When Development Becomes Production

When Development Becomes Production

The Pipeline in Motion

I’m writing this from Philadelphia, where I’ll be in rehearsal for a few days with LITTLE THINGS at the Philadelphia Theatre Company.

And looking at the week ahead, I realized that this may be one of the clearest examples I’ve had of what I mean when I talk about a development pipeline.

Because this week, CreateTheater has work happening at nearly every point along it.

On Monday night, we’ll hold another Monday Night Developmental Reading—this time Act One of a new musical by ETC member Jarlath Jacobs, currently living in Italy. The working title is JACQUES & JILL, a reworking of her musical FIRE ISLAND, which had a showcase production at Theatre Row as part of the CreateTheater New Works Festival in 2022.

That project has already been produced once.

And now it is back in development.

Because development is not a straight line, and production is not always the end of the process.

 

Production Is Not the End of Development

There is a tendency to imagine a theater project moving along a neat, linear path:

Write the show → develop the show → produce the show → done.

But that is almost never how new theater actually works.

A reading reveals one thing.
A workshop reveals another.
A showcase reveals something else entirely.

Sometimes a production tells a writer that the piece is finished.

Sometimes it tells them exactly where the next version needs to begin.

That is what development is for.

Our Monday Night Developmental Readings have been running all summer, and we are now booked every Monday through December with readings of new plays and musicals. Some are early drafts. Others have already had significant development or production experience.

The point isn’t that every reading immediately leads to a production.

The point is that the work keeps moving.

 

Tuesday: Back in the Development Room

On Tuesday, after a day in rehearsal in Philadelphia, I’ll run two ETC writing groups which meet over Zoom to continue developing new plays and musicals.

This is quieter work.

There are no costumes. No lighting cues. No ticket buyers.

It can be easy to look at this stage and think that the “real” theater hasn’t begun yet.

But this is where much of the real theater work gets done.

Characters are clarified. Structures are challenged. Songs are moved. Scenes disappear. Endings change. Writers hear pages aloud and discover that something they thought was perfectly clear on the page isn’t clear at all when actors speak it.

Those decisions may eventually determine whether a producer can see a viable production in the work.

Which brings us to Wednesday.

 

Wednesday: Development Becomes Production

On Wednesday, we will officially announce THE BLUE VIOLINIST OVER WEST END AVENUE Off-Broadway.

Tickets will go on sale.

Previews begin October 27.

That is the moment outsiders can see.

The announcement.
The theater.
The dates.
The tickets.

It looks like production has begun.

But from where I’m sitting, production began a year earlier.

It began in the conversations with playwright Debbie Goodstein about what the play wanted to become.

It continued through readings, rewrites, artistic conversations, assembling a producing team, hiring (and firing) collaborators and making the hundreds of decisions required before anyone ever walks into a rehearsal room.

And, importantly, the development still isn’t over.

On Thursday afternoon, Debbie, director Jonathon Silverstein, and I will spend several hours together hearing the newest draft of the play—just the three of us. On Zoom, because it’s summer and we’re not all in Manhattan.

No audience.

No presentation.

No attempt to make it look finished. But the work continues.

We are still listening.

Still asking questions.

Still making sure the script we take into rehearsal at the end off September is the strongest version of the play we know how to make right now.

That is what I think writers sometimes misunderstand about the moment when development turns into production:

You don’t stop developing because you have a production.

The questions simply change.

 

The Questions Change

During early development, we might ask:

Is the story clear?
What does this character want?
Is this scene earning its place?
Where does Act One actually end?

Once production approaches, those questions begin intersecting with others:

How will this world physically exist onstage?
What kind of actor does this role require?
What does the audience need to understand visually?
What can we afford?
What must we protect artistically?
What has to be decided now?

By Friday, we’ll be in another production meeting for The Blue Violinist, approving final designs for the set, lights and costumes. We’re hoping to have casting complete by the beginning of the following week.

Those are unmistakably production decisions.

Yet they are still serving exactly the same thing we were serving in the development room: the story.

And Meanwhile, More Work Is Moving Forward

Thursday evening, we’ll shift gears again and continue to plan the three CreateTheater Showcases we’re producing in 2027.

Friday evening, we’ll turn toward the November New Works Cabaret Festival.

And here in Philadelphia, LITTLE THINGS is entering a different stage of the same journey.

The show has already gone through development with CreateTheater, including a cabaret presentation last year. Now the writers have the opportunity to put more of it on its feet and discover what happens when actors, staging, choreography, music and an audience become part of the equation.

That workshop will give us information we could never find sitting around a table.

And whatever we learn will feed the next stage.

 

So When Does Development Become Production?

I’m not sure there is one clean line.

I think there is a period when the center of gravity shifts.

At first, the primary question is:

What is this show?

Eventually, the question becomes:

How are we going to make this show happen?

And somewhere in between, the producer begins committing resources, collaborators, space, money, time and reputation to the answer.

That is when development starts becoming production.

But development itself never completely disappears.

At least, I don’t think it should.

A healthy new-work pipeline isn’t a conveyor belt that moves a script from one box to the next.

It is a continuing artistic process in which each new stage gives us more information.

Reading → workshop → showcase → production → perhaps development again.

The goal is not simply to “get the show produced.”

The goal is to make the strongest show we can—and to understand what the work needs next.

Looking at the week ahead—readings, writing groups, rehearsal, an Off-Broadway announcement, a script session, design approvals, showcase planning and a cabaret festival—it feels less like a collection of separate activities and more like one continuous act of making new theater.

And that is exactly what I had always hoped CreateTheater would be.

A place where new work keeps moving toward the stage.

Come join us at the Philadelphia Theater Company for LITTLE THINGS on August 29th at 3pm

What a Workshop Production Can Teach You About Your Show

What a Workshop Production Can Teach You About Your Show

There comes a point in the development of a new musical when you have learned almost everything you can learn from the page.

You’ve rewritten it.

You’ve heard it read aloud.

You’ve talked through structure, character, stakes, songs, pacing, and intention.

You may even have had an industry reading.

And then you reach the next question:

What happens when this actually becomes theater?

That’s where we are right now with LITTLE THINGS, a new musical with book by David H Smith and music by David H Smith and Tom Fosnocht.

I’ve been working with David on this show for almost three years, beginning with an early draft he brought into CreateTheater in 2023. In 2024, LITTLE THINGS received an Industry Reading at the CreateTheater New Works Festival at Playhouse 46 in Manhattan. Earlier this year, we held another table-reading workshop to look closely at the newest draft.

Now, on August 29, the entire musical will go in front of an audience in a workshop production in Philadelphia, directed by Michelle Tannenbaum.

And at this stage of development, I’m not primarily interested in whether people “like” the show.

I want to know what the show does, what it says when it’s onstage.

 

A Personal Story Has to Become an Audience’s Story

David began writing LITTLE THINGS partly as a way of processing the pain of his own divorce.

That personal connection is one of the things that gives the musical its emotional truth.

But it also created one of our central developmental challenges.

When you are writing from lived experience, there is a natural impulse to say, “But that’s what really happened.”

And my response, again and again, has essentially been:

That isn’t the most important question.

The question is whether what happened serves the story you are trying to tell now.

Theater is not a deposition. It doesn’t owe the audience a transcript of reality.

It owes them a story.

That can be difficult for writers working from autobiography because changing an event can sometimes feel like changing the truth. But dramatic truth and factual accuracy are not always the same thing.

Our job was to preserve the emotional truth of David’s experience while building something larger than one man’s divorce.

The musical needed to become a story that could belong to other people, too.

Not simply, “This is what happened to me.”

But:

“This is what it can feel like when life falls apart — and what it might take to build a new one again.”

That distinction changed the development of the show.

 

What Is the Audience Supposed to Leave With?

Divorce is not exactly an inherently cheerful subject. A musical centered on the collapse of a marriage can become emotionally heavy very quickly.

But thankfully, David was never interested in keeping the audience in despair. Instead, the deeper idea behind LITTLE THINGS is that life can continue after enormous disappointment.

Relationships change.

Families change.

People hurt one another.

People surprise one another.

And sometimes, after the life you had planned on disappears, another life can begin.

David and I had to think not only about what the musical was about, but about the experience we wanted to give the audience. If the destination is hope, the journey cannot be two hours of relentless pain followed by a hopeful final song. (God help us.)

The hope has to exist somewhere in the DNA of the show.

So, part of our development process has been continually looking for opportunities to bring more fun into the storytelling.

More humor.

More theatricality.

More buoyancy.

More songs that give the audience a chance to breathe, to laugh, and to have some fun.

More moments where the musical remembers that even during very difficult periods of our lives, absurdity, joy, attraction, friendship, surprise, and laughter still exist. The music is upbeat and pop-inspired, with numbers like, “Get a Test,” and the villainous attorney Beatrice Otch’s (Bea Otch) song describing how “The Ends Justifies the Means.”

That doesn’t make the painful material less truthful.

But in many ways, it makes it much more human.

When you’re going through a divorce you have to see the humor in the situation sometimes, right?

 

Now We Need to See It

This is why a workshop production matters.

Some questions simply cannot be answered around a table.

One of the things I’m particularly interested in seeing in Philadelphia is how the flashbacks in Act One function in performance.

They do important work.

They establish the world.

They give us history.

They help us understand the marriage, the characters and the relationships that have brought these characters to the present moment.

But much of that material is expositional and world-building rather than actively driving the present-day plot forward.

On the page, you can analyze that intellectually. You can ask whether every scene contains necessary information.

You can cut.

You can rewrite.

You can rearrange.

But theater is experienced in time.

The real question is:

What does it feel like to sit through it?

Do the flashbacks feel theatrical and revealing?

Do they deepen our emotional investment?

Do they create momentum of their own?

Or does the audience begin impatiently waiting for us to get back to the present-day story?

That is something I want to watch very carefully.

The same is true of the choreography.

Do the transitions work? The musical pacing. The comedy. The tone.

Does the integration of the songs and the scenes work well?

Does the cumulative experience of watching the entire show – instead of hearing isolated sections in a development room – payoff at the end?

A workshop production exposes the architecture, especially for new musicals.

 

Development Is Not About Protecting the Show

There is a temptation for writers in development to keep refining.

One more draft.

One more reading.

One more conversation.

One more rewrite before anyone really sees it.

There is safety in that.

But eventually, development has to become exposure.

You have to let the work encounter actors moving through space, music filling a room. transitions happening in real time.

Design elements beginning to appear.

And an audience responding — or not responding — where you thought they would.

That is where your musical will start telling you things you did not know about it.

That’s when the work gets real.

And, after three years of development, that is what I know LITTLE THINGS needs now.

Not another theoretical conversation about whether the show works, or where to tweak this moment or that line.

It needs to be experienced on stage.

Why Philadelphia?

Philadelphia also happens to be exactly the right place for this stage of the journey.

David is a Philadelphia native, and the city is very much part of the musical’s personality.

There is even a cameo appearance from Gritty, the wonderfully unhinged Philadelphia Flyers mascot — which tells you something about the tone we’ve been trying to build.

After developing the show in New York, bringing it into David’s hometown gives us a different kind of audience and a different kind of room.

That matters.

Development is not only about improving a script.

It is also about discovering who the work is for and how people experience it.

This Is Why I Believe in Development

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why any of us continue to do theater.

It is an unreasonable profession in so many ways. Especially right now.

It asks for enormous amounts of time, energy, money, patience, and faith. Faith in the writer, in the director, and in the audience to resonate with the material you’re trying out.

There are very few guarantees.

But I keep doing it because I believe theater matters.

I believe stories placed onstage can enter (and even change) the cultural conversations.

I believe they can help us understand people whose lives are different from our own.

I believe they can create recognition.

Empathy.

Argument.

Catharsis.

Joy.

And occasionally, a different way of seeing the world.

That is also why I care so deeply about development.

If we believe stories can matter once they reach an audience, then we have to care about how those stories get there.

We have to give writers enough room to discover what their work is actually trying to become.

We have to ask what experience we want the audience to have.

And eventually, we have to stop protecting the work and put it in front of people.

That is where LITTLE THINGS is now.

Three years into the journey, we are ready to find out what the musical teaches us when it finally gets up on its feet.

Because development is not about keeping a show in development.

It is about preparing the work to meet the world.

 

Come join us at the Philadelphia Theater Company for LITTLE THINGS on August 29th at 3pm

What Makes a Play Producible?

What Makes a Play Producible?

What Makes a Play Producible

Every playwright wants the same magical sentence:

“I want to produce your play.”

But here’s the truth nobody tells you:

A producer is not just evaluating your script.

They’re evaluating:

  • whether they can afford your script,
  • whether they can market your script,
  • whether audiences will buy tickets to your script,
  • and whether you are someone they actually want to work with for the next several years.

That’s the real game.

In a recent CreateTheater webinar, Off-Broadway producer Patrick Blake broke down what producers are actually thinking when they read a play or musical.

And honestly? Every playwright should hear this before sending their next script out.

Because producibility is not about “selling out.”

It’s about understanding how theater actually gets made.

A Producer Is Asking Three Questions

Patrick said it best:

A playwright has to:

  1. Find a producer
  2. Get a producer to want to produce the show
  3. Get a producer to want to work with them

That’s it.

That’s the whole ecosystem.

Most writers only focus on #1.

But #2 and #3 are often where plays die.

First: Is the Story Worth Producing?

This sounds obvious, but producers are still human beings first.

They have to love the piece.

Patrick talked about reading scripts he adored artistically — but ultimately passed on because the economics didn’t make sense.

And here’s the important nuance:

A producer does not need your play to be “commercial” in the Broadway sense.

But they do need to believe:

  • it can find an audience,
  • it can sustain a run,
  • or it can advance the theater/company’s mission.

That means your play needs:

  • a compelling story,
  • active characters,
  • a strong structure,
  • clear stakes,
  • and something emotionally or culturally fresh.

Not “perfect.”

Just undeniable.

Producers Think in Salaries

This part of the webinar made everyone laugh — because it’s painfully true.

Patrick said:

“Writers think in characters. Producers think in salaries.”

A playwright sees:

  • two children,
  • a dog,
  • a chorus,
  • and a musician onstage.

A producer sees:

  • union contracts,
  • insurance,
  • payroll,
  • pensions,
  • overtime,
  • and replacement costs.

That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write ambitiously.

It means you should understand what your ambition costs.

One of Patrick’s examples was a play set in a monastery library with a beautiful spiral staircase leading to a second level.

Only one actor used it.
Once.

The playwright insisted on keeping it because:

“It looks cool.”

The producer passed.

Why?

Because “cool” costs money.

The staircase meant:

  • more construction,
  • higher insurance,
  • more risk,
  • and a bigger budget.

And none of it fundamentally served the story.

That’s the difference between theatrical imagination and producible execution.

Big Difference: Necessary vs. Expensive

This is where playwrights often get defensive.

But the real question is:

Does this element deepen the storytelling?

Or…

Is it there because you’re attached to the image?

That distinction matters.

Producers are constantly calculating:

  • Can this recoup?
  • Can this tour?
  • Can this fit into a regional theater?
  • Can this be mounted Off-Broadway?
  • Is there a simpler way to achieve the same emotional effect?

That doesn’t mean “write small.”

It means:

make every expensive choice earn its existence.

The Best Writers Know How to Take Notes

This was one of the most important parts of the conversation.

Patrick and the group talked about playwrights who refuse every adjustment, every production consideration, every logistical concern.

And here’s the hard truth:

That reputation spreads.

Fast.

The writers who keep getting produced are not necessarily the writers who say “yes” to everything.

They’re the writers who stay collaborative.

A producer wants to feel:

  • you can solve problems,
  • you can adapt,
  • you can communicate,
  • and you won’t become impossible once rehearsals begin.

One of the best phrases mentioned in the webinar was:

“I’ll think about that.”

Not defensive.
Not reactive.
Not precious.

Just open.

That openness keeps conversations alive.

Find the Right Producer

This was another huge takeaway.

Most playwrights submit blindly.

But producers specialize.

A producer who develops experimental immersive work is different from:

  • a regional theater artistic director,
  • a Broadway commercial producer,
  • an Off-Broadway nonprofit,
  • or a family theater company.

Patrick recommended researching:

  • Tony nominees,
  • theaters producing similar work,
  • and producers already developing projects in your lane.

In other words:

stop pitching horror musicals to children’s theaters.

Find alignment.

Then build relationships before making asks.

That’s how theater actually works.

Relationships Matter More Than You Think

Theater is deeply relational.

Patrick talked about how playwrights often approach artistic directors with:

“Here’s my script.”

But the stronger approach is:

“How can I help?”

Volunteer.
Attend readings.
Support other artists.
Be part of the ecosystem before expecting the ecosystem to support you back.

People produce work by people they trust.

That’s not cynical.
That’s theater.

Attachments Only Help If They Actually Help

This section was fascinating.

Writers love attaching:

  • directors,
  • actors,
  • dramaturgs,
  • collaborators.

But attachments are only valuable if they:

  • help raise money,
  • help sell tickets,
  • or help attract industry attention.

A famous actor? Helpful.

Your cousin who “really gets the play”? Less helpful.

That doesn’t mean don’t collaborate.

It means understand the producer’s perspective.

Every attachment changes the equation.

Sometimes positively.
Sometimes not.

Social Media Matters Now

Patrick made a point that every playwright needs to hear:

Your online presence has become part of your producibility.

Because audiences are fragmented now.

And producers want to know:

  • Can you help market this?
  • Do you have an audience?
  • Do people already engage with your work?
  • Can you fill seats beyond your immediate friend circle?

This doesn’t mean becoming an influencer.

But it does mean:

  • building an email list,
  • staying visible,
  • and participating in the conversation around your work.

The writers who understand this are easier to say “yes” to.

Here’s the Good News

A producible play is not:

  • smaller,
  • safer,
  • less artistic,
  • or less ambitious.

A producible play is a play that understands:

how theater actually gets made.

That’s the difference.

You can still write the wild vision.
You can still dream big.
You can still create spectacle.

But the writers who consistently move forward are the ones who understand both:

  • the art,
  • and the logistics.

That’s what producers are looking for.

Not perfection.

Partnership.

Final Thought

Patrick said something near the end of the webinar that stuck with me:

Producers focus on the business side of theater. Writers who understand that become far more attractive collaborators.

And honestly?
That’s the shift.

The moment you stop seeing producers as gatekeepers and start seeing them as creative partners, your entire process changes.

Because producibility is not about compromising your vision.

It’s about learning how to build a bridge between the page and the stage.

If this opened your eyes to how producers actually evaluate your script…

Then you’ll want to be in the room for our live training:

Write a Producible Play Webinar on May 30th

 Off-Broadway Producer Patrick Blake and I will walk you through exactly how to check your work so it’s not just compelling, but something a producer can get on board with.

Stay in the loop with our upcoming workshops!

Why Most Plays Don’t Get Produced (And What To Do About It)

Why Most Plays Don’t Get Produced (And What To Do About It)

Why Most Plays Don’t Get Produced (And What To Do About It)

There’s a persistent myth in the theater world: that good work rises to the top.

It’s comforting. It’s also incomplete.

Because if you’ve spent any time developing new work, you already know the truth: plenty of good plays never get produced. Not because they aren’t worthy—but because they’re not yet producible.

And that gap matters.

If your goal is production (not just expression), you need to understand what’s actually standing in the way.

Here are five of the most common reasons I’ve found that plays stall—and what you can do about each one.


1. Your Play Needs More Development

This is the big one.

Most plays don’t get produced because they’re simply not ready yet.

Not “bad.” Not “broken.” Just underdeveloped.

Maybe the structure isn’t landing.
Maybe the central action isn’t clear.
Maybe the ending doesn’t deliver on the promise of the premise.

From the outside, it might feel done. But from a producer’s perspective, it still requires too much work to justify the risk.

What to do:
Stop thinking in terms of “finished” and start thinking in terms of functioning.

  • Does the play land consistently with an audience?
  • Are the stakes clear and escalating?
  • Does it deliver a cohesive theatrical experience?

If not, the next step isn’t submission—it’s development. Workshops. Readings. Targeted rewrites.

This is where most producible plays are actually made.


2. Your Show Is Too Big (For Where You Are Right Now)

Scale kills more projects than quality ever will.

A 15-person cast. Multiple locations. Complex tech. Challenging casting requirements.

That might be the right version of your piece someday—but if it requires a level of funding that doesn’t yet exist, it becomes very hard to interest a producer to sign on now.

Especially in early stages, most investors and producing organizations are looking for something they can mount efficiently. They want a clear path to a return (artistic, financial, or reputational), and they want it soon.

Long, expensive development processes – while absolutely necessary – are a much harder sell.

Which is admittedly difficult on the writers, I know.

What to do:
Ask yourself a hard question:

  • Can this piece exist in a smaller, more producible form right now?
  • Can the cast be reduced?
  • Can the world be simplified?
  • Can the storytelling carry the weight without expensive elements?

This isn’t about compromising your vision. It’s about creating an entry point for the piece to initially get on its feet.


3. Your Story Is Too Personal (And Not Yet Universal)

“Write what you know” is good advice—until it isn’t.

A story that is deeply personal can be powerful. But if it stays only personal, it often doesn’t translate.

Producers aren’t just asking, “Is this meaningful to the writer?”
They’re asking, “Will an audience see themselves in this?”

If the piece doesn’t connect to a broader human experience—love, loss, ambition, identity, belonging—it becomes harder to program, market, and ultimately produce.

What to do:
Interrogate the core of your piece:

  • What is this really about?
  • What human question is it asking?
  • Where does the audience enter the story?

You don’t need to dilute your voice. You need to frame it so the audience can find themselves inside it.

This is a big one that many writers miss.


4. There Are No “Big Names” Attached

This one is less about art and more about reality.

Recognizable names—actors, directors, producers—reduce perceived risk. They help sell tickets. They attract investors. They signal credibility.

Without them, your project has to work harder to prove itself.

That doesn’t mean you can’t get produced. It means the package matters more.

What to do:
If you don’t have big names, build strength elsewhere:

  • A clear, compelling concept
  • A strong track record of development (readings, labs, workshops), or your own stong writing record.
  • A passionate, aligned team that is on board with your show.
  • Evidence that the piece lands with audiences. (Again, this is big – proof of concept.)

Momentum can substitute for notoriety—but you have to create it intentionally.


5. You Don’t Have the Relationships (Yet)

Theater is collaborative—and relational. This is an industry driven by personal relationships.

Most opportunities don’t come from cold submissions. They come from conversations, recommendations, and ongoing professional relationships.

If producers don’t know you—or don’t know your work—it’s much harder for them to take a chance on you.

It’s much harder to get them to come to readings, or to read your submission.

What to do:
Shift from “submission mode” to “relationship-building mode.”

  • Attend readings, galas and other industry events
  • Support other artists’ work
  • Build genuine connections over time
  • Stay in touch with others in the industry. You never know where someone you know will go.

This isn’t about networking in a transactional way. It’s about becoming part of the professional theater community where work actually gets made.


The Real Shift: From “Good” to “Producible”

Here’s the throughline:

Most plays don’t get produced because they lack merit—but because they’re not yet aligned with the realities of production.

That alignment includes:

  • Craft (a fully functioning script)
  • Scale (a feasible production model)
  • Story (a clear, resonant core)
  • Package (elements that reduce risk)
  • Relationships (pathways into the field)

When those elements come together, things start to move.


Final Thought

If your play isn’t getting produced, the question isn’t:

“Is this good enough?”

It’s:

“What is this play missing to become producible?”

That’s a far more useful—and actionable—question.


CTA

If you’re ready to move your work from draft to production-ready, the next step is focused development.

My Write a Producible Play Lab on May 30th with Off-Broadway producer Patrick Blake is designed to help you:

  • Clarify your story engine
  • Strengthen structure and stakes
  • Shape a piece that lands with an audience—and a producer

→ Applications are open now.

If this opened your eyes to how producers actually evaluate your script…

Then you’ll want to be in the room for our live training:

Write a Producible Play Webinar on May 30th

 Off-Broadway Producer Patrick Blake and I will walk you through exactly how to check your work so it’s not just compelling, but something a producer can get on board with.

Stay in the loop with our upcoming workshops!

What a Producer Looks For in a Script

What a Producer Looks For in a Script

What a Producer Looks For in a Script

Most writers think producers are looking for “great writing.”
They’re not.

They’re looking for a show they can actually produce.

There’s a painful truth most playwrights don’t hear early enough:

A script can be brilliant—and still never get produced.

Why? Because producers aren’t just evaluating a story.
They’re evaluating story + structure + scalability + relationships.

Here’s what they’re actually looking for:

 

1. A Clear, Compelling Concept

If you can’t explain your show in one sentence, you don’t have a show—you have an idea.

“Six innocent people on death row.”
That’s a show.

2. A Fresh Take on a Familiar Story

There are no new stories. Only new perspectives.

The question is:
Why this version? Why now?

3. Strong Structural Spine

Beginning. Middle. End.

If your first 15 pages don’t establish:

  • the world
  • the protagonist
  • the central conflict

You’ve already lost us.

4. A Protagonist Who Wants Something

Not vaguely. Not internally. Not philosophically.

Actively. Urgently. Passionately.

No want = no action.

5. Active, Onstage Drama

If your play is primarily people sitting around talking…

…it’s just not interesting.

6. Distinct Characters

If everyone sounds the same, and looks the same…

You don’t have interesting enough characters to hold our attention.

7. Clear Theatrical Language & Devices

Flashbacks?

Immersive theater?
Stylized staging?

We don’t go to the theater to see everyday life—we go to experience a new world or story told in a new way.

Establish your storytelling devices early.

8. Musical Integrity

Songs must:

  • advance story
  • reveal character
  • keep us entertained

Otherwise, they’re just good songs. Not musical theater songs.

9. Producibility

This is where most scripts die.

Producers are thinking:

  • How large is the cast?
  • How complex is the set?
  • Can this draw an audience?

If it’s not producible, it’s not viable.

10. A Collaborative Writer

This is the hidden gem.

Producers aren’t just choosing scripts.

They’re thinking:
“Do I want to be in a long-term relationship with this person?”

What are producers really looking for in a script?

Great writing gets attention. But it’s not the only thing we look for.

Producible writing gets produced.

And the writers who understand that difference?
They’re the ones who build careers.

If this opened your eyes to how producers actually evaluate your script…

Then you’ll want to be in the room for our live training:

Write a Producible Play Webinar on May 30th

 Off-Broadway Producer Patrick Blake and I will walk you through exactly how to check your work so it’s not just compelling, but something a producer can get on board with.

Stay in the loop with our upcoming workshops!