Training Your Readers to Read:Part I

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Order 'If I'm feeling solitary I prefer fiction, but if I'm feeling public I prefer plays. But I tend to write both at the same time. I've written fiction longer and I can't conceive of not writing fiction. I can conceive of not writing plays. I don't think I would write plays unless I knew that there was a place where I could take them and have them produced. A book is a book, even when it's just on the page. But a play isn't finished until it's on its feet.'

-- Jim Grimsley



A pile of hundreds of manuscripts will fall through your mailbox once you put out the word that you're willing to accept whatever the Post Office drags in for your first venture in finding a new script to produce. And what seemed like such a fine idea when you sent off that notice months ago to the Dramatists Guild Newsletter and TCG's Dramatists Source Book, may now give you that queasy feeling that you've been transformed into the Sorcerer's Apprentice.

Six days a week, that pile continues to grow until your deadline date -- after which playwrights can no longer send you scripts -- seems like your one glimmer of salvation.

It's often only when you see how tall a pile 300 or 500 or 1,000 scripts makes that the enormity of the next phase of your selection process sinks in. When you realize that if it topples over you've actually attracted enough mass to do serious damage to a small dog, this ceases to be a theoretical process.
This realization comes with a significant obligation. These are not inanimate objects that simply washed up on your shore by chance. Each script represents at least a year of a playwright's creative life. Sometimes two or three years. So you've taken on an obligation to treat them with something approaching compassion. And perhaps even a sense of wonder that so many people are driven to create plays for the theatre.

No matter how much you'd like to, you can't read all these scripts yourself. Well . . . you can, but physically you can't manage it and still give a fair reading to all those playwrights. So to avoid disappointment -- and sleepless nights -- later [see last month's column], it's worth spending the time to train your volunteer readers. Even if they're doing this for free, you owe it to those playwrights to insure that these folks know something about what you're asking of them. Even if your readers are performers, designers, or stage managers, that doesn't mean they'll fully understand the difficult task of searching for value in previously unproduced scripts.

There's a huge difference between a new script and the acting edition you get from Samuel French that's gone through the shaping of a professional production.
You're literally looking for that old cliché, if not a diamond, at least a garnet in the rough. And unless you're very lucky, nearly everyone you would logically ask to help read these new scripts will have little experience in reading anything but plays already polished by production.

Here's what you can do up front [and in an ideal world] to get the best from your readers . . .

Ellen Stuart, the mother of that grand Off-Off-Broadway theatre LaMama ETC, developed one of the western world's most New Age approaches to this business . . . She'd place her hand, palm down, on the cover page of the script. And if her fingers tingled, she did it. You'd think there should be a better way for your readers to do this.

Training Readers, Part II


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