In theatre, “notes” are the feedback given by the director (and sometimes other members of the creative team) after a rehearsal or performance.

During rehearsals, notes are a normal and essential part of the process. After a run-through of a scene or a full rehearsal, the cast will often gather to hear the director’s observations—what worked well, what needs adjustment, and what details might improve the storytelling.

Notes can cover all sorts of things: timing, blocking, vocal delivery, emotional clarity, or even small technical details like remembering to pick up a prop or pause long enough for a laugh.

For actors, learning how to receive notes professionally is an important skill. Notes aren’t criticism in the personal sense; they’re part of shaping the production as a whole. A director sees the play from the outside, and their guidance helps keep all the moving pieces aligned.

Sometimes notes are delivered to the entire cast, and sometimes they’re given privately to individual actors. In either case, the goal is the same: making the performance clearer, stronger, and more cohesive.

As I write this, I’m in rehearsal for Sister Act, and my own script is steadily filling up with notes from blocking rehearsals and choreography calls.

And while notes can occasionally feel daunting—especially early in the rehearsal process—they’re also a sign that the work is evolving. Each note is simply another step toward the finished production.

When I first outlined this series, I had planned for M to stand for Marks—the specific places actors stand on stage during a scene. But as I worked through the alphabet, I realized there was another theatre term that might be more interesting for readers.

So instead, M is for Monologue.

A monologue is a speech delivered by one character, usually while other characters remain silent or are not present on stage. In theatre, monologues are often moments when a character reveals their thoughts, emotions, or motivations directly to the audience.

Some of the most famous moments in theatre are monologues. Shakespeare alone gave actors a treasure trove of them—from Hamlet’s “To be, or not to be” to Lady Macbeth’s haunting “Out, damned spot.”

For actors, monologues serve another important purpose: auditions. When auditioning for a play, performers are frequently asked to prepare a short monologue that showcases their ability to interpret text, express emotion, and hold the audience’s attention.

A good monologue demands more than simply memorizing words. Actors must understand the character’s objectives, emotional journey, and the circumstances that led them to speak in the first place. Even though only one person is speaking, the speech should still feel like part of a larger conversation.

Many actors keep a few favorite monologues “in their back pocket” for auditions. Two of my personal go-to pieces are Lady Macbeth’s fierce invocation to the spirits—“unsex me here”—from Macbeth, and Hannah Jarvis’s thoughtful speech about the afterlife from Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia. They’re very different in tone, but both offer rich emotional territory to explore.

In other words, a monologue may belong to one character—but it still lives within the world of the play.

In theatre, “lines” simply refers to the dialogue spoken by the actors. When performers talk about “learning their lines,” they mean memorizing the words their characters say in the script.

It sounds straightforward—and in theory, it is. In practice, learning lines can be one of the most challenging parts of preparing for a role.

Actors rarely memorize their lines in isolation. Dialogue in a play is built around cues, meaning the lines spoken by another character that signal when it’s your turn to speak. For that reason, actors often learn not only their own lines but also the final words or phrases of the lines that come before them.

Memorization techniques vary widely. Some actors write their lines out by hand. Others record scenes and listen to them repeatedly, run lines with a partner, or rehearse them while walking, driving, or doing household tasks. The goal is the same: reaching the point where the words feel natural enough that the actor can focus on the character’s emotions and actions rather than simply remembering what comes next.

Of course, theatre being theatre, things don’t always go according to plan.

Years ago, when I was performing in The Mouse That Roared, one of my fellow cast members suddenly froze during a scene. Her line was meant to interrupt me as my character struggled to speak French to Tully Bascom—but the interruption never came.

After a split second of realizing what had happened, I simply picked up the next line as though my character had suddenly remembered the French phrase she was looking for. The scene moved forward, the audience never knew anything had gone wrong, and the play carried on.

Moments like that are part of the strange, wonderful challenge of live theatre. Lines matter—but so does listening, staying present in the moment, and trusting your fellow actors.

Because when something unexpected happens on stage, the best thing you can do is keep going.