Playwright's Perspective: Ryan J. Haddad

“Do you want me to show you how I start something new?”

I’m sitting in a circle at Fordham University, a guest artist in Daniel Alexander Jones’ solo performance class. There’s time left at the end of my discussion with Daniel’s students, so I prime them for two offerings: “One is funny. And one is romantic.” 

My method is not to prepare, but just to talk. Tell a new story to new people, and be sure to record it because you never know what’s going to come out. Who knows what I might say that I might not have had the audacity to write down? Sure, it will be unpolished, unvarnished, probably messy, but by the end of my off-the-cuff monologue, I’ll have documented some stab at new material. No need to reckon with a blank page.

“Everything I’m about to tell you just happened,” I say. “So it’s all very fresh. I haven’t shared this with anyone. Except my five best friends.” 

I press the red “record” dot on my phone and hope for the best. If I’m not at least mildly entertaining, these undergrads will think I’m a fraud.

I start with the funny one. It’s funny. They laugh. Thank goodness!!!

Next, the romantic one. They become invested immediately. These are young, hopeful, idealistic college kids. I am less young (still young!) but equally hopeful and idealistic. 

I’d warned them that these events were recent, but when I reveal that the latest “chapter” of this story took place only three nights ago? They gasp. And then squeal. And then scream. 

I conclude and save the voice note. The students are freaking out with giddy glee. Then the great Daniel Alexander Jones turns to them — while somehow also looking me straight in the eye — and says, “Sometimes you don’t have to change a word.” 

Many words have changed, I promise you. But the essence of that recording — the impulse, the optimism — is at the core of the play you’ll watch tonight. 

I gravitate toward, and keep as close collaborators, directors who excel at dramaturgy. Jordan Fein did it brilliantly with Dark Disabled Stories. I began developing Hold Me in the Water with the wonderful Laura Savia, who has directed my first play, Hi, Are You Single?, since 2015. I envisioned this play as a companion to that one, and Laura understood the DNA of our earlier work. She shepherded Hold Me through two workshops, and when she had to leave the project for other professional obligations, I turned to the fabulous Danny Sharron, who has been with the play ever since.

Danny is like a brother to me. He is brilliant, he is kind, he is warm, he is insightful. This is our second significant collaboration, and the first to be produced. To be perfectly honest, Danny lived everything that would become Hold Me in the Water with me in real time, part of the close circle of friends getting the play-by-play before we made the play. He actually featured prominently in the “funny” story I told at Fordham that afternoon, a digression we both ultimately decided does not belong in the final script. Let’s just say, he coached me on… bedroom preparedness.

As I gathered my belongings to leave Daniel’s class, he said, “Wait, Ryan, let me walk you out.” 

In the hallway, out of earshot of his students, Daniel had a lesson to teach me. “Listen to me carefully. Whatever happens next, however the relationship ends or doesn’t end, that story is yours. It’s yours. The story, and the experience. Never forget that.” 

I’m honored to share it with you tonight. Thank you for coming.