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A one-woman piece about a near-disastrous dinner party encounter was one of the favourites at last year’s Script Space rehearsed readings. Here the author of ‘The Most Beautiful Man in the World’, Katherine Mitchell, reflects on how the experience developed her belief in her writing and led to other opportunities.

Normally, I don’t enter competitions. I always intend to, but somehow it’s never quite written in time, or what’s on the page is so unquestionably, undeniably bad that sending it in would result in the competition’s organisers forwarding my entry to the Mental Health Services (“The woman’s clearly deluded…”) Usually the entry requirements have me tying myself up in knots; so it needs to have 3 actors, be 19 minutes long, be set in Scotland and promote recent scientific innovation… hmm…

With Script Space last year, I surprised myself. Instead of tying myself in knots aiming for the maximum of actors and playing time, I went for the minimum. I had been playing around with the idea of storytelling, telling a tale while I tackled the ironing. It was simple, rhythmic, funny, honest. One actor, ten minutes. No agonising over character or structure, no attempts to be clever – which led to doubts that it had all been too smooth, too easy. When I sent it in, I figured I had nothing to lose by trying. At least this time around there was nothing in it that would have me certified.

When the email arrived telling me that my piece had been chosen, I admit to jumping up and down with a very girly squeal. More seasoned writers might not even blink at the news, but when you’ve never won anything before it’s a big deal. Someone said yes to my writing.

The writers are offered support with developing their scripts further in the weeks before the performance. My initial attempts to rewrite it did nothing to improve the play. Fortunately Rachael Fagan, the actress involved, kindly offered to meet up to go through the script. It was the first time I had been able to work directly with an actor, and the difference was huge. Writing alone at home, the instinct is often to make the words say everything. With an actor reading it, it becomes apparent when no words are needed, how much can be conveyed with a look or a gesture, or in this case, blowing a raspberry.

When it came to the performance, I learned that along with the exhilaration there is also the fear. Fear that it will go horribly wrong. Fear that no one will laugh at the funny parts, but will laugh at the serious moments. Fear that your words will turn out to be not very good and people will forever link your name to that not-very-good thing they once saw. The realisation that fear is a fundamental part of being a playwright and is never going to go away. In order to grasp the high of an audience loving your work, you have to risk the low of them hating it. It’s a gamble, but when it works the payoff is fantastic.

One of the aims of Script Space is to eventually be able to offer further opportunities to the writers involved. This time last year I was a wannabe writer, desperate for my voice to be heard at all. One year on and the blank spaces in my CV are beginning to be filled – three rehearsed readings, two Script Factory opportunities at the Ustinov, an invite to take part in the 24 hour plays…  It adds up. The main difference is the effect it had on my confidence. Someone said yes to my writing. When you’re starting out, that one little yes makes all the difference.