The Art of the Rewrite - Procrastination, Desperation and Margaritas

From the desk of Paul Weissman, Literary Director and playwright of POY's next production Sunset Motel:

Rewrites are a pain in the ass. It takes so long for something to gestate in my head and get it down on paper that when I finally finish the first draft, I just want to shoot it out there and say, “There it is, it’s perfect, enjoy it, I’m going to get myself a margarita.” Of course, it’s never perfect. And readings of the play will always magnify the flaws of the plot, dialogue, character, etc.

So, on to the second draft. This usually means I sit on the couch with a beer (yeah, I drink. I’m an artist. It’s in the rulebook) and my notepad (I don’t write drafts on the computer, I longhand it first) and stare. . . .and stare . . . and I go back to my notes to remind myself of things that need changing, tweaking or sometimes full on rehauling. I curse my lot. “Oy, couldn’t I have been a carpenter or a lawyer. Oy, this writing is hard.” Aaaaand nothing. So I put the pad down and proceed to watch The Daily Show or Boston Legal or whatever. And I go through the week with the deadline for the next draft looming over me. I ignore it for at least two weeks.

But lo and behold, in the back of my head, unconsciously, wheels are turning. I gave my brain a task and it loves tasks. Characters are saying things in my head. I hear them talking as I head up the subway to work. The dialogue is clunky. Somewhat inept. But they keep talking. Then, eventually, they say the right thing. The thing they were meant to say. THAT’S when I start rewriting. And then everything is easy as pie (I don’t understand that phrase. Easy as making pie, sure. Easy as eating pie, absolutely, but easy AS pie?!? I don’t get it). And finally, the words move from my notepad to my computer with ease. And I smile. And I hand it to the gang. And I go off to have my margarita.