95

Rehearsals pass in a blur. Scenes begin to take place onstage, more or less the way you envisioned them. The new leading man, Rodric, is more used to playing humorous old men and blustering merchants than kings, but he soldiers through, and the rest of the cast is settling into their parts.

"It needs something," Nichol says, as the actors depart after a rehearsal that's run late and not particularly well. "It's slow in the second act. Part of the problem is the world's slowest tidal wave."

"I can't help that," you point out defensively. "There has to be time for us to see all the characters preparing to flee. One can sort of assume that those scenes are happening at the same time, can't one?"

"One might be able to wrap one's mind around that," Nichol says dryly, "but one still begins to lose the sense of jeopardy somewhere around the middle of the second act. Please write something to remind the audience that everyone may die."

Your manuscript has been carefully composed for your ends. A scene in the second act to threaten all the characters with imminent doom will have to be shoehorned in. But you can do it, can't you?