The play exists. There are real characters running around in scenes that now have shapes, timing, results. The story is alive, even though huge chunks of it will change. A character could become the reverse of itself psychologically.
Yes, this is the stage after the first draft of a new story has been created, and given to two or three trusted colleagues, and notes received. Now it feels like the piece is in pieces on the floor in front of me.
In fact it feels so vulnerable – this fresh work that will go so many different ways before it lands on stage – that I am not sure how to approach it.
Sometimes I write in a narrative voice to myself when I’m writing a new play: “do I want Liana to be a shrink, or should I change her into a dancer?’ “Am I saying that Michael is the Love of Her Life, and should I immerse myself in those feelings before I write that into the character’s behavior?”
Or is this a play of ideas? And if it is, how do I make the story so compelling, that an audience will enjoy it because the plot just forces you to be riveted? And if that’s where I want to go, am I capable of it?
NEXT LEVEL OF QUESTIONS:
Why do I do this? I could do other writing that doesn’t force me to dig inside myself: to think so hard, to face feelings I generally try to avoid, and then to make sense of these things because they are my theme – because the play has to be about something.
I make theatre because I have stories in my soul that have to come out of me in story form or I will feel restless, uncomfortable, not fully in my life. That probably means I am lucky to be able to write.