Being a Playwright E-Book

Chris Foxon

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 399

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

The essential guide to a career in playwriting, from the team behind the multi-award-winning Papatango, one of the UK's leading new-writing companies. Writing a good play is only the first step towards becoming a successful playwright; it is just as crucial to understand all the practical and business elements of building your career. Being a Playwright transparently and honestly sets out everything you need to know, including clear and constructive advice on: - Starting out, including training options and gaining practical experience - Finding a playwriting model that works for you - Getting your script noticed and connecting with industry decision-makers - Developing a production-ready draft through redrafting and R&D - Pursuing programming, commissioning and funding opportunities - Approaching and working with agents and publishers - Securing the best possible deal with producers - Working with collaborators throughout the rehearsal process and previews - Capitalising on a production, assessing its success and planning new projects Drawing on Papatango's superlative track record of discovering and launching new writers – including BAFTA, OffWestEnd, Royal National Theatre Foundation and Alfred Fagon Award winners, many of whom have premiered worldwide as well as in the West End – and featuring tips from a host of industry insiders, this encouraging and accessible guide explores the opportunities and pitfalls of life as a playwright. Whether you're an aspiring writer wondering how to break into the industry or a working playwright looking to move up to the next level, this is your road map for navigating the world of professional theatre. 'This enlightening book, full of pragmatic information, is an excellent tool for playwrights navigating today's industry.' Indhu Rubasingham, Artistic Director of Kiln Theatre, London 'Chris Foxon and George Turvey – aka Papatango – are a phenomenon for playwriting good. Being a Playwright is packed with inside information that will kick-start your writing life. Written with insight and chock-full of useful advice, this will be a bible for playwrights.' Steve Waters, playwright and Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia

Leseprobe

Chris Foxon & George Turvey

BEING APLAYWRIGHT

A Career Guide for Writers

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Introduction

ACT ONE: STARTING OUT

Training

Writing for Theatre

Redrafting and Editing

Getting Noticed: The Road to Being Programmed

ACT TWO: MAKING THE SHOW

Working with Collaborators

Making Deals

Researching and Developing (R&D)

Going into Production

ACT THREE: TAKING THE NEXT STEPS

Reflecting

Moving On

APPENDICES

Training Opportunities

Theatrical Literary Agencies

New-Writing Venues and Companies

Theatre Publishers

Playwriting Competitions

International Companies

Potential Funders

Industry Resources

List of Contributors

Select Bibliography

About Papatango

About the Authors

Copyright Information

For my parents, the family I did not choose but for whom I am thankful.

And for Hannah, for I am beyond thankful that she chose me.

Chris

For Jo and Ophelia; behind this average man are two incredible women.

And for my parents, who first introduced me to stories.

George

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We must first and foremost express our profound gratitude and affection for the Backstage Trust team: Kathryn, Susie, David and Dominic. You believed in us, supported us, and transformed our work.

We also wish to thank Papatango’s board of trustees and artistic associates for all their hard work.

This book would not exist without Nick Hern Books, who have supported Papatango and published our writers for years. Their contribution to new writing has been immense and it is always a privilege to work with the team. We must single out Matt Applewhite for being an outstanding and merciful editor.

We are also hugely grateful to our generous, far-sighted supporters at Arts Council England, the Garfield Weston Foundation, the Boris Karloff Charitable Foundation, the Royal Victoria Hall Foundation, the Harold Hyam Wingate Foundation, the Leche Trust, the Austin and Hope Pilkington Trust, the Mildred Duveen Charitable Trust, the Derek Hill Foundation, the Fenton Arts Trust, the Mercers’ Charitable Trust, the Ernest Cook Trust, the BBC Performing Arts Fund, the Channel 4 Playwrights’ Scheme and the Golsoncott Foundation.

Most of all, thanks are due to those who have contributed to this book, and to all the writers and creatives with whom we have been blessed to make plays.

INTRODUCTION

To become a professional playwright requires more than just the ability to write a great script. This runs counter to many of our cultural reference points, which perpetuate the romantic image of the writer as a lone genius, penning something of such outstanding wisdom and artistic worth that the world falls into line to accommodate them. Think of the wonderful story of George Devine rowing out to John Osborne’s little houseboat, where the writer was literally stewing nettles to survive, so eager was Devine to announce that Look Back in Anger would headline the Royal Court’s next season. But this story is wonderful because it’s so exceptional. Usually the myth of the sudden ‘breakthrough’ is just that – a myth. Most playwrights have to labour for a very long time on a lot of things besides their script before they achieve success.

That’s one of the reasons British playwriting still has significant failings in representation; if talent were truly all it took, we’d see new playwrights emerging from every avenue of society. Instead, the writers who make a professional career in theatre are, disproportionately, from more privileged, insider backgrounds. This is for many reasons – cultural capital, confidence, education, wealth to fall back on – but perhaps the most crucial is having the connections and know-how to navigate the business, not just the art, of playwriting.

Successful playwrights have to understand how to promote their script, how to build relationships with venues and companies, how to collaborate with different practitioners, how to navigate different deals and production opportunities, and how to maximise the impact of such opportunities. These are just a few of the practical realities that writers must master if they are to survive within a competitive, often flawed, theatre industry.

Since 2007 our theatre company, Papatango, has worked to discover new playwrights, develop their writing, and support them in building careers, focusing on artists who might otherwise struggle to access professional resources. We have time and again been asked the same questions, faced the same uncertainties, resolved the same complications.

Hence this book. If each writer who emerges, blinking, from the creative sanctuary of the bedroom/garret/studio faces the same challenges as the writer before them did and the writer after them will do, then it seems there is a need for an accessible, unpretentious guide to the business of playwriting. And maybe, just maybe, that will help to diversify playwriting and open up pathways into theatre.

This book therefore shares our experiences and the experiences of the many brilliant writers and theatre-makers with whom we have been lucky enough to work, both through Papatango and independently. It is the result of thousands of conversations with hundreds of artists. In that sense it is a collaboration, as any work for theatre must be. It would not exist were it not for all the individuals who have had the desire and daring to ask how to be a playwright. We will make it clear when we are referring to a particular writer’s experiences. Huge thanks to all who have shared.

The book is structured in three acts to work through the main stages of an emerging writer’s career, from getting started to making a production to capitalising on a show’s run. Each act addresses the situation of a writer at a different level of experience. If you’ve never attempted to write a play before or need some guidance on how to reach out to companies, start at Act One; if you feel fully equipped to write a script and share it, but are keen to know more about how to turn it into a production, then check out Act Two; if you’ve already had a full professional production and are looking to capitalise on this, then you might decide to go straight to Act Three. The appendices contain some useful lists and expand on the references outlined in the book.

Regardless of where you are in your career right now, we trust this book will prove a useful resource. By tackling the recurring questions and challenges encountered on a writer’s journey, we hope to enable playwrights to flourish – especially those who would otherwise lack the knowledge or contacts to overcome the barriers of what can be a monolithic industry.

What It Offers

This book is not an academic analysis of playwriting or the theatre industry, nor is it a guide to writing a play. Instead, by distilling our experiences as producers at the coalface of new writing, we attempt to explain in clear terms what being a playwright means, how the business of playwriting often works, and some of the ways you might go about it.

New writing is a changing industry: in recent years we have seen the rise of more playwriting awards (often in place of commissioning); moves towards devising and collaboration rather than traditional text-based practices; and a shift of public funding away from the focus on new writing that characterised the decades either side of the millennium. All of these impact on how playwrights navigate their place within British theatre today. Rather than be drawn into discursive reflections on the reasons for these trends, we focus on the practicalities of how playwrights can carve out successful careers within this landscape.

The proviso is that Chris is a producer and George an actor and artistic director (we’ll explain these terms in the chapter on ‘Working with Collaborators’); neither of us are playwrights. While we have both taught playwriting within drama schools, workshops and universities, we do so from the perspectives of our different disciplines. This book therefore is categorically not a guide to writing a play. There are already several impressive books on that subject (we recommend some in the chapter on ‘Training’). Instead, this book outlines how to make the most of any play that you have written, because even Shakespeare would never have gone very far if his manuscripts remained trapped in a drawer.

Nor is this book designed to advocate any ideal process. Something as personal as writing stories cannot follow any fixed route. Instead, we consider all the elements that affect a playwright’s career, so you can navigate the best pathway for yourself.

What is a Playwright?

This seems an easy question, no? The answer appears obvious: someone who writes a play. But it’s not quite that simple.

Firstly, ‘writing a play’ covers a vast range of approaches, from an individual scribbling away on a literary masterpiece, to a devising ensemble with one person nominated to turn collective ideas into a single text-based story, through to teams of writers coming together to edit verbatim material into a script – and many more practices besides.

Secondly, even if the writing is a solitary pursuit, plays are never individual enterprises. For a script to become a play it needs to be performed, meaning actors, directors, producers, designers and stage managers will get involved. The script will almost certainly evolve according to their contributions. That doesn’t (at least, it shouldn’t) diminish the playwright’s role, but it does take us beyond the apparent confines of the title.

Thirdly, etymology muscles in to reveal that ‘playwright’ is a compound word which has no linguistic basis in the word ‘writing’. It is comprised of ‘play’, which derives from the Old English plega meaning ‘brisk movement’ (remember that next time you’re entering the fourth hour of a Trevor Nunn production), and ‘wright’, deriving from the Old English wrihta meaning ‘worker’. We rather like this: it’s a reminder that a playwright is someone who works to make movement happen, and that their play is wrought, hammered, beaten into shape – however it’s done. That seems a far more inclusive concept for all the different forms that playwriting can take than the initial assumption from which we started.

(On a sidenote, the word ‘writing’ itself comes from the Old Saxon writan which means to write and also to tear. So tearing your hair out is an honourable part of writing.)

The point is that being a playwright is not just something you decide to do, it’s something you decide how to do.

For the purposes of this book, we’re assuming that ‘playwright’ means someone with at least a partial creative stake in a text-based script that they want to see performed, and who has an interest in continuing to make more text-based scripts for performance. We don’t champion any particular creative process but just explain various approaches in how to build a career as a playwright, informed by the principle that certain practical challenges recur regardless of individual artistic practices.

The most important thing to remember is that you are a playwright if you call yourself a playwright; no one has the right to dispute that by picking holes in your CV, training or process. We trust that this book will help your plays to be successful, however you choose to make them.

We’ve worked with hundreds of new writers, who have gone on to win BAFTA, OffWestEnd, RNT Foundation and Alfred Fagon Awards, and had their work premiere worldwide as well as in the West End. They’ve all been very different, as people and as artists, except for one thing: every one of them built a career from nothing more than an idea for a play. So can you.

Papatango’s motto has always been: ‘All you need is a story.’ We hope we can now add: ‘And perhaps also this guide.’

Good luck.

ACT ONE:

STARTING OUT

This first act is aimed at writers at the beginning of their careers. Wondering how to learn about playwriting? Sent off scripts to a few companies but never heard back? Don’t know what producers want to see in a theatre script? It’s all explained here.

Respective chapters discuss: options for training and how to acquire the skills of a playwright; how to shape your script for the stage, addressing the formal and practical concerns of decision-makers; techniques to redraft and hone your script; and the best ways to share your finished script with maximum impact.

These cover everything it takes to give your script the best possible chance of being produced. We discuss the pragmatic factors that influence script readers, and detail tricks of the trade that may help your script overcome the hurdles of programming.

Acts Two and Three will discuss what happens after your script has been accepted for programming.

TRAINING

This chapter covers what ‘training’ for playwrights means, its potential benefits and its limitations. It explains the various forms training can take, including accredited higher education programmes, industry development schemes and private courses. We weigh up the pros and cons of each of these, and outline alternatives.

There is no right or wrong route to learn about playwriting. Everyone has different needs, financial and personal as well as artistic. We therefore do not promote any single approach, but describe the different resources available as objectively as we can, so you can research, reflect and decide.

Can a Playwright Be Trained?

In recent years the provision of education in creative writing, including specialist playwriting courses, has exploded. It is now common (but by no means expected) for playwrights to undertake some form of training.

Yet training is a vexed concept in relation to any artistic practice. One can instruct people in mechanical or technical skills with relative ease, and certainly elements of the playwright’s toolkit may be regarded as technical, such as: narrative and scenic structure; character arcs; stagecraft; formatting. These all operate according to certain basic principles that can be taught (although artists often break, and occasionally revolutionise, such rules). Playwrights are judged, however, on their conceptual, imaginative, storytelling qualities as much as on technical virtuosity (see the case study of An Oak Tree at the end of this chapter). The extent to which these creative assets can be taught is less certain.

This is perhaps misleading: technical skill and creative vision shape each other and are usually inextricable in the best plays. Nonetheless, any course that aims to teach playwriting must operate according to a set of principles about what makes a ‘good’ playwright. This is especially true of any that award accredited qualifications, as they have not only to teach but also to evaluate. Thus, training programmes break playwriting down to its elements in order to teach and assess. The obvious truth is that some of these elements will be more suited to being taught and assessed than others. These tend to be the more technical skills.

You can reasonably expect any training programme to equip you to research ideas, plan an effective structure, map satisfying character arcs and use stagecraft and theatricality. You should not expect it to give you the ability to generate superb ideas, conceive truthful characters, or write witty and moving dialogue. Good teachers and supportive peers may sharpen your abilities in these areas, but they cannot instil them. Training should improve your writing in every aspect, but it is limited in the skills it can actually impart.

Training programmes may enrich a playwright in many ways; being part of a structured series of discussions and tasks, and having a framework within which to write, should stimulate the creative imagination. Joining a group of peers, likely with a wide range of interests, backgrounds and skills, plays a huge part in the development of any playwright. Good training will enable you to have conversations about ideas, share work-in-progress, have a support network to help solve problems or provide fresh inspiration, and access industry professionals for insight and guidance.

It may, therefore, sound as if training on a dedicated playwriting programme could not be other than beneficial, but as with any structured course aimed at meeting the needs of a potentially very diverse group, there can be no guarantees. We have seen learning environments at their worst as well as at their best. Perhaps the group dynamic becomes hostile or competitive; maybe the deadlines are appropriate for someone writing a short monologue but not someone attempting an ensemble musical; possibly the course leader has a fixation on theory when you would prefer practical exercises; perhaps the inflexible structure of modules perversely cuts down on your time and energy to write.

The point is that playwriting is personal and subjective; no course designed for multiple participants can recognise and respond to everything that distinguishes you. The question then is whether the likely benefits outweigh the potential frustrations for you as an individual.

Remember, there are plenty of alternatives to formal training. It is not de rigueur for a playwright to have qualifications; many of our most successful writers never trained. Don’t be unduly influenced by the increasing trend for aspiring playwrights to train, but decide carefully what is best for you.

What Kind of Training?

Formal training for playwrights tends to fall into one of three strands:

• Accredited programmes at institutions of higher education that award a qualification.

• Courses within the theatre industry.

• Private courses led by tutors with professional experience.

You don’t have to confine yourself to just one of these; many playwrights undertake all at different points (or none). You can reflect on what each offers and decide what suits you best at the present time, without compromising future opportunities.

Higher Education Programmes

Institutions offering formal qualifications in playwriting are usually either universities or drama schools (often affiliated to a university). There are several important differences between these which we will discuss shortly, but both normally offer:

• A programme for undergraduates, awarding the equivalent of a Bachelor’s degree (BA), studied over three years full-time, or longer part-time.

• A programme for postgraduates, awarding the equivalent of a Master’s degree (MA, MPhil, MFA, etc.), studied over one or two years full-time, or longer part-time.

Some institutions may also offer doctoral degrees (PhDs) in playwriting. These are not taught training programmes but are conducted through independent research. They tend to be more academic than vocational. We therefore only discuss Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees.

The BA

If you have not already got a degree or you find the undergraduate lifestyle irresistible, or you wish to retrain, then you could apply for a BA degree. These usually require qualifications at A level or equivalent in appropriate subjects such as English Literature or Drama. You may also be asked for a sample of your writing, but this depends on the course and the institution. These requirements are not set in stone. If you have alternative experiences or qualifications then approach the institution to discuss these before making an application.

Few undergraduate courses offer a specialist focus on playwriting. Instead you are likely to study playwriting within a mix of disciplines. The title of the course you enrol on is likely to be Creative Writing or Theatre Studies (or some variant). There is a difference between these. In the former you will probably experience playwriting alongside modules on other literary forms, such as prose fiction, journalism, poetry, literary essays, and so on. In the latter you are likely to experience playwriting alongside related theatre-making disciplines such as directing, producing, performing and designing.

Choosing between a Creative Writing course and a Theatre Studies course will impact on the nature of the training you receive in playwriting. Do you want to hone your literary skills across the board and experiment with your writing in different forms? Or are you clear that you want to write specifically for the stage and want to focus on gaining a strong understanding of all its components?

Whichever you choose, the breadth of learning covered under an umbrella undergraduate degree is wonderful. It can be a great way to broaden horizons and think in more depth about the kind of writing you want to pursue. Equally, writing to a structured series of exercises will force you to examine your process, and figure out how you write. Up to this point, especially if you’re fresh from school, you may well have only experienced short-form writing (one-act plays, short stories, articles, etc.); having to complete large ensemble plays with two acts, or write a novella, will prove a new challenge. A good undergraduate degree should stretch your range and compel you to interrogate what new skills you need. The chance to work with students interested in different elements of writing and/or theatre may prove invaluable in enabling you to envisage all that makes up a script.

BAs are mostly taught through a mixture of lectures and tutorials. The former are large-scale presentations, the standard teaching method at most universities. They tend to be mostly one-way, so be prepared to take notes and absorb ideas. Tutorials are less common outside of Oxbridge (which does not offer creative writing or theatre studies at this level), and mainly occur in the last year of study. They are usually one-to-one and intended to review final pieces of work before submission and assessment. The onus will therefore be on you to carve out your own learning programme; good teachers should stimulate not spoonfeed.

A big advantage is that the breadth of an undergraduate degree results in a very flexible qualification that can support your future. A friend of Chris’s who studied Creative Writing at Northumbria University is now pursuing postgraduate study in medicine! Keeping your options open is sensible. Few writers make a living solely from playwriting, and having a broader qualification could help to sustain your writing by making other jobs possible (see the chapter ‘Moving On’).

Be aware that a BA qualification will only be the initial stage on a long journey in playwriting. Even a starred double-first-class degree with whipped cream and a cherry on top won’t command much attention outside of academia; after all, you are only being measured against a handful of students of similar experience on your course, rather than the vast numbers of writers within the industry. Equally, end-of-course showcases are not guaranteed to draw in industry movers and shakers. There are simply too many undergraduate degrees for professionals to keep an eye on graduates from every course every year.

Don’t be disheartened by this; depth and range of study over several years provide an excellent foundation for recognition in the future. Having a ‘safe’ space alongside other committed creative people in which to learn, try things out, and perhaps fail and therefore change your approach, is a golden opportunity.

Case Study: Arthur Miller

Consider Arthur Miller’s No Villain (George played the lead in the world premiere at the Old Red Lion Theatre/Trafalgar Studios). It’s the first play by one of the greatest playwrights of the twentieth century, written when he was a nineteen-year-old student but only discovered and produced after his death. As a piece of juvenilia, it’s hardly surprising that it’s an interesting rather than a great play.

Miller is flexing his dramatic muscles. Many of the ideas and characters that would go into masterpieces like All My Sons and Death of a Salesman are apparent in embryonic, often crude, form. It’s probably for the best that this play went undiscovered for eighty years, and was not staged until Miller’s brilliance was already understood. He is palpably not a complete playwright in this script, but writing and learning from it will have been the crucible (forgive the pun) in which his genius was forged.

Modelling yourself on Arthur Miller sounds sensible to us: treat an undergraduate degree as a place to grow without the pressure of critical or professional scrutiny.

If you feel ready for a more public platform, already have an undergraduate degree, do not want to commit to multiple years of study, or want to specialise solely in playwriting, then a BA is probably not suitable. Instead, you could consider:

The MA

Master’s degrees are shorter, more intensive and more specialised. They are intended to build on pre-existing skills. Usually you will be expected to have an undergraduate degree. The Creative Writing or Theatre Studies courses mentioned above are obvious fits, but truthfully you could argue that any subject is relevant. Playwriting, after all, can be about anything and demands many skills. Normally any undergraduate degree is sufficient to apply; ultimately your portfolio of writing will be the most significant factor in whether you receive an offer.

If you don’t have an undergraduate degree, you won’t necessarily be excluded. Some institutions accept relevant experience instead. So if, for instance, you have worked as an actor and performed in new plays, but never went to university, you could still make a good application. Your professional experience is easily as valuable as, say, an undergraduate degree in English Literature. If in doubt, contact the institution.

A Master’s degree will be focused on playwriting. That being so, you won’t mix with the range of artists you would on a broad undergraduate degree. It’s an environment in which you are likely to be pushed harder on your writing choices with more in-depth perusal of your work. This comes at the cost of having fewer opportunities to explore different sides of theatre-making or creative writing. Conversely, your peers will probably be a more mixed group in terms of ages and backgrounds than the students on an undergraduate course.

Most MAs do not rely on the rather didactic method of lectures common at undergraduate level. Instead, courses are based around small group seminars, in which topics are discussed and practical writing tasks set or scenes reviewed. These have much more scope for individual input. Tutorials are infrequent, and tend to be scheduled to discuss drafts of a play being written for submission and assessment; they give a taste of the one-to-one dramaturgy you can expect in a professional context.

MAs usually culminate in a showcase. Goldsmiths has often hired Soho Theatre for this purpose, and other institutions book out similarly prestigious venues. This, and the fact that the teachers on MA courses tend to have closer links to the industry than the leaders of BA degrees, who are more rooted in full-time academia, makes professional interest more likely. Recognise that this will not be the safe, padded dojo of the undergraduate years; it is a public arena and you will be expected to produce work that can withstand proper scrutiny (take comfort in the fact that anyone attending a showcase yearns for students to succeed).

As most MAs last for no more than one or two intensive years, they require proactive input. You will be suited if you have a good idea what you want to learn, are ready for the challenges of indepth feedback, and are not fazed by exposure to industry figures.

Insider’s View: Luke Owen

I did an MA in Creative Writing: Scriptwriting at the University of East Anglia. I had always been interested in scriptwriting but had only a self-taught understanding. My plays were okay but had never really had success or been noticed by the industry.

During one year my writing progressed further than ever, partly due to superb tuition but also because it got me thinking about scriptwriting in ways I hadn’t even considered. We studied Christopher Vogler’s concepts of character archetypes, plot types, story structure, dialogue, genre and adaptation, and broke scripts down into their constituent parts, analysing why one script worked and another didn’t. There was a strong emphasis on ‘round table’ writing, giving constructive criticism. Though occasionally difficult to hear, this helped prepare me for industry feedback.

Within months of finishing I had been invited onto the Young Writers’ Programme at the Royal Court and had a meeting at the BBC. While at the Court I wrote Unscorched.

Luke won the 2013 Papatango New Writing Prize, and has since developed new plays with Headlong. His winning play Unscorched was translated into Italian and performed in Milan.

Drama school or university?

Universities, as the name implies, are intended as places in which a universe of subjects is studied. You will have access to thousands of students on hundreds of courses, which can only be intellectually and creatively stimulating. Equally, the vast range of extra-curricular opportunities provides a valuable release from the pressures of study.

Universities are oriented towards academic discourse; you will study plays, read criticism and examine theory, and write essays. If a course specifies playwriting then there should be a practical element, but this will be in conjunction with academic work. This arguably gives you stronger critical appreciation, builds analytical skills, and fosters the ability to write clearly and concisely. If you are interested in the theory of playwriting as well as the practice, and have an eye on an academic career either on its own or in conjunction with practising as a playwright, then university is a good base. It also makes you more attractive to employers, assuming at some point you will need to find paid work outside theatre.

Drama schools are often affiliated with universities, but their roots in vocational training are readily apparent. Courses are focused on the practical rather than the academic side of playwriting. You will complete some essays, but do far more of your own writing. One of the big advantages of a drama school is access to people training to a high standard in a wide range of different theatre disciplines. It makes finding talented collaborators much easier. Likewise, drama schools have superlative resources including theatres, rehearsal rooms and libraries of plays. They tend to attract industry professionals as visiting teachers, a useful way to connect with high-quality theatre-makers. No university can compete with the specialised nature of a drama school, but being in such an environment does mean that the intensity and pressure can be overwhelming: everyone will be obsessed with theatre.

It is important not to pick between a university or a drama school for the labels; successful playwrights with brilliant understanding of practical theatre emerge from universities, and academics with profound philosophical and theoretical insight train at drama schools. Your place of study will not define you. Just reflect on the different environments, and pick a course that excites you. If you are studying the right material, you’ll be in the right place.

Insider’s View: Sarah Grochala

I lead the MA/MFA Writing for Stage and Broadcast Media course at the Royal Central School of Speech & Drama. The course offers vocational training in writing drama across different media contexts. It aims to equip students with the key skills to succeed as dramatists, help them develop their unique ‘voice’ and build confidence in their own writing. Students study the principles of writing full-length drama for film, radio, stage and television. They also develop ideas for shorter pieces. While the focus of the course is on developing each writer’s individual voice, students also have the opportunity to work collaboratively on developing a television series, giving the experience of working on someone else’s idea, as is often the case in television writing.

Alongside developing students’ writing, we think it’s important for them to understand the theories that underlie dramatic writing and its current place within the cultural environment. The course includes a module exploring the history of dramatic writing. Students also take part in a group research project into a contemporary issue related to dramatic writing that interests them.

A crucial element is that students have the opportunity to be taught by and to engage with a range of industry professionals, and eventually work with a mentor to develop at least one full-length script. This kind of exposure to professional scriptwriters is often very hard to attain outside a course.

In my experience, students embark on a dramatic writing course for a combination of three reasons: to learn the fundamentals of dramatic structure; to finally finish that full-length script; and to gain some insight into how to succeed in a professional context.

No course can guarantee a career, but it will equip you with the skills of a professional writer. With talent, passion and hard work, it is possible to succeed once you have these skills and a sense of how the industry works. Our graduates have had their work produced nationally and internationally, and been commissioned by organisations including the Royal Court and BBC. They include winners of the George Devine Award, Tinniswood Award, Evening Standard Best Play Award and Bruntwood Prize, and BAFTA and Olivier Award nominees.

Sarah is a multi-award-winning playwright, dramaturg and academic. Her work has been produced at the Finborough Theatre and in Sydney and Toronto, and she was Associate Artist at Headlong from 2012 to 2016. She teaches playwriting and supervises PhD candidates at the Royal Central School of Speech & Drama.

Industry Courses

If you are not looking to earn a qualification or do not wish to embark on a prolonged period of formal study, then an excellent alternative is to undertake training within the theatre industry. This is substantially cheaper (not necessarily the same as being better value, of course) than degree study, and brings you into contact with professional theatre-makers.

There is a plethora of courses available, although some close and others emerge every year, so careful research is recommended. A good place to start is your local theatre(s); see what they offer and, if nothing is listed, get in touch and ask. They may at the very least point you in the right direction. Remember that non-venue-based companies – like Papatango – also provide training, so check what these organisations offer.

Industry training usually takes several forms: short introductory programmes; one-off workshops or writing events; and online resources.

Introductory programmes

These are usually structured to deliver sessions focusing on different writing skills at regular intervals. They’re a great way to get to the heart of playwriting and learn what programmers want. Excellent examples include the Royal Court Young Writers’ Programme, the Playwrights’ Programme at Liverpool Everyman & Playhouse or the free GoWrite courses that Papatango run.

Each course will have its own idiosyncratic structure, but as a rough guide you might, over a certain period, take part in fortnightly or monthly sessions with the venue’s literary department and visiting professionals. Groups tend to be small and the emphasis is on practical exercises to stimulate your writing. Some programmes culminate in a showcase; as these are validated by coming from within the industry, they attract attention.

Leaders are often keen to read your work – every course dreams of uncovering a home-grown success – and it can be a great way to nurture a relationship with a theatre, as well as meet other writers and establish an enduring support network. You may also get discounted or free tickets to performances, to build your experience and understanding of new writing.

There are a surprising number of opportunities along these lines. That’s not entirely altruistic; venues and companies often develop participation and training schemes as part of a wider artistic programme in order to attract funding. Lest that sound overly cynical, be assured that no one goes to the effort of devising these schemes without also wanting to develop their own talent pools. They may even have an eye on future commissions.

Nonetheless, these opportunities are often not well advertised. If they are to be affordable (ideally free), then marketing budgets will be limited. Never assume they don’t exist just because you haven’t heard about them. Be proactive and seek them out (note the irony that courses to make playwriting accessible are often only discovered by those with advanced detective skills).

Before you start the search, be aware that only certain venues or companies will offer such courses. Usually those that produce a lot of new plays (rather than revivals or musicals) will have a literary department. Of these, relatively few will have the resources to run training programmes. Competition is therefore fierce. Have a writing sample ready and be prepared to wait before a place is available.

In general, it is hard to think of reasons why you shouldn’t take up such courses if you are able; they are usually free or reasonably priced, constitute a relatively small time commitment, offer an introduction to industry professionals who are in a position to advance you as a writer, and provide the stimulus and networks to sustain your practice, potentially well into the future. And, of course, they should improve your writing.

Workshops

Often companies that cannot commit to extended introductory programmes will instead provide one-off or short-term training in the form of workshops. Workshops tend to be sessions for a half- or full day that focus on a particular skill, often led by industry professionals.

The term ‘workshop’ implies practical contributions and working as part of a group to trial things; they aren’t lectures or Q&As (though do ask questions!). They suit people who feel ready to write and are confident sharing work, even if it has been composed impromptu. If you’re looking for gentler introductions or want a theoretical overview, consider other training first, and build up to an industry workshop. If you are ready for public writing tasks, then workshops are worth a try: at best they provide excellent stimulation and refresh or renew your writing and your confidence; at worst you waste a few hours and probably still meet interesting people.

That said, be careful before you hand over any money. Some unscrupulous companies charge an exorbitant fee for workshops run by people with wobbly CVs for an absurd number of participants. Often the best workshops are free or cost-price, because they are run by organisations with the credibility and motivation to secure funding for a genuinely accessible, worthwhile opportunity. If you are contemplating paying for a workshop, do your research first. Look at the track record of the workshop leader and don’t be afraid to question the organisers about participant numbers or subjects covered.

Whether free or not, make sure your expectations are appropriate. Only apply for a workshop if the topic or the leader interests you. Come prepared to contribute and try new things. A one-off workshop will obviously have limited impact and is not a substitute for in-depth training. Nor should you believe that participating in a series of discrete and unrelated workshops will provide a comprehensive playwriting framework. If you wish to train, then workshops are excellent supplements, not complete programmes.

Online Resources

The days when you had to be in the same room to learn from a teacher are long over. Venues and companies increasingly share materials online. This keeps costs down and makes learning accessible to anyone. Fantastic online courses include those by Newcastle upon Tyne’s Live Theatre and London’s Bush Theatre, as well as Papatango’s captioned GoWrite workshop videos.

Of course there are limitations attached to online courses. It is up to you to find the motivation to work through exercises, while you won’t build any relationships with peers and teachers or benefit from the showcases that accompany face-to-face courses. Equally, completing an online course won’t offer much validation; they are not as selective, nor assessed with as much rigour, as programmes with limited physical places.

Nonetheless, what’s not to like? They can be a great catalyst for learning and writing at your own pace and according to your own needs. It may be particularly worthwhile to access these if you are drafting writing samples for other opportunities and need to test them against industry standards. They can also refresh your thinking and build confidence.

Private Courses

As well as industry courses and higher education, there are private courses offering training. These do not work to the predetermined goals of accredited courses, which need to assess students for qualifications or industry programmes, which need measurable results to show funders. Instead, they cater to a limited number of select participants and respond to individual needs. Their USP is therefore to provide a more personal programme of study than other training opportunities – especially as participants pay for and expect a satisfactory customer experience. The fewer the participants, the more the costs rise, and the better equipped the course should be to accelerate your writing with precise, tailored insights.

Private courses attract writers for many different reasons. Some are keen to work with a particular teacher; some hope to supplement training elsewhere; some seek preparation for a particular project; some are struggling to get on to competitive industry programmes and want to build skills and a stronger portfolio; some merely want the structure to write and the chance for feedback.

This variety reflects the chief advantage of undertaking a private course: you should receive meaningful personal attention from someone with a superlative background in developing plays. Make sure the teacher has the CV and relevant skills to justify their position. You should be convinced that you will receive proper expertise in exchange for hard-earned cash.

The drawbacks are that, as commercial and unaccredited enterprises, private courses do not lend particular validation. Places are costed and a certain number need to be filled, so emerging from a private course does not in itself mean anything more than that you could afford it (although this is increasingly also true of our higher education sector). Of course, certain courses are more competitive and have stronger reputations, but even these will not guarantee you recognition in themselves.

Moreover, private courses function behind closed doors. These are specialist playwriting courses, and do not generally present the chance to become involved in playmaking. Don’t expect to learn too much about writing with collaborators or performers, or to gain new insights into theatricality, nor to have a public platform to share your writing. They are more akin to sustained retreats to develop individual playwrights.

Private courses benefit people who know what they need to improve, who are not seeking collaborators or a showcase, and who are willing to take guidance from a teacher who should have genuine expertise. Provided you understand what a private course is designed to deliver, can afford it, and choose carefully, it can be a rare chance to hone your practice.

Insider’s View: Fiona Doyle

I don’t believe a playwright has to do a course. All a playwright has to do is read and write as much as they can, and want wholeheartedly to commit to it. So I understand why some might be a little suspicious of the multitude of writing courses on offer these days, but each writer’s journey is highly personal and individual. For where I was in my life back in 2012, I needed a little kick-start. I had zero experience of writing plays but a strong feeling that this was for me. In hindsight, I guess I was looking for guidance and someone with experience to signal that I perhaps wasn’t completely hopeless.

I had been offered a place on a full-time MA but failed to secure funding so couldn’t afford to take it up. Instead, I undertook a private course with John Burgess [former Head of New Writing at the National Theatre]. John’s course is structured in a way that allows people to work while they’re on it, and he was kind enough to let the more financially strapped students (like me) pay in instalments.

The set-up was simple: a two-hour class once a week, where we would focus on something specific like rhythm or use of silences or exits and entrances. There was a lot of reading, listening to and learning from other people’s work, practical writing exercises in every class, and eventually bigger tasks were set, like having to write a ten-minute play using three acts. These tasks accumulated and became more challenging as the course progressed, so that by the end we were expected to have completed, or be close to completing, a full-length play.

We were encouraged to discipline ourselves and get into the habit of writing regularly. John is an experienced director of new plays – one of the most important things he taught me was all the talking and thinking and theorising in the world won’t make you a writer; you are not a writer until you start writing. Other advantages are small class sizes and mentorship that sometimes continues long after the course has finished. John still reads my work and he’ll always find time to meet for a coffee when I’m in town.

I’m not sure I could ever have written a play without first spending a year in his company. That course unlocked something and I’ve not looked back. But that’s just me. Writing courses aren’t for everyone so my advice would be to listen to what your gut is telling you – it rarely lets you down.

Fiona won the 2014 Papatango New Writing Prize for Coolatully, which Papatango produced at the Finborough Theatre and which has since been performed in the USA. Her subsequent plays Deluge and The Strange Death of John Doe premiered at Hampstead Theatre, and she joined the National Theatre Studio on attachment. She has also written for NT Connections. She has received a MacDowell Colony Fellowship, won the Eamon Keane Full Length Play Award, and been nominated for the Susan Smith Blackburn Prize.

Should I Train?

So, you’re deluged with options and opportunities. But are any of them right for you? Let’s consider the arguments for, and the risks of, training.

Pros:

Learn the craft

While formal training alone won’t make you a successful writer, it should give you a good grounding in fundamentals such as structure, characters, genre, form, dialogue, and so on. A solid technique may prove invaluable in realising your stories.

Test your ideas

Training programmes often enable you to work with practitioners in other disciplines, either as an integral part of the process or by organising your own events with fellow students. Learning how your script develops when staged by directors and actors, in a safe and supportive environment, can be an important learning curve. Equally, having your script interrogated by people with different perspectives will teach you a lot about writing, collaboration and production.

Build a network

Writing is often solitary, and can tip into loneliness. It is a tough gig. Debilitating nerves can strike when you ponder sharing the play you’ve spent months polishing. Training is a great opportunity to meet other writers who can act as a sounding board, give constructive feedback, and provide support. It’s always nice to know you’re not alone; sometimes it’s vital.

Guaranteed feedback

Feedback can be harder to come by than tickets to Hamilton (or whatever sold-out West End show comes to mind at the time of reading). The sheer number of scripts in circulation means that giving a personalised response to your submission isn’t necessarily on the agenda of agents, literary managers or producers. Training usually guarantees that your work will be read by someone with a decent knowledge of theatre, and the feedback you receive should have the sole purpose of improving your writing.

Meet industry professionals

Training is usually run by industry professionals who should bring genuine insight. Their guidance could set you on the right path. They may also have connections to venues and companies, so you may gain access to these. Because…

New relationships

…‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’ Terrible cliché – never use it in your writing – but keep it at the back of your mind. Building relationships is going to be vital to your progression as a playwright. If you are attending a writers’ group at a venue, you might be able to get your scripts read by the literary department. If you are on a more formal writing course, you could introduce yourself to the guest speakers, who often represent leading organisations. Training is one of the easiest ways of making these connections.

Even if you are already involved in a playwriting network, it may be that you joined because it’s run by people with similar tastes or background. You could shake things up by getting involved in a training programme that connects you with people with different experiences. Access to industry decision-makers or artists with different perspectives is a privilege.

Showcase your work

Many playwriting courses culminate in a showcase of your work. This often takes the form of a rehearsed reading or a staged performance of certain scenes (we discuss these in detail in the ‘Getting Noticed’ chapter). These tend to be performed for an invited audience including agents, producers, directors, etc. It’s a great chance for your writing to be seen.

Showcases of training programmes are likely to have more impact than any private showcase you might arrange on your own. The course leaders will ask personal contacts, and it’s more efficient and appealing for busy theatre professionals to take in work from several writers on a single trip.

Confidence

Confidence plays a big part in writing. Feeling secure in what you are doing and in your ability to do it is key. Training can help you to feel that you have a legitimate case for calling yourself a playwright, that you have a set of skills to rely on, that you can solve that tricky second act. At the very least it gives you something to say to that