Writing My First Play

I wrote a play today. Actually, I finished writing a play today. I started it four days ago while waiting for a flight at the Atlanta airport. I wrote Act One the next day, Act Two the day after that, and wrapped up Act Three today.

Would Arthur Miller give it a thumbs-up? No—not in a million years. But neither would I. I know it’s the work of a first-timer. The point is, I started something and finished it. And I had a blast doing it.

I watched a few videos on how to write a play. Little did I know that you use Courier New font, size 12, or that a character’s name is written in all caps and tabbed over five times. I didn’t know a thing because I had never done it before. Hell, I’ve rarely written dialogue.

I sat in a public library in Austin, teaching myself how to write a play. But most importantly, I wrote. I guess I spent ten hours writing. Some parts were easy; some weren’t. But I kept typing.

I wore an old tie, my herringbone thrift-store jacket, and a fedora. I guess I sort of "felt the part"—if that makes any sense. I had the time of my life. The act of creation is enormously gratifying.

I didn’t set any goals, nor did I have an objective. I simply wanted to tell a semi-autobiographical story of a Greyhound bus trip from Denver to Atlanta, with stops in Kansas City and Memphis. That’s it. And, as it so happened, I broke it into three acts, each written in a day.

So now I have a play—a first draft, really. It’ll have to be edited, which I’m not a fan of doing myself, but I’m also not a fan of anyone else doing it either. But it must be done. So who will edit it once I’m done tinkering with it? I have no idea.

The truth is, I have no idea what will be done with it. It may never see the light of day—and that’s OK. I’ve never written for anyone other than myself. I didn’t write this for anyone either. I wrote it because I wanted to write a play—nothing more.

Will I write another one? I don’t know, but I probably will, for no other reason than the joy of it. Like I said, I had fun creating the characters and dreaming up a world where one didn’t previously exist.

It makes you wonder… where do these things come from? Before my flight was delayed, this story didn’t exist. Then, for reasons unbeknownst to me, it started spilling forth in an airport terminal. A day later, Act One was complete. Writing is a curious pursuit.

So here’s to Tennessee Williams’s first play. And Eugene O’Neill’s. And Edward Albee’s. And every other person, playwright or not, who started something and finished it.

P.S. Tennessee Williams’s first play was Cairo, Shanghai, Bombay! It was written in 1935 and has largely been forgotten. The Glass Menagerie, his first hit, was written in 1944. Although it didn’t win any major awards (the Tonys weren’t established until 1947), it’s considered a masterpiece.

P.P.S. Eugene O’Neill’s first play was Bound East for Cardiff. It was written in 1914 and wasn’t a commercial success. Beyond the Horizon, his first hit, was written in 1918 and won the Pulitzer for Drama.

P.P.P.S. Edward Albee’s first play was The Zoo Story. Written in 1958, it premiered in Berlin to modest acclaim. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, his first hit, was written in 1962 and ran for 664 performances. It won a Tony and would’ve won a Pulitzer—if not for a bunch of prudish board members.