The last couple of years I focused on my outreach and writing, with a few small self-produced projects along the way. I purposely wanted a break from the rehearsal room and it was a good one. The last year I’ve written more than the five beforehand, and in that time fell in love with the whole idea of the new play.
Howlround and the formerly-Arena Stage-now-Emerson-College newplay initiative did a lot for me. So did the myriad of new work I saw during the Hollywood Fringe Festival. Part of my own odyssey involves ongoing class with the LA Writers Center, an inspirational incubator for new works. Not to mention being part of creating genre-defining projects last year while at The Indy Convergence. And of course, finding a community among this group, the Los Angeles Female Playwright’s Initiative.
So out of the blue is this opportunity, and it happens to be a play I really dig. I thought long and hard about what it would take for me to want to direct again, and I’d say 90% of my personal requirements are met.
In between meeting the wonderful playwright and making my decision, I saw friend Brian Polak’s reading as part of EST-LA’s Winterfest. I walked into the large black box with hidden rooms that create magic. I walked across stage and took my seat, turning off my phone. As I got comfortable, saying hellos and catching up with colleagues, I breathed it all into myself. I missed the potential inherent with only a space, actors, music stands, words and people to listen to them.
So here I am, flexing my directing muscles again, bringing a new play to life.
This afternoon I hear a new draft out loud for the first time. It’s more exciting a prospect than I thought, even after I’d made the decision.
Raise a glass to new works, folks. Keep the juices flowing.
I never had a problem telling stories, even to a fault.
In Kindergarten, my favorite tall tale was that my teacher had married me to both cutie-pie Sean and red-headed Adam in one day. I remember how impressed I was with myself that my mother and aunt believed my story and only questioned the point that Ms. Jean had the power to become a priest.
In 1st grade, a dollar bill was found in the doorway between the classrooms. No one claimed it, so I saw an opportunity for more chocolate and said it was mine. Older sister Kelly was suspicious, however, and upon further examination I admitted it was just a wish. Sister Jeanne Marie hit me with her ruler and my sister labeled a tattle-tail. Although her actions brought out the truth, she still had to wear cat ears and tails for a day so the whole school knew she had tattled. (Logic was never the nuns’ strong point.)
This is me at my HS graduation party. Goth much?she had tattled on me. (Try to work that out with logic.)
I gave up a scholarship to the local Catholic HS for a fresh start a few cities away. From the very beginning there, I crafted my own history, my own mythology, carefully told and secretive so my sister, who attended the same school, would not have the ability to quash statements that I thought made me more interesting. For the most part, it worked, but a few major whoppers came back and whacked me in the ass (another story for another time).
Moving from Boston to New York for college allowed an even wider bearth for creating my past just how I liked it.Some stories I’d heard from others became my own. I tested reactions from various people and adjusted what they learned about me for maximum impact. I aimed for mysterious, irreverent, intelligent, rebellious, sexy and not someone that everyone should like.
Fast forward a few years and I move cross country from New York to Los Angeles in 2002 – a massive change for a lifetime public transport gal who had gotten her license mere days before the road trip. Moving with a (then) boyfriend means your past and present travel with you, so how did this upheaval affect my storytelling?
I saw my stories in sharp relief to my present and hopes for my future. This mostly fresh start – amplified by the eventual break-up with the boyfriend – renewed the feeling that stories are vibrant. Stories are life. Literally moving out of my comfort zones meant my career and personal path is literally up to me. I was no longer beholden to perceptions anyone had, including my own to myself.
Visiting the east coast progressively got harder for me. I fell back into the old stories, the past, the rhythms of family members who I had already outgrown. I saw family and friends’ prejudices and (mostly wasted) potentials much more clearly, then applied the same criticism to myself:
In what areas of my life did I experience growth and what nasty, sticky preconceptions still lingered?
I bought a bumper sticker back in 2004 and loved it:
Do Something For a Change
Unfortunately the car that hosted it is gone, but the phrase still sticks with me.
I began obsessing over outreach and consulting for nonprofits when I saw an incredible, invisible gap: the disconnect between nonprofits or civics leaders and the people they serve. This gap is not always a result of lack of trying, but very often due to a lack of time, objectivity, funding….choose one.
More on that gap later, but the connection between it and the bumper sticker is a simple one. While you are busy changing the world, I help you reach as many people as possible. This is what attracts me to nonprofits like The Global Theatre Project. How Bari Hochwald does what she does is not simple, but her mission can boil down to:
creative engagement and collaboration that will unite American theatre artists and students with their international counterparts positively affecting the communities where they work
I know from some time overseas – and across the country – that travel and true creative collaboration is the key to an open and receptive mind. I feel it greatly affects my ability to adjust to new situations, embrace new tools, and understand the world a little more.
When the opportunity to work with Bari on a fund-raiser for The Global Theatre Project arose, I couldn’t believe my luck. Honestly, I still can’t. I learned many lessons through past campaigns similar to this, and relish the chance to improve and aid in their fund-raising outreach efforts. Amanda Aitken wrote this great article on framing and tuning yourself to attract the right collaborators to your work. I truly feel that my work with The Global Theatre Project is exactly why I started consulting in the first place.
Did I also mention that I wouldn’t know Bari if it weren’t for LA FPI? Oh, that little detail!
I know Kappy Kilburn through the freelance directing crowd, but also love collaborating as part of the Steering Committee for the Directors Lab West. She offers interesting insight as a Literary Manager who is not a writer first. Great new perspective! Italicization mine.
CMJ: Where and when were you a Literary Manager? Can you please give an idea of the sorts of plays that immediately grab your attention, and how a submission package can accomplish that without bending the guidelines?
KK: I was the Associate Director of Artistic Development at the Pasadena Playhouse 2004-2008. I produced the new play development program Hothouse at the Playhouse and by default was the Literary Manager. What grabs my attention in a good way is a proper submission that follows the submission guidelines. I will prioritize a submission if there is something honest yet intriguing in the cover letter and brief synopsis. If in those two, you hint that this is a play my particular theater may actually produce, I will get to it faster. And by that, I mean you are not wasting my time with material that we would never thematically or structurally consider. (IE: theatre A doesn’t do musicals – don’t submit a musical; theatre b only does gay themed work – keep that in mind; theatre c wont do graphic material – don’t submit something that pushes that envelope.)
CMJ: What are some immediate turn-offs in submissions?
KK: I am legendary for throwing away a submission unread if you can’t take a minute to find out whether I am a man or female. If the submission comes to Mr. Kappy Kilburn, I won’t read it. Don’t assume anything when you submit material. And it is usually a good idea to double check who material should go to – is that person on the submission list you bought still on staff, have the submission policies changed? You can always quickly check the theatre’s website. I received two submissions at the Playhouse during DLW [Directors Lab West] this past June and I haven’t worked there in over two years. Another turn off – braggadocio or arrogance in your cover letter. I hate arrogance (which is different than confidence!) I like a writer who is being honest but somewhat humble in their cover letter. Don’t rave about your own materiel. Feel free to talk about any awards and successes but if you keep telling me how great or funny the play is, you have probably set my expectations too high and it is doomed to not be liked.
CMJ: Does it matter to you if playwrights have a website, Facebook, Twitter presence? How much do you want to know about the playwright themselves if you’re interested in their work?
KK: Website and online presence is great for finding back up material to support a submission (for example – music tracks for a musical that I can go find if I am interested). This is a much better place for bragging than in your cover letter. If I have an interest in the submission, I can go to the website to see what else they have written, who else they have worked with, what other theatres are supporting/interested their work, etc.
CMJ: Are there any red flags to submissions, obvious or subtle?
KK: Again, the name – assumptions will catch you up every time. Also, don’t assume you or your material are so great that I won’t mind you have bent my rules. They are there for a reason. I had hundreds of plays waiting to be read and not a lot of time to do it in. Any excuse you give me not to read yours I will jump on and weed it out. That includes length of submitted pages, clarity of synopsis, if I say no music or supporting materials that means don’t send me a cd or press clippings. I feel guilty about throwing away stuff you spent money on and all that paper going to waste and that makes me mad and it won’t win you any points. Remember, we often look for any excuse not to read something.
CMJ: You’ve worked on many new plays as a Director. Any advice you’d give to playwrights from the Director’s perspective?
KK: This is a huge question but I will be brief. Find a way to trust your director. If you can’t, find a way to communicate that keeps the work progressing, is non-combative and works towards the mutual goal of the best production you can get. But the best option is to trust your director (this is why it is important you have some say in who directs your shows and why so many directors get hired because the playwright went to bat for them) and communicate thoroughly. They are your mouthpiece to the rest of the production team. They will be helping communicate YOUR story to actors, designers, audiences, marketing and press staff, box office ticket sellers, etc. Make sure you have communicated YOUR story they way you want it told to that director. That is one of my favorite parts of directing new work – those conversations with the playwright where they guide me in discovering the heart of the material, we mine for gold, etc!
Kappy Kilburn recently served for four years as the Literary Manager and Associate Director of Artistic Development at Pasadena Playhouse where she created and produced their new play development program “Hothouse at the Playhouse.” Under her watch,
Hothouse launched several projects which have gone on to successful runs around the world including Sister Act the Musical (multiple Tony Nominations), Ray Charles Live! (opening on Broadway as Unchain My Heart), Looped (Broadway), Night is a Child (produced as well at Milwaukee Rep), Hollywood Arms (a tribute workshop with Carol Burnett to explore an adaptation into a musical), and Number of People (with Ed Asner.) Through Hothouse, she artistically and dramaturgically aided over 30 new plays and musicals.
Producer: Pal Joey revision workshop for Peter Schneider Productions; Stephen Sondheim’s 75th: The Concert at the Hollywood Bowl; NEA’s Shakespeare in Los Angeles kick at the Mark Taper Forum; All About Gordon Farewell Gala for Gordon Davidson. Kappy was the Special Projects Coordinator for Center Theatre Group’s Founding Artistic Director Gordon Davidson; the Company Manager for The World of Nick Adams celebrity staged reading benefiting Paul Newman’s Hole in the Wall Gang Camps at the Kodak Theatre; the Production Stage Manager for Relentless Theatre Company; Production Coordinator at George Mason University’s Institute of the Arts; and Assistant to the Managing Director at Theatrical
Outfit in Atlanta, Georgia.
Director: Servant of Two Masters (Chapman University), 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee (Cape Fear Regional Theatre), Scarcity (Need Theatre – LA Times Critics Choice), Painting Churches (Group Rep), Psycho Beach Party (Chapman University), Safe (Circus Theatricals – LA Times Critics Choice), Isn’t It Rich – A Sondheim Celebration (Pasadena Playhouse), Shh! Art!, Work and Hindsight (Hothouse at the Playhouse), ABC’s Diversity Showcase, Three Hotels (Freemont Center Theatre),The Man Who Could See Through Time (Balcony Theatre at the Pasadena Playhouse), Romancing Stereotypes (LATC), Fast and Furious at Sacred Fools, multiple AMDA Showcases, Burn This (Corner Playhouse), All My Sons for Directors Lab West. Assistant Director: Mark Taper Forum: Frank Galatti (Homebody/Kabul by Tony Kushner, also at BAM), Gordon Davidson (The Talking Cure by Christopher Hampton), Lisa Petterson (Body of Bourne by John Belluso), Diane Rodriguez (The Lalo Project); Kirk Douglas Theatre: Scott Ellis (The Little Dog Laughed); Ahmanson: Sir Peter Hall (Romeo & Juliet), Lynne Meadow (Tale of the Allergists Wife and National Tour); Kansas City Rep’s Sherlock Holmes: The Final Adventure as Associate to David Ira Goldstein. She has worked with David Esbjornson on Broadway (Bobbi Boland) and Off Broadway (My Old Lady by Israel Horovitz).
She is a Founder and Co-Producer for Directors Lab West, a spin off of Lincoln Center Theater’s Directors Lab in NY of which she is an alumna. Kappy is a graduate of the University of Missouri-Columbia, proud Kappa Kappa Gamma and Associate Member of SDC.
Excellent feedback for playwrights! I’ve been the Literary Manager of Penguin Repetory Theatre, 30 miles north of New York City, for seven years and found myself nodding in agreement on your comments. Penguin is a small theatre that looks for small cast scripts. It was overwhelming and frustrating at how many writers would send in large cast play, apparently never bothering to read the submission guidelines or look at the kinds of plays we produced. After years of wading through scripts I finally took the Artistic Director’s advice and went to Agent Submission only.
And now my follow-up questions:
CMJ: Has moving to agent submissions only improved the quality of work or simply cut through those playwrights who didn’t pay attention to your guidelines?
SS: Seven years ago when I started as Literary Manager at Penguin Rep, a 108 seat theatre north of New York City, my goal was to begin a reading series called “Play With Your Food.” I was looking to find four or five good plays that might be ready for production for the following season and test drive them before our audience. As a playwright myself, I advocated for open submissions because, damn it, how about giving us regular people a chance?
Within the six week submission window I received 758 scripts. I’d asked for full length small casts and plays that “illuminated the human spirit.” Over half of the plays sent were wildly inappropriate. A small number of submissions were quite good and several were, to my ear, simply wonderful. Imaginative, well told, surprising stories where something happens, where characters want something, strive for it, encounter obstacles and engage me.
It was because of the simply wonderful plays that I continued to have open submissions for the next five years. I thought that if I tweaked the guidelines and narrowed the chute, more of the wonderful would rain down. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Scripts continued to line my walls. Finally Joe Brancato, Penguin’s Artistic Director, said “Stop torturing yourself.”
Moving to agent submissions did eliminate receiving large boxes of completely inappropriate scripts. It also set the bar at “acceptable” in terms of spelling, listing a cast of characters and other basic formatting issues. However, every agent submission isn’t wonderful. I know that there are excellent writers who don’t have agents and I feel for them, I really do. The wall they have to scale is a high one.
CMJ: Do you ever make an exception to agent submissions?
SS: Penguin Rep has been in existence 34 years, so we have a large theatrical network. Scripts still come over the transom with personal recommendations or through personal connections. We have a preference for working with writers from New York or the surrounding area.
CMJ: What is the ratio of new plays to known plays at Penguin Rep?
SS: Penguin produces four main stage shows per season (May-October) and presents readings of five plays for the “Play With Your Food.” Although it can vary from year to year, the majority of these are new plays.
CMJ: Are there any other red flags you would like to add to Mr. Epperson’s comments?
SS: Mr. Epperson really ran the bases in his thorough and thoughtful comments. I would add one thing – also at the risk of being labeled a prude (and with due respect to Mr. Mamet.) Gratuitous vulgar language is simply that – gratuitous, and often unintentionally comic. The more vulgar language is used, the less its impact. Even in the most angry or offensive characters it’s rarely the foul language that heighten the situation, it’s the dramatic support and situation supplied by the writer and tapped into by the actor that cause the fur to fly.
Unlike Mr. Epperson, I can’t claim to have responded to every script that has been submitted. Due to sheer volume I simply wasn’t able to keep up. I have passed scripts along to other theatres where I think they might find a home. I still have a box of scripts that I’ve kept thinking – gee, maybe someday or someplace this might work. And I have become acquainted with some dedicated, talented and inspiring writers.
One last note. As someone who has received a rejection and an acceptance for the same play on the same day, I acknowledge that the world of playwriting is very subjective. Just because your play isn’t a perfect fit for Penguin doesn’t mean another theatre won’t find your work compelling and worth producing. Research theatres, read the guidelines, keep submitting. There are no guarantees. But you can certainly increase your odds.
CMJ: Many thanks for such a fast turnaround, Staci!
Full Disclosure: I do not pay submission fees. At first it was mostly because I don’t budget for it, but the more I submit to play-writing contests, the more it just doesn’t jive with me. I liken it to the nearly-only-in-LA procedure of dues-paying ensemble companies. More full disclosure: I used to work for one and was partly responsible for collecting said dues.
It makes my stomach turn.
Submission fees for playwrights isn’t as sickening to me. I understand fees are sometimes considered part of the beast. I mentioned this topic to my husband and he automatically assumed you paid for your play to be in the contest, not just considered. The wide eyes when I explained…
Many people have differing opinions, so instead of this being merely my thoughts, I want to share what I learned as I investigated across multiple social media platforms.
I detest submission fees. Producing entities unfairly pass the burden of contests and productions on to prospective writers. I believe if you want to have a contest or do a production, fundraise for it. Don’t make writers pay to play.
Brian doesn’t agree that submission fees are equivalent to dues-paying companies however, a situation I could not resolve in 140 characters or less .
I don’t pay submission fees anymore, except for prestigious places with work-shopping. Otherwise it’s obnoxious, [in my humble opinion].
The idea of a play getting work-shopped or a production seemed to matter to some people. Through Linkedin I found the following comments:
Vic Cabrera in LA: I would, and have, if I get a critique back.
Donald Drake & Evan Guilford-Blake both said yes because the returns can be beneficial. Evan: Last year I paid about $900 and won $3600.
Donald has also gotten more prize money with contests that charge, and sees another benefit: One of my best experiences in the theater came from a competition I paid to enter – the O’Neill, which provided me with a wonderful month in Waterford, Ct. with incredible actors and directors and a wonderful staged reading of my play. I can understand why small theaters can’t afford to pay for running a competition and I see the submission fee as a business expense on my part.
Ian Hornby‘s perspective was especially interesting: Having run a playwriting competition on behalf of The Playwrights’ Co-operative, there are two edges to this topic. We started with a small entry fee ($10), purely to fund a decent prize at the end. But we had so many sites that would not list us because we had an entry fee that we dropped the fee and made it free entry. What a mistake we made. Although it’s not the right kind of filter and has so many undertones of not providing equal opportunities for those unable to afford the fee, at least it was a filter. We were completely snowed under with entries, and our panel of judges didn’t have time to do anything more than speed-read all entries so as to arrive at a shortlist, which could then be read in detail. Without doubt we’d have missed some gems.
Regardless, he does applaud contests without a fee.
Tony Earnshaw from the UK has an interesting perspective: …in the poetry world it’s difficult to find any contests which don’t have a fee attached and I’ve heard no grumbles. I’ve recently entered a short play for a competition run by a small theatre and am one of the winners (there are ten of us). The read through, at which I met the other writers, the directors and the casts, was worth it in itself.
Anyway, 5 on Linkedin from all over the world say YES, 9 say NO and 1/3 of the NO’s will make exceptions in rare cases.
Gregory Fletcher believes: If a theater company wants to attach their name to my play as the premiere producer, then figure out how to evaluate my play without charging me. Do painters, musicians, dancers, actors, or anybody else in the arts pay to have their work considered for production?
The answer to that, of course, is yes, in some cases.
I then took to Facebook. The results are as follows:
Prefer not to, but will if the contest interests me enough: 17 votes
I don’t mind at all; I just want my work produced: 0 votes
Here is the thing. (We’re back to my opinion now.) Regarding my more recent experiences:
Last summer, I self-produced a Fringe show I wrote with under $500 budget. I felt shame every single time we cut corners, every time I saw how very hard these wonderful actors and director worked for nothing more than a hug and immense gratitude. We had an incredibly supportive and hard-working awareness team as well, who donated their time for some experience and the cause of the piece.
There was a chance to remount and I had to turn it down for many reasons. I knew the team was happy and willing, but I just couldn’t look these artists in the eye and ask them to work for free again. I also have had some fights in my day with supervisors on Equity rules for actors and the worth of one designer versus others.
What’s changed? I often work freelance and negotiate my contracts. On a weekly basis I tell someone my worth and stick by it. When I began working for myself, I undercut my rate. That changed pretty quickly.
I also see way too many people pay upwards of $30/month to join an ensemble company; sometimes I’ve heard of $85/month. Actors may have their reasons – and I fully admit I have it easier as someone who can create my own work – but honestly, I’m fed up.
If you don’t have the money or means to produce a show, you shouldn’t do it. I have done it myself and will not do it again. Personally, it demeans everything in the work that has value, be it the writing, directing, performances, dramaturgy, design, right up to the viewing audience who pays money (in most cases) so that the artists involved may at least get nice thank you gifts.
This is a personal decision after years of self-producing and co-producing. As an extension, I refuse to pay a submission fee. If your readers (and Lord knows, I’ve donated my own time to reading plays) need money, raise the money. If you can’t produce without artists paying into the production in order to be considered, don’t produce.
Some excellent and imaginative pieces don’t “need” money. Artists involved should still be paid.
Yes, it’s hard. So is writing and acting and directing and designing….
Find the people who will donate to your work. They are out there. They are hard to find. They are hard to woo.
Art ain’t easy.
I do not mean any of this as a judgement on those who choose to pay fees and who choose to join ensemble companies, nor do I want to demean the artists who have worked for free on my work over the years. They hopefully got enough in return out of the investment.
They deserve better.
I also know for a fact there are plenty of playwrights out there who will happily pay fees for their own reason. No theater company is crying right now that they won’t get the chance to consider my plays for their competition.
Every even mild success I have from last June onward rests squarely on the backs and pocketbooks of the actors who braved traffic in LA, subways in NY, missed opportunities elsewhere or felt guilty for skipping rehearsal to audition for a commercial (they shouldn’t).
I don’t feel the need to go further into production teams’ sacrifices; just know I married a designer and learned everything about negotiating a contract from friend Cricket S. Myers. By the way, she was nominated for a Tony last year and will walk away from a job rather than accept a mediocre situation.
Often times, she is my hero.
Some may think these arguments are separate. I do not. Every time we de-value our work, an arts education program dies. After all, what value is there in it? Arts advocates are saints. Not all producers or self-producers are money-grubbing and selfish either. Many produce for the sheer joy of art, some for profit, numerous others simply because they’re good at it and theatre needs producers. It’s unfortunate that the most meager of producing codes must dictate paying actors gas money.
Ever wanted to know what Literary Managers’ pet peeves are? Steven Epperson took up our interview request. It’s lengthy and very helpful. Please comment on any of the below. He may be open to more. All italicizing is mine for ease in reading. – CMJ
Impact Theatre buttons
SE: First off, I’d like to thank you for taking the time to ask these questions. I’ve been the Literary Manager for Impact Theatre for over 5 years, and Literary Manager for The Asylum Theatre for over 7 years, and in my time reading scripts I’ve always wanted to have an opportunity to express to playwrights how they can better submit their work. This is a great idea, and I look forward to reading your blog post.
CMJ: Are there any red flags to submissions, obvious or subtle?
SE: Yes. Misspellings/wrong word usage in the cover letter and/or synopsis. I’ve never seen a
play that was any good when those problems happen. Rambling cover letter/synopsis. Keep cover letters to one paragraph, keep synopsis to one page. Max. Less is more. No cast list = a not very good play. Every single time. Resubmitting a script that I’ve sent a rejection letter on, and sending that resubmission to the Artistic Director directly. Anything she gets, goes straight to me, and I keep records of what I’ve read and what I have/haven’t rejected. Don’t try to get around or go over the head of the person who rejected your play. Submitting a script after a playwright has received a rejection letter from me, and demonstrating attitude or anger in the cover letter for their new submission. There are two acceptable responses to a rejection notice: 1) “Thank you for considering my play.” 2) Nothing. I know that it stinks to get rejected. Be professional. Being difficult might feel good the moment a playwright hits that ‘Send’ button, but it will not do anybody any good at all in the long term.
Jonathan Brooks, Maria Giere Marquis, and Jai Sahai in the regional premiere of Cameron McNary's Of Dice and Men at Impact Theatre Credit: Cheshire Isaacs
CMJ: Please give an idea of the sorts of plays that immediately grab your attention, and how a submission package can accomplish that without bending the guidelines?
SE: I’m chuckling as I write my answer to your first question, because, for me, this is the
most difficult question to answer. Impact Theatre produces a huge variety of work: comedies, dramas, adaptations of classics, to name a few. We’ve never done a musical, but we’re not opposed to doing one either. (Over the past several years I’ve started reading several musicals and thought, “This might be the first Impact musical!” Then, I get to the end and I think, “Um. No.” …. the core writing elements (story, dialogue, character development) simply weren’t up to par. In a musical, of course there need to be good songs. However, no matter how good the songs are, if the core elements of the writing aren’t there, the script just doesn’t work theatrically. Again, neither I nor either of the theatre companies that I work with would be absolutely opposed to producing a musical. However, one has not yet been submitted to us that, in my opinion, would work.)
What grabs more attention, always, is quality writing. An interesting story with well crafted characters and compelling dialogue. I realize that sounds like a cheap answer, but that is the primary thing that I look for. I don’t look for specific genres, I don’t look for comedies over dramas or vice-versa. While we try to schedule variety, Impact wouldn’t be opposed to doing a season composed entirely of comedies or dramas. Impact Theatre produces four plays a year, one of which is an adaptation of a ‘classic’ that is adapted and directed by our Artistic Director,Melissa Hillman. So, we have three production slots open each season. What do I want to go into those three slots? The three best damn scripts we have that are available to us.
Impact Theatre only produces full-length works. It’s just too difficult to find individual one-acts that can be paired together to present a cohesive night of theatre. IF a playwright wanted to submit two one-acts that they felt would work together in a single evening, I’m more than happy to take a look. However, otherwise one-acts almost always get a pass from me. IF I like the writing well enough, in the rejection letter that I send out, (and every play that I don’t pass on does get a rejection letter), I will make a point to ask if the playwright has any full-length material that they wish to submit.
Here’s the submission package that makes me happiest: an e-mail (Impact Theatre ONLY accepts submissions that are e-mailed.) that includes: the script (you would be surprised how many playwrights forget to attach their play) in a format that my computer can work with (Microsoft Word of PDF ONLY. I’ve been receiving a lot of submissions in Word Perfect, and my computer just doesn’t know what to do with those.), a cover letter, and, if the playwright wishes to include one, a resume. For Impact Theatre submissions, that’s pretty much all one needs. One thing that I would strongly advise is that playwrights should NOT adopt a One-Size-Fits-All philosophy. Find out from each theatre company they submit to what THAT theatre company wants in their submission packages. Some of the things that I don’t care whether they’re included or not: resumes, reviews, letters of recommendation, etc., might mean an automatic rejection from other
If you don’t mind, I’ll break down each of the elements that I mentioned above. As I said, e-mail the script in a format that most computers can work with, i. e. Microsoft Word or PDF. (PDF works on pretty much every computer, so it’s a good default choice.) Submit the ENTIRE script, unless otherwise specified to only send the first 10 pages or to only submit a dialogue sample. When I say that playwrights should include a ‘cover letter’, what I really want is for them to include a ‘cover note’. That means: keep it short. I’d say one paragraph (short paragraph) max. If a playwright thinks that they need more than one paragraph in their cover letter, they really don’t. Introduce themselves, tell me the title and any recent productions of the play. A brief (BRIEF) synopsis is fine, but, keep it brief. Playwrights should keep in mind that I’m more interested in reading their play, than I am in reading their cover letters.
CMJ: What are some immediate turn-offs in submissions? SE: I once sat down and wrote a diatribe (it had been a long week) about the different things that playwrights do that can, and do, turn me off to their work. I won’t bore you with the whole thing, but here are the high (low) lights:
Misspelling my name in the cover letter. This happened this past week. Now, some people will say, “Why does that matter?” It matters because if a playwright can’t be bothered to spell my name right, that demonstrates a lack of interest, and a lack of attention to detail. It may also be the sign of an attitude that Impact Theatre isn’t interested in dealing with. To be blunt, it’s the best way to make a bad first impression.
Misspellings, bad grammar, wrong word usage: yes, playwrights are writing speech, and the way people, especially Americans, speak does not always follow the rules of writing. (Cause instead of because, for example.) I understand that, and I’m not trying to be the grammar/spelling police. However, having sloppy writing mechanics is unprofessional, and I’ve never, ever, read a script where the playwright had bad writing mechanics where the story and the characters themselves were well crafted. I’m not talking about the occasional typo. I’m talking about consistent, repeated errors that a professional writer should know to not do. Bottom line, it just looks bad, and I’m going to pass on a play that looks bad.
Non-standard fonts or formatting: make your writing as easy to read as possible. If I have to struggle in any way with your play, including the style in which it is presented/ written, I’m going to pass. In addition, when you e-mail a script, don’t send each scene as a separate document. Don’t have the title page and/or the cast list as a separate document. In other words: send your script as a SINGLE attachment, please. This may sound trivial, but having to constantly stop and open a new document interferes with the flow of the story, and can be aggravating.
Submissions that don’t follow stated guidelines: Read the guidelines for submissions and follow them. One of the theatre companies that I work with periodically produces a 10-minute comedy play series. When we put out a request for submissions for this 10-minute comedy play series, the avalanche of stuff that we get that is neither 10-minute nor comedy is extremely exasperating. I’ve actually seen submissions of 50 page scripts. No matter who you are, guidelines apply to you, they apply to me, they apply to anybody submitting material for anything for which guidelines are out there.
Not including a cast list, unless it’s a one-person show: I see this all the time, and I cannot understand why playwrights would not include a cast list with their scripts. As a Literary Manager, I want to focus on the story, and not have to waste time trying to figure who all these random characters are who keep on wandering in and out of the scenes.
Unnecessary/gratuitous nudity: I’m not a prude. I have no problem with nudity. (Some of my best friends have been naked.) If there’s a reason for people to be naked in your play, that’s cool. HOWEVER, if the naked person doesn’t have anything to do with the story, don’t do it. IF it is necessary to the story, and there’s a way to stage it legally, that’s one thing. Gratuitous is entirely another, and we’re not interested.
An overabundance of stage directions: If pressed, I’d say that this is my #1 most frustrating thing. Having line after line after line after line of stage directions interrupts the flow and rhythm that I’m trying to discern from a playwright’s writing. Trying to get into a playwright’s story, trying to find out if the playwright is creating characters with individual voices, trying to see if there is something about the writing that would be compelling on a stage all get ground to a halt when I have to constantly stop reading the dialogue and read stage directions. I think that for some people, getting the action as they see it in their mind onto the paper or the computer screen is important because those writers need to have it written out in order for them to keep what’s going on organized. I understand that, and that’s fine. For writers who need that, I would strongly suggest removing those stage directions before sending their scripts out. Having massive amounts of stage directions in one’s script does nothing to help me decipher the quality of the story that the playwright is trying to tell. If no other information gets out from this blog post, I hope this does: have as few stage directions as is possible.
Impossible or difficult to manage set designs: Most small theatre companies have neither the budget, nor the space, nor the ability to reconstruct Notre Dame Cathedral.
Most small theatre companies would struggle to reconstruct your living room. Also, recently I’ve seen a number of script in which the author wants a real automobile of whatever make/model/sort onstage. Again, most small theatre companies could not get a car into their building, much less onto their performing area. I think that the biggest failing I see from a number of playwrights is that their writing makes it appear that they don’t understand other aspects of theatre, especially when it comes to sets, props and sometimes costumes.
Writing plays set in places you’ve never been to: This is less of a problem now, but a couple of years ago its seemed like everybody and their grandmother were writing plays set in a hotel or motel or trailer park in the Mojave/Arizona/New Mexico/Texas/Mexican/California/Nevada desert. I don’t know how this happened, and I don’t know why this happened. When one is not familiar with the environment they’re writing about, it shows. That being said, ENOUGH with plays being set in New York City. Feel free to set your play in the other 99% of the country.
CMJ: Does it matter to you if playwrights have a website, Facebook, Twitter presence? How much do you want to know about the playwright themselves if you’re interested in their work?
SE: Honestly, for me, it doesn’t really matter at all. If Impact Theatre decides to produce a play, then, yes, we want to know everything we can about the playwright that we’re going to be working with. Until we’re at the point where we’re ready to begin that process, and I’m being completely honest here, it just doesn’t matter all that much to us.
Along those lines, it used to bother me when playwrights didn’t have their resumes in an easily readable format. It used to, until one day I realized that a playwright’s resume wasn’t going to be the deciding factor as to whether or not Impact Theatre produced their play, or whether or not I passed their play on up the ladder. Once I realized that, I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at playwright’s resumes. If a resume is included in a submission I’ll still LOOK at it, but it’s really more of a glance than anything else: “Let’s see, any names or places that I recognize? Yes? No? All right, time to read this play.”
CMJ: What is the process for choosing a season at your theaters, and is there any way that playwrights can aid you in that process?
SE: The process for choosing a season at Impact Theatre is as follows: every script that is submitted, whether sent directly to me by the playwright or not, goes to me. I read every script that comes in. My job is NOT to say, “Yes.”. My job is to say, “No.”, and I say, “No.”, a lot. If I don’t say, “No.” to a script, that script is passed on to Melissa Hillman, the Artistic Director for Impact Theatre. She reviews the scripts I send her, and she will either say, “No.”, or she will put the script to the side for consideration by the entire company. Once or twice a year, more if necessary, the company will gather to read plays out loud and discuss them. The group as a whole decides what plays are being produced each season, with the exception of the one classic that we do each year. The classics are the purview of Melissa, and she selects those herself.
In terms of the selection process described above, there’s not anything playwrights can do to influence that in and of itself. What playwrights CAN do is: be patient. Be patient because the one area where I’m lacking is in figuring out a way to communicate with playwrights when their play gets moved up the ladder instead of being rejected. I’ve tried multiple times, but I have a hard time composing a letter that says, “We like your play, but we’re NOT promising to produce it, and we might not, but we might, so . . . thanks!”, in 1-2 paragraphs. Part of the problem may be that I’m overthinking it, and that’s my issue. Anyway, be patient. If a playwright doesn’t hear back from Impact Theatre regarding their play, it’s a case of no news is not necessarily bad news.
CMJ: Steven added this after I asked a follow-up question:
SE: If you don’t mind, one thing that I forgot to mention was the environments that theatre companies produce in. I think the space(s) that theatre companies stage their productions in is not often considered by playwrights when they are writing scripts. The majority of plays that I see are written for proscenium style theatres, while most small theatre companies (I don’t have statistics at hand to verify this, but Melissa Hillman, the Artistic Director for Impact has talked about this a number of times, and I take her at her word.), produce plays in some variation of ‘black box’ spaces. For example, Impact Theatre currently stages our shows in the basement of a pizza parlor. With an 8′ high ceiling. This means that no matter how hard we tried it would simply be impossible to stage a play in which having a two or more level set was required. (Unless we cast the show entirely with Ewoks, and that would bring up a whole other set of issues.) Impact has passed on at least three scripts that we really, REALLY wanted to produce, but couldn’t due to the particular restrictions of our theatre. Now, I am NOT expecting all playwrights to have, or request, floor plans or scale drawings of the the theatres they’re going to submit plays to before they begin writing. What I am suggesting is that playwrights be more open to creating plays that can be staged in ways that are more flexible than only in a proscenium theatre. Doing so give both sides what they want: it gives theatre companies more plays to select from, and it gives playwrights more potential venues in which to have their plays produced.
CMJ: Many thanks to Steven for his time, and please do comment with questions below. I’m working on some other Literary Managers and hope to give all playwrights a larger perspective on the people reading and accepting/rejecting their work.
As someone who tends to write about issues and topics based in real, momentous events, I couldn’t say no when asked to judge a 9/11 Playwriting Contest. They’d originally asked Simon Levy of the Fountain Theatre, so I had pretty big shoes to fill! I was really curious as to how writers would take up the challenge of 9/11 in ten minutes.
The second judge and I were instructed to listen to the play, and not judge based on either performance or level of readiness. In that manner, the evening was exactly as I expected: uneven in terms of who was off-book, staged, etc., but amazing as to the power of the scripts, diversity of topics, and some really meaningful and excellent performances.
A few things that occurred to me while judging this contest:
Sometimes just two people connecting on a bench is more meaningful than a gun.
Monologues are not very interesting when the title tells me everything you’re going to say.
Watching a play knowing you have to rate it 1-10 is not as pleasurable, but does call for more attention to detail.
Distinguishing between your preference of play and the better-written of plays = two very different things.
Long-term affects of disasters like 9/11 cause writers and artists to explore empathy.
The above is especially true regarding soldiers. I was incredibly impressed with the variety of soldier characters.
Repetition is not very interesting in a ten-minute time-frame. Better to be short than repeat yourself.
An element of surprise is especially vital in ten minutes.
Coupled with the last point, don’t tell me what your play is about in the first ten minutes.
Honestly, I could go on and on. The important part is that I think writers should try to judge playwriting contests, or be part of the readers’ teams, as much as possible. Putting yourself into the shoes of someone who has some element of power over your career illuminates some very key and important ways to improve your writing.
Share your experiences being involved in ten-minute or any playwriting contests below.
I deleted about four posts before I finished them. Not just because they weren’t decent, but because my heart wasn’t in them. They were about old projects; right now even a story less than a month old seems too old to me. That may be a result of the theatre gorging I did last month.
I want to write new ideas, I want to flesh out the ideas gathering literal cobwebs in my files. So as much as my love and dedication to current projects has not faltered, I must look forward.
I have this idea:
for a collaborative project that can be multi-platform and change perception.
for writing fantasy and sharing a world with other writers without fearing work will be stolen.
to change people’s ideas about Planned Parenthood through theatre.
a storytelling thread that I tried out on the Hollywood Fringe Festival Cabaret Stage and would like to try again.
I’ve always written things. Since I was small, writing and telling stories was just part of my life. I followed an acting dream to NYU and within a month switched to directing and design.
Writing always followed me but I never focused on it. I don’t know why.
Whenever I work on a piece, I start by tearing it down and building from the ground up, discovering the structure as I go. As a director, I always chose plays that required more imagination than simply a kitchen sink. Whenever I went the kitchen sink route, I utterly failed. It’s just not my niche.
Writing is the clear solution. So why not the focus? Recently I defined the underlying reason : The Ursula Effect. Getting past the monster inside me who says people won’t like my voice, who says I will hear that one word to kill all drive:
bad
I can’t believe I even included it in this blog. That’s the equivalent to screaming “MacBeth” as a community theater is about to open a production of Sweeney Todd.
How do you stomp on this monster and move onto writing? I essentially wrestle with her until I punch her out.
the world, I help you reach as many people as possible. This is what attracts me to nonprofits like 
playwrights who didn’t pay attention to your guidelines?
acknowledge that the world of playwriting is very subjective. Just because your play isn’t a perfect fit for Penguin doesn’t mean another theatre won’t find your work compelling and worth producing. Research theatres, read the guidelines, keep submitting. There are no guarantees. But you can certainly increase your odds.
