In this Q&A, Writer Madelaine Nunn shares insights into writing Shoelace Chaser and discusses her writing process.
How do you write voice into characters?
I write and speak at the same time. Writing voice is a layered process.
Because I start with character, I usually have a clear sense of who these people are, which means I’m writing from their given circumstances. What do they want? Where did they come from? How did they grow up? Who do they spend time with? What do they believe about the world? What comes easily to them? What doesn’t?
I often draw on people from my own life, borrowing actions and mannerisms. This was especially helpful in Shoelace Chaser. I knew Thea was hiding the fact that she’s a young carer, which meant she needed to be stoic, someone who doesn’t like asking for help. Reflecting on stoic people I know, I noticed they often use wry humour to deflect their feelings. That’s why Thea uses sarcasm and humour to avoid emotional vulnerability.
Syd, on the other hand, is well supported and comfortable receiving help. Thinking about people in similar circumstances, I realised that this often leads to someone being more open, processing their feelings out loud. Syd has also grown up in a higher socioeconomic environment and is more accustomed to taking up space, often without realising it.
The more you understand your characters, the clearer it becomes what they would and wouldn’t say. The more contrast there is between them, the more dynamic their interactions become.
For dialogue, I always say the lines out loud. If it doesn’t sound natural, I keep adjusting until it does. Strong dialogue is active, and less is usually more.
A useful piece of advice I was given: if an actor trips over the same line twice, there’s something wrong with the line, so edit it.
Writer Madeleine Nunn in rehearsal. Photo: Matto Lucas
How much do you think about the audience when you’re writing a play?
The audience plays a huge role in my work. I initially pitched Shoelace Chaser to Melbourne Theatre Company with the hope it would be part of their Education program, so I wrote it with young people at the forefront. I wanted to authentically represent what it’s like to be a young person in Australia, knowing the audience would largely be teenagers.
At the same time, I wanted adults to connect with Fiona and her dilemma.
I often think about the audience experience: if I were watching this, what would I want to see and feel? What do I want the audience to take away? With Shoelace Chaser, it was important to shine a light on the hidden responsibilities and emotional burdens young carers carry. I also wanted to centre strong, supportive relationships, particularly friendship and a loving mother-daughter dynamic, offering something positive to be reflected and emulated.
Ultimately, I want audiences of all ages to leave with a renewed sense of hope and empathy.
While the play centres on a coming-of-age experience, I believe it’s for everyone. We never stop coming of age. It’s such a formative period, and I hope audiences can reflect on their younger selves with compassion and understanding.
Did you imagine a particular performance style when you wrote this play?
When writing Shoelace Chaser, I always imagined it in a naturalistic setting. It’s an in-depth character study, interrogating each character’s journey as they grapple with autonomy and independence.
Early on, I made a few gestures toward magic realism, like flowers falling from the sky while Thea was on the running track, but as the drafting process progressed, we realised it wasn’t necessary. The story, unfolding in a naturalistic timeline, was doing the work. So, I had to ‘kill a few darlings’.
In terms of tone, I knew it had to be a dramedy. Comedy is essential to me, if an audience finds characters funny, they can relate to them; if they relate, they can care about them and invest emotionally in their story. A director I worked with once said that political theatre needs to strike the heart as much as the head. I try to carry that into all my work: it must have heart, head, and humour. Shoelace Chaser is political theatre.
Writer Madelaine Nunn, Zoe Boesen and Stage Manager Lucie Sutherland in rehearsal. Photo: Matto Lucas
What does writing a play look like for you?
My writing process is different for every play, which is both exciting and nerve-wracking. There are many times in the process when I think, I don’t know how to do this! But the way through that inevitable self-doubt is to break the process down into small scenes and achievable goals. Little by little, if you keep writing, scene after scene, you will have a play.
The genesis of most of my plays starts with character. I think this is probably related to the fact that I’m also an actor. I’m often thinking about story through the eyes of the person on stage, their ‘given circumstances’, who they are, and what they want.
When I say I start with character, I mean that I’m interested in a dilemma or problem a character might face. I like to put myself in their shoes and think, Okay, if that’s what they are struggling with, what would that story look like? What are things that could happen that would complicate or ease this dilemma? What could be theatrical about this story?
That said, there are many ways into starting a play. I’ve also begun plays inspired by place. A specific location can be useful, particularly if you want the action to remain in one setting for the entire play.
For Shoelace Chaser, I used a combination of character and location as my initial inspiration. I knew I wanted to write about the experience of a young carer, and while thinking about Thea, who she was, the image of a running track came to me. Suddenly, I knew she had to be a runner. Thematically, it also aligned with ideas of movement, momentum, and stasis – and the rest is history.
As a writer, I don’t work in a linear fashion, which means I don’t start at the beginning and write to the end. Instead, I write out of order as ideas come to me. At the beginning of the process, when I’m excited, I have a burst of ideas, images, moments, and dialogue. I write to discover the work, and I rarely plan. In fact, I loathe planning or structuring at the start, I always try but then get bored or distracted halfway through and abandon the plan to write the scene that has my attention.
This is chaotic, but it’s also freeing. Chaotic because I sometimes don’t know where I’m going; freeing because it allows me to be surprised by what comes to me. It lets the subconscious do some of the work. Later, I need to become the playwright, creating logical tethers and story beats between scenes. I have to make sense of the subconscious and shape a satisfying narrative arc.
I’d love to write in a café, it feels very Parisian, but I often write at home because I can use a second screen and set up an ergonomic workspace. Posture matters if you’re sitting at a computer all day.
Fun fact: I started running for this play so I could tap into the experience: the mindset and the physical feeling. Hopefully, that has informed the pace and rhythm of the work, mimicking what it feels like to be on the track and in a race.
Once the first draft is complete, I begin to 'distil' the play into its core idea, interrogating what it’s really about. What is the strongest dramatic question or arc emerging? Then I strip away anything superfluous and dig deeper into that core. This stage requires rigour and patience. It’s often less fun than the initial creative burst, but it’s essential, and deeply satisfying from a dramaturgical perspective.
It requires you to justify everything on the page: why it’s there and how it serves the story. Even though it’s difficult, it leads to a better play and deeper insight into your own writing. There’s the age-old saying: writing is rewriting. As you redraft, you must 'kill your darlings' – even strong ideas may need to go to serve the core story. But they’re never truly lost; they often resurface in future work.