I'm finding it weird, being a playwright.
Screenwriter. Absolutely.
Playwright, well, it's complicated.
Most of the plays contain chunks of my heart. A few are smart-aleck* comedies which should layer out differently, but don't. So far [knock wood] all have been staged which is not a bad record for someone who started this particular journey late.
The writing starts the same. An idea floats in and suddenly imaginary people are telling me their stories. It's like falling in love, all potential, grace and humor. Then comes the getting it down part. Moving from the ethereal to wood pulp and that's like getting married and it's what's for dinner for the rest of eternity.
But, being married is fun too, so there it goes and before you know it*2 a play emerges.
A story. Told with heart and movement, love and laughter, joy and pain. And words.
"Aye and there's the rub."*3 For who owns the words once they've left the pen?
Some may scoff. The writer owns the copyright as soon as the story is written down. And there are multiple ways to more or less legally protect one's work.
But theater is different. A play must be staged. It has to be walked into real life by real live other creative souls. And so, the words and heart leave the hands of the playwright and fall into the realm of directors, actors and every other theater person it takes to get something up on its feet.
It can be a place where the text is respected and directors build the story in a space and actors bring their lives to an arc of emotion in the story and all that makes the play richer. I've experienced this and it is very heart and soul of theater magic.
But it doesn't always happen like that.
A director may claim ownership of the production, fair enough, but in a way that treats the script as only broad strokes that can be rearranged or dismissed.
There's the rub, indeed.
Something a writer may have lived through to realize the story then worked at for serious time to get down, passes like a fart in a wind storm. And who will notice?
The writer, of course. And occasionally an audience member who asks the writer either in a talkback or in an aside during the break, what did that mean? And I've experienced that too and have managed to explain my intention and meaning without throwing the disrespectful director under the bus because I sometimes have manners that would make my mother proud.
So, what's the answer?
1 - Stop going to the productions. Remain blissfully ignorant. Where's the fun in that?
2 - Stop writing for performance. Which I have considered a couple of times
while driving home either seriously pissed off or in tears.
3 - Speak the fuck up, woman. Stop being so polite. Mother will understand.
I thought about adding this disclaimer to the cover --
"This work is protected by US Copyright law and Dramatists Guild rules. Do not alter the text, change the age or sex of a character, or combine characters without permission of the playwright."
But would it insult those who know better or dissuade those who don't?
What adds to the ridiculousness of the situation is that I've always been available and amenable. The few times I've been asked to change something, I've always agreed. Once because there was sincere creative passion behind the request, once to see what would happen and once because it was so stupid but the director wanted to appease her mother.*4
So, the playwright fills her play with heart and soul, blood and guts, intellect and wit and sends it out into the world to sail or fall, play fast or limp away.
And what's the pay-off?
The audience. Listening to them laugh. Seeing them be moved to tears.*5 Having them stop me on their way out of the theater to tell me their grief stories. The lady who stopped me in the hallway to say she only came to the Play Fest the day my plays were up because I never disappointed her.*6
Screenwriters are used to becoming disposable. At least before Hollywood shoos one out the door, they offer lots of money.*7
I read an article written by Tennessee Williams in which he talks about the life of a playwright. He describes a meeting he had with a theater manager who told him that his play was closing after one performance. Mr. Williams said, But I'll do anything. I put my heart into it. And the manager advises him to not do that anymore. Williams ignores that advice. A paragraph later he remembers a play that received only one positive comment from an acquaintance. And that was enough to prevent him from giving up the theater for a second career as a waiter.
So, according to Tennessee Williams, this is just the way it goes.
A playwright puts her heart and soul into the work, but it lives on the backs of other people and what happens next is anybody’s guess.
* smart-ass is my voice. I'm leaning in.
*2 or 12 days, or six weeks, or a year and a half.
*3 Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1.
*4 Someone should take care of the mothers.
*5 I feel guilty about that.
*6 ! :) !
*7 Or so I've heard.
