The DIY Garden State: Why Playwrights Must Seize the Means of Development
In the twenty-first century, it is entirely possible to be a produced playwright with credits across the globe. But despite that, contemporary writers are missing out on the single most vital component of the craft: development time in front of a live audience.
Today, the ultimate prize is simply to get produced and pray the play lands. But there was a time (admittedly, not in my career. not yet at least.) when a writer could be an active member of a theater ensemble, testing material in front of a living, breathing room. They relied on the natural, unvarnished reactions of a crowd that came simply to see a play—not a room full of hyper-critical theater artists and fellow playwrights. They built, revised, and structurally fortified their scripts based entirely on audience reaction.
Today, we are starved for that experience. Unless you self-produce or farm out 10-to-15-page excerpts in weekly workshops for developmental companies, you don't get it.
For years, that is exactly what I have done. I am profoundly grateful for the rooms I’ve been privileged to inhabit in New York City: The Actors Gym, the Playwrights Directors Workshop (PDW) at The Actors Studio, New Ambassadors, and Naked Angels. The feedback from hundreds of members on plays that eventually went out into the world has been invaluable. But nothing compares to the raw data of a live audience. To hear a collective laugh, to feel a synchronized gasp, to sense the room get visibly disturbed, or—crucially—to watch them slump in their chairs and succumb to boredom. Even if an audience member never opens their mouth or raises a hand during a talkback, their natural, physical presence is worth its weight in gold. It is the only thing that gets a writer truly ready for the gauntlet of literary managers and submissions.
But if the institutional theaters won't give us those rooms, we have to build them ourselves.
We live in an era that is more DIY than ever before. Yet, forming a collective where writers develop and produce their own work is not a new concept. Playwright-driven companies have a long, radical history of disrupting the status quo.
1. The Playwrights' Company (1938–1960)
The most high-profile historical precedent happened on Broadway in 1938. Deeply frustrated by the commercial theater establishment and the rigid policies of the Theatre Guild, five of America’s most famous dramatists—Maxwell Anderson, S.N. Behrman, Sidney Howard, Elmer Rice, and Robert E. Sherwood—decided to bypass traditional producers entirely. They combined their financial resources and industry clout to form their own company.
Initially, they only produced plays written by their members. Their very first production, Robert E. Sherwood’s Abe Lincoln in Illinois (1938), won the Pulitzer Prize. For over a decade, their subscription seasons were dictated entirely by whatever the five members were currently writing. As the founders aged, the company evolved, eventually producing outside masterpieces like Tennessee Williams’ Cat on a Hot Tin Roof before dissolving in 1960.
2. The 13P Model (2003–2012)
In the early 2000s, a cohort of mid-career, Off-Broadway playwrights in New York resurrected this exact concept to protest a soul-crushing trend they labeled "development hell"—a endless loop where theaters would workshop new plays indefinitely but never actually commit to producing them. They formed a collective called 13P (13 Playwrights).
The roster was a powerhouse of voices, including Sarah Ruhl, Young Jean Lee, Sheila Callaghan, Mac Wellman, and Lucy Thurber. They established a strict, beautifully elegant mandate: The company would produce exactly one full production for each of its 13 members, and then it would self-destruct. There was no permanent Artistic Director; instead, whoever's play was being produced that season stepped up to run the company and call the creative shots. True to their word, after producing their 13th play in 2012, 13P officially shut down.
3. The "Work Center" Companies (1960s–1970s)
During the birth of the Off-Off-Broadway movement, playwright collectives formed not just to produce seasons, but to engineer entirely alternative operating systems for theater.
The Playwrights’ Center (Founded 1971): Based in Minneapolis, this began strictly as a local collective of passionate writers funding and staging their own work, before eventually evolving into the massive national service organization it is today.
The Circle Repertory Company (1969): Though it included directors and actors, it was famously fueled by a "resident playwright" system (most notably anchored by Lanford Wilson). The company’s seasons were fundamentally built around the immediate, raw output of its writing ensemble.
The Reality Check
Just before COVID-19, I left Los Angeles and moved back East. I realized that within less than a thirty-mile radius of my house, there were eleven theater companies boasting resident playwright groups, awards, fellowships, or calls for new work.
I grew up here. I lived here. And after fifteen years in the Hollywood trenches, I was returning as a published, optioned, award-winning, produced playwright. I thought to myself: “This will be a no-brainer! I’m going to find an artistic home, write for their actors, workshop my scripts, and get produced. It is so on!”
I was spectacularly wrong.
No one wrote back.
I went all out. I sent published copies of my play Inland Empress accompanied by a cover letter, a comprehensive CV, letters of recommendation from established L.A. professionals, and a genuine offer to volunteer in their administrative offices or box offices on my days off from my day job.
Crickets. Absolute nothingness.
So, I kept paying for the 45-minute train ride and subways into New York City, spending anywhere from $25 to $100 a day just to get on a stage and collaborate with theater professionals. Meanwhile, from the local New Jersey theater establishment—including three prominent Actors' Equity Association (AEA) houses—I heard nothing.
Finding the Rebels
Thank God for independent theater. Indie theater was the love of my life in Los Angeles, and the beautiful truth about this industry is that there is always some rebel group, somewhere in the world, looking for you. In New Jersey, my rebels were at Dragonfly Arts NJ—a small, fierce indie company dedicated to producing cutting-edge theater in Plainfield. They put out a call for a one-act festival, and a comedy of mine made the cut. They were a delightful, passionate group, and I loved what they did with my play.
Then, a beautiful bit of serendipity happened. Because this is my homeland, someone happened to be in that Dragonfly audience whom I had worked with over 25 years ago when I was a high school theater director. Today, she happens to be the Executive Director of the Brook Arts Center in Bound Brook, NJ. She invited me over to tour the space.
I fell instantly in love.
According to Wikipedia, “The Brook Arts Center, formerly Brook Theatre, is a historic theater located at 10 Hamilton Street in Bound Brook of Somerset County, New Jersey. It was added to the National Register of Historic Places on May 5, 2014, for its significance in entertainment and performing arts.”
Historical markers aside, what I actually fell in love with was a lobby you could land an airplane in, a magnificent 500-seat house, the biggest orchestra pit I’ve ever seen, a gorgeous proscenium, massive dressing rooms, and backstage bathrooms that you didn't have to awkwardly cross the stage to get to. (Can you tell I’ve spent a little too much time in storefront theaters? I love storefronts fiercely, but I loved The Brook even more).
When she asked me what I wanted to do with the space, I didn’t even have to pause to think.
“I want a writers group,” I said. “I want a place where six to eight New Jersey playwrights can meet once or twice a month, sit around a table, and read each other's work. A place focused on critiques that make the work better—not a platform to impress moderators. Just a bunch of struggling playwrights who want to make great plays.”
And just like that, The Brook Writers Group was born.
Welcome to the DIY Garden State
The Brook took us in, setting up a table and chairs for us right there in that massive lobby. This coming September will mark the one-year anniversary of our very first meeting.
My goal for this group is simple, radical, and entirely free: To empower New Jersey playwrights.
After the regional "establishment" theaters showed me no love, we decided to build a space and give away all the love we can for free. We have integrated local actors into the mix, grown to nine resident playwrights, and this August, we are launching our very first public staged-reading event to showcase the work we’ve created this year. This fall, we are throwing the doors wide open, inviting theater artists from every corner of the state to join the collective.
If the institutional gatekeepers won't give you a seat at the table, you have to bring your own folding chairs. We live in a DIY world. Welcome to the DIY Garden State—we're just getting started.
Editorial by Tom Cavanaugh.
Published by Theatre Beyond Broadway on June 22, 2026. All rights reserved.