The Primal Instinct of Patterns in Playwriting
Theatre lives in repetition, and explodes in disruption.
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Humans are creatures of pattern.
We brush our teeth in the same sequence. We take the same route to work. We fill out forms, bake bread, make bank transfers all through repeated steps.
Patterns help us create order out of chaos.
They give us control.
And theatre, surprise surprise, is no different.
But what happens when you’re about to brush your teeth but you’ve run out of toothpaste? Or if there’s a spider on your toothbrush?
Patterns build expectations.
When audiences watch your play, they’re subconsciously looking for rhythm.
Not just in the dialogue, but in everything:
The way a character moves
The timing of their entrances
Their tics, rituals, routines
How they argue, how they love, how they avoid
Once your audience spots the pattern, they feel safe. Grounded. “I know what this world is,” they think. “I know what this character would do.” It’s like getting to know a friend’s quirks.
Which is exactly when you wreck it. Cue evil laugh.
And then you break it.
The moment your character suddenly doesn’t do what they always do,
doesn’t pour the tea, doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t come home,
your audience will lean forward.
Because now something’s wrong.
And we’re hardwired to notice what doesn’t fit.
That interruption?
That broken pattern?
That’s your dramatic gold.
So what does this mean for your play?
Think in patterns.
Write the patterns.
Let your audience get comfortable inside them.
Then f*ck it up.
Suddenly. Subtly. Violently.
And watch what happens.
Because the most powerful moments in a play are the ones that scream: Wtf is happening?!
And that’s when the real drama begins.
What patterns have you used/thought of lately? Share with me!