A club dinner last weekend sat me opposite a fellow member and his guest. Over our plates and between the speeches we established (as happens) that they too wrote: one was a playwright and director, the other was working on a musical. I have done a little of both, in a very amateur way. It gave us the chance to reflect on one of the most powerful experiences a writer can have, which is to hear our words brought to life by others.
You write a script. It seems OK, You hear it in your head. You have an idea of how it would be spoken: hushed or urgent, cold or impassioned. Hand it to a friend or family member to read, and you could coach them until they did it right. Or you could let them do it their way (always worth a try) and be surprised because they find an interpretation or an emphasis that you hadn’t thought was there.
Now give the same script to, say, a gifted amateur actor. Watch, listen. Feel your jaw drop. The words are alive in a way they were not before. The actor’s ability to communicate with voice and body far surpasses the ordinary. Or hand your song lyrics to a composer and let them set it to music. It’s astounding. It’s as if you had given them a line drawing and they’ve filled it with vivid colours. You find yourself thinking, “I didn’t think I was THAT good….”
You aren’t that good. (All right, maybe you are. Yes, you really are.) But what’s happened here is that you’ve given a performer the prompt they need to make something that’s more than either of you could have done alone. Your words are just breath. But breath through a trumpet is a clarion call.
And the same is true, in a way, of your reader. They might not have been able to write your story for themselves. But there are powers in their imagination which work independently of you: experiences, associations, memories and longing; all of which bind onto your words as the eye reads. That’s what brings your words to life. You are doing this together.
Last Updated on October 5, 2026 by John