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How I Did It: Establishing a Playwriting Career
How I Did It: Establishing a Playwriting Career
How I Did It: Establishing a Playwriting Career
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How I Did It: Establishing a Playwriting Career

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For this book, Lawrence Harbison has interviewed successful playwrights who have developed relationships with theaters that regularly produce their plays, have had at least one major New York production, have their plays published by a licensor such as Dramatists Play Service or Samuel French, have received commissions, and have an agent. Harbison asks each of them the same question: How did you do it? How I Did It features an introduction by Theresa Rebeck and interviews with David Auburn, Stephen Belber, Adam Bock, Bekah Brunstetter, Sheila Callaghan, John Carlani, Eric Coble, Jessica Dickey, Kate Fodor, Gina Gionfriddo, Daniel Goldfarb, Kirsten Greenidge, Rinne Groff, Lauren Gunderson, Michael Hollinger, Rajiv Joseph, Greg Kotis, Neil LaBute, Deborah Zoe Laufer, Wendy MacLeod, Itamar Moses, Bruce Norris, Lynn Nottage, Aaron Posner, Adam Rapp, J.T. Rogers, Lloyd Suh, Carl Thomas, Sharr White, and Anna Ziegler. A valuable tool for playwrights daunted by the extremely difficult task of getting their work produced, as well as to playwriting students, How I Did It is full of stories of how it's done.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateJan 1, 2000
ISBN9781495025990
How I Did It: Establishing a Playwriting Career
Author

Lawrence Harbison

Lawrence Harbison was in charge of new play acquisitions for Samuel French, Inc., for over thirty years. He edits annual anthologies of best plays by new playwrights and women playwrights, best ten-minute plays, and monologues for men and for women. His column, “On the Aisle with Larry,” is a regular feature at www.applausebooks.com. Harbison was a member of the Drama Desk Nominating Committee for the 2010–2011 and 2011–2012 seasons. He works with individual playwrights to help them develop their plays (see his website: www.playfixer.com). Harbison is the editor of Best Contemporary Monologues for Women, Best Contemporary Monologues for Men, and Best Contemporary Monologues for Kids, also from Applause, who published his book How I Did It: Establishing a Playwriting Career in 2015.

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    Book preview

    How I Did It - Lawrence Harbison

    Copyright © 2015 by Lawrence Harbison

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, without written permission, except by a newspaper or magazine reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review.

    Published in 2015 by Applause Theatre & Cinema Books

    An Imprint of Hal Leonard Corporation

    7777 West Bluemound Road

    Milwaukee, WI 53213

    Trade Book Division Editorial Offices

    33 Plymouth St., Montclair, NJ 07042

    Printed in the United States of America

    Book design by John J. Flannery

    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

    How I did it : establishing a playwriting career / edited by Lawrence Harbison ; introduction by Theresa Rebeck.

          pages cm

     ISBN 978-1-4803-6963-4 (pbk.)

    1.  Playwriting. 2.  Authors and theater. 3.  Drama--Technique.  I. Harbison, Lawrence, editor.

     PN1661.H64 2015

     808.2--dc23

                                                               2014046382

    www.applausebooks.com

    Contents

    Foreword by Theresa Rebeck

    Preface by Lawrence Harbison

    1. David Auburn

    2. Stephen Belber

    3. Adam Bock

    4. Bekah Brunstetter

    5. Sheila Callaghan

    6. John Cariani

    7. Eric Coble

    8. Jessica Dickey

    9. Kate Fodor

    10. Gina Gionfriddo

    11. Daniel Goldfarb

    12. Kirsten Greenidge

    13. Rinne Groff

    14. Lauren Gunderson

    15. Michael Hollinger

    16. Rajiv Joseph

    17. Greg Kotis

    18. Neil LaBute

    19. Deborah Zoe Laufer

    20. Wendy MacLeod

    21. Itamar Moses

    22. Bruce Norris

    23. Lynn Nottage

    24. Aaron Posner

    25. Adam Rapp

    26. J. T. Rogers

    27. Lloyd Suh

    28. Cori Thomas

    29. Sharr White

    30. Anna Ziegler

    Afterword

    Foreword

    How do playwrights get their start? Where does the idea of being a playwright even come from, and then how does one start?

    Once someone starts writing, how does that person figure out how to get a raw new play from a complete nobody to a place where someone produces it? And then what happens? And then what?

    In a series of interviews that are chock full of the kind of information that other playwrights want to hear, Larry Harbison poses these questions to some of America’s finest contemporary playwrights. In conversations that range from a discussion of what kind of temp work you were doing when you started out as a playwright to how you got your first agent, and from who gave you a hand up to the thrill or heartbreak of that first production, Harbison focuses on the mysterious moment when a playwright steps out of that chrysalis and starts to emerge.

    The designation emerging playwright is so commonplace that no one is quite sure what it means. Intuitively, one might think it means a playwright who nobody’s ever heard of. Or, a playwright whose plays are pretty good, but who has never had a production.

    Or, a playwright who’s had a couple of productions in smaller venues but is hoping to get into a bigger house. Or, a playwright who has had a couple of productions but has made no money at all at it and still harbors the fantasy that someday someone might actually pay him or her to do this.

    Or, a playwright who is teaching playwriting at a university but struggles to get his or her own work into production.

    Recently, I was told that emerging playwright doesn’t mean any of that. Apparently, some people think an emerging playwright is actually a playwright who has already emerged enough to get the attention of people who might agree that this emerged playwright could use some help emerging further. Which means, I guess, that we need another word for what happens before that. Aspiring? Depressed? Hopeful? Wannabe?

    People seem very concerned about these designations. Right now, the ones in vogue are emerging playwright, midcareer playwright, and master playwright. Although I have a friend who had a couple of strong pops straight out of graduate school, and since then, not much. She calls herself a submerged playwright. Frankly she’s not the only one who worries about submerging; anything past emerging and before master is a little worrisome. Will you make it through midcareer or will you fall away into teaching or raising children or (oh no!) television?

    That is not our concern today. Today we are looking at the moment when some of our most compelling playwrights emerged. Their stories are simply told, with appropriate attention to detail, which Harbison nurses out of them with a shrewd eye. They are in fact the stories that every young playwright wants to know. How does that moment happen?

    It’s hard to emerge. As I read these interviews, they reminded me of a little bird, pecking like hell to get out of its egg and get on with things. We are right to be obsessed with the question of emergence. I’m also struck by the way the word emergence glides so effortlessly into the word emergency. There is no question that climbing out of that shell is essential to life; you will suffocate in there if you don’t make it out.

    But there are ways to get out of that shell. Harbison and his pantheon of playwrights have information about that.

    Theresa Rebeck

    September 20, 2014

    Preface

    In August of 2011, I traveled to Hollins University in Roanoke, Virginia, for the school’s presentation of plays by its MFA students. I was a distinguished guest, and my job was to comment on all the plays that were read. After one play another distinguished guest, a fellow who in his youth had founded what has since become arguably the most important producer of new plays in New York and, by extension, in the country, said that there weren’t very many good plays being written. A spirited discussion ensued, during which I took him on, basically telling him that he didn’t know what he was talking about.

    I go to the theater at least two hundred times a year. I read at least another two hundred plays, all of them produced recently, sent to me by agents and playwrights. I also read at least five hundred ten-minute plays, because I edit an annual anthology of same. Not all of these plays are good—but a lot of them are. There are a lot of terrific plays being written each year, by a horde of exciting playwrights, many of whom I interviewed for this book, many of whom are still trying to establish their careers. One could say—in fact, I’ll say it—there have never been more excellent plays being written in history.

    The irony is, though, that it has never been harder for a playwright who is just starting out to establish himself. Or herself. One of the reasons for this is the staggering competition. Too many good plays, too few slots. Another is that theaters, having cut back on their reading staffs, are relying more and more on developing relationships with playwrights whose work appeals to them. Sometimes, this is to varying degrees an informal relationship—as in, we like your work and hope you’ll keep us in mind for your next play—but more and more, it involves commissions, which are proliferating at an astounding rate. You would think that theaters wouldn’t have much money to commission playwrights. You would be wrong. The theater founded by the gentleman mentioned in my first paragraph has several different commissioning programs, and at any given time has fifteen to twenty playwrights under commission. That’s great if you’re one of those playwrights, but I think it turns that theater into a private club—new members need not apply. I know agents who submit plays to theaters not for them to be considered for production but in hopes they can get their clients’ commissions.

    Nevertheless, each year many heretofore neophyte playwrights manage to get productions of their work done, starting them on their way to fame and middling fortune. How do they do it—and how can you do it? In this book, you will read stories about how it’s done.

    One thing I have to mention, though: all too often, playwrights jump the gun in getting their work out there. Just because you have typed The End or End of Play doesn’t mean your play is ready for anyone to read. Do readings of it with your friends; try to get into a playwright workshop. If there isn’t one in your area, start one. Find yourself an experienced dramaturg who can help you develop your work and get it ready to be sent out.

    Also, make the effort to school yourself in what kinds of plays professional theaters are interested in by reading and going to as many plays as you can. Be aware that theaters are attracted increasingly to plays that are innovative in some way. They might have an unusual structure, or innovative language. There’s a burgeoning Anything But Realism movement out there, which is one reason why many playwrights are using a format that looks like faux free verse, so that their work will appear more innovative. Many playwrights just starting out write realistic dramas, often based on their personal relationships or their families. These are for the most part of no interest to the professional theater, which wants new stories that need to be told. Just because it happened to you doesn’t make it interesting.

    I am asked often about agents, as in How can I get an agent? Unless you are already getting productions of your work, by and large an agent can’t do anything for you, so don’t even try to get one. When you’re ready, they’ll start coming to you. Which is not to say that it’s a waste of time to let the agents know when you have a production, in hopes of getting on their radar. I have talked with many agents about this, and about how playwrights can establish themselves. One recommends finding a theater whose work you like and volunteering. If they have a play reading series, go to the readings. Offer to read stage directions. Do anything to make that theater aware of you and your work. Right now, you’re an orphan. You have to get yourself adopted.

    1.

    David Auburn

    Marion Ettlinger

    David Auburn’s plays include The Columnist (MTC/Broadway 2012), The New York Idea (adaptation; Atlantic Theater 2010), An Upset and Amateurs (EST Marathons), The Journals of Mihail Sebastian (Keen Company), and Proof (2001 Pulitzer Prize, Tony Award, New York Drama Critics’ Circle Award). His film work includes The Girl in the Park, which he wrote and directed (starring Sigourney Weaver and Kate Bosworth), and the screenplay for The Lake House (starring Sandra Bullock). Recent stage-directing credits include Anna Christie, A Delicate Balance, Tennessee Williams’s Period of Adjustment, and Zayd Dohrn’s Sick (all Berkshire Theatre Group), and the world premiere of Michael Weller’s Side Effects (MCC). He also recently directed the L.A. Theatre Works radio production of The Columnist. His short plays have been collected in the volume Fifth Planet and Other Plays (DPS). Last year he gave the Esmond Harmsworth Lecture in American Arts and Letters at Oxford’s Rothermere American Institute. A former Guggenheim Fellow, he lives in New York City.

    LH: When did you start writing plays?

    DA: I started writing sketches in college, at the University of Chicago. By the time I graduated, I had decided that I wanted to try and become a playwright.

    LH: And how did you go about doing that?

    DA: I had sort of a model in mind. I had some older friends, who had graduated before I did and started companies. They put shows on in various small venues—storefront theaters, bars. Very modest productions, but they were developing an audience, getting reviewed, establishing a reputation. They weren’t making any sort of living at it, but it was a very practical, do-it-yourself model, and one that appealed to me: you get some friends together, you write shows, and you put them on.

    LH: And that’s what you did?

    DA: Yes. I did that for a bit in Chicago, and more when I moved to New York, after I graduated.

    LH: So you didn’t go to grad school.

    DA: No. But I was in the Juilliard playwriting program, which is more of a residency and not a degree program.

    LH: How did you happen to get into Juilliard?

    DA: Purely by chance. I heard from an acquaintance that the program was starting. I happened to be working as a copy editor at Lincoln Center, on the programs for the orchestra; I just walked across the plaza to Juilliard and submitted my plays.

    LH: You had to submit more than one?

    DA: I submitted two one-acts. I had written a full-length play, but I didn’t think it was very strong.

    LH: You got in on the ground floor. Now, it’s probably a lot more competitive.

    DA: It’s far more competitive.

    LH: How many other students were in the program?

    DA: Three, the first year. Towards the end of my year, they decided to keep us around for another year, and brought in four more playwrights.

    LH: Did you finish plays while you were at Juilliard?

    DA: Yes. I wrote quite a lot, including a one-act called Fifth Planet, and then a full-length, Skyscraper, which became my first professionally produced play.

    LH: How did that production come about?

    DA: The summer between my two years at Juilliard, I had a reading of it at the Berkshire Theatre Festival. They had contacted Juilliard looking for submissions, so I sent them the play.

    LH: Did they produce it?

    DA: No, but the director of the play organized an Off-Broadway production, at the Greenwich House Theatre, which is now the Barrow Street Theatre.

    LH: Did this director produce it?

    DA: Yes: He—his name is Mike Rego, we’re still good friends—formed a company along with two partners called the Araca Group in order to mount the play. Skyscraper was their first production.

    LH: And now, Araca’s become a major player. How did the play do?

    DA: Not particularly well. The reviews were mixed, and it only ran for about a month.

    LH: id you have an agent at this point?

    DA: I had gotten an agent while I was at Juilliard.

    LH: How?

    DA: A friend of mine was a directing intern at New York Stage and Film. She asked if I had anything she could direct there. I gave her the one-act I had written, Fifth Planet, and she directed a workshop of it. The Festival’s producer, Peter Manning, liked the play, and asked if he could help me out. What did I need?

    LH: God bless people like that.

    DA: I said, Well, I don’t have an agent. He made several calls, and I met with several agents, and eventually signed with Bill Craver, when he was still at Writers and Artists. I had a couple of other offers, but I really liked Bill.

    LH: What was he able to do for you?

    DA: Once I had deals in process, he was able to advise me and negotiate on my behalf; but, looking back, all of the actual production opportunities themselves came about through contacts, friendships, I had made. That’s how the production of Skyscraper came about, and Proof came about because of Skyscraper.

    LH: How?

    DA: Manhattan Theatre Club had seen Skyscraper, and after it had closed asked me to meet with them. So I did, and they invited me to send them whatever I came up with next. About a year and a half later, I wrote Proof, and I sent it in. They liked it, and we had a reading with Mary Louise Parker. She was enthusiastic about the role, and I imagine that was very influential on their decision to do the play. But if the larger question is, how do you establish a career, then the key for me was finding ways to get together with groups of like-minded friends, and self-producing, in whatever grubby conditions we could. The knowledge and relationships that came out of that were what ultimately led to the professional productions.

    LH: Did you have to raise the money to do that?

    DA: Raising money is putting it a little grandly. Basically we all went to ATM machines and hoped we could take out enough cash to finance the rental of the bar or the basement or whatever it was that night. These were very bare-bones shows.

    LH: Now, do theaters come to you, or do you write plays and your agent sends them out?

    DA: Well, I have a long-standing relationship with Manhattan Theatre Club. They’ve done two of my plays, and are doing a third this coming season. It’s a lucky thing for a playwright to have a home, particularly one as supportive as MTC has been, so I’ll try to stick with them as long as they’ll have me.

    LH: Do you get commissions?

    DA: I’ve been offered, but never taken one.

    LH: Do you think you might accept a commission at some point in the future?

    DA: Sure—anything’s possible.

    LH: Are you working on anything new?

    DA: An adaptation of Ibsen’s The Wild Duck.

    LH: You wrote the screenplay for Proof. Have you done any other film or TV writing?

    DA: I’ve done a good deal of film writing, including a film I directed myself,The Girl in the Park. And I’ve just finished a movie for HBO.

    LH: Is that something where they came to you, or did you pitch it to them?

    DA: They came to me with an actor and a subject.

    LH: What about TV?

    DA: Not yet, although that’s something I can easily imagine doing in the future. That’s definitely where a lot of the creative energy is these days.

    LH: Apparently, if you’ve had some success as a playwright, particularly in New York, you’re in demand in TV Land. Look at House of Cards—it’s all written by playwrights.

    DA: Many of the best shows are written by playwrights.

    LH: Do you ever develop your work with developmental organizations?

    DA: Lost Lake, the play that MCC is doing this season, was first done at the O’Neill.

    LH: Did you submit the play to them, or did your agent?

    DA: Every summer they have a Writer in Residence. Wendy Goldberg, who runs the O’Neill, asked me if I’d be in that role in 2013. So it was by invitation, which meant I didn’t go through a selection process.

    LH: I take it you knew Wendy Goldberg. How did you meet her?

    DA: She directed a production of Proof at Arena Stage.

    LH: Do you think it’s necessary for playwrights to be in New York in order to establish their careers?

    DA: Not at all. It may well be easier in a city like Chicago, where production and living costs are so much lower than in New York. But I came to New York because that’s where my friends were. If they had stayed in Chicago, I probably would have stayed in Chicago.

    LH: Suppose a playwright doesn’t live in a major urban area, such as Chicago or New York? Say, in Vermont?

    DA: It’s probably more difficult in places where there aren’t a certain number of theaters

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