Or, how I wrote a poem, turned that poem into a play, and how that play became Eurydice Waking at the Barron at The Byre Theatre here in St Andrews.
Two years ago, I had an idea for a story. And Monday night, we wrapped up our final performance of that idea.
To put it simply is fully cathartic, but it also skates over the fact that it was ultimately a ridiculous amount of work by a whole team of us. And now, with Eurydice finally in the rearview, I feel as though I’ve got enough distance to sit back and revisit the process as a whole. You don’t have to be deeply knowledgeable or involved in the theatre scene at St Andrews in order to get involved, and that’s a lesson I learned these last few months in practice.
When I first came to St Andrews to begin my master’s in Playwriting and Screenwriting, I had no idea how to actualize something I had written. I asked questions early on, like “What is a producer? What are you producing?” and mostly “How could I ever get people to want to act in something I’ve written?” To take time out of their own schedules, for free, to memorize large chunks of dialogue. For no reason other than that they’d want to, or be interested in doing so. It’s something that you’d never imagine someone would want to do until suddenly someone just does.
So for anyone else who might ever have a thought. Or an idea. Or a feeling. Or a fear. Here are a few things I learned recently – if it ever might help.
Step 0: Get In There!
Before I ever thought of putting something on, I had a project for class. A monologue. I knew no one. I hadn’t even written it. I had no ideas for it. But I knew that I would need not only to write it but also to get an actor to perform it, schedule the space, publicize it, etc. It was all a part of a learning exercise for us in networking and producing.
Randomly (and ironically!) I went to see a play at the Barron. A student-written show. And one of the lead actors just blew me away completely. I was so surprised by him. Earlier that day, I’d gotten a gentle telling-off from one of my professors that I needed to get started on my monologue project and send in the details of my plan by the end of that week. Perhaps, if it hadn’t been on my mind, I would have just walked out. But it was. So with some less-gentle pushing by my supportive flatmate, I approached him after the show.
And a few weeks later, he performed the monologue that I’d written for him.
Step 1: Keep Your Ears Open
Early on, maybe before I even came to St Andrews, I started looking into writing and theatre societies, and followed their Instagrams, like Mermaids, People You Know, and The Barron. The Barron even hosts a playwriting competition in the fall. I wasn’t involved, not yet, but I was aware. And when the Instagram post went out announcing that Mermaids were looking for play proposals for the second semester, I had some free time. I went to the office hours, and I asked questions. I found out that I had four days to pull together a team and a full-length proposal, with budgeting plans, publicity schedules, production details, even makeup and hairstyling plans!
Step 2: The Play is Worth a Shot!
I reached out to a friend, then another. Suddenly, I had a reader and a producer. Then, a publicist. In such a short timeframe, it was important to delegate to and lead this process as a community. I asked my references for references, and soon our team started to grow. We assigned ourselves to the tasks we could accomplish together and ended up submitting a fully fleshed-out proposal we were incredibly proud of a day early.
Throughout the course of producing our proposal, we learned so much about the inner workings of putting on a play. Almost every moment I had written into our play would need to be workshopped in some way to assess its practicality, the risks it might pose, and what it could cost. Every risk could be quantified on a numeric scale— and none of it was intuitive. We spent a good amount of time just understanding each form before we could start to fill them out. Luckily, the board at Mermaids was always reachable and so helpful with our questions.
By this time (in just four days), we had a well-being coordinator, an assistant director, a director and producer, a publicist, and two amazing technicians. Two days later, we sat down in front of everyone in Mermaids and pitched our idea.
The next morning, we got the green light. We had a play.
Step 3: Make That Shot Worth It.
I spent the holiday break rewriting the play, making it tighter, more impactful, and more aimed toward the St Andrews audience. We brought on more people and started putting out initial feelers and information on our own Instagram account. I felt like I was in the same position I’d been in with the monologue. I needed to make sure my play would be good enough and worth it enough that I could ask actors to memorize my words again.
We ended up needing to part with our publicist early on (since we cast her in our show!), so my producer and I took over and split the role between us. With a background in social media management at my undergrad for the admissions office, this was a fun role for me to step back into.
So do it.
Step 4: Instagram, Instagram, and More Instagram
Get a Canva Pro subscription, or at least, a free trial. Because in St Andrews, and possibly just the world at this point, Instagram is the de facto way to spread information and drum up excitement about an event or a project. Following, following, following accounts. People you’ve never met, more and more. Following just enough every day to not get accused of being a bot by Instagram’s overseers. Following more the next day. And keep going!
Disseminate your information. Auditions. Times. Disseminate more. Make it look good. Choose the perfect song. Disseminate something else. Keep going!
Run Auditions. Hope people show up, anyone. A lot of people showed up! Over 60! Have difficult conversations, fight amongst yourselves. Send out decisions. Run callbacks. Be kind. Try your hardest. And again. Have harder conversations. Fight more. Make up. Send out decisions. Hope they respond. Hope they say yes. They said yes? All of them?!
Wait. Now what?
Step 5: Put on A Play
Have a run-through. Rewrite it. Rewrite it again. Hear it out loud again. Rewrite it again! Stop rewriting it. Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse more. Talk about it. Realize you should have had that conversation way sooner than you did. Move on anyway. Make the same mistake. Move on anyway.
Instagram, Instagram, Instagram, Instagram, Instagram. Followers, followers, followers. Learn to hate Instagram. Learn to make sure you’re only liking Reels on your personal account! Look at your analytics. Look again. Lose a little bit of your humanity. Schedule more rehearsals. Rehearse again.
Edit more posts. Design posters. Spend hours putting up posters all over town. Forget scissors, and use your teeth. Keep going.
Change your mind. Change it again. Adapt. Accept.
Instagram a little more.
Accept.
Put on a play.
Step 6: Watch Your Play for The First Time
You’ve seen in a million times. Broken up into little pieces. But for the first time, surrounded by other people, watch it again for the first time.
And I did.
Surrounded by friends, new and old. I sat in the audience, and I watched my play. And I watched people’s faces as they watched my play. And it was really fun. So I can honestly say that putting on a play is an experience I highly recommend. It’s not for the faint-hearted, but it could be for you.