If A Man Writes A Brilliant Enough

In The Two Or Three Or Four Months That It Takes Me To Write A Play, I Find That The Reality Of The Play Is A Great Deal More Alive For Me Than What Passes For Reality. I'm Infinitely More Involved In The Reality Of The Characters And Their Situation Than I Am In Everyday Life. The Involvement Is Terribly Intense.

There's Always The Danger That There Are So Damn Many Things That A Playwright Can Examine In This Society Of Ours - Things That Have Less To Do With His Artistic Work Than Have To Do With The Critical And Aesthetic Environment - That Perhaps He Does Have To Worry About Whether Or Not He Is Writing Too Fast. But Then Also, Perhaps He Should Worry About Getting As Many Plays On As Possible Before The Inevitable Ax Falls.

By Some Curious Mischance, A Couple Of My Plays Managed To Hit An Area Where Commercial Success Was Feasible. But It's Wrong To Think I'm A Commercial Playwright Who Has Somehow Ceased His Proper Function. I Have Always Been The Same Thing - Which Is Not A Commercial Playwright. I'm Not After The Brass Ring.

The Act Of Creation, As You Very Well Know, Is A Lonely And Private Matter And Has Nothing To Do With The Public Area... The Performance Of The Work One Creates.

Each Time I Sit Down And Write A Play I Try To Dismiss From My Mind As Much As I Possibly Can The Implications Of What I've Done Before, What I'm Going To Do, What Other People Think About My Work, The Failure Or Success Of The Previous Play. I'm Stuck With A New Reality That I've Got To Create.