Writing the 10-Minute Play

Chapter 6

Now that we’ve looked at a variety of ways to get started writing your ten-minute play, you may have some opening lines of dialogue, or a strong image. Or perhaps you’re beginning from some sense of what you want your play to be about, or some idea of the characters you want to create. Or you may have created an outline for the play.

If you’ve working from an outline, don’t feel that you must stick to it strictly as you progress with the play. Allow things to meander or evolve in any way they wish. If the characters go off in a different direction than you originally thought they would, go with them. Surprising yourself as you go along can be a thrilling creative experience. Outlines are starting points, road maps. But you can always take the road in another direction if you feel it would work better for your play.

About the only thing I’m thinking when I start out is that I’d like to write a ten-minute play. I may have a line of dialogue or a strong image or idea. But I have no idea what it will be about, or who the characters are. I’m open to anything and enjoy surprising myself. On some occasions, the play ends up turning into a one-act or a full-length. However it evolves, I let it write itself as much as I can, especially in the beginning.

How I Start My Ten-Minute Plays

As I mentioned, sometimes a line of dialogue is all I need to start a play. I may be on the subway, walking on the street, at the theater, etc., and I hear someone say something that I find interesting, a line that somehow resonates with me. If I can, I’ll jot it down for later. Something on the news can pique my interest. I hear someone say something about a situation they’re involved with, and I connect to the words they use.

Or, sometimes, while I’m sitting at my computer a line will come to my mind out of nowhere. That line may end up opening the new play—or it may not. Sometimes it’s just the trigger to get my imagination going.

Here are some examples of what I’m referring to from ten-minute plays I’ve written:

• “You’re kidding, he said that?” This was the line that opened my ten-minute play Coulda-Woulda-Shoulda. The response to the line was “That’s what he said, this morning when I was giving him his bath.” From that first line and the response line, a play began for me about an overprotective mother and the problems this characteristic created between her and her husband. I allowed the opening dialogue to trigger my imagination and off I went, allowing the characters to just speak to each other.

• Another line that started one of my plays (After) was “My God, that was . . . !” The other character simply said, “What?” and then the first person said, “Eloquent!” For me that triggered something and the play began. The first speaker, a woman, is addressing a stranger she’s just met at a funeral home, telling him how moved she was by his speech about the deceased. But I had no idea when I wrote that first exchange that I would use it in that way. In my imagination I wasn’t sure where the conversation was taking place, and then somehow I pictured these two people standing in a funeral home, and that began the story of the play for me.

• In Goin’ Round on Rock Solid Ground, the first line is “So?” And the other character says, “What?” The first character says “Tell me; tell me!” The second character then says, “Tell you what?!” The caginess of these two men gave me an idea about their relationship. I saw it taking place in a furnished basement—where I ultimately discovered that these two paranoid, lowlife guys were anxiously waiting a drug dealer.

• In The Pain in the Poetry, the line that kicked off the play was “I wrote a play.” The other character, who is seated, looks up and says, “Hm, what?” The first character then says, “I said, I wrote a play!” The next character replies, “That’s nice dear, did you feed the dog?” Something in that dialogue kicked in an image for me. I saw the second character sitting in a rocking chair, sewing. The play was about a timid husband confessing to his controlling wife that he’s secretively been writing a play for the last two years without her knowledge. Once again, I just let the characters continue speaking. I tried not to edit anything at this point. Whatever they wanted to say to each other was just fine with me.

What I’m trying to show with these examples is how I came to discover the thread for a play by simply starting with one line leading into another. Just as readers discover a book or play as they read it, I often discover my plays as I write them. It’s very spontaneous. I enjoy not knowing where I’m going—until I do. There is the freedom that anything can happen and anything can be said at any moment. In fact, the dialogue that initially starts off a play may even be removed later on. Down the line you’ll do rewrites, rewrites, rewrites. Sometimes the opening lines remain where they are; other times they are slightly altered or moved; and sometimes they are completely cut out. As I discover the play I’m writing I also discover what must be said—and when. Especially in the case of the ten-minute play, where every line should move the plot along, I try not to get too attached to any particular line or moment.

In all of the above examples I had no idea where I was going until the lines, the conversation, gave me a clue as to “who” was saying them. For example, what starts off as a man speaking can easily turn into a woman speaking as the characters begin to appear in my imagination.

Starting a Play with an Idea, a Theme, or an Image

Another way I start plays is when a particular issue comes to my mind and affects me in some way. I remember when I saw Tony Kushner’s brilliant Angels in America. I left the theater high from the experience. Inspired by that brilliant play to write something about AIDS, I began two plays of my own the next morning. The first, Unfamiliar Faces, was about two gay men that realize that almost all their friends have died from the disease. It was a ten-minute play that went on to be an Actors Theatre of Louisville finalist.

I also started a second play, my first full-length, Nobody’s Flood. It was a play about a family in the 1980s, dealing with the son’s trying to hide the fact that he had AIDS. I’ve found that sometimes seeing other playwrights’ work can be a great source of inspiration. For some writers, seeing a beautiful painting or sculpture, or being moved by some piece of music, is all they need to launch a new play.

The news can be another source of inspiration for me. I’ve started plays right after seeing a person on the news speaking about some horrible injustice or predicament. I’ve written plays on abortion, racial injustice, the economy, etc., based on some news story that moved me. Some of these plays have been ten-minute plays; others needed a larger canvas and became one-acts or even full-lengths. Whatever subject or idea moves you, touches you, makes you angry, or makes you laugh may be the seed for your play. If you need to, let the idea perk until you feel you need to express it. Don’t be too concerned about the details of the characters at the beginning—whether they’re male or female, their ages, or even what their names are—just write what they have to say. Quite often, I start a play with numbers rather than character names: “1” speaks to “2” or “3.” I can always fill in the names when they come to me (generally through their dialogue). Whatever the issue is, allow the characters to discuss, argue, or lament about it as long as they need. Cutting will come later. At the beginning let them be affected by the struggle of the subject.

Go a museum or an art gallery. Allow other artists’ paintings or sculptures to inspire you. Stephen Sondheim’s brilliant musical Sunday in the Park with George was inspired by the painting A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by George Seurat.

Personal issues, family conflicts, and unresolved real life incidents are quite often fodder for playwrights. The things we wanted to say, wish we had said, regret never saying, are often great starting points for plays. A great ten-minute play by Craig Lucas, called What I Meant Was, is one of my favorites. In this satiric play, members of a dysfunctional family say all the things they might have said if there was totally open communication. It’s a raw, blisteringly funny play that shows what the truth looks like when there are no filters. It was a winner at the Actors Theatre of Louisville Humana Play Festival in the ten-minute play category and received a production there in 1996.

Probably some of the greatest advice I ever received about playwriting is “Write what you’re afraid to write about.” Once you open that door, it’s amazing what can come out of you. Yes, it requires a certain amount of bravery, but believe me, the payoff for both you and your audience will be well worth it.