If you’re reading this, you’re probably a professional. Someone who takes their work very seriously. Someone who spends the minimal time it takes to properly format their plays.

At least, that seems how it should be. I run a play reading series in San Francisco (currently untitled, as I’m changing from the trite "From the Page to the Stage" moniker that I inherited). I look at a fair number of plays.

Haven’t seen one done neatly yet.

Now, I’m not the Seattle Rep, I don’t have so many submissions piling up that I’m looking for an excuse to say no. So I present them. But every playwright gets a lesson in format.

"It’s the words that are important, not the format. My play’s brilliant, and they’ll see that!" I can hear it running through playwrights’ minds now. It’s been my opinion.

But it’s like having a stunningly beautiful baby that you’re entering in a baby pageant, but bringing them in a soiled diaper. You’re hurting their chances, no matter how divine the baby.

For an example of what I’m talking about, let’s look at three lines from the moving play "Café Depresso" by Tom Vegh (as originally formatted):

JEREMY

Like Joan Crawford on bad speed. But, you know I love it when get crazy like that. I was surprised that Roko handled as well as he did.

KATHLEEN

I was relieved.

German music is heard.

JEREMY

Bri, any e-mails from Heiner?

Okay, that’s enough. Now, Jeremy’s first line does have at least one accidental word omission. Truthfully, that sort of thing doesn’t really throw me. You of course don’t want any of them. But as often as not, if your meaning was clear, it slips by unnoticed because the reader’s mind follows your thoughts, your voice.

But German music part grinds my read to a halt every time. The message it’s sending my brain is that this is more of the same… more of Kathleen’s line.

I realize the truth eventually. Usually. There have been a couple that may very well have intended a Brechtian narrator.

The point being, don’t make the person who’s reading your work confused unintentionally. Not talking about plot twists, here. Theatre should have more of those. The curse of the oppressive structure isn’t only present in the film.

Back on track, look at a portion properly formatted:

I was relieved.

Bri, any e-mails from Heiner?

Imagine yourself reading merely five scripts a week: isn’t that easier to follow?

Of course the future audience is a big concern, but you can’t neglect that guy reading it, either.

Make him want to like you and your script.

Write with whatever format you want, but love your child enough to dress it up nice. Spend the time formatting it.

Or if you just can’t bear to spend the time at the computer, hire another playwright to gussy it up… at least you’d be giving money to another artist.

Love your words enough to make them heard.