The Next Step After a Successful Workshop

The Next Step After a Successful Workshop

One of the most common mistakes I see in new-work development is the assumption that there is a correct sequence.

First a reading. Then a workshop. Then a showcase. Then, if all goes well, a production.

But that isn’t really how development works.

A successful developmental step does not automatically tell you what comes next. It gives you better information about the work.

And then someone has to decide what to do with that information.

That, increasingly, is how I think about the work of the creative producer.

The question is not simply, “Was this successful?”

The more useful question is:

“What does this particular project need next?”

 

Sometimes a production sends you back into development

This week at CreateTheater, we returned to JACQUES AND JILL, a new musical by Jarlath Jacobs.

That project has actually been on a stage before. We produced an earlier version of the musical at Theatre Row as part of our 2022 New Works Festival.

It would be easy to look at that history and assume the next step should simply be another, larger production.

Instead, Jarlath went back to the work.

Now living in Como, Italy, she has been substantially rethinking the story and developing what has become JACQUES AND JILL. We are hearing the new version again in our Monday Night Reading Series, act by act.

That is not going backward.

It is development doing exactly what it is supposed to do.

Sometimes putting a piece in front of an audience reveals that the fundamental idea is worth pursuing—but that there is another, stronger version of the story still waiting to be discovered.

A prior production does not mean the work can never return to the development room.

Sometimes that is precisely where it belongs.

 

Sometimes a successful workshop reveals the next rewrite

We had a very different experience recently with LITTLE THINGS, the new musical by David H. Smith.

After developing the musical through CreateTheater—and previously presenting both an industry reading and a cabaret version of the work—we brought it to Philadelphia for a workshop production.

The performance sold out.

The audience response was wonderful.

It was a real success.

And there will still be rewrites.

One of the clearest things we learned from seeing the full musical on its feet is that the overall running time needs to come down.

That is exactly the kind of information a workshop is supposed to give you.

A workshop allows you to experience the show in time and space. You begin to feel pacing differently. Transitions that seemed perfectly reasonable on the page suddenly have weight. Songs, scenes and storytelling beats begin competing for the audience’s attention in ways that are almost impossible to judge from a table reading alone.

The success of LITTLE THINGS did not eliminate the need for development.

It made the next developmental task clearer.

And that is a success too.

 

And sometimes you don’t need the workshop at all

Then there is The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue.

Its path has been completely different.

We did not move the play through a workshop production or a showcase.

There was a succession of readings and extensive script development. But because of the strength and timeliness of the story, the decision was made to move the play directly toward an Off-Broadway production.

That did not mean the script stopped developing.

Last week, the writer, the director and I spent more than six hours together in person working through the play.

We read it aloud.

We stopped.

We questioned moments.

We adjusted language.

We worked through transitions, beats, intentions and the internal logic of scenes moment by moment.

It was extraordinarily detailed work.

And yet it was happening on a play already heading into production.

Why?

Because the developmental process is not determined by which boxes you have checked.

It is determined by what the work still needs.

 

Every show needs something different

That is why I resist prescriptive development pipelines.

A reading can be invaluable when you need to hear structure, language or character relationships.

A workshop becomes essential when you need to understand physical storytelling, pacing, staging, musical integration or audience response.

A showcase can be useful when the work is sufficiently developed and you need other people to experience its theatrical potential.

And sometimes a project is ready to move toward production without passing through every one of those stages.

The producer’s job is not to march every project through the same sequence.

The producer’s job is to diagnose the work.

What questions are still unanswered?

What can we learn in the room we are in now?

What kind of room would help us answer the next question?

And perhaps most importantly:

Are we still asking fundamental story questions—or are the remaining questions becoming production questions?

That distinction matters.

If we are still struggling with what the protagonist wants, why Act Two exists, whose story we are telling, or what the piece ultimately means, then the work probably needs more development.

If the questions are increasingly about performance, design, rhythm, staging and audience experience, the project may be approaching a different threshold.

It may be ready to become a production.

There is no universal roadmap.

JACQUES AND JILL needed to return to the story.

LITTLE THINGS needed to meet an audience so we could discover what to tighten.

THE BLUE VIOLINIST OVER WEST END AVENUE needed intensive, detailed script work inside a production process.

Three projects.

Three different paths.

That is what new-work development actually looks like.

The goal is not to keep pushing a project forward simply because “forward” sounds like progress.

The goal is to put the work in the right room at the right time—and to know what you need to discover.

 

What does your project need next?

Before you schedule another reading, submit for another festival, or start thinking about production, ask yourself one question:

What is the most important thing I still need to learn about this piece?

Your answer will tell you what the next room should be

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Not Every Script is Ready for a Showcase

Not Every Script is Ready for a Showcase

 

There is a moment in the development of a new play or musical when the writer begins to ask a very understandable question:

When can I get this in front of industry?

Maybe the script has had a few readings. Maybe it has been through a writing group. Maybe the writer has spent months—or years—rewriting it. At some point, the natural impulse is to move outward: invite producers, artistic directors, literary managers, directors, investors.

In other words: showcase it.

But here is something I have become increasingly clear about as a producer:

Not every script is ready for a showcase.

And that is not a judgment on the quality of the writer or even the potential of the work.

It is a question of timing.

 

A Showcase Creates Expectations

The word showcase can sound deceptively casual.

We sometimes treat it as simply another developmental step: first a reading, then a workshop, then a showcase.

But a showcase is different because the purpose of the room changes.

A developmental reading asks:

What does the piece need?

A showcase begins asking:

What could happen to this piece next?

That distinction matters.

Once you invite industry professionals into the room, you are asking them to begin imagining the work beyond development.

Could this fit our season?

Would I produce this?

Would I direct this?

Could I introduce this writer to someone?

Is there an audience for this?

What would it cost?

That means the work is being evaluated differently.

And you want the script to be strong enough to benefit from that attention.

 

More Exposure Is Not Always Better

Writers are understandably encouraged to get their work seen.

And yes—new work needs advocates.

But there is a difference between getting the work seen and getting the work seen at the right moment.

Premature exposure can work against you.

If an artistic director sees a script before its central dramatic problem has been solved, they may simply conclude that the script does not work.

They may never know that six months later the writer completely restructured Act Two.

If a producer watches a musical before the score, book, and dramatic architecture are working together, they may remember the weaknesses rather than the potential.

You rarely get to control when someone will encounter your work again.

That is why I do not believe showcases should be consolation prizes, graduation ceremonies, or automatic benefits of belonging to a development program.

They are strategic opportunities.

And strategy requires asking whether the work is actually ready.

 

So What Does “Ready” Mean?

It does not mean perfect.

There is no such thing as a finished new play or musical that will never change again.

Even productions continue teaching us about the work.

But before I would want to put a piece into an industry-facing showcase, I would want to see several things happening.

The dramatic engine of the piece should be clear.

The audience should understand whose story they are following, what that person wants, and what stands in the way.

The structure should basically hold.

There may still be cuts, rewrites, new songs, scene changes, and discoveries ahead. But the piece should no longer be searching for its fundamental architecture.

The major emotional turns should land.

The writer should have already heard the work aloud—preferably more than once—and made discoveries from actors and audiences.

And perhaps most importantly:

We should know why we are doing the showcase.

“Because I want industry people to see it” is not quite enough.

  • Which industry people?
  • And what do you want them to do next?
  • Are you looking for a producing partner?
  • A regional theater?
  • A commercial producer?
  • A director?
  • A developmental residency?
  • Investors?
  • An artistic home?

The clearer the next objective is, the more useful the showcase becomes.

 

Sometimes the Best Next Step Is More Development

This is the part writers sometimes find frustrating.

They have worked hard. They are eager to move forward.

And then the producer says:

I think we need another reading.

Or another rewrite.

Or a workshop.

That can feel like standing still – and possibly make you angry.

But development is not standing still when it is answering a specific question.

A table reading might reveal whether the storytelling is clear.

A music rehearsal might expose a structural problem in a musical.

A staged workshop can tell us whether transitions, pacing, physical storytelling, and theatrical moments are functioning.

Each form of development gives us different information.

The goal is not to accumulate development credits.

The goal is to solve the problems that stand between the work and its next opportunity.

 

This Is How I’m Thinking About CreateTheater’s 2027 Showcases

We are beginning to look toward CreateTheater’s 2027 Showcase productions (as well as our 2027 New Works Reading Festival).

But regarding the showcases, my question is not simply:

Which writers deserve an opportunity?

There are many writers I believe in.

My question is:

Which projects are ready for this particular opportunity?

Those are not the same thing.

One project may be ready for a showcase.

Another may need six more months of focused development.

Another may need a table reading before anyone makes that decision.

Another may actually be ready to move beyond a showcase toward production conversations.

That is the kind of pipeline that CreateTheater has built.

Not a conveyor belt where every project automatically advances to the same next step.

A developmental process in which the opportunity matches the readiness of the work.

Because the goal is not simply to present a script.

The goal is to help that script move forward.

 

The Better Question

So if you are developing a new play or musical, I would encourage you to replace:

“How do I get a showcase?”

with:

“What does my work need next?”

Sometimes the answer will be a showcase.

Sometimes it will be another reading.

Sometimes it will be a workshop.

Sometimes it will be a serious rewrite.

None of those answers mean you are behind.

They mean you are developing the work strategically.

And when the right opportunity finally arrives, you want the piece to be ready to take advantage of it.

Because in new work development, the opportunity must match the readiness of the work.

(NOTE: Image is from the first day of rehearsal for the next musical LITTLE THINGS by David H. Smith at the Philadelphia Theater Company.)


Want to follow how CreateTheater develops new plays and musicals toward readings, workshops, showcases, and production? Join the CreateTheater newsletter and come inside the development room.

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

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

The World & the Want: Why Many Musicals Fail in the First 15 Minutes

The World & the Want: Why Many Musicals Fail in the First 15 Minutes

The World & The Want: Why Many Musicals Fail in the First 15 Minutes

Many musicals don’t fail in Act Two.

They fail in the first 10–15 minutes.

Not because the writers aren’t talented—
but because the foundation isn’t clear.

If your audience doesn’t understand the world of your show and what your protagonist wants, they have nothing to hold onto.

And if they don’t have that?
They’re gone—whether they realize it or not.

Start Here: The Stasis of Your Musical

At the beginning of Act One, you are establishing what’s called the stasis—the “normal world” before everything changes.

This is where you introduce:

  • Your main character (the one with the WANT)
  • The dramatic premise (what the story is about)
  • The dramatic situation (the circumstances we’re stepping into)
  • And the inciting incident (what’s about to disrupt everything)

This is not setup for the sake of setup.

This is where you teach the audience how to watch your show.

The Opening Number Is a Contract

Your opening number is doing far more work than most writers realize.

It must:

  • Invite the audience into the world
  • Establish tone, style, and storytelling language
  • Introduce key characters
  • Signal what kind of experience this will be

In other words:

It’s a promise.

And your show has to deliver on that promise for the next two hours.

As Stephen Sondheim said (building on what he learned from Oscar Hammerstein II):
“The Opening Number must tell the audience everything they need to know.”

If your opening number is unclear, unfocused, or tonally confused—
your audience will spend the rest of the show trying to catch up.

The Inciting Incident: Breaking the World

Once the world is established, something must break it.

This is your inciting incident—the event that sets the story in motion.

And here’s where writers often go wrong:

The inciting incident should not be passive or internal.
It works best when it is thrust upon the protagonist from the outside.

Why?

Because it forces action.

It disrupts the stasis and launches the story into motion.

 

The Point of No Return

After the inciting incident, your protagonist reaches a critical moment: The Point of No Return.

This is where they (your protagonist) must make a choice.

Not something that happens to them—
but something they actively decide.

From this point on, there is no going back.

This is where your story truly begins.

 

The I WANT Song: The Engine of Your Musical

If there is one moment you cannot afford to get wrong, it’s this:

The I Want Song.

This is where:

  • We understand who the protagonist is
  • We understand what they want
  • And we decide whether we care

This “want” becomes the super objective—the driving force of the entire show.

As Stephen Schwartz puts it:

“Pretty much any successful musical you can name has an I Want Song within the first 15 minutes… the lack of such a moment is a weakness.”

The I Want Song:

  • Clarifies the goal
  • Points the way forward
  • Invites the audience to invest emotionally

If we don’t understand the want—
we can’t root for the journey.

Not All Songs Do the Same Job

In this early section of your musical, you’re balancing three types of songs:

  • “I Am” songs – who the character is
  • “I Feel” songs – emotional processing
  • “I Want” songs – forward-driving desire

The key is this:

Every song must move the action forward.

If it doesn’t—cut it.

Because musical theater is not about expression alone.
It’s about moment to moment action onstage.

 

This Is Where Most Writers Get Lost

Writers often:

  • Blur the world instead of defining it
  • Delay the inciting incident
  • Avoid committing to a clear WANT
  • Or overload the opening with exposition that doesn’t move

The result?

A musical that feels slow, unclear, or unfocused—
even if the writing itself is strong.

 

Most Writers Think They Have This. They Don’t.

Here’s what I see over and over again:

  • An opening number that doesn’t actually define the world
  • An inciting incident that comes too late—or isn’t clear
  • An “I Want” song that’s vague or generic
  • A protagonist we don’t fully understand or root for

On paper, it all looks right.

In performance, it falls flat.

Because this work isn’t about knowing the terms.
It’s about executing them.

_______________________________________________

Ready for the Next Step?

Once your world is clear and your protagonist’s want is established—

you’re ready for the real work:

Building Act One so it actually drives forward.

Because setting it up is one thing.

Sustaining momentum is another.

If You Want to Make Your Act One Work…

Our NYC Musical Development Workshop 1: Developing the World & the Want is April 26th at 12 noon ET.
We take what you’ve written —and make sure it functions onstage.

Want to present your work on Sunday April 26th?

Stay in the loop with our upcoming workshops!