I write every paragraph four times - once to get my meaning down, once to put in anything I have left out, once to take out anything that seems unnecessary, and once to make the whole thing sound as if I had only just thought of it.
Prune what is turgid, elevate what is commonplace, arrange what is disorderly, introduce rhythm where the language is harsh, modify where it is too absolute.
I tend to overwrite; I need a good editor.
I believe verbal felicity is the fruit of ardor, of diligence, and of refusing to be false.
I'm still learning so much with every play I write. So I wrestle with word choice, rhythm in final drafts. I think you have to be ruthless.
I think of writing as a sculptural medium. You are not building things. You are removing things, chipping away at language to reveal a living form.
