A playwright considers the notion of liveness under the guidance of a one-on-one writing coach.

The idea of liveness is one of the most foundational yet elusive concepts in the craft of playwriting. At its core, liveness refers to the unique, unrepeatable quality of performance that happens in real time, in a shared space, between actors and an audience. Unlike novels or films, which are consumed privately and can be paused or rewound, a play unfolds moment by moment, in the here and now, and cannot be replicated in exactly the same way twice. For advanced playwrights, this fundamental aspect of theatre is not simply a condition of the medium—it is the medium. Rather than writing a script as if it were a static literary artifact, they are crafting an event, a communal ritual, a live encounter. Engaging with liveness means understanding how time, presence, rhythm, silence, gesture, and vulnerability are not just embellishments to text, but the very grammar of theatre itself.

For many emerging playwrights, the realization that a script is only one part of a larger, ephemeral event can be both liberating and disorienting. In traditional writing courses, students are often taught to focus on dialogue and plot, to craft clean arcs and backstories, and to edit with the assumption that what appears on the page is the primary goal. But theatre is not a novel in dialogue form—it is an embodied, temporal act. When a character speaks a line, that utterance is affected by the breath, tone, and posture of the actor, the reaction of the other performer, the mood of the room, the light cutting across the stage, or even the weather outside. In this way, playwriting becomes less about pinning things down and more about opening possibilities for meaning to emerge in the moment.

A clear example of writing with liveness in mind can be found in the work of playwright Sarah Kane. Her final play, 4.48 Psychosis, does not include character names, stage directions, or even clear divisions between speakers. On the page, the text reads almost like poetry or stream of consciousness. In performance, however, directors and actors make interpretive decisions—how many characters are speaking, in what tone, and with what physical relationships to one another. The liveness of the theatre transforms the text into a visceral encounter. The work does not dictate what the performance should be; rather, it invites the audience to witness something unstable, intimate, and alive.

Another instructive case is the work of the experimental theatre company Elevator Repair Service, known for staging entire novels word-for-word, including F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby in their production Gatz. In lesser hands, this premise could be inert or indulgent. But ERS activates the performance through gesture, pacing, rhythm, and physical juxtaposition. The audience does not simply receive the story—they participate in a theatrical experiment, experiencing in real time the transformation of prose into action. Here, the liveness of the event becomes the real subject of the play, asking viewers to consider what happens when literature is filtered through the body, the breath, and the shared space of performance.

This heightened attention to liveness raises specific challenges for writers, especially those who may come from a fiction or screenwriting background. Writing for theatre requires a shift in sensibility. Rather than controlling every aspect of what the audience sees or hears, the playwright must learn to trust the moment: to suggest rather than prescribe, to create conditions for tension and revelation rather than orchestrate them overtly. This is where a one-on-one writing coach can play a transformative role. A coach helps writers begin to think not just as authors of dialogue, but as architects of experience. Working closely with a coach allows the playwright to examine each scene not only for plot mechanics but for spatial logic, timing, and presence.

For instance, a coach might ask: What happens if this monologue is spoken while the character is in motion, walking toward another person? What shifts if it’s whispered instead of shouted? How might silence or stillness function as a dramatic tool here, rather than more words? These are questions not easily answered on the page, and often they require testing aloud, reading with actors, or even improvisational exploration. A writing coach can guide the playwright through this process, helping them experiment, articulate their instincts, and develop a vocabulary for liveness that becomes second nature over time.

Additionally, a coach can provide dramaturgical feedback that pushes the writer to consider the play as a temporal experience. Is the energy of the scene rising or falling? Does the play’s structure allow for breath, tension, rupture? Where might the audience be ahead of the characters, and where might they be disoriented—and what effect does that have? These are questions that go beyond plot or dialogue mechanics; they deal with how the audience experiences the unfolding of time. A skilled coach can help the playwright hone their intuition for these dynamics, supporting them as they move from writing scenes to crafting theatrical events.

It’s also important to recognize that liveness does not always mean spectacle. Some of the most powerful uses of theatrical presence are understated. A character reaching for a cup and pausing before speaking can contain volumes. A long silence between two characters might crackle with emotional risk. These are moments that live only in the room, in the tension between performers and audience. A writing coach can help the playwright learn to identify and cultivate such moments, to resist the temptation to over-write or over-explain, and to trust that the theatre itself—the bodies, the space, the time—will do some of the storytelling.

Embracing liveness means acknowledging that the script is not a finished object but an invitation—one that only finds its meaning through performance. This requires humility, openness, and a willingness to collaborate with the unpredictable energies of live theatre. For writers seeking to deepen their craft, working with a playwriting coach can provide the guidance and critical perspective necessary to navigate this dynamic. It allows them to ask not just “what happens in the play?” but “what happens to the audience during this play?” That is the true question of liveness—and it is one that transforms writing from a solitary act into a shared experience.