If you’re asking as a playwright, the real question underneath is probably: Should I be writing for the black box? Here’s the honest answer: you should understand it.  But you shouldn’t let it shrink your imagination. [more]

Science fiction on stage is one of those “this shouldn’t work … and yet it absolutely slaps” situations.  Theater can’t compete with CGI, so it leans into ideas, language and imagination — and that’s where sci-fi thrives. [more]

Writing a farce is basically engineering a beautiful disaster. Precision + stupidity + escalating panic. It’s math wearing clown shoes. Here’s how it actually works. [more]

We’re basically asking: how do you write theater that survives the algorithm without becoming television? Streaming audiences are used to: fast cuts; cinematic scope; ten storylines at once. [more]

Props are wildly important — but in a sneaky way.  When they’re working, you don’t notice them. When they’re wrong, the whole show tilts off its axis. Let’s break it down. [more]

In playwriting, subject and theme are closely related but not the same.  Understanding the difference helps you clarify what your play is about versus what it is saying. The subject is the literal topic or situation of the play. It answers: What happens? Who is involved? What is the dramatic situation? Think of the subject as the surface material of the story.

There’s no single “average,” but across professional and amateur writers, a full-length play (90–120 minutes) usually takes several months to a few years from first idea to a finished draft.  Here’s how it tends to break down. [more]

In a play, stasis is the moment (or condition) where nothing fundamentally changes. More specifically: Stasis is the state of equilibrium at the beginning of a play — the “normal world” before something disrupts it. [more]

In plays, foreshadowing is a dramatic technique where the playwright plants early hints or signals about events, conflicts or outcomes that will occur later. These clues prepare the audience subconsciously, creating anticipation, tension, or a sense of inevitability. [more]

When an audience enters a theatre, the set speaks before a single line is spoken. Set design is the first act of storytelling in a play, shaping how we understand the world of the story and how we feel inside it. Far from being decorative, it is a core dramatic language — one that works quietly, persistently and powerfully. [more]

A comic play works best when it treats humor as a tool, not the point. You’re building a dramatic engine that happens to make people laugh. [more]

The presence or absence of the supernatural in theatre has long been a way for playwrights to test the limits of belief — both the characters’ and the audience’s — while shaping how meaning is produced onstage. When the supernatural is explicit, theatre often uses it to externalize inner states or moral forces. Greek tragedy stages gods and oracles to frame human action within cosmic order (or punishment). [more]

Entrances and exits are storytelling tools, not traffic patterns.  Treated well, they create meaning before and after a character speaks. An entrance is a claim on the room. Ask: What changes because this person arrives? Are they early, late, unexpected or unwanted? Do they interrupt, observe or pretend not to listen? [more]

Exposition is the information the audience needs in order to understand what’s happening — who these people are, how this world works, what happened before now and what’s at stake. Exposition is pressure. It’s the past intruding on the present. It’s context arriving at a moment when it’s inconvenient, painful or destabilizing. [more]

In most stories: Protagonist = the character whose goal/need drives the plot. They make the key choices, take the biggest risks and experience the main change (or refusal to change). Antagonist = whatever most actively blocks that goal. This can be a person, but also a system, a force of nature, a community, a lover, an institution, time, addiction, grief, shame, etc. [more]

Writing a mystery romance play means braiding two engines at once: desire and secrecy. The audience should lean forward because they want answers — and because they want these two people to collide. [more]

A dramaturg reads an early draft, gets what the writer is doing, then becomes a long-term advocate — connecting the playwright to theatres, keeping the play alive across years and productions. Example: Dramaturg Lauren Halvorsen read an early draft of Kimberly Belflower’s John Proctor is the Villain, messaged her enthusiasm, introduced the play to colleagues and pushed for it to be programmed. [more]

Dramaturgy is the craft of helping a play (or musical/opera/dance piece) make sense and land with an audience. It’s the bridge between the script, the production team and the world the piece comes from.  A dramaturg is the person who does this work. [more]

Visual imagery in theatre is everything the audience sees that carries meaning — sometimes louder than the text. It’s not “pretty pictures;” it’s story, pressure and philosophy made visible. [more]

In a play, the point of no return is the moment when the characters’ main problem stops being avoidable and becomes inevitable.  After this beat, the story can’t go back to “before” — even if everyone suddenly wanted to. It’s often called the commitment or crossing-the-threshold moment (not necessarily the climax). The rest of the play becomes the cost of that choice. [more]