Before You Make a Solo Show

A solo show is often described as “just you onstage.”
In reality, it’s a long, demanding process that asks for clarity, stamina, and a surprising amount of self-trust.

Last week, a friend I met while traveling reached out to ask for creative advice. She was considering taking a class she’d seen advertised to develop a solo show, but she wasn’t sure whether making a full-length solo show was actually what she wanted. She was looking for a creative outlet and had done a 20-minute solo piece the previous year, so this class seemed like it might make sense for her. She wanted my thoughts.

That conversation reminded me of several others I’ve had over the past 18 months with people at the beginning of their solo show journeys. Since completing my first show, I’ve unexpectedly become a resource for others, and it occurred to me that pulling together some lessons I’ve learned along the way might be useful to anyone considering this path.

So, here are some common points that come up, in no particular order, that you may find helpful.

Clearly define your goal

This probably sounds obvious, but many people don’t actually do this.

For example, I knew I wanted to take a solo show to the Edinburgh Fringe in 2024, and I wanted it to be about a specific life experience. That gave me a topic, a deadline, and a 60-minute maximum runtime. That’s specific.

I’ve found that the creative process benefits enormously from a few clearly defined parameters. Some people resist this, and to that I say: you know yourself best, so do what works for you. But I also know from teaching and coaching that most people need some structure in order to get anything finished.

Know your “why”

Why are you making this project?

Maybe it’s a bucket-list item. Maybe it’s a way to establish yourself creatively or take your career in a new direction. Maybe it’s part of a healing process. Your “why” might even be as simple as: my inner voice won’t leave me alone.

Whatever it is, know it.

These projects take a surprising amount of time, energy, money, and emotional bandwidth. If you don’t have a reason that matters to you, it becomes very easy to abandon the work halfway through.

Be discerning when seeking guidance

Even very experienced artists seek outside feedback — that’s normal and healthy. You need other eyes on your work. But not all feedback is useful, and not all advice deserves equal weight.

If you take a class or workshop (as I did), remember that each teacher, facilitator, or coach brings their own curriculum, preferences, and worldview into the room. If you know yourself well, it’s unlikely that everything they suggest will align with your aesthetic, and that’s okay. The skill is learning what to take and what to leave.

When researching who to learn from, ask to see their work. Does it look, sound, or feel like something you’d want to create? Because if you study with them, your work will likely move in that direction.

Also ask to see the work of their former students. That can tell you a lot about whether this person is a good fit for you.

Always listen to your gut

Even with all of that due diligence, your gut still matters.

Someone can have an impressive résumé, a beautiful portfolio, and a long list of successful students, and still give advice that isn’t right for your work.

For example, I’ve had coaches tell me to lie in my autobiographical solo shows. One literally redlined sections of my script and fabricated scenes that never happened because he thought it would make the story more interesting to him. Another told me to cut an entire scene because it might make the audience uncomfortable (as if discomfort isn’t a valid, or even necessary, experience in theater). Another encouraged me to change the core message of the show because it didn’t align with his worldview.

I ignored all of that.

I was the one who had to get up and perform the show dozens of times — not them.

At the end of the day, this is your work. You have to trust your instincts, your aesthetic, and the truth of what you’re trying to say.

Some of your biggest learnings will come from adjacent fields

Although my primary work lately has been solo show writing and performance, much of what’s helped me most didn’t come from solo theater at all.

My early training was in improv, and that background has been invaluable, not just for generating material, but for flexibility, structure, and responding to an audience in real time. I’ve also learned an enormous amount about pacing and vocal delivery from musicians. I hadn’t even considered that connection until musicians came to see my show and gave me feedback afterward.

The basic elements that make a song compelling — rhythm, variation, restraint, build — apply directly to theater.

So if you feel pulled toward another creative discipline alongside your main one, follow that instinct. The cross-pollination will almost always make your work stronger, more textured, and more interesting.

Overall, I think classes, workshops, and coaching provide much needed structure and guidance, so I generally find them helpful. So if you feel you need one, I say go for it. Just remember that just because there’s an “expert” guiding you still have agency, and you still need to practice discernment and self-trust.

These are just a handful of lessons I’ve learned along the way. If this was useful to you, feel free to leave a comment. I’m always curious what resonates with others who are making work.