If you can’t answer that clearly, someone else will answer it for you—and rewrite your play in the process.

3. Choose your director like it matters—because it does.
Never go with the first “yes.”

Talk to multiple directors. Ask them one simple question:
“What is this play about at the end?”

If their answer doesn’t match yours, they are not your director. Full stop.

Don’t Become the Wrong Kind of Playwright

Let’s be clear:

I am not telling you to become the “resistant playwright” everyone dreads working with.

Collaboration is essential.

But there’s a difference between collaboration and compliance.

If you’re so open that your play can become something different… it will.

And then it no longer is yours.

The Line You Cannot Cross

You can take notes.
You can explore alternatives.
You can rewrite entire sections.

But you cannot lose sight of why you wrote the play in the first place.

Because once that’s gone—

You’re no longer developing your work.

You’re developing someone else’s.

And that is a much more expensive mistake than you think.

Ready to Develop Your Work Without Losing Your Voice?

This is exactly why we built our development pipeline at CreateTheater.

Because getting your work “ready” isn’t about collecting opinions—it’s about strengthening your voice so it can stand up in the room.

Inside our development programs, you’ll learn how to:

  • Take notes without losing your core idea
  • Clarify what your play is actually about
  • Collaborate with directors from a position of strength—not insecurity
  • Get your work to a place where it’s ready to be seen as you intended it

If you’re serious about developing your play or musical the right way:

👉 Explore our development opportunities here: https://createtheater.com/develop/

Don’t wait until your play has been rewritten into something you don’t recognize.

Build it right from the start.

Sign up for our Weekly Newsletters
Writing Active Dialogue

Writing Active Dialogue

by | Aug 6, 2019 | Directing Theater, Dramaturgy, NPD, Theater

Let’s Get Some Action Going

 

Have you ever been reading a script when the action suddenly felt clunky, heavy-handed or, even worse, stopped mid-scene?

Probably it was the result of poor dialogue.

Like everything else on stage, dialogue must push the story forward and reveal character, plot points and exposition on stage. When inexpertly done, the action drops dead on its feet. Poor dialogue makes the audience disconnect, makes the plot unbelievable and results in actors overreaching in their attempts to make their character come to life.

It’s the worst.

 

The Rehearsal Process in Development

 

Recently I was directing a new play by a young, inexperienced playwright who was clearly overwhelmed by the production process. In a particular scene the actors were presented with some very poetic, very flowery dialogue. It was beautiful prose, but it definitely wasn’t something that would come out of anyone’s mouth.

My actor was talented and experienced, and everyone in the scene tried really hard to make this dialogue work – but it was extremely difficult to justify these words on stage. Our many suggestions for a modification of these lines were all turned down, and so we were left struggling with a very clunky, heavy scene that stopped the action mid-play. Not great for a comedy.

What to do?

 

Active Dialogue is not Prose

 

Aristotle wrote in his Poetics that diction was the 4th most important element of dramatic action. Although Aristotle seems to infer that diction was more part of the production process than the writing process (more pertinent to the art of the actor than the art of the poet), he also defined diction as the metrical composition of the play, the way that spoken language is used to represent the characters themselves.

Diction is the actual composition of the lines spoken; if Aristotle’s “thought” deals with what is said, then diction deals with how it is said.

In other words, Aristotle’s diction we now call dialogue – not only what a character says but how he says it. If the words don’t sound believable coming from a character in this moment, it is not good dialogue. If it sounds good on the page but completely wrong when spoken out loud, it is not good dialogue.

Prose is not good dialogue, no matter how eloquent it appears on the page.

 

How to Write Good Dialogue

 

Dialogue isn’t an issue with writers who know their characters. If you live with your characters for any period of time, you can write dialogue that accurately reflects who they are and what they’re thinking.

In writing dialogue, use this as a checklist:

  • Dialogue must accurately represent the character in terms of background (geographic, socio-economic, era, age, time of day and state of being)
  • The structure, or meter, of the spoken dialogue must stay true to the overall structure inherent in the play (that is, whether the play is written in verse, is a sung-through musical, is sparsely written with minimal lines, composed of long monologues, etc.) and true to the rhythm, pacing and tone of the script
  • Great dialogue reflects the internal action, or psychological action, of the character in that moment. What does the character want right now in this scene, in this beat, in this moment in time? It gives insight to the character through both psychological and physical choices, and changes to reflect a different intention.
  • Active dialogue moves the story, or the plot points, forward in every moment.

 

Is This Really How People Talk?

 

Always give yourself a reality check: is this really how people in the world of my play talk? Are these lines moving my plot forward, revealing something about the character or giving important exposition that the audience needs to know? Is it structured in a pleasing way? Typically, long monologues tend to stop the action, as will flowery, detailed passages trying to pass as dialogue.

So what happened in the rehearsal room after that? As a director it is my job to justify the words of the playwright, no matter how expertly (or inexpertly) written they are. My choice was to tweak the action of the character to read word for word the flowery prose from her journal, to reveal the “hidden poetry within her soul.” Since this character wouldn’t speak like this, I had her write like this to reveal something hidden within.

The audience bought it, enjoyed the scene and gave accolades to the young playwright. A job well done.

Ah, the hidden art of the director.