What Keeps Us Coming Back?

What Keeps Us Coming Back?

In my post about structure (Playwriting 101 – the Case For Structure) I mention that athletic competition keenly demonstrates most of the important elements of dramatic structure and that it has a certain advantage – the ending has yet to be written; it is drama in real time.

So, how can storytelling, where the ending has been predetermined, compete with non-deterministic drama? What could possibly bring us back to re-reading a favorite book or watching actors perform the same stories over and over? At least in theatre there is the spectacle of performance where we revel in how well something is staged, directed, and how well the actors fully embody their roles. Or in the case of musicals, we marvel at the musicianship, as well as the creative choreography and the incredible physical, dare I say, athleticism of the dancers. But what could possibly cause us to open a familiar book and retake the journey? What are we looking for?

On one level, we are often surprised by the things we missed in the initial reading or viewing. Though, while we enjoy those newly discovered insights and revelations, there is something deeper and perhaps intangible about our connections to familiar works.

I recently attended a performance of a young singer-songwriter in a cafe setting and found myself moved by the young man’s songs. There was nothing flashy, just him and a guitar, and the occasional Dylan style harmonica holder around his neck. And, to be honest, the production quality was not the greatest, but I would gladly go and see him perform the same songs again. His connection to the material went beyond wanting to impress the audience with his abilities and talents. He had a deep personal connection with the songs and delivered them truthfully and honestly. I could even argue that some of the messages in the songs were misguided, but I frankly didn’t care. His heartfelt performance made me empathize and better understand his point of view.

In The Playwright’s Guidebook, by Stuart Spencer, he writes about being both truthful as an artist and connecting with your audience. He begins by mentioning how the playwright, Theresa Rebeck, finds it frustrating to be constantly forced to push the envelope.

* Theresa Rebeck, whose work has appeared on both the stage and television, writes in American Theatre that one of her great frustrations as a playwright is that she is always expected to push the envelope, to avoid the conventions of narrative and realism at all costs. She observes that much of the theater that does push the envelope is simply “incomprehensible and boring” and audiences “don’t understand it … We may be pushing the envelope, but if no one gets it, what’s the point?”

Her message, with which I agree, is that the artist has two duties: one to herself, the other to her audience. She must be true to herself, digging within herself to arrive at the truth as she sees it. But she must also communicate that truth to the audience. To communicate an idea that does not express the artist’s truth is pap, hack work. But to have an idea and not bother to actually communicate it is simply masturbatory.

So, job one, be artistically truthful in your writing. Find something that speaks to you at a gut level, something that causes you to dig deeper. When there is something that piques your interest – a song, a work of art, a lovely or harsh setting, or a singer in a cafe… – and you feel you want to write about it, take time to do some free unconscious writing; free-associate ideas, emotions, thoughts – see what emerges on the page. Try not to make conscious choices, but let the impulse take you wherever it leads. This may result in nothing, or it may uncover things about your original gut impulse that becomes source material for a complete play. If you use inspirations to guide you, then your writing will express your truth.

The second job, communicating our truth to an audience, requires us to go beyond our initial impulse. I have certainly written plays that have touched me very deeply, but when presented in a reading, or even an initial production, they fell flat. I had not figured out what was needed to cause an audience to care about my characters and story. As writers, we are often too close to the material and we tend to see more than what is actually there – we fill in the gaps and tend to be blind to what is missing. And, more often than not, the thing that is missing is structure – the actions aren’t strong enough, there’s not enough conflict, and the events don’t rise to the action. These are all things that can be fixed. Usually, it’s an easy rewrite to supply the needed structural elements.

While listening to the cafe performer, it was clear he had figured out how to express truth, and he knew how to communicate that truth to an audience. What he was singing about went to the core of his being, but he delivered it in a way that didn’t make it all about him. He was able to find a common chord, a universal thread, that made the songs speak to our core as well. And that perfect blend of truthful expression and connection is what keeps us coming back for more.


* Spencer, Stuart. The Playwright’s Guidebook: An Insightful Primer on the Art of Dramatic Writing. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

4 thoughts on “What Keeps Us Coming Back?

  1. Some excellent thoughts, Don. I agree that the best writing is authentic and not forced, and sometimes the impulse to be edgy or unique can distract our greater need to be, well, good. However, I think we should also be cautious by not allowing our truth to become The Truth, as though it’s the playwright’s job to bestow the final word on some idea or, God forbid, some issue. Sometimes not knowing The Truth can make for even more interesting art. I like my work to suggest what I think is the truth rather than declare it. I think the best writers and artists are somewhat enlightened and somewhat bewildered at the same time. Sometimes the work does not have answers. Only observations. Thanks for these helpful reminders!

  2. I totally agree, William. I think there is a distinction between artistic truth and strongly expressing one’s opinions, but truth can have many shades of meaning. I think what you’re referring to is trying to turn a play into an essay or sermon. That is certainly a misguided course and one that frankly never works.

  3. For me, it’s the relationships that keep me coming back. It doesn’t necessarily need to be the relationship to the other characters, although that’s a good place to start, but even a character’s relationship to her/his world, or circumstance or herself/himself. I want to care about the words that come out of the character’s mouth and see a reason for them. I want to feel the urgency and timely-ness of the situation and I want to learn or at least think about something in a new way. If a story can capture these elements, then I’ll probably revisit it again and again.

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