In playwriting, the backstory of a play is everything that happened before the curtain rises that still exerts pressure on what we’re watching now. It is not exposition. It is not biography for its own sake. It is the past in collision with the present. (more)

In a play, plot is the sequence of actions that occur onstage — what happens, in what order and why it happens. But unlike a novel or film, plot in a play is shaped by live time, physical space and audience attention. (more)

Starting a play isn’t about introductions.  It’s about immediate pressure. “Lights up” should only happen after something is already wrong.  A decision has just been made.  A secret is about to surface.  Someone wants something they shouldn’t.  The audience will catch up.  They always do. (more)

Stage directions exist to clarify action that cannot live in dialogue; anchor the audience in time, place and physical reality; guide the production without strangling it. They are not there to direct emotions (“angrily,” “sadly”) unless unavoidable; choreograph every move; provide “line readings.” Think of stage directions as invisible architecture. (more)

History is the circumstance, not the subject.  A strong historical play isn’t about an era.  It’s about the people trapped inside it.  The past supplies constraints: laws, beliefs, class, danger and the drama comes from characters pushing against those limits.  If the story still works when summarized without dates, you’re on the right track. (more)

The script specifies structure, not experience. Like a blueprint, it defines walls, doors, load-bearing elements — plot, characters, language, rhythm — but it does not contain the lived space. The performance is the building people walk through. (more)

Understanding enables ethical and accurate imagination. Especially when writing characters unlike yourself — different eras, classes, beliefs — you’re responsible for grasping their inner logic, not projecting yours onto them. (more)