Everyone writes in accordance with his inspiration and his temperament.
Some sing a gay note, others find more pleasure in making people weep.

As for me, this is my procedure:

When I have no idea, I gnaw my nails and invoke the aid of Providence.

When I have an idea, I still invoke the aid of Providence,--but with
less fervor, because I think I can get along without it.

It is quite human, but quite ungrateful.

I have then an idea, or I think I have one.

I take a quire of white paper, linen paper--on any other kind I can
imagine nothing--and I write on the first page:

PLAN.

By the plan I mean the developed succession, scene by scene, of the
whole piece, from the beginning to the end.

So long as one has not reached the end of his play he has neither the
beginning nor the middle. This part of the work is obviously the most
laborious. It is the creation, the parturition.

As soon as my plan is complete, I go over it and ask concerning each
scene its purpose, whether it prepares for or develops a character or
situation, and then whether it advances the action. A play is a