[Translation: Vasiliki Misiou]

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Think of yourself as … a victim of your bilingualism: on the one hand, the language of things, what your inner voice suggests, and, on the other hand, the language of approaching the others (the theatre is, in principle and, eventually, a meeting with the others), the extrovert language of understanding. You are their engagement ring. The play shows every time whether it is gold or tin.

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Keep observing. Listen carefully. At night, you will fall asleep talking to yourself, trying to fill in the gaps of what you have seen or heard. A story you want to tell is (perhaps) hidden in your ravings.

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At first, silence. Then voices, almost coercive ones. A few words written down hastily. Then, voices multiply. You are flirting with madness, accept it.

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Think of your characters: their obsessions. What do you see when you suddenly open their fridge? How do they take their coffee? What do they sing in the shower? Are they left-handed? Do they get along with animals? When was the last time they had sex? What do they see in their dreams? Do they like American films or do they have the greatest respect for Bergman? Are they vegetarian or do they devour cuts of meat? … Then, give them names. Their names should give us a hint of the answers to the above questions and more ones. (Only God knows how this happens. But it happens!).

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Feel their wounds. The crack in their look. Where –or who– do they actually look at? Show what they feel but through action. Even when they are still, they should act.

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Something always happens before and after the play. Where were all these characters? Where will they be after the darkness of the finale? Find out. Also: always check where your hero is, when not on stage. It may be revealed that he is doing something truly interesting, at this point, which will thwart your whole plan. He is cleverer than you. Bow.

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Some are in a hurry to divulge a secret. Some others react to hearing it. At the end, everyone has been shaken up, displaced, and has changed. This journey makes them charming, sometimes even lovable. To your audience and to you.

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You write. You don’t preach, you don’t make a complaint, you don’t teach, you don’t give advice, you don’t explain anything, you don’t describe anything. You write. Again and again.

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Every play is a thriller. Someone seeks. Not the murderer. But the shadow of an old “crime”. Bloodless, in most cases. Everyone is in danger from its consequences. No matter whether they realize the danger or not. The audience should follow it like a detective. Make them bite their nails out of anxiety. (It’s the only thing one is allowed to bite at the theatre.)

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Economy, economy! That is: many words thrown away, many cuts. But the stitching should not be visible.

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You play and direct while writing. You have to be very good at both. Of course, your relationship not only to acting but also to stage directing should end when you stop writing. Others take over from then on.

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The importance of pause. Then, whatever is said should be dense, make everyone feel uncomfortable. Like a stone tossed in the water, one could say. The story continues within the ripples created.

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Write the play once. Then, forget it. Remember it after a long time. Take it from scratch. Change it. Forget it again. This process may be repeated for years. At some point, the play itself will tell you “Leave me alone, I’m done!”.

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Leave room for unorthodox behaviours, strange cues, thoughtless reactions, irrational outbreaks. This is how we all are, so why can’t your heroes be like us? And there is always a reason for everyone. Look for it.

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It’s not necessary for everyone to speak. Above all, they don’t have to prattle.

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The more you wait for inspiration, the more you forget what you actually want to write about.

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Direct, accurate, clear dialogues. That is, ambiguous and cryptic. As are everyone’s dialogues.

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Never try to explain or analyze what you have written. It is the job of others to do this. Your job is to make it difficult for them.

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Read your play again, act by act, as if you were an illegal reader. Anxious to see “what is this bastard getting at …” (you are “this bastard”).