 Photo Credit Michael K. Potter JOEY OUELLETTE (Donny Dubrow) has participated in more than 500 different productions as an actor, director and playwright -- most recently Spirals and Best For You with The Purple Theatre Company, Big Green Sky and Riveter with Windsor Feminist Theatre, Yellow Vines and The Man Who Married A Chicken with Paperknife Theatre and Post Production’s Equus and Nothing But The Truth. He’s toured extensively with children’s shows and was part of the Canadian touring production of Cannibal Cheerleaders On Crack. Why isn’t there a regular improv company in Windsor? It’s time there was one. Upcoming he will be directing his ancient Greek style play Doves at War at the Pelee Quarry amphitheatre and performing in Marjorie Prime with Bloomsbury House at Sho. A winner of the 2018 Windsor-Essex Playwriting Contest, Joey’s plays have been produced all over North America; this October you can see his latest play, A Haunting in E Flat, at The Shadowbox Theatre. MARK LEFEBVRE (Teach) graduated from the University of Windsor’s School of Dramatic Art, and over the last 30 years has been performing in and producing professional theatre, film, dance, music and visual art works. He toured internationally with Gina Lori Riley Dance Enterprises, sings with Ian Smith’s Spectrum Chorus and co-founded the award winning troupe Stilt Guys. Mark taught at St. Clair College, and was a therapeutic clown doctor (Dr. Dan D. Lion). Married to the lovely and talented Susan Doucet, he is the proud father of sons Jacques, Sylvan and Cavelle. His middle name is Art. SEAMUS TOKOL (Bobby) recently graduated from Walkerville Centre for the Creative Arts as a student in drama, vocal and media. Theatre credits include Ariste in The Learned Ladies, Caractacus in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and most recently Jean in Rhinoceros. He also directed Walkerville's entry in the NTS Drama Festival, The Tell-Tale Heart, for which he won an award of excellence for direction. He would like to thank all of his friends and family for their support in his artistic endeavours. He would also like to apologize to Donny.
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 Photo Credit The Headshot Company JESSIE GURNIAK as Rachel Klein Jessie has been active in Windsor's theatre scene for over 10 years, getting her start in Theatre Alive's summer camps. Now she has branched out and been part of productions with other companies such as Windsor Light Musical Theatre, Cardinal Music Productions, Korda Artistic Productions -- and is thrilled to be making her debut with Post Productions. Selected past credits include Joan in Fun Home, Cheryl in Evil Dead: The Musical, Jemima in Cats, and Shprintze in Fiddler on the Roof. Aside from theatre, Jessie has been in a handful of short films and music videos and is in her first year of Public Relations at St. Clair College MediaPlex. MICHELE LEGERE as Dr. Marilyn Morgenstern This is Michele’s second show with Post Productions, having recently played Dora Strang in Equus. She was recently seen as Joan in Strangers Among Us with Korda Artistic Productions. In 2017, Michele received the Best Actress in a Lead Performance award at the Western Ontario Drama League Festival for her role as Nora in Ghostlight Production’s Better Living. For that same show, she earned a nomination for Best Performance in a Lead Role at the Theatre Ontario Festival in Ottawa. You can next see Michele in The Drowning Girls with Ghostlight Productions. SHAYNA REISS as Carmen Garcia Shayna Reiss is excited and grateful to be performing as a powerful Latina lawyer. Interested in acting since she as very young – and falling in love with it when her first commercial aired in 2006 – Shayna received a scholarship and studied at New York Film Academy for Acting and Performing Arts. She continued to pursue her love of acting by being a part of community theatre, by attending acting seminars and International competitions, and now by acting her first role with Post Productions. You may have recently seen Shayna in the ensemble of Windsor Light Musical Theatre’s production of Mamma Mia last year. Shayna thanks her mother, Christine Cooper, for always being supportive of her passion for acting, and dedicates her performance to the memory of her loving and devoted father, Mark Reiss. PAUL SALMON as Stan Goldman Paul has been performing in stage plays since the age of twelve, and feels blessed to have played some powerful characters. Paul has also been involved in some local film productions playing a kidnapper/rapist, a school teacher, and an extremely irritated father at the dinner table. Paul loves the craft of acting completely and is grateful to be a part of this wonderful cast in this edgy drama, working again with Fay, Michele, and Joey Ouellette after many years – and sharing the stage with Jessie and Shayna, two talented young actors, for the first time. JOEY OUELLETTE as Dr. Jerome Adler
Joey has participated in more than 500 different productions as an actor, director and playwright -- most recently Spirals and Best For You with The Purple Theatre Company, Big Green Sky and Riveter with Windsor Feminist Theatre, and Yellow Vines and The Man Who Married A Chicken with Paperknife Theatre. He’s toured extensively with children’s shows and was part of the Canadian touring production of Cannibal Cheerleaders On Crack. He was there the night the audience stormed the stage. Please don’t do that. Joey’s specialization – and passion – is playing animals. He also played the sheep in a touring production of Charlotte’s Web, the flying fox in What’s Happening In The Rainforest, and as an elephant in the Secret Garden. His favourite role was the cat in The Purple Theatre’s Production of A Cat, A Vacuum and The Colour Orange.You may also have seen him recently in Post Productions’ Equus as the really tall horse at the back (and as Frank Strang). A winner of the 2018 Windsor-Essex Playwriting Contest, Joey’s plays have been produced all over North America; this October you can see his latest play, A Haunting in E Flat, at The Shadowbox Theatre. nothing but the truth about nothing but the truth: an interview with playwright eve lederman3/19/2019  A playwright, monologist, essayist, and author of a memoir, Eve Lederman’s name is not familiar to the Windsor-Essex theatre audience – yet. With the premiere of her play, Nothing But The Truth, at The Shadowbox Theatre on April 19th, people are going to be talking and thinking and arguing about her work in 2019 – and hopefully for many years to come. The play – produced by Post Productions and running for five performances from April 19th to 27th – already has quite a history. It was named a finalist and “highly commended play” in the BBC’s International Playwriting Competition, a finalist for the ScreenCraft Stage Play Competition, and was produced as a radio drama with The Radio Theatre Project. The play has been developed in New York City for several years: it appeared in Theatre for the New City’s Dream Up festival and the T. Schreiber Studio & Theatre’s New Work Project and was also a semi-finalist for Theatre Resources Unlimited’s TRU Voices series, the Urban Stages Development Program, and the Normal Ave Playwriting Series. Elsewhere it has been a semi-finalist in Geva Theatre’s Festival of New Theatre (Rochester, NY), The Phoenix Theatre Festival of New American Theatre, the Theatre Evolve New Works festival (Chicago, IL), and the Bridge Initiative/Women in Theatre contest (Mesa, AZ) – amongst others. The production at The Shadowbox Theatre will mark the first time Nothing But The Truth has been produced as a stage play. Recently, Eve Lederman chatted with Post Productions’ managing director Michael K. Potter about the play, her writing process, how to handle feedback – and in general, what it means to be an up-and-coming playwright in the competitive world of contemporary theatre. MICHAEL K. POTTER: For those readers who are coming in cold, can you tell us, briefly, what Nothing But The Truth is about – in terms of story, but also in terms of theme? EVE LEDERMAN: Nothing But The Truth depicts the volatile relationship between a patient and her therapist enmeshed in a malpractice case. Rachel is a vivacious yet distraught young woman exploring family secrets with her maternal doctor Marilyn. But when Marilyn faces questions in a lawsuit for abruptly terminating Rachel’s treatment, she paints her as violent and an explosive, life-altering battle ensues. The story is about therapy, betrayal and the blurry line between obsession and love as told through the warped lens of the court system. Furthermore, in our current cultural climate, I think a play that portrays a struggle about what the truth means and how we dispute facts presents a timely and provocative topic. POTTER: Tell us how Nothing But The Truth started for you. How did the idea for this play occur to you, how did it eventually become a radio play, and what has the process of developing it to this point involved for you? EVE LEDERMAN: I’m fascinated by the idea of therapy – it’s the only relationship that exists where nobody else knows what takes place between the two. You don’t engage in the outside world; no one else will ever see you interact or be privy to your conversations. I also think the dynamic of transference is remarkably fierce as well as potentially volatile – I went to therapy in my twenties to talk about boyfriend troubles and my career, and transference hit me like a truck. The power of “unconditional positive regard”—being seen, heard, understood and accepted—caries incredible power, one that a therapist must use wisely. Finally, I’m also intrigued by the idea that therapists often pursue the field in relation to their own traumas, in the way that addicts become drug counselors. What if they’re not exactly healed? During the development of the script, one of the early critiques was that the play was too talky and static – factors that are rather inherent to both therapy and depositions! There’s no dancing, screaming, choking, slapping or thumb-wrestling as in my other play To Life. So when I saw a submission opportunity for a radio play – where, of course, visual elements would fall flat – I thought Nothing But the Truth would be a perfect fit. The rewriting process was rather simple as very little dialogue needed altering. Often you just need to add the name of the person the character is addressing to clarify who the dialogue is directed to. The fun part was creating the sound design – every time a door opens or closes, or a character walks across the room, the audience hears that element, and there’s definitely an art to it. When Carmen walks in, do we hear the confident clickety-clack of high-heeled pumps or the shuffle of sensible shoes? And don’t get me started on the range of vomit sound effects . . . POTTER: During its development, Nothing But the Truth has been a competitor in several contests. I can’t help but wonder how those experiences affected your choices while revising the script – were they helpful to you in some way? And if so, could you give us some insight into how? EVE LEDERMAN: Several is an understatement – try 740 (over four years)! I believe in submitting to everything as you never know what door will open. The competitions themselves haven’t furthered the script, but sometimes they ask for a list of developmental goals which forces me think about what I still need to work on. Overall it can be a frustrating process – you don’t want to submit too early when the script is rough around the edges. And by the time they get around to making a decision 8 months later you’ve already made revisions but can’t fire off a note saying, “Wait, read this one!” On the flip side, I had my script rejected recently as a finalist for a playwriting lab because I was told it was too developed and they wanted to see a script evolve. The contests that lead to readings are the most beneficial—and it certainly helps when the theater foots the bill! POTTER: Which stories and storytellers – in whatever genre, format, or media – influenced your approach to Nothing But the Truth? What inspired you – and continues to inspire you? EVE LEDERMAN: I try to just stay open to a variety of media when I’m in the groove, and things serendipitously jump out that speak to me and fuel my creativity. For instance, I read an op-ed in the NY Times about whether pedophilia might fall along the OCD spectrum and I took that debate, gave it to my characters and let them hash it out. Likewise, I saw the film The Tale, which affected me deeply; I introduced it to my character Rachel and let her wrestle with my own questions in her therapy. Early on in the writing I watched Oleanna and Collected Stories to see power plays in action, and a monologue in the latter inspired me to add one in my play. I loved a review of one Oleanna performance which noted that audience members broke out into a fist fight after the show, and another said that for Mamet, “conversation is a blood sport and words are lethal weapons” – a sentiment that I hope to emulate! I’m inspired by a wide range of storytellers. I relate to Paula Vogel’s ethos that “the more we tell our own truth, the more everyone can tell theirs.” Neil Simon wrote an essay that I love in which he describes himself as a two-headed beast – one part is the human involved in interactions, and the second is a writer- monster who’s simultaneously observing and taking notes. I live in this duality and find that when my heart gets crushed and says, “Oh my god, this is devastating; I can’t survive,” while my head is yelling at me to take notes because this experience is a gold mine, that’s the sweet spot where I find the most compelling material. I think theater should make people uncomfortable, as Edward Albee said, challenging audiences to confront situations and ideas that lie outside their comfort zones. Plays aren’t meant to be pleasant and safe, but rather “constructed as correctives” to hold a mirror up to people. My goal, like Albee, is for “the audience to run out of the theater — but to come back and see the play again.” And Terrance McNally said that a woman approached him after Mothers and Sons and told him that the play moved her to reconnect with her child. I, too, hope to create work that reminds us that we’re not alone. POTTER: Having read a couple of versions of this play, I know you made some changes over the last year to address contemporary events and developments – such as the rise of congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. The influence of this fascinating politician on the character of Carmen intrigues me. What changed once you decided to include that influence? How did her example change the character of Carmen? EVE LEDERMAN: Early on, the two lawyers in the play were cardboard cutouts; they didn’t have personalities outside their legal wrangling; they didn’t have anything at stake beyond the case, and there was little relationship between them. Over time, I played with how to create tension and conflict between their characters. At first the female lawyer was very overweight in comparison to her virile male counterpart. I also toyed with a haggard, middle-aged female attorney. In one reading I reversed the roles with a wise, older male attorney patronizing his young ingénue opponent. And then a few factors collided – I read an article in The Atlantic about how female trial attorneys are routinely harassed and demeaned and it also mentioned that minorities are sorely underrepresented in the industry. At the same time, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was beginning her meteoric rise and subsequently trounced her white male opponent. I heard that her campaign contributions came from across the country and she raised millions with donations that averaged twenty dollars. I thought perhaps I could tap into the zeitgeist with a Latina heroine (and there aren’t roles for many), which could also help build an audience and perhaps even fundraise for self-production. From there I took a deep dive into research about female trial attorneys’ experiences to create an authentic character and started to incorporate those stories into the text – for instance, the Bar Association’s resolution preventing men from calling female attorneys by pet names like “honey” or “darling” in court! POTTER: I now get the sense that the two lawyers, Carmen and Stan, have dealt with each other before, but that Carmen is still a little green – though on the ascent. Stan seems almost bewildered by her in the early scenes, not quite certain what to make of her growing confidence and clear ability. So the audience gets to experience this intriguing relationship between two professionals with very different points of view, different experiences, who also represent larger cultural forces and debates. What about your principal characters, Rachel and Marilyn? What inspired their characterizations, and what do they represent beyond themselves? EVE LEDERMAN: I’ve seen – ahem – a few therapists (it’s as routine as getting your nails done in New York), and Marilyn is a compilation of many of them. In fact, I often find myself whipping my phone out during a session to make note of something I’m going to use. (Or, alternatively, sobbing while a voice in the back of my head says, “Damn girl, that’s good – write it down!”) But on a larger scale, Marilyn represents the imbalance of power that medical professionals hold—both in terms of the relationship’s emotional dynamic (in a therapeutic setting) and the fact that the doctor holds the degree, training and expertise while the patient is deemed the weaker “sick one,” mentally or physically. Furthermore, the Hippocratic oath “do no harm” is accompanied by the unspoken oath “admit no harm.” Doctors are cautioned to never acknowledge wrongdoing or even to apologize because that opens to the door to a lawsuit. In fact, a woman I know sued a prominent hospital for malpractice after cancer surgery—the surgeon left a sponge in her which appeared on the x-ray and yet they refused to settle, deeming her pain as malingering. And I was moved by a man at one of my readings who spoke about a family member hospitalized for mental illness; he acknowledged feeling powerless as the doctors who discounted him. Rachel represents the deep, pervasive and lifelong ramifications of sexual abuse. I think the statistics bandied about – one in four women are victims – as well as the rather generic descriptions of the consequences of sexual abuse (who doesn’t suffer from depression or low self-esteem?) belie the true devastation and destruction. POTTER: The play asks audiences to consider two very different points of view on an intense relationship that didn’t work out as either party intended or wished. This isn’t easy, but as a producer it’s something I appreciate, as most of the plays I’ve produced feature just this sort of ambiguity, seeking to create ambivalence in the audience – for instance, Oleanna, True West, Equus, and Doubt. How did you try to ensure that each character was heard on her own terms, without undue judgment on your part, and without pushing the audience to favour one side over the other? EVE LEDERMAN: It was a long evolution and a delicate balance to get to that point. In my first draft, I had a clear villain and heroine; one character had clearly wronged the other. Then I read something that said both characters in an argument must be right and after a reading, a producer told me to consider the Rashomon effect – which takes every character’s point of view into account. I started rewriting with that in mind (more than 30 drafts!), also considering timing: Reveal something too soon and the character is waving a big red flag; too late, and the audience may have forgotten the previous bread crumb I dropped. However, it was primarily feedback that helped to shape the balance over numerous readings – mainly from audiences, but also from actors, directors, producers, therapists and lawyers. I got the play into anyone’s hands who was willing to look at it with a new perspective and a fresh eye and I always walked away with useful critique. Initially, the therapist was too unprofessional and clearly at fault; then I swung too far and the patient was crazy and manipulative. Reading and talkbacks were critical to hearing what worked and I was lucky to have passionate audiences who engaged in vigorous conversation, illuminating points I wasn’t able to see from the inside. POTTER: What an amazing opportunity it is to get feedback on your work. We can so easily become lost in our own perspectives, assumptions, and histories when writing. Often what’s necessary is to find out what sort of meaning others are making from our work so we can ask ourselves questions like, Are people interpreting this story in the way I intended – and if not, is that all right? Yet, many writers worry that they’ll lose their unique voices and their intentions by listening to and trying to incorporate feedback. How do you handle the task of attending to feedback while maintaining your authorial voice and intentions? EVE LEDERMAN: It is a very delicate balance, no doubt! There is no roadmap in deciding what to incorporate and what to discard in terms of feedback, plus I find that can also change over time. Actually, I was a bit misleading in my previous mention of rewriting with the Rashomon effect in mind; I did do so...but not for a year. I initially discounted the idea because I couldn’t envision how to incorporate it. Also, early on, someone suggested I open the play with the ending and I junked that. Then a few years later after other elements had evolved, it suddenly made sense. I think one red flag to look out for is when someone’s feedback aims to alter the essence of your story. I had an agent interested in the play, but she thought the therapist should have her children taken away from her for neglect. “When I go to the playground, you wouldn’t believe how many parents ignore their kids,” she mused. That was her story to tell, not mine, even it if meant losing out on an agent. Also realize that you can’t please everyone. That sounds simplistic but I read a great quote that said to have a hit play, people have to love it and others have to hate it. Otherwise it’s just mediocre. In fact, one close friend whose opinion I trust loved the first iteration of the play, which revolved around only the patient and therapist, good and evil, and has stated that I’ve since “destroyed it!” The antidote, I believe, is to have one trusted producer or director who is your rock during years of development and I’m so grateful to have found that in Frank Calo of FMC Productions. I knew him casually from my neighborhood and pulled him into the festival production four years ago to assist with contracts. Our creative partnership blossomed from there and we’ve spent countless hours poring over scripts together. I bounce ideas off him, send him new writing, and discuss feedback and he guides me with direction that takes my work to another level. Writers can spend a lifetime in search of this partnership, but if you find a director who gets you and believes in your work (and devotes years of unpaid hours!), nurture the relationship and cherish it! POTTER: Why did you end up sending your play to Post Productions? And what has that experience been like – having your play produced by a little theatre company in a small city far from where you live? EVE LEDERMAN: In the United States, competition for readings and festivals with the faint hope of production is fierce. Theaters get many many hundreds of submissions for a single slot so I decided to branch out to Canada and contacted theaters that had produced plays with similar themes. I was utterly shocked (and thrilled!) to get an email back from Post Productions quickly with interest in reading the play and indicating a decision would be made in a couple weeks, and I found other Canadian theaters were equally approachable. In New York, a theater can take 8 to 12 months to respond to an email. One took 18 months to reply to my 10-page sample and request the full script. I’m waiting another 8 months and counting to get a response to that. I will concede that is hard to hand over my first production without being involved in casting and rehearsals, and even more so because I simply love the process of making the play come alive. Ultimately, I have to trust that my vision on the page will guide the way. POTTER: It’s a strong vision, and I promise we’ll do our best! Thanks so much for taking the time to talk with me. Pointers, Advice, Guidelines, Tips, and Tricks
By Matt St. Amand and Michael K. Potter This missive of advice is intended, specifically, for playwrights submitting their work to the Annual Windsor-Essex Playwriting Contest. Because of this, some of the advice found herein may not be generally applicable to those writing for other audiences and contexts. Still, most of it is general advice about playwriting and storytelling – even general advice about writing in the broadest sense. Note, however, that we don’t consider ourselves to be infallible authorities on this – or anything, really. Now: where to begin? First, let’s get this out of the way: Unless you’re some sort of exquisitely rare superhuman (you aren’t) you need to READ, a lot, in order to write well. Specifically, you need to read plays in order to write good plays. For one thing, reading is to the mind as eating is to the body. Without a steady flow of ideas, without the accumulation of experiences in which you’ve interpreted and analyzed and puzzled over text, without frequent acquaintance with the synthesis of connecting stories to your own memories and beliefs, your mind will starve. Okay, maybe that’s an overstatement. Perhaps it’s just the part of your mind that you need to write that starves. But you get the point. Secondly, when we read a script penned by someone who doesn’t read plays, it shows. The writer doesn’t know the conventions of the medium, and often seems to be presenting us with a novel rather than a play. Playwriting is an art unto itself, and even if you’re a bestselling novelist, it doesn’t mean you can write a play. What works in one medium may not work in another. So: you need to read plays. Buy some. Borrow some from the library. Find some online. Read as many plays as possible – preferably good ones. Now let’s re-start with THE BIG PICTURE. A script is good when its strengths are obvious, so the reader doesn’t have to search for its merits. You don’t want your readers to ask themselves questions like, “Am I enjoying what I'm reading?” or “Am I struggling to get through it?” What are those merits? Don’t ask us – the particular merits of your writing are, well, particular to you. But one thing all good writers share is ORIGINALITY – ideas and an authorial voice all their own. We’re often surprised by how much writing seems to be created by people who are imitating the sort of writing they enjoy reading (the common downside to the necessity of reading). There’s nothing wrong with a bit of imitation – after all, the entire fantasy genre wouldn’t exist if authors didn’t want to imitate Tolkien—but the hazard is that the result will be a photocopy of a photocopy, lacking definition and vividness. We’d rather read the script others would want to imitate. So, how do you write a compelling play? The good news and the bad news is that nobody can tell you exactly how to write a compelling play. We can offer advice regarding essentials, share experiences about what’s worked for others, and tell you what to avoid. But writing a play is bigger than all of that. If you care to read further, we can describe at least one person’s process. At the outset, we need to demystify the whole concept of “ideas”. New writers regard ideas as diamond-encrusted gifts from the gods, believe that they are rare and few and precious. In reality, ideas should be regarded as perishable, plentiful and expendable, like tomatoes. When an idea materializes, don’t regard it as a miracle. Regard it as a tomato. Examine it looking for flaws and imperfections. Squeeze the tomato to see if it’s mushy. Smell it to see if it’s about to go bad. Examine its size – is it puny? Is it a bulging mutant? Do not put ideas on pedestals; put them on the ground and step on them. If we do that, we’ll squash them! a voice cries out. Yes. Exactly. We want to squash and discard ideas by the dozen, by the score, by the gross, by the great gross. Why? But why? the voice cries out. To find those ideas that don’t just squish under our foot. They are out there, but the only way of finding them is by digging through all the mediocre ideas and discarding them all. Don’t expect the surviving tomato/idea to be a glowing prodigy of tomatoes. The best ideas are often very simple. Some people keep writing journals. Michael does; his notebooks and doc files go back to the mid-1990s. Others, like Matt, do not. He used to, and soon found it filled with flabby, half-baked, useless fragments. There came a point he no longer feared forgetting an idea. If an idea is any good, it’ll come back to him. Your memory may work differently. There is no one-size-fits-all approach. One idea that recurred to Matt was simple: two people in a room. The image was so pedestrian anyone else might have thought, “Certainly, that’ll squash under foot worse than the rest!” It did not, however – because Matt sensed (a) the people were trapped; (b) they were not friends, but also not enemies; they were skeptical of each other, but would also help each other – to a degree. Who were these people? A man and a woman. The man was Reinhart, a name with a bit of bite, unusual so that it was slightly memorable. He worked in Logistics and Risk Management – a very corporate-sounding department, but with little indication about its actual purpose/function. The woman was Rainbow, a softer, more pleasant, unusual name. But every idea is a tomato. After giving the name “Rainbow” the squash test, it didn’t pass. Too hippy-esque. Matt tried several other names. Finally, “Meghan” passed the squash test. She worked in Wellness, which was also relatable, but with an ambiguous purpose/function. Matt wanted to work with audience expectations immediately, to let them make assumptions based on his characters’ names, their departments, all easily revealed in an ordinary introduction to one another. Why were Meghan and Reinhart in the room? Were they incarcerated? Kidnapped? No. There was an emergency and they were in a “safe room” in their building. What kind of emergency? A gunman in the building would be timely. A bomb threat could be compelling. A person who went crazy, stripped off their clothes and did a nude-run could be funny. But Matt kept stepping on the ideas and they kept squashing. Then came the idea: Meghan and Reinhart don’t know what the emergency is. That idea didn’t squash. At first, it seemed less exciting than the others – but it didn’t squash. So, Matt explored it. As it turned out, the idea allowed him to reveal his characters quickly, as they spoke of their own ideas about why a “shelter in place” had been called. Meghan is a worrier, fatalistic, certain that some disaster has occurred. Reinhart is cynical and dismissive, believing the emergency is merely a drill, a waste of time. This immediately created conflict as they argued about why they believed what they believed. Tensions escalated as each attempted to convince the other that their idea is the correct one. This triggered ideas for dialogue, creating a natural push-pull dynamic. So, now let’s get into some details about playwriting and storytelling. CHARACTERS With vanishingly few exceptions, the success of your play as a story, as a memorable experience, as a source of intrigue and enjoyment, will depend on its characters. Characters are the heart of your story, the means by which you communicate your themes and plot, the source of investment for your audience’s emotions, and the driving force of everything that happens. So you want to think them through carefully and really work to ensure you get them right. Most of time, you’ll want to ensure your characters come across as real, distinct human beings with their own personalities, desires, ideas, motivations, voices, dreams, fears, beliefs, values, secrets, talents, foibles, and histories. That’s a tall order, but think about every person you know: all of these qualities can be found in them. Even if you’re a cynical misanthrope who believes everyone is fundamentally the same, that belief won’t help you write a good story with compelling characters. For the purposes of storytelling, treat each character you’re writing as unique – and know what makes them unique. If you don’t know, your audience won’t know, either. And we’re going to add, though it should go without saying, that all of this should be done without relying on racial, ethnic, or gender stereotypes. In Mamet’s Oleanna, John’s character is established immediately during a phone call the audience can’t really follow. Carol’s character is revealed more slowly, in smaller pieces of information, first in the fact that she lingers outside John’s door, listening to the call, then as she and John converse. By the end of the first scene, the audience has a firm understanding of who these people are – which allows Mamet to turn everything upside down as these characters change and reveal previously-hidden sides to themselves during the rest of the play. John and Carol speak differently, with different vocabularies and rhythms. They understand the world differently. They make different choices. Each of them feels like a real human being. If they didn’t seem believable and unique, the story wouldn’t work at all. Much of the art of playwriting lies in how character is revealed, in the playwright’s use of dialogue and action to reveal elements of character. The rest of this sections concerned with how to accomplish this. Compelling characters are themselves, not extensions of you. Not only is it problematic to write characters who are Keanu-esque ciphers devoid of personality, it’s just as problematic for them to be Sorkin-esque mouthpieces for your sermons. Obviously, your own beliefs and values will influence your writing, but when they do you want to ensure their influence on your characters is organic, so that insofar as they represent you, it comes across as part of who they are. Sometimes the best way to accomplish this is through misdirection. Philosophical plays are notoriously difficult to write, because it’s easy for them to devolve into dull sermonizing and exposition. In No Exit, Sartre side-steps this problem by leading the audience to expect Cradeau/Garcin to be his mouthpiece. Cradeau sometimes seems to be giving near-stereotypical monologues that lesser playwrights would use for their sermons. But attention reveals this is misdirection: Cradeau is an ironic figure who represents a simplistic, childish version of Sartre’s philosophy. Inez – the ostensible villain of the play – is the one relaying ideas closer to Sartre’s actual point of view, which lies in the space between the three principal characters and is never fully explained. Sartre trusts his audience to figure things out for themselves, as they puzzle over his story. It’s difficult to separate all of the elements of a good play into separate categories with hard borders, so this next point also applies to plot, but: what’s at stake for your characters? What do they care about that is threatened, or needs to be achieved, or prevented? Why does this story matter for them and to them? Whatever the answer is, those stakes should be made clear in the story – preferably as early as possible so your reader isn’t distracted by wondering whether the story is trivial. If the stakes are meant to be important, are they really – from the perspective of the character and/or audience? If they are not, is this done intentionally? Are they interesting, compelling, logical things for someone to care about? If not, that can work too if done with clear purpose – as in some comedies where characters risk their lives for small stakes, or compete for ridiculously high stakes. Stakes matter not only because they move the story along, but also because they help your audience understand why each character is part of the story at all. Each character who isn’t peripheral should matter to the plot and/or theme, and the plot and/or theme should matter to each character because they have something at stake. Otherwise, why are they in this story at all? In Shepard’s True West, even the superficially peripheral character of Mom – who shows up for only one scene and says very little – matters to the story, both because she has something at stake and because she matters to the plot and to the two principal characters, Austin and Lee. The men are living in her house, which they’ve all but destroyed by the time she returns home. She wanders about in a daze, and when she speaks she seems utterly detached from what’s happening around her, unable to deal with reality. She and her home represent capitulation to the superficiality, conformity, and materialism of the New West. She represents what Austin thought he wanted, and what Lee briefly flirted with wanting. Her presence causes the long-simmering resentment the brothers feel toward each other to finally erupt into violence. At least some of your characters should change as a result of the story – that’s part of what it means for the story to matter to them, after all. This is known as character development, and it’s best not to predetermine what its outcome will be before you begin writing. Let it grow organically as you develop your script, as a result of who those characters are and how they’re affected by what happens to and around them, rather then using them to teach your readers a predetermined lesson. Sermons are rarely enjoyable. Unless the mystery is the point, the audience should also have enough information to infer why characters make the decisions they do as they develop, as well, given the character’s personality and circumstances. Consider, for example, the development of Sister Aloysius in Shanley’s Doubt. From the moment we meet her she is an immovable force, determined and self-righteous, utterly convinced that her every conviction represents objective truth. But there are occasional cracks in her façade, particularly after the confrontation with Mrs. Muller. In the last scene she breaks down, and we discover that she isn’t as confident as she’s been pretending – perhaps she never was. Her development is both a reaction to the encounters she’s had with other characters and a consequence of her own decisions. She has acted and been acted upon – and everything that she’s experienced during the story has affected her. Unless you’re writing a one-person play, the relationships between your characters are just as important as the details of each character in isolation. Relationships between characters should be, in most cases, dynamic and believable given the personalities, histories, desires, etc. of the characters involved. You also need to think about what the audience should know about these relationships, and when. Some details may be necessary to reveal early; others may be best saved for a surprise later on. The specifics of character relationships – their compatibilities, rivalries, disagreements, secrets, and looming conflicts – provide energy to move your story along. Some important character relationships may even be offstage. In Schaffer’s Equus, we gradually learn about the strained, bloodless relationship between Dysart and his wife, Margaret. Margaret is never seen, but as we learn about their life together, we learn about so much more. Their marriage is a vehicle for Schaffer to indirectly help us learn more about why Dysart is, why he’s in the vulnerable state in which we find him as the play opens, his dreams and disappointments, and his relationship to both Hesther and Alan. Finally, don’t forget that plays are meant to be performed: Writ characters that actors will want to embody onstage! PLOT and STRUCTURE Let’s return to Matt’s play, Shelter in Place. Once he had the dialogue progressing, and added some action, he needed to pay attention to pacing. Did he just pile up all the action in ten pages in the middle of the play, bookending it all with roundabout dialogue? No way. There is a natural ebb and flow to events. Characters gain confidence; characters lose confidence. Characters agree; characters disagree. Characters are confused by events; characters figure out a plan of action. Like a swinging pendulum. How do you know what to do next? Well, what are you doing right now? If your characters are disagreeing, find a logical story-reason for them to agree. If your character is frightened, find a logical story-reason for them to feel assured. And notice we say “story-reason”, and not just “reason”. Why? Everything you put into a story must do at least ONE of TWO things: 1. Develop character. 2. Further the story. If a scene or event does neither of these things, it must be cut. Real estate in a story is not free space. Every idea has to pay its rent by developing character and/or furthering the story. So, Meghan and Reinhart engage in disagreement, and then a mystery sound rumbles through, unifying them in fear. Their speculation regarding the origin of the sound soon separates them, again. This disagreement leads to more dialogue about whether to stay or leave the safe room. There are no hard and fast rules in writing, but one Matt set for himself is: the first half of the play steers the audience toward certain questions. The second half of the play answers most of those questions. Meaning, if you have a character enter, covered in blood, at some point you will have to reveal why and/or whose blood it is. This is where craft enters. It’s easy to create mystery, but too many unanswered/unaddressed mysteries can sink your story. Some writers can pull off stories that are practically nothing but unanswered questions and unsolved mysteries – David Lynch, for example – but odds are you and we are not among their ranks. Does this mean all questions must be answered by the end of the play? No. But the role of the writer is similar to that of the courtroom lawyer: never ask a question to which you do not already know the answer. Do no create mysteries or questions in your story simply to prod it along. There should be a reason for every detail. Sometimes the answer may belong to a different element of the play, meaning, for instance: sometimes the answer to a plot mystery is found in theme. That sort of thing. In film, this is what Lynch and von Trier tend to do – the answers are there, just not in the place you expect to find them. You don’t need to use any of the standard models or formulae for storytelling, though it doesn’t hurt to think about them, either – especially when you find yourself stuck. Elements of dramatic action (discovery, revelation, decision) and/or models of plot structure such as Freytag’s Pyramid (exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, denouement) or the Aristotelian three-act model (Protasis, Epitasis, Catastrophe) all have their uses, and provide some practical ways to think about story structure. They’re widely used for reasons both positive and negative. What’s Important, when you use them, is that you do so thoughtfully rather than robotically. As long as you ensure that story logic trumps the logic of the model or theory you’re using – that x follows y because the logic of the story, rather than the logic of the model,, demands it – you should be fine. Use them creatively. At minimum, it’s a good idea to use a simplistic version of the Aristotelian three-act structure: Act one sets up the setting, characters, and major conflicts; act two is the locus of most conflict as the protagonist(s) try to achieve their goals; and act three wraps things up with a climax and possibly a denouement. The transition from act one into act two is critically important, as it sets up the dramatic meat of the story with some sort of inciting incident. The inciting incident should be motivational enough to the protagonist(s) to move the play forward, and the audience needs to feel its urgency. Now, let’s talk setting. It’s usually best if your play has at least one of these. It’s better still if that setting is clear, that it has a sense of time and place that is integral to the play’s identity. Setting, in other words, should help shape plot, character, dialogue, and even theme. Think of the role setting plays in Shepard’s True West: a remote suburb at the edge of the desert, on the border of Old West meets New West, between wilderness and civilization, in the 1970s. Every detail of that setting influences how the play looks, how characters speak, who characters are, what happens and why. The setting is a powerful and essential element of the play. And the audience is provided with enough information through various means to knows what it needs to know about when and where the play takes place, because those details intensify their experience. In True West, one way the audience knows that characters are changing is in how they speak about and respond to the setting. However it’s communicated, your characters (at least the principals) should develop over the course of the story or the reasonable inference is that your story doesn’t matter. You could think of character development as a consequence of plot, or you could think of plot advancing through character development, but it’s probably best to think of the matter in both ways. Generally speaking, characters develop as a result of confronting obstacles and either surmounting or being beaten by them, in the pursuit of goals. You create mounting tension by increasing the level of challenge and/or complexity of the obstacles characters face and, as in life, revealing that each solution creates at least one new problem. The key to character development, we’re proposing, is conflict – which we also happen to see as the key to engaging stories. Conflict moves plot along, develops character, holds the audience’s attention, and helps the audience invest in what’s unfolding in front of them. Indeed, conflict (A wants x, but faces external or internal resistance) is an essential element of storytelling for many reasons, but they can be summed up easily: without conflict there is no story. Conflict creates comedy, drama, character development, opportunities for dialogue – everything. But for conflict to matter, there must be reasons behind it that are rooted in, and communicate, character and theme. Conflict should matter to the characters in your story, and to the story itself; and it should drive the action from the first scene to the last. As your plot moves along, and obstacles are encountered and character revealed and developed, the audience should come to perceive a set of possible outcomes. This set may change its members occasionally, but a good rule of thumb is that the set of possible climaxes to your story should shrink in your audience’s mind as the story moves along, because those climaxes should all be logical endpoints to the particular story beats being experienced by particular characters making particular decisions. By the end of scene two in Son’s Stop Kiss, we know to expect two things: Callie and Sara will become friends and maybe lovers, and their relationship will lead to tragedy. There are many,many ways those two expectations could be met. The set of possible climaxes contains at least a dozen options. But with each scene, new possibilities are added to that set and even more possibilities are removed as we learn more about what happened before and after the incident, as Callie and Sara make particular choices rather than others, as we interpret the dialogue of even supporting characters – what they say, but just as importantly, what they don’t say. Then, in the last scene, Son throws a curveball that makes perfect sense given what’s come before, though it isn’t quite what we expected. It’s satisfying because it’s both logical and surprising. The climax of your story warrants careful attention: a good climax is remembered even if other details of the story are forgotten. A good climax feels inevitable, yet surprising. It reveals, or casts new light on earlier scenes and decisions. It leaves an audience thinking and feeling. Think again of Shepard’s True West: its climax is inevitable, given what’s happened in the story and the journeys the brothers have taken, yet its sudden violence has been hinted at and backed away from so often that when it comes, it’s still a shock. And it ends without resolution or denouement. The audience leaves the theatre wondering what might have happened next. Consider, again, Son’s Stop Kiss: every scene prior to the climax has either dealt with the beautiful build-up to, or dreadful consequences of, a particular moment of romantic catharsis met with brutal hatred. The play ends with that moment of beauty, but not the brutality that follows, and the audience is left welling up with conflicted emotion because they love these characters and it’s a sweet release of romantic tension, but the audience also knows what happens next. What the endings of True West and Stop Kiss have in common is this: the audience understands why the play ends at that point, in that way. The playwrights have done their jobs extraordinarily well, laying the foundation for those particular climaxes (which, in these cases, are also the endings of the plays). The narrative logic and ontological rules of the play (the rules that govern how things work in the worlds of those stories) are internally consistent, and each play is cohesive (ploy, character, dialogue, genre, and theme all work in unison), so the intentionality of the playwrights’ choices shines through. The playwrights earned the audience’s trust. That trust comes from a sense that there is purpose and meaning to what is unfolding. Every scene and every event in the story should be causally and/or thematically linked. There should be intentionality behind everything that happens so that each scene matters and serves a purpose at its location in the temporal sequence of the play. The beginning makes sense as a beginning; the end makes sense as an end, and so forth. Everything needs to be present in your play for a reason. Everything should serve a purpose. Even props and set dressing – if you mention any of these things in your script – should serve some sort of purpose, be it conveying symbolic or thematic meaning, communicating character details, or setting up plot points. All writers face painful moments where they are faced with cutting details they personally love, but which really serve no purpose in the story. Cut them. Cut them all. If you have to, do a “Save As” with your document, keep a copy with those precious details, and then save another version in which they are deleted. Matt does this. It makes cutting much easier. Then, later, when he revisits his grand, precious idea in the previous version, it has usually paled. Michael prefers to place material he cuts in a special “Detritus” file, so he can return to them later when he needs ideas, scenes, or moments in other projects. Sometimes a deleted scene becomes a new story of its own. In Shelter in Place, Matt didn’t so much create mysteries, but added touchstone details that he revisited in Acts II and III. A seemingly inconsequential detail, early on, becomes a major plot point later. In True West and Stop Kiss, the climax doesn’t involve resolution., Indeed, we prefer climaxes that don’t wrap things up in a neat and tidy bow. Others prefer resolution. It doesn’t really matter whether you choose resolution or not, as long as it’s well-written and true to everything that has come before. Still, if the climax leads to resolution, it shouldn’t be so clear or total that there’s nothing left for the audience to ponder and discuss on their drive home. DIALOGUE When Matt was writing Shelter in Place, he found himself with a lot of dialogue ideas to squash: Obviously, Meghan and Reinhart are in disagreement, but he wanted to avoid all the easy traps of having them simply insult each other or demean the other’s ideas. So, he drew upon personal experience: times he had disagreements, experience when he witnessed others who had disagreements. He even thought of how he'd seen it portrayed well in other plays. This is where craft and experience came into play. No matter how Matt tried, the first thing he put down on paper was clichéd and obvious. This used to bother him. Then he realized he knew enough to fix it. So, he came to a point where he just concentrated on getting his ideas down on paper as well as he could – “What do I know best?” he asked himself, and he wrote that part. Didn’t matter if it’s not in chronological order. He wrote the scene that comes in clearest. When a scene is done, he thinks, “Well, how did they get there?” There are some obvious reasons and he works with those. So, he writes down his sloppy, clichéd dialogue and then he goes over and over it, zeroing-in on every part that bothers him. Characters who are glib or too clever are insufferable. Characters who are conveniently stupid and need obvious plot-points explained to them can demolish a story. Matt doesn’t even ask himself for reasons why bits of dialogue rub him the wrong way. If something doesn’t feel right, hr re-examine it and often rewrite it. The big “fixes” are: (a) Eliminating obvious dialogue, stuff that makes characters sound like they’re talking in a commercial or an Aaron Sorkin show. People are notoriously passive-aggressive and indirect. Don’t give them all great lines. Use Freudian slips, but don’t overuse them. People often misspeak, but actually say something closer to what they really mean. The other person can jump on this errant detail and make accusations. (b) Swearing. In Matt’s daily life, he swears continuously. If he wants certain parts of language to have greater impact in his writing, he uses them sparingly. At this point in history, virtually no one is shocked by someone saying “fuck”. Some characters swear a lot. Fine. So long as that is true to their character. When Matt reads piles of profanity in a piece of work, it comes off as being used by a person who has just learned a few of the forbidden words. No writer wants that. Intentionality and clear purpose are your friends. (c) Speeches. Most people don’t say any more than they have to (or think they have to). They grunt replies. They utter one-word answers to questions. Listen-in on conversations next time you’re in a restaurant, at the mall, anywhere there are people nearby talking. Most people don’t make speeches. People often have a hard time saying what they want to say. So should your characters. But there’s a trick – don’t make your character so indirect and inarticulate that it appears you cannot write dialogue. Also, verbatim dialogue you overhear may not work well in a story. This is where craft comes into play. (d) Exposition (verbal text). This is dialogue that only serves to inform the audience – a character makes a phone call and says to the person on the other end: “Don, this is your brother, Frank.” Nobody speaks like that. In a novel, the writer has more freedom and tools available to convey information to the audience. The playwright has stage directions and dialogue. Exposition is a beacon of bad craft. Writers should be subtle, yet strategically obvious. The great pitfall is having one character explain something to another character that he/she should already know – it’s only being said because the audience needs to know. One way to avoid exposition is to trust your audience. Nothing should be explained by any character more than is necessary for audiences to grasp the point. People know stuff. They’re not mind-readers, but people know stuff. A good rule of thumb: Always prioritize action and dialogue over monologue and exposition. With Meghan and Reinhart in the corporate safe room, Matt had their initial efforts at trying to convince the other about what is happening and/or if they should stay or leave the safe room. But having two people just standing and talking gets boring. Something needs to happen. So, he looked to external forces for action prompts. Meghan and Reinhart both have cell phones. Could they get news of the emergency over those? No. No cell phone reception. Is that because of where they were located in the building, or was there a more sinister reason? Matt explored this in dialogue. Then, he introduced a strange, intermittent sound – something rolling through the duct work in the ceiling above their heads. The sound was enough to spook his characters. They both had their own guesses the source of the sound and what it meant to their safety. He explored this in dialogue. After the mystery sound fades away, and the back-and-forth speculation dies out, Matt came to a natural break in the action. Meghan and Reinhart, decide they are trapped, and having decided to stay (for the time being) they need to kill time. How do two strangers do this? They talk about themselves. They ask about the other. As a further change of direction, Matt created reasons for each character to temporarily leave the safe room, with the promise of returning. This afforded the remaining character a soliloquy where they revealed thoughts and ideas they never would have said in front of the other. Eventually, Matt hit upon an idea – the company had been sold, sometime in the recent past – which sent the story into a new direction, allowing him to create a few different dynamics between Meghan and Reinhart. Meghan, the worrier, soon shows confidence. Reinhart, the arrogant yuppie has a few strategic moments of doubt. No person is monotone. People are complex. They experience a range of emotions. Your characters can feel anything – it’s the writer’s job to pave a realistic route from one emotion to another. Dialogue belongs to particular characters, particular people, and no two people speak exactly the same way. Different characters should speak differently, with their own rhythms, vocabularies, sentence structures, personalities and tones. Dialogue should sound as though it must be spoken by THAT character in THAT situation, based on what the audience knows of their personality and the plot. Keep in mind, too, that people change how they speak based on the person they’re conversing with. When Michael was co-writing The Worst Thing I Ever Did, he and his collaborators had the good fortune to be writing a three-person play in which each of them would play a character. So, while the plot was worked out collaboratively, each writer took primary responsibility for writing the dialogue for their character, to ensure the characters’ voices were as distinct as possible. Other writers could make suggestions and edits, but the responsibility and final say rested with the person assigned to that character. As a result, each character in the play has a unique voice. In most plays, dialogue should be used to convey thoughts, feelings, setting, and conflict – with exposition kept to a minimum, conveying only necessary information, as naturalistically and indirectly as possible. Yet, the style of dialogue you use should fit the genre and/or purposes of the play – and even the scene. Consider Schaffer’s Equus: when Dysart is alone, he slips into a refined style of speech and delivers monologues to himself, in his head – and sometimes to his friend Hesther. But when he’s with Alan, his style of speech becomes more naturalistic, and he speaks for shorter periods of time. In those moments he’s in conversation, and his purpose is to elicit information from his patient. THEME and GENRE Does your play have anything to say? Does it have a point? All the best plays do. That point is theme. Sometimes it isn’t a particular point, really, but more of an exploration – questions it’s raising, answers it’s toying with. Your play should have a theme, but it’s often a mistake to predetermine that theme. Instead, it’s best to allow it to emerge, inductively, from the story you develop. We often don’t see the themes of our work until we’re into the third or fourth draft, when as if by magic they appear before us. Once visible theme can be developed. You can start to look for its traces in scenes and characters, and build on it more consciously. Theme should emerge from a well-crafted story with well-defined characters, rather than plot and character being used as didactic tools to make thematic points. That way lies a sermon, not a story – and few people want to pay to see a sermon enacted in front of their eyes. Theme should be indirect, inferred from what’s happening in the story. It should rarely be stated directly by a character, unless that’s done as misdirection or to give part of a larger thematic whole. Sometimes it’s provided in the title. Shanley’s Doubt, for example, states its theme right there in the title – and he wants you to keep that in mind as you read or watch his play. If you don’t – and many audiences do not—you’ll misunderstand what the play is saying. The title is meant to help us avoid the human tendency to rush to judgment or pick a side. Universal, timeless, themes are best. A theme that is particular to the year it is written, or to a particular audience, will die quickly even if it’s lucky enough to be produced at all. That way lies faddishness rather than art. Consider Son’s Stop Kiss again: it would have been easy for the playwright to make her theme something like “LGBTQ people deserve basic rights and protections because they’re human beings like anyone else”.Indeed, that’s both true and a clear message one can take from the story. But she’s a better writer than that. The themes of Stop Kiss are the unpredictability of love, human tenacity in the face of adversity, and how we can create our own lives rather than accept the lives others try to force upon us. Several months into co-writing Another Fucking Christmas Play, Michael realized its themes were Nietzschean – the necessity of embracing one’s fate no matter how painful, the location of true power in self-determination and self-control, and the difficult task of facing up to reality rather than hiding in fantasy. None of these themes is explicitly stated (except at the end of a bonus track on the Original Cast Recording), but they’re all present, in some form, throughout the play. They’re revealed by the choices characters make and what happens as a result, by what helps “un-stick” characters from their ruts so they can make progress. At least one of these themes is present in every scene of the play. But they’re indirect, hidden behind filthy jokes and bizarre songs. And they are themes as relevant now as they were in 19th-century Germany. They will always be relevant, because they’re universal themes about what it means to be a human being who wants to live the best life possible. If your play fits into a genre, it should demonstrate awareness of the conventions and tropes of that genre and do something interesting, creative, even subversive with them. At minimum you should know what genre your play falls into. Is it a comedy with dramatic moments? A drama with humorous moments? Is it sci-fi, Gothic, or fantasy? Whatever its genre, know what that means for what and how you’re expected to write – and if you’re going to flout the genre’s conventions, you’ll need to so do in a way that communicates a facility with those conventions, so your audience understands the purpose and intentionality behind your choices. To return to Another Fucking Christmas Play, Michael and his co-writers set out to write a Christmas musical on the surface that was a send-up of the genre underneath. So they compiled a table of every trope and cliché in the genre, then developed the plot and characters by trying to combine and include as many of those as possible, with a twist. The next step was to figure out what was irksome or false about those tropes and clichés and, one by one, subvert them. CRAFT and MECHANICS Many people find matters of craft and mechanics boring, even trivial. Maybe so. But guess what? They could mean the difference between writing for yourself and writing for audiences that want to read your plays and see them performed, because craft and mechanics get your foot in the door. We all want our work to be taken seriously. When submitting work for publication or performance, or submission to a contest, writers should hope for a sympathetic reader, but prepare for the unsympathetic reader: Spelling counts. Grammar counts. Punctuation counts. Diction counts. Typos, such as “quiet” for “quite”, are difficult to catch when spell-check glides right over them. Even the most sympathetic reader pauses to mull the meaning of a word when the wrong one appears in a sentence. For unsympathetic readers, the first appearance of a typo may be justification enough to put your work aside and move on to the next manuscript in the pile. Proofread your work carefully. Have a trusted reader proofread your work as well. Maybe more than one. FULL DISCLOSURE: Typos creep into our work, as they do everyone’s, but we always do our utmost to ensure there are as few as possible. Formatting is important. For one thing, formatting affects readability – and you want your work to be readable, don’t you? Ideas come first, certainly. Get them down on the page any way you can, but be sure you do not submit your work that way. Formatting is an easy way to show you know your craft and you respect your audience. For the sympathetic reader, a poorly or erratically-formatted play is difficult to read. The unsympathetic reader loves bad formatting because it’s a clear indication the writer has not learned their craft, or taken the time to present their work in the best light, and may cast your manuscript aside without even reading it. It’s a harsh reality, but it happens all too often. Guidelines matter as well. If a publisher or contest has guidelines, it is a good practice to follow them. If a contest specifies “No entries longer than 5,000 words”, it would be unwise to submit a work that is 12,000 words in length. Similarly, if entering a manuscript in a novel-writing competition, it would be unwise to submit a 15-page short story. Rules are not the enemy of creativity -- they are indicators of whether or not that venue is right for your work. The sympathetic reader may look the other way if guidelines are disregarded. The unsympathetic reader has just found another reason to put your work aside. Don’t give them that easy out. Play Manuscripts have their own formatting conventions. At a bare minimum, the following should each be given their own dedicated page:
Ultimately, if you’re writing to be read, you begin your story for yourself, but you complete it for your audience. The craft demands that, at some point in the writing process, your focus shifts from your own enjoyment to the needs of your audience. The two are not mutually exclusive, but they are also not conjoined. Craft is knowing the difference. Originality helps your play stand out, giving it a unique identity that brands it as your work. And originality comes in many forms, including the topics you choose to write about. Few people enjoy "canned" drama, where someone writes about a hot button issue and simply lets the built-in drama do all of the work. Writing is not about hitching wagons to a moving objects, it's about creating your own momentum. Scripts that demonstrate creativity and risk-taking in their ideas, interpretations, and choices are inherently more interesting. A script that risks making unpopular or even odious statements to tell their story (beyond merely being sensationalist) catch the eye and compel attention. We want to read work from writers who have a handle on what they’re creating. We ask, as we would a dog walker -- are they guiding the story (not leading or forcing it), or are they pulled off their feet following the story? We want a story that gallops, but we also want the writer to be in command. If the writer is just a passenger, where is there room for the audience? The audience is supposed to be the passenger. Attention to detail matters. As we mentioned earlier, you should always show rather than tell, when possible. Exposition can kill an otherwise good story. But when you tell, do so with concrete, vivid, well-observed human details. Central to conveying a sense of control is voice. Your script should demonstrate a unique authorial voice: it sounds like this you and no one else. It should have a point of view and a mood and a character of its own. This comes with practice – especially the sort of practice that comes from re-drafting. First drafts are easy to spot. They’re rarely impressive. They really aren’t supposed to be, as their function is to record your initial efforts. Quality and voice will grow as you complete the difficult work of editing and rewriting. Every story takes place within a larger world. The world of your play is fictional, even if based on real events. However close to reality or fantastical you want it to be, communicating a sense if the larger world beyond the play is important. It adds scope. It grounds the proceedings. It expands the audience’s sense of what is possible for your characters, giving them both pasts and futures. Finally, remember that this is a play you're writing – it’s intended to be performed, live, with actual actors, and most likely on a minimal budget. Take a hard look at it with these considerations in mind. Can this be performed? What would it cost? What sort of stage would it need? Are the scene transitions possible for real human beings to pull off? What sort of set will be required, and how often will that set need to change? Is there enough time for actors to change costumes? BRAND COMPATIBILITY You wouldn’t submit a Clive Barker-type body horror novel to Harlequin, because that isn’t what Harlequin publishes. It would be folly. These guidelines were written specifically for the Windsor-Essex Playwriting Contest – so they should be taken as a clear indication of what we’re looking for. But there’s more to that. The winning entry, each year, will be produced by Post Productions, so it needs to be the sort of play that Post Productions would produce. It needs to fit the Post Productions brand: intense; emotionally, intellectually, and/or socially provocative; intimately staged; perceptible as witnessing real people leading real lives. And it needs to be capable of being staged at The Shadowbox Theatre within the confines of a reasonable budget. The best way to get a good handle on the Post Productions brand is to see as many of the plays they produce as you can, and really think about why they were chosen. What do they have in common? What does each of them offer? Why was it chosen?  Promotional Photography by The Headshot Company
1. How would you summarize No Exit in a couple of sentences, for people who have never heard about it? No Exit is about what we all fear most: being stuck with the people who we like the least . . . forever. 2. What makes No Exit interesting and relevant to today's audiences? While it is an old play, I think a lot of what's being said in terms of unfinished business, desires, and regrets after death is relatable to just about everyone in any time period. I think the topic of death is so hard to comprehend and to discuss openly – with our peers even more difficult. The play had me thinking about my own mortality in a way that has opened my eyes to the important things in life, and I'm sure it'll have a similar effect on others who see it. 3. You play the character of The Bellboy. Could you describe him for us? My character is bored, proud, serious, and in control. He's kind of like Liam Neeson, if they made a 4th Taken movie. At this point he'd be seriously just questioning the bad guys like, "I have a particular set of skills, I've used far more than 3 times now. You really wanna kidnap my cat?" Plus he's got that killer stare! 4. Windsor-Essex is blessed with a lot of great theatre. Why should people take the time to go see No Exit? Because it's something you'll remember. A lot of feel-good comedies or twisting dramas are always entertaining to watch but then fade off into the distance. But this play will leave an aftertaste of diet-kick-in-the-pants that will keep you thinking for a long time. 5. What has the process of working on No Exit been like for you? When did it begin, and what has been memorable along the way? The process started at the beginning of November. With Post doing another show that they were all in, it was hard to schedule everyone at the same time. But once we got into regular rehearsals it was like magic happening on stage. Working with everyone has been amazing because we all build on each other's energy and ideas. It's like a majestic snowball that when it gets to the bottom of the hill will have turned into an entire snowman with all of its clothes put on with scientific precision. But seriously, it's been amazing working with Post. I feel as though I've learned a lot, and I continue to learn each rehearsal, and most of all it's fun. That's an important thing (I believe it is): keeping it fun. Many of us do this outside our regular jobs and it's nice to do something productive, fun, educational, sensational, and rewarding. The most memorable thing for me will definitely be the **** -- why'd you censor that? Is that still a secret? I guess you'll have to see the show and ask me what I'm talking about!
1. How would you summarize No Exit in a couple of sentences, for people who have never heard about it? Three people learn that Hell is much deeper – and much more painful – than Sunday School had led them to believe, by being forced to spend time together. 2. What makes No Exit interesting and relevant to today's audiences? On a surface level, it’s a funny fantasy about three unlikable people that you end up sympathizing with anyway – so it’s as entertaining now as it’s always been. You can enjoy it at that level, and I hope people do. But it’s also ABOUT a lot of things that are always relevant to human beings: the pain of coming to terms with the differences between who we are and who we want to be, the tragedy of being defined by other people’s perceptions of us, the way societies that prize competition destroy the souls of their citizens, and the impossibility of everyone seeing a person in exactly the same way at any given time. There’s a lot going on in this play. You don’t have to see all of that to enjoy the story and relate to the characters – but if you see it, well, you’ve got a lot to think about on the way home. 3. You play the character of Cradeau. Could you describe him for us? Cradeau has a well-defined, fixed, traditional image of the person he wants to be. He’s spent his whole life chasing that image, trying to live up to it. At times he thought he’d achieved it – finally he could say, ‘Yes, this is who I am”. But in the back of his mind he’s always known that was a lie, and in moments of weakness (most of them prompted by Inez) the mask slips and he reveals himself as a cruel, narcissistic, coward. But he’s also a human being with real needs and emotions, so you get glimpses of his soul now and then. He does care about people, even if he doesn’t know how to express that in a consistent or healthy way. He has principles, too, but those are hard to live up to under pressure. They always are, right? It’s so much easier to be moral when you aren’t being tested. Sartre wrote Cradeau as a condemnation of behaviours he saw around him during World War Two, yet he was a smart writer who understood how to create human beings instead of caricatures. 4. Windsor-Essex is blessed with a lot of great theatre. Why should people take the time to go see No Exit? There’s nothing else like it. There are no plays even remotely like No Exit being staged this winter, in Windsor-Essex, and No Exit will set you up for the thrilling, emotional, thought-provoking season that post productions has planned. This is chapter one of five! That said – definitely see other shows by other companies, too! There are many shows coming up that I’m really looking forward to this year. 5. What has the process of working on No Exit been like for you? When did it begin, and what has been memorable along the way? We’ve been talking about staging No Exit from around the time we were working on our first play, Oleanna. It emerged as the front-runner to open the 2019 season more than a year ago, long before we’d settled on anything else to produce this season. So it’s been in our heads for a while. But we didn’t realize a year ago how much we’d NEED it at this point! The last two productions of 2018 – Equus and Another Fucking Christmas Play – were absolute beasts. They were good, yes, and I’m glad we produced them. Still, by the time AFCP was running, we were completely exhausted. There’s no way we could have handled another large, complicated show coming into 2019. So No Exit has been a breath of fresh air. The play itself isn’t simple by any means – this is a rich, layered script – but the staging is simple, the cast is small, and we don’t have 500 moving pieces to keep track of. Plus, I’m always excited to work with new people. This is my first time on a stage with Liz Dietrich and Alex Monk – both of whom I’ve admired in other settings – and it’s been a blast learning from and with them throughout this process. Plus, I get to work with my favourite actress – Fay Lynn – again. In fact, I hadn’t planned on acting in this one or anything else, because I’ve been trying for a few years to quit acting. But every time I try to leave the stage she pulls me back on. So you have her to blame. Or thank. Depending on whether you enjoy the show.
1. How would you summarize No Exit in a couple of sentences, for people who have never heard about it? Three people who would otherwise do best to avoid each other are damned to spend eternity together in Hell. 2. What makes No Exit interesting and relevant to today's audiences? Times have changed; people haven't. We all fear damnation. We fear negative judgment and desperately seek to be understood. We struggle with identity, and what defines us. No Exit makes reference to a specific time in history, but the real story isn't tied to that moment in time. Everything that makes these characters human – down to their core – resonates still. It's interesting to look at others and see ourselves. That need for connection is always relevant. 3. You play the character of Inez. Could you describe her for us? When Inez walks into a room, she dares to be seen. She's not one to shy away from the gaze of others. She understands the effect of others' opinions, and welcomes their judgment. I imagine her making the decision long ago to be the one who controls the way others see and identify her, as well as the way she identifies herself. She owns it. She's only comfortable when she's in control. Unlike Estelle and Cradeau, she's aware and open about herself; her cruelty, her desires, and how she manipulates without guilt or regret. However, similar to the others, she denies her weaknesses. She's spent her whole life convinced she's strong and emotionally impenetrable, while acting accordingly, but she's hidden a very crucial part of herself, so deep within her that she refuses to even recognize it's there. 4. Windsor-Essex is blessed with a lot of great theatre. Why should people take the time to go see No Exit? The space is intimate, the script is tight and profound, the characters are interesting and the dynamic between them is engaging. It's a good play. A kind of a timeless play. 5. What has the process of working on No Exit been like for you? When did it begin, and what has been memorable along the way? I read the script over a year ago on a flight back from Japan. I had seen it performed only once before, in high school, as part of the Sears Festival. It affected me enough to stay in my mind for the last 15 years or so. Reading it for the first time on the plane, I was captivated. I read it twice, and though I'd only recently met her, I immediately pictured Liz Dietrich as Estelle. I knew I could play Inez if I asked, and of course I would only do that if I could convince Michael Potter to be Cradeau. When Michael O'Reilly brought up Alex Monk to complete the cast, it was perfect. We precast No Exit to make our lives easier, in a way, and also because I personally couldn't imagine being up there with anyone else at this time and place. After the chaotic nature of the last two productions we've done at the Box, this play, with its small cast and relatively simple production requirements, has seemed a breath of fresh air. The easiest and most rewarding part of this process has been, as always, working with a director, cast and crew that I respect, adore and admire. The most difficult part by far has been having to act so malicious and cruel toward them on stage, especially Michael Potter, whom I love so dearly. I'm always left feeling the overwhelming need to apologize.
1. How would you summarize No Exit in a couple of sentences, for people who have never heard about it? Hmmm . . . “It’s about 3 people in Hell, trying to admit to themselves what exactly they did to get there”. 2. What makes No Exit interesting and relevant to today's audiences? I think the concept of “Hell” is definitely one we’ve all considered at one time or another, whether you’re religious, spiritual, or completely atheistic. It’s a theme that will always be a topic of conversation. It never goes “out of style”, so to speak. In times like these where almost nothing is consistent, and society is becoming considerably more “woke” and demonstrably more pessimistic and disappointed, the things we were told by our monotheistic parents/grandparents/etc. are being called in to question, now more than ever. I know from my personal experiences growing up Catholic (and quickly getting out of it) that Hell was always more of an empty threat than an actual certainty. I was always taught that so long as you repented or “owned up” to your bad behaviour/thoughts, then God would always be willing to forgive you first-and-foremost, and so you wouldn’t end up in Hell. I think a lot of people were raised with this idea. It’s a fairly straight-forward way of seeing things, according to the Bible. The Devil being, of course, a Boogey-Man figure who lives in Hell, who exists for the sole purpose of scaring us into moralistic integrity. Either way, we’ve all wondered at one time or another: what exactly would Hell look like? Who would be there? And, if no one really knows the answer, then how do we know we aren’t already there? 3. You play the character of Estelle. Could you describe her for us? Estelle is probably one of the most layered characters I’ve ever had to play. She comes across as this beautiful and poised well-off type, but once you get past all the white icing sugar on the outside there lies this complete monster inside. I don’t want to seem as though I’m judging my character, I just prefer to be honest: Estelle is a sociopath, through and through. Completely unfeeling, superficially charming and completely self-serving, no capacity for guilt or shame, always vying for the affections and attentions of everyone and anyone around her. But Estelle is also a survivor, in that she knows exactly how to get what she wants and needs, and she absolutely will NOT settle for less. She can, and will, suck you dry, if you let her. The only characters I could possibly compare her to off the top of my head (and perhaps I’ll be hated for saying it) is Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby. Hear me out: I know, these women are not exactly monsters, but they are broken. Victims of their circumstances, maybe, or victims of men (if you’d really like to think of it that way; I don’t), but these are women who need to be seen in a certain light, need to have things the way they want them, need their freedom but ultimately can’t stand to be alone. They relish in being admired, whether they admit it out loud or not – “There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in the proportion”. 4. Windsor-Essex is blessed with a lot of great theatre. Why should people take the time to go see No Exit? People go to the theatre to feel great things, to relate to the characters, and to be entertained. There isn’t one aspect of No Exit that isn’t relatable, entertaining, or can’t make you feel, even for these three tragic creatures. I could go on and on about the quality of the acting and directing, but truly in this case “the medium is the message”. This is a story about people at the point of utmost desperation, told with painful honesty. If you want to leave the theatre feeling raw and mildly unsettled, come see our show. In a time of “fake news” and rampant propaganda, there’s nothing more cathartic than a really good piece of existential theatre to remind you of what it all comes down to: Hell is other people. 5. What has the process of working on No Exit been like for you? When did it begin, and what has been memorable along the way? Oh, I have loved each and every single moment of this process! I’m really mourning the fact that it’s going to end so soon. When Fay messaged me back in November asking if I’d like to be a part of this show, I was at such a loss for words! I was going through a really weird time in my life where everything was so unbelievably uncertain that I didn’t know which way was up . . . but I knew I needed to say yes to this. That much I was certain of. What an incredible opportunity, and there really hasn’t been a single moment of regret. As much as I’m not exactly the monster that Estelle is, I do know what it feels like to enjoy being admired (hell, I’m in theatre), or to be afraid of what people might think or say (again, I’m in theatre) – these are the little human things that she and I connect on. By getting to know her, it’s really helped me work through some of that in my own life, and that is something I most definitely did not expect! Working with Post has been such a fantastic experience as well, always having open and comfortable discussions, I’ve never once felt like I couldn’t voice an opinion or relate out loud to the text. It is rare that an open dialogue is allowed, let alone encouraged! That truly has made all the difference for me. I am almost always cast as the comedienne, or the old lady, and it has been an absolute thrill to get to play someone “real” like Estelle. I’ve had a total blast seeking out the pathos with these guys. What an awesome way to start my 27th year!  SAMANTHA LILLIAN (Holly Lavigne) is originally from Goderich, Ontario, where her addiction to theatre was born at the age of 12! She started singing before she could speak, and was raised with a love for musicals and fairy tales. Samantha began her studies in the UWindsor BFA Acting program and switched into and graduated from BA(H) DRED program in 2013. She is no stranger to the stage. You may recognize her from Company (Korda Artistic Productions), Beauty and the Beast (Windsor Light Musical Theatre), SDUG with Rob Tymec, The Bolt House (Windsor Feminist Theatre), Peter Pan(TO) (Korda Artistic Productions), Jekyll & Hyde (Cardinal Music Productions), and various princess appearances! She has also recently been appointed as Administrative Assistant for Tall Tale Theatre Co. CARLA GYEMI (Noelle Lavigne) is thrilled to be closing Post Productions' 2018 season with AFCP, after making her debut with the company as Sister James in Doubt at the start of the year. Past roles include Kathy in Company, Roz in 9 to 5, The Baker's Wife in Into the Woods, Demeter in Cats, Tiger Lily in Peter Pan(to), and Agnes in The Divine Sister. JULIE WALTON (Yula Lavigne) was last seen as Madam Popova in Korda Artistic Productions’ Chekhov's Shorts. Favourite recent credits include: Stoner Chick in Heathers the Musical, Margaret Pomerance in 9 to 5 the Musical, Coricopat in Cats, and TV Reporter/ Delta Nu in Legally Blonde the Musical – all with Cardinal Music Productions; Angela in Hair: The Tribal Love Rock Musical, Quincy/Marge Simpson in Mr. Burns: A Post Electric Play, Parrot in The Birds, Erotium in The Twins, No Direction in Peter Pan(to), Stormtrooper in Star War(ped): May the Farce Be With You, and Female Chorus in God of Ecstasy – all with Korda Artistic Productions. She has also worked with Theatre Alive, Theatre Intrigue and Riverfront Theatre Company.  ZEPHYR (Sam Klausowitz) has appeared in a number of shows over the last five years. Most recently he appeared onstage as Witch 1 in Macbeth, Scott in Evil Dead: The Musical, and Pentheus in God of Ecstasy – all with Korda Artistic Productions. Zephyr hopes that his performance as Sam can be described as "briskly phlegmatic," though he's not sure what that even means. Please don't explain it to him. MICHAEL O’REILLY (Chris Nichols; writer/director/producer) is the Artistic Director of Post Productions, where he also writes (The Worst Thing I Ever Did), produces, and directs (Shelter in Place,Stop Kiss, True West, Oleanna). In addition to these duties, he is sometimes bullied onto the stage. He is fond of his roles as Mushnik in Little Shop of Horrors (Cardinal Music Productions) and Owen in The Worst Thing I Ever Did (Post Productions).  JULIA PASTORIUS (Agnes O’Pheasant) is no stranger to stage or film. Her most recent accomplishments include playing young Allison in Fun Home (Korda Artistic Productions), Fly Girl in Boys Vs Girls (Dot Film), and Megan in Angry Angel (Sony Picture Television). Watch for her as the titular character in the upcoming production of Curious George at St Clair College Centre for the Arts. FAY LYNN (Carol O’Pheasant; writer/director/producer) has been active in the Windsor-Essex theatre scene since 2002, when she played the role of Libby Tucker in I Ought to be in Pictures with Plaid Jacket Productions. Since that time she has played many roles, both on and off the stage, in over 60 productions with various companies in the community. She became Creative Director for Post Productions in 2017. This is her second time co-writing and directing a play with her partners, the Michaels. She was most recently seen on stage as Macbeth in Korda's production of Macbeth. Her next endeavour will be taking on the role of Inez in Post Production's presentation of No Exit in February. NIKOLAS PRSA (Teensy Tim O’Pheasant) brings festive imbecility to new and disturbing heights as Teensy Tim; this follows performances as Alan Strang in Post's Equus and those in the choruses of several Windsor Light Music Theatre productions. When not playing young English men with undiagnosed traumas, you can find Nik discussing current events and waiving late fees for law students. MARIA HAUSMANN (Other O’Pheasant) arrived in Windsor via Oklahoma, Florida, and Quebec – a circuitous route for a 12-year-old, which her parents attribute to their own indecision. In just three years she has made her mark in the Windsor-Essex theatre and film community, playing roles such as Jojo in Seussical the Musical and the Genie in Aladdin (both with Windsor Light Musical Theatre’s youth program), as well as two productions with Korda Artistic Productions: Fearless Frieda and Second Banana. She was nominated for, and received, the Best Actress Award at the University of Windsor’s annual Film Festival in 2017.  CINDY PASTORIUS (Marianne Marley). This is Cindy's 3rd show with Post Productions. Previous roles include Mom (True West), Ms. Winsley (Stop Kiss), Witch 2 & Lady MacDuff (Macbeth), the Bank Examiner (It's A Wonderful Life), as well as playing chorus in many productions - most notably, Les Miserables, Aida, and Annie. She has been active both on stage & behind the scenes in community theatre for over 15 years. She is a proud wife, mother, (soon to be grandma) and high school teacher when she is not performing on stage. MATTHEW FROESE (Brody Brosephine) is going to be a dad soon; therefore this is probably his last show for a while. He's really glad he will be acting with a great group of friends. He was last the Porter and the King in Macbeth at Korda and Peter in Stop Kiss here at the Shadowbox. Mat is pleased to be doing a show with Fay where she doesn't hit him in the face.  MICHAEL K. POTTER (Willie Finch; writer/director/producer) has been acting since the tender age of eleven, and recently began the painful process of learning how not to make an ass of himself onstage. Aside from serving as Managing Director of Post Productions, where he also produces and directs plays (Equus, Stop Kiss, True West), he still finds time to act occasionally – most recently as Reinhart in Shelter in Place, Wesley in The Worst Thing I Ever Did, John in Oleanna, and The Enforcer in season 3 of Space/SyFy's Killjoys. Previous credits in Windsor-Essex include Tiresius in God of Ecstasy (Korda Artistic Productions), Lurch in The Addams Family (Cardinal Music Productions), Gordon and Dwight in Dead Man’s Cell Phone (Korda Artistic Productions), Gil Wiatt in Devil Boys From Beyond (Korda Artistic Productions), Mordcha in Fiddler on the Roof (Cardinal Music Productions) and Sir Edward Ramsey in The King and I (Windsor Light Musical Theatre). DAVID BURROWS (Biff Davidson) is thrilled to join Post Productions for their first musical and is looking forward to co-producing the New Voices series with Post at The Shadowbox Theatre in 2019. David is a proud member of the local theatre community, having performed in shows with Windsor Light Musical Theatre, Theatre Alive, Theatre Intrigue, Korda Productions, Cardinal Music Productions and many more. Along the way, he has also had the opportunity to direct such shows as Fun Home, Company, and Mary Poppins. Up next: The Cast Party - a musical evening featuring some of Windsor’s best singers at RockStar Music Hall on January 18th. See you there! ERIC BRANGET (Chip Williams) is an actor born, raised, and trained in Windsor. A graduate of the University of Windsor’s BFA Acting program, he has spent the past three years working in theatre, television, and film communities across Ontario. Eric has appeared in commercials for companies such as Visa, Oxford Notebooks, and Schick. In the film & television worlds, he has appeared in programs such as See No Evil, Scariest Night Of My Life and Evil Encounters. Past theatre credits include: Morris (Raise The Stakes, Larry Silverburg) Jimmy McCrae (For The Love Of Late Night, Tall Tale Theatre Co.) ; Fr. Flynn, (Doubt: A Parable, Post Productions) ; Sir Toby Belch (Twelfth Night, University Players) ; Michael Katurian (The Pillowman, Spark Plug Players) ; and Friar Laurence (Romeo & Juliet, 7 Siblings).  SAM POOLE (composer and musical director) is a jazz piano major at the School of Creative Arts at the University of Windsor. He is thrilled to have written the score for Another Fucking Christmas Play: A Fucking Musical! This will be his second full-length musical theatre composition, after working on Free by Nicholas Bourque. Past Credits include: Company and Fun Home (Korda Artistic Productions), Mamma Mia! (Windsor Light Musical Theatre), and Mr. Burns (University Players). You can catch him in his graduation project, Songs for a New World in February 2019. Now, get ready to “Face the Misery and Dance”
Promotional Photos by The Headshot Company  MARTIN OUELLETTE as Martin Dysart Martin Ouellette was born and raised in Windsor, a mecca to which he returned after two decades in the trenches of a Toronto entertainment scene where he appeared in dozens of television commercials and fronted a touring rock band. Recent local acting credits include Bobby in Korda’s Company, Beast in WLMT’s Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, and Captain Hook in Korda’s Peter Panto. Recent directing credits include The Pirates of Penzance, Evil Dead: The Musical, and Not Another High School Murder! for Extension-Korda and the upcoming Macbeth (with Sean Westlake) for Korda Artistic Productions. Martin is represented by Hailey Joy of Fusion Talent.  NIKOLAS PRSA as Alan Strang Nikolas Prsa is making his Post Productions debut. A graduate of St. Joseph's High School and a voracious consumer of local productions of all sorts, Nik previously appeared as a chorus member in Windsor Light Music Theatre's productions of The King and I, Mary Poppins, Sister Act, and Beauty and the Beast. In addition, he worked as a backstage crew member for WLMT's youth productions of Aladdin Jr. and Peter Pan Jr.  KIMBERLEY BABB as Hesther Salomon Kim is making her Post Productions debut in Equus. Previously, she has performed in shows with Windsor Light Music Theatre (The Wizard of Oz; The King and I; Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat; Mary Poppins; The Little Mermaid; Sister Act; Beauty and the Beast; and Mamma Mia!), Cardinal Music Productions (Little Shop of Horrors), Korda Artistic Productions (Mr. Burns; Star Warped: May the Farce be With You), and Migration Hall (Winter Wonderettes).  MICHELE LEGERE as Dora Strang Michele Legere joins Equus as her first show with Post Productions. She was recently seen as Joan in Strangers Among Us with Korda Artistic Productions. Last year, Michele received the Best Actress in a Lead Performance award at the Western Ontario Drama League Festival for her role as Nora for Ghostlight Players’ Better Living. For that same show, she went on to earn a nomination for Best Performance in a Lead Role in Ottawa at the Theatre Ontario Festival. Michele can next be seen in the upcoming production of The Drowning Girls with Ghostlight Players.  JOEY OUELLETTE as Frank Strang Joey has participated in more than 500 different productions -- most recently Spirals and Best For You with The Purple Theatre Company, Big Green Sky and Riveter with Windsor Feminist Theatre, Yellow Vines and The Man Who Married A Chicken with Paperknife Theatre. His plays have been produced all over North America. NICOLE COFFMAN as Jill Mason Nicole Coffman started in film production in 2008 and has since worked on Nara (Splice Productions) and Found Footage (81 Entertainment). She has been a writer, director and producer for many local music videos and her own short films - winning Best Script/Art Direction in student showcases and Best Music Video at the Wayne State film festival. Although she is a newcomer to theatre, she has been active in live performance through spoken word poetry events, burlesque, and more recently stand-up comedy.  MITCH SNADEN as Harry Dalton Mitch Snaden was last seen in Windsor Light Music Theatre’s productions of Singing in the Rain and Mamma Mia. His past credits include numerous shows with Theatre Windsor, Korda Artistic Productions and as the Devil in Damn Yankees, another Windsor Light show. While living in London he was in King Lear at the McManus Theatre, and in various shows with London Community Players. Mitch can be seen in the upcoming film The Quick and The Dirty..  DYLAN MACDONALD as The Young Horseman Dylan MacDonald is a local actor last seen as Lee in True West (Post Productions). Other notable theatrical roles include Vince in Tape, Bassanio in The Merchant of Venice, Bobby in American Buffalo, Jason Posner in Wit. Recently Dylan finished teaching Improvisation 101 in association with Post Productions and future courses are forthcoming. He was trained in improvisation and comedy by The Second City, Toronto.  ANNA ROSATI-LOFT as Nurse Anna is no stranger to the local theatre scene, wearing many hats. Recently she stage managed a Shakespeare production of Love Labour's Lost (Ghostlight Players); she now must wear a nurse's cap to portray the tough-as-nails caregiver in Equus. She is thrilled to be back on stage in this very challenging and dramatic piece of work. Her credits include Lost in Yonkers (winning best supporting actress as Aunt Gert) for Theatre Windsor, It's a Wonderful Life, Cemetery Club, Tony and Tina's Wedding and This is a Play. Saddle up and get ready for a ride you will never forget!
 Matthew St. Amand is a life-long resident of Windsor. Over the past thirty years, his short fiction has appeared in The Toronto Reivew of International Writing, Opium Magazine, FRiGG Magazine, as well as numerous online publications.
His prose poetry has appeared in The North American Review, Agni and Phoebe. His books include a collection of short fiction titled, As My Sparks Fly Upward (2004), a volume of poetry, Forever & a Day (2004), a suspense novel, Randham Acts (2006), and a comic novel, Loitering With Intent to Mope (2009). His blog, Inside the Hotdog Factory, spans 740 posts of corporate and political satire, dating back to 2005. Shelter In Place is Matthew's fifth theatrical production, preceded by Dorian (2008), Shine On You Crazy Diamond (2013), The Uncanny Valley (2015), Moon Over Endor (2017), directed by Mark Lefebvre and Rob Tymec, respectively. Shelter is Matthew's first production with Post Productions. His next play, Negatunity, is tentatively scheduled as part of an upcoming Post Productions season. When not obsessing over the words and actions of people who never existed, Matthew lives in LaSalle with his wife and two young sons and earns his living as a technical writer in an automotive engineering firm.  FAY LYNN has been active in the Windsor theatre scene since 2002. She was most recently seen on stage at the Shadowbox Theatre as Callie in Stop Kiss. Other recent credits include Lysistrata in Lysistrata, Percy in The Worst Thing I Ever Did (which she also co-wrote and directed) at the 2017 Windsor Walkerville Fringe Festival, Carol in Oleanna, and The Koryphaios of Women in God of Ecstasy. This October, in addition to co-producing Equus with Post Productions, she will be taking on the role of Macbeth in Macbeth with Korda Artistic Productions at the Kordazone Theatre. Philosopher. Educator. Author. Director. Producer. Actor. Provocateur. MICHAEL K. POTTER is no stranger to pretension and dramatic intimations of self-importance. He has been involved in theatre since the tender age of eleven, and recently began the painful process of learning how not to make an ass of himself onstage. Although he spends most of his waking hours as Managing Director of Post Productions, he still finds time to act occasionally -- most recently as Wesley in The Worst Thing I Ever Did, John in Oleanna, and The Enforcer in season 3 of Space/SyFy's Killjoys. We all want our work to be taken seriously. When submitting work for publication, or to a contest, writers should hope for a sympathetic reader, but prepare for the unsympathetic reader:
Scene: where does this specific scene take place? On a beach, in a cabin, in a hospital or police station? Time: when does this scene take place? Ten years in the future? Twenty years in the past? Present day?
How to Write a Compelling Play The good news and the bad news is that nobody can tell you how to write a compelling play. If you care to read further, I can describe my process. At the outset, we need to demystify the whole concept of “ideas”. New writers regard ideas as diamond-encrusted gifts from the gods, that they are rare and few and precious. In reality, ideas should be regarded as perishable, plentiful and expendable, like tomatoes. When an idea materializes, don’t regard it as a miracle. Regard it as a tomato. Examine it looking for flaws and imperfections. Squeeze the tomato to see if it’s mushy. Smell it to see if it’s about to go over. Examine its size – is it puny, is it a bulging mutant? Do not put ideas on pedestals, put them on the ground and step on them. If we do that, we’ll squash them! a voice cries out. Yes. Exactly. We want to squash and discard ideas by the dozen, by the score, by the gross, by the great gross. Why? But why? the voice cries out. To find those ideas that do not just squish under our foot. They are out there, but the only way of finding them is by digging through all the mediocre ideas and discarding them all. Personally, I do not keep a writing journal. I used to, and I soon found it filled with flabby, half-baked, useless fragments. There came a point I no longer feared forgetting an idea. If an idea is any good, it’ll come back. Don’t expect the surviving tomato/idea to be a glowing prodigy of tomatoes. The best ideas are often very simple. One idea that recurred to me was simple: two people in a room. The image was so pedestrian anyone else might have thought, “Certainly, that’ll squash under foot worse than the rest!” It did not, however – because I sensed (a) the people were trapped; (b) they were not friends, but also not enemies; they were skeptical of each other, but would also help each other – to a degree. Who were these people? A man and a woman. The man was Reinhart, a name with a bit of bite, unusual so that it was slightly memorable. He worked in Logistics and Risk Management – a very corporate sounding department, but with little indication about its actual purpose/function. The woman was Rainbow, a softer, more pleasant, unusual name. But every idea is a tomato. After giving the name “Rainbow” the squash test, it didn’t pass. Too hippy-esque. I tried several other names. Finally, “Meghan” passed the squash test. She worked in Wellness, which was also relatable, but with an ambiguous purpose/function. I wanted to work with audience expectations immediately, to let them make assumptions based on my characters’ names, their departments, all easily revealed in an ordinary introduction to one another. Why were Meghan and Reinhart in the room? Were they incarcerated? Kidnapped? No. There was an emergency and they were in a “safe room” in their building. What kind of emergency? A gunman in the building would be very timely. A bomb threat could be very compelling. A person who went crazy, stripped off their clothes and did a nude-run, could be funny. But I kept stepping on the ideas and they kept squashing. Then came the idea: Meghan and Reinhart don’t know what the emergency is. That idea didn’t squash. At first, it seemed less exciting than the others – but it didn’t squash. So, I explored it. As it turned out, the idea allowed me to reveal my characters very quickly, as they spoke of their own ideas about why a “shelter in place” had been called. Meghan is a worrier, fatalistic, certain that some disaster has occurred. Reinhart is cynical and dismissive, believing the emergency is merely a drill, a waste of time. This immediately created conflict as they discussed/argued why they believed what they believed. Tensions escalate as they attempt to convince the other that their idea is the correct one. This triggered ideas for dialogue, creating a natural push-pull dynamic. There were many dialogue ideas to squash: Obviously, Meghan and Reinhart are in disagreement, but I wanted to avoid all the easy traps of having them simply insult each other or demean the other’s ideas. So, I drew upon personal experience about times I have had disagreements, drew on experience when I witnessed others who had disagreements, even thought of how I’d seen it portrayed well. This is where craft and experience came into play. No matter how I try, the first thing I put down on paper is clichéd and obvious. This used to bother me. Then I realized, I knew enough to fix it. So, I came to a point where I just concentrated on getting my ideas down on paper as well as I could – “What do I know best?” I ask myself, and I write that part. Doesn’t matter if it’s not in chronological order. I write the scene that comes in clearest. When that scene is done, I think, “Well, how did they get there?” There are some obvious reasons and I work with those. So, I put down my sloppy, clichéd dialogue and then I go over and over it, zeroing-in on every part that bothers me. Characters who are glib or too clever are insufferable. Characters who are conveniently stupid and need obvious plot-points explained to them can demolish a story. I don’t even ask myself for reasons why bits of dialogue rub me the wrong way. If something doesn’t feel right, I re-examine it and often rewrite it. The big “fixes” are:
With Meghan and Reinhart in the corporate safe room, I have their initial efforts at trying to convince the other about what is happening and/or if they should stay or leave the safe room. But having two people just standing and talking gets boring. Something needs to happen. So, I looked to external forces for action prompts. Meghan and Reinhart both have cell phones. Could they get news of the emergency over those? No. No cell phone reception. Is that because of where they were located in the building, or was there a more sinister reason? I explored this in dialogue. Then, I introduced a strange, intermittent sound – something rolling through the duct work in the ceiling above their heads. The sound was enough to spook my characters. They both had their own guesses the source of the sound and what it meant to their safety. I explored this in dialogue. After the mystery sound fades away, and the back-and-forth speculation dies out, I came to a natural break in the action. Meghan and Reinhart, decide they are trapped, and having decided to stay (for the time being) they need to kill time. How do two strangers do this? They talk about themselves. They ask about the other. As a further change of direction, I created reasons for each character to temporarily leave the safe room, with the promise of returning. This afforded the remaining character a soliloquy where they revealed thoughts/ideas they never would have said in front of the other. Eventually, I hit upon an idea – the company had been sold, sometime in the recent past – which sent the story into a new direction, allowing me to create a few different dynamics between Meghan and Reinhart. Meghan, the worrier, soon shows confidence. Reinhart, the arrogant yuppie has a few strategic moments of doubt. No person is monotone. People are complex. They experience a range of emotions. Your characters can feel anything – it’s the writer’s job to pave a realistic route from one emotion to another. Once I had the dialogue happening, and added some action, I needed to pay attention to pacing. Did I just pile up all the action in ten pages in the middle of the play, bookending it all with roundabout dialogue? No way. There is a natural ebb and flow to events. Characters gain confidence, characters lose confidence. Characters agree, characters disagree. Characters are confused by events, characters figure out a plan of action. Like a swinging pendulum. How do you know what to do next? Well, what are you doing right now? If your characters are disagreeing, find a story-reason for them to agree. If your character is frightened, find a story-reason for them to feel assured. And notice I say “story-reason”, and not just “reason”: Everything you put into a story must do at least ONE of TWO things:
If you have an scene/event occur and it does neither of these things, it must be cut. Real estate in a story is not free space. Every idea has to pay its rent by doing one of those two things: Develop character and/or further the story. So, Meghan and Reinhart engage in disagreement, and then the mystery sound rumbles through, unifying them in their fear. Their speculation regarding the original of the sound soon separates them, again. This disagreement leads to more dialogue about whether to stay or leave the safe room. There are no hard and fast rules in writing, but one I set for myself is: the first half of the play steers the audience toward certain questions. The second half of the play answers most of those questions. Meaning, if you have a character enter, covered in blood, at some point you will have to reveal why and/or who’s blood is it. This is where craft enters. It’s easy to create mystery, but if your story has too many unanswered/unaddressed mysteries can sink your story. Does this mean all questions must be answered by the end of the play? No. But the role of the writer is similar to that of the court room lawyer: never ask a question to which you do not already know the answer. Do no create mysteries or questions in your story simply to prod it along. There should be a reason for every detail. Which leads to the painful moments where a writer is faced with cutting details they personally love, but which really serve no purpose in the story. Cut them. Cut them all. If you have to, do a Save As with your document, keep a copy with those precious details, and then save another version in which they are deleted. I do this. It makes cutting much easier. Then, later, when I revisit my grand, precious idea in the previous version, it has usually paled. In Shelter in Place, I didn’t so much create mysteries, but added touchstone details that I revisited in Act II and III. A seemingly inconsequential detail, early on, becomes a major plot point later. Ultimately, if you’re writing to be read, you begin your story for yourself, but you complete it for your audience. The craft demands that, at some point in the writing process, your focus shifts from your own enjoyment to the needs of your audience. The two are not mutually exclusive, but they are also not conjoined. Craft is knowing the difference. |
