As a theater producer, one of the questions I’m asked most often is, “How do you decide what to produce?” It’s a fair question, and one I’m still refining my answer to, even after years in this field. Every project is different, and so is every decision-making process. But over time, I’ve come to recognize the patterns in what draws me to a piece—and what makes me walk away. Producing theater isn’t just about what’s on the page; it’s about what I see between the lines, what I hear in the rhythm, and what I feel in my gut.

It Always Starts with the Story

At the heart of every decision is the story. I need to feel something when I first read or hear a piece. I’m not talking about whether it makes me laugh or cry, although that’s a good start. I’m talking about a sense of connection, a spark that tells me there’s something here worth exploring. A good story reveals something truthful—about people, about relationships, about the world we live in. I’m drawn to projects that challenge me, surprise me, or open a door to a perspective I hadn’t considered before.

But it’s not just about the message. It’s also about how the story is told. Is the structure interesting? Does the language sing? Is there a rhythm to the dialogue, or a boldness in the way the narrative unfolds? A compelling story on the page needs to have the potential to become something vibrant and alive on stage. I always try to imagine the audience in their seats—what are they going to feel when the lights go down and the first line is spoken?

Voice Matters

Another thing I look for is voice. The writer’s voice, the director’s voice, even the creative team’s shared voice. There has to be something distinctive about the way the material is approached. I want to feel like I’m in the hands of someone who has a point of view—who has something they need to say, and who says it with clarity, courage, and creativity. Whether it’s a new writer or someone more established, that sense of urgency and individuality is something I value deeply.

Sometimes, the voice is subtle. Other times, it’s loud and raw. Either way, I want to feel that the people behind the project believe in it with their whole hearts. I’ve learned to trust that kind of passion—it often leads to the most compelling, surprising, and satisfying work.

Collaboration Is Everything

Once I’m hooked by the material, the next thing I consider is the people. Theater is collaborative by nature. No one builds a production alone. I think carefully about who is involved, what they bring to the table, and how we might work together. For me, the creative team isn’t just a group of talented individuals—it’s a unit, a family, a shared brain. When the chemistry is right, the work soars.

I look for people who are open, curious, and generous with their ideas. People who are willing to take risks, to listen, to adapt. Ego doesn’t interest me—collaboration does. I want to be in rooms where we can challenge each other, push the material, and stay focused on the work. I’ve found that the best productions come from teams who trust one another and are united by a shared sense of purpose.

The Intangible Pull

There’s also an element to this process that’s harder to define. Sometimes, a project just pulls at me. Maybe it’s the timing—maybe the world needs this story right now. Maybe it reminds me of something I’ve felt, or shines a light on something I’ve never seen. Sometimes it’s personal. Sometimes it’s political. But the pull is real, and I’ve learned not to ignore it.

I think every producer has their own version of this—a kind of inner compass. For me, it’s not about chasing trends or trying to predict what will sell. It’s about following the feeling that something matters, that it has the potential to resonate, to move people, to spark conversation. And if I can feel that, there’s a good chance an audience will too.

Balancing Instinct with Practicality

Of course, instinct alone isn’t enough. Part of the job is balancing that emotional pull with a practical lens. Can we make this happen? Will the resources be there? Can we find the right cast, the right space, the right moment? These are questions I take seriously, but they don’t dictate my choices. They help me prepare, not decide. If a project speaks loudly enough, I’ll find a way to make it work.

That said, timing does matter. There are wonderful scripts I’ve passed on—not because they weren’t worthy, but because it just wasn’t the right moment. And there are projects I’ve pursued for years before the pieces finally fell into place. Sometimes the producer’s job is knowing when to wait, and when to jump.

Why I Keep Saying Yes

When I find a project that checks all the boxes—the story, the voice, the team, the timing—it’s an easy yes. Those are the moments I live for as a producer. They remind me why I got into this work in the first place. It’s about creating something meaningful, about bringing people together to share an experience that can entertain, challenge, inspire, or change them in some small way.

At the end of the day, producing is about believing. Believing in the people. Believing in the process. Believing in the story, even when the path is uncertain. When I look for a new project, I’m really looking for a reason to believe again—and a reason to bring something beautiful into the world.