Screenwriting guide
Monologues for Women: 21 Female Monologues
These 21 original monologues for women run from a 13 year old guarding her sister’s poster to a 70 something widow buried in casseroles. Comedic female monologues sit beside dramatic and seriocomic ones, each with a setup and a running time estimate. Filter by tone, age and length, then copy or print.
13 writers opened this page this week
Written and reviewed by ScriptLix Editorial
Monologues for women
Showing 21 of 21. All original, written for ScriptLix. Running times are estimates at 140 spoken words a minute. Time yourself out loud.
- ComedicFemaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens
The Volcano Was a Metaphor
Priya, 14, to the science fair judges, who are about to walk away. She wants a ribbon for a volcano that did not erupt.
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Wait. Please. Before you write anything on that clipboard, I need you to look at the volcano one more time. Not as a volcano. As a statement.
Yes, it was supposed to erupt. Yes, I said the word "erupt" four times in my opening remarks, and I pointed at it, and I counted down from ten, and my little brother made the sound effect. And then nothing. A small fizz. One bubble. It sort of burped.
But think about what that means. Most volcanoes are dormant. Most of the time, a real volcano just sits there, being a mountain, making everyone nervous. So technically, mine is the most realistic project in this gym. Kevin's solar oven? Cooked a hot dog. Very nice. Very unrealistic. When has the sun ever cooked a hot dog for you?
Also, I would like you to note the paint job. I mixed three browns. There is a tiny village at the bottom. Those people are relieved right now. I saved them.
I am not asking for first place. I am asking for the green one. Honorable mention. The ribbon that says, this girl tried, and the baking soda betrayed her.
195 words, about 1 min 24 sec spoken (estimate)
- DramaticFemaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens
Voicemail Number Eleven
Lena, 16, leaving one last voicemail on her late grandmother's phone line, which her family is disconnecting tomorrow. She wants to say what she never said out loud.
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Hi, Nana. It's me. Again. This is number eleven, I think. Mom says they're turning off the line tomorrow because it costs twelve dollars a month to keep a phone ringing in an empty kitchen, and she's right, I know she's right. But I needed one more.
I keep calling because your voice is on the greeting. "You've reached Ruth, I'm probably in the garden." You recorded that in, what, 2015? You sound so annoyed with the machine. I play it on the bus. I play it before tests. Is that weird? It's probably weird.
I never told you about the art school thing. I got in. The summer program, the one in the city. I didn't tell you because you'd have made a big deal and I wasn't sure I was going. Then you got sick and it felt like the wrong time to be happy about something.
I'm going. I start in June. I'm going to draw your tomato plants first, the ugly ones by the fence.
Okay. I'm going to hang up now. That's the hard part. That's always been the hard part.
Bye, Nana.
188 words, about 1 min 21 sec spoken (estimate)
- SeriocomicFemaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens
Half the Room
Josie, 13, to her older sister Bree, who is packing for college. Josie wants Bree to leave one poster on the wall.
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You're taking the lamp? You're taking the lamp. Okay. Fine. It was always your lamp, technically, you bought it at the yard sale with your own four dollars, I remember. I was there. I carried it home. I carried it for six blocks and you didn't say thank you, but sure, take it. Take everything.
No, I'm not mad. This is my normal face.
It's just that when you take everything off your side, it's going to look like nobody lived there. Like a hotel room. Mom's going to put the exercise bike in it. You know she will. She's been looking at your half of the room like it's a sale.
So here's my deal. Leave the poster. The one with the band you don't even like anymore. I know you don't like them anymore, you said they sold out. Leave it anyway.
Because when I can't sleep, I look at it. I've looked at that singer's weird hair every night for three years. It means you're on the other side of the room even when you're not.
Just the poster. You can have the lamp.
187 words, about 1 min 20 sec spoken (estimate)
- DramaticFemaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens
Thirty Seconds
Dana, 17, to her debate coach after she froze during the state final and the team lost. She wants to keep her place as captain.
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I know what you're going to say, so can I go first? Please. I've practiced this in the car, and if you go first I'll lose it.
I froze. In the final round, with the whole team watching, I stood up and I had my notes and I had the argument, and I opened my mouth and nothing came out for thirty seconds. I counted them. Thirty seconds is very long when four hundred people are looking at you.
I'm not going to make an excuse. I didn't sleep, but nobody slept. My mom couldn't come, but plenty of moms couldn't come. It just happened.
But here's what I want you to know. I am the person who stayed after practice every Tuesday. I am the one who made the flash cards for the freshmen. I know every argument we've ever run, because I wrote half of them.
You can take captain away. I'd understand. But if you do, don't do it because you think I can't handle it. Do it because someone else is better.
And if nobody is better, let me stand up there again. I'll talk the whole time. I promise. You'll be begging me to stop.
200 words, about 1 min 26 sec spoken (estimate)
- ComedicFemaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens
Vote for Me, Probably
Harper, 16, at the assembly microphone for her class president speech, just after her note cards fall off the stage. She wants the votes anyway.
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So. Those were my note cards. They had a lot of great ideas on them. You'll have to trust me.
Okay. I'm going to wing it, which, honestly, is a pretty good preview of how I'd run student government.
My opponent, Derek, has promised you a vending machine with energy drinks. Derek, I love that for you. But the school board is never going to approve that, and you know it, and he knows it, and he is smiling at me right now because he knows I know it.
I am not going to promise you a vending machine. I am going to promise you three things I can actually do. One. Fix the second floor water fountain, which has been spraying sideways since the Obama administration. Two. Get the spring dance moved out of the cafeteria, because nobody has ever felt romantic next to a tater tot fryer. Three.
Three was on the card.
Three was really good.
Okay, three is this. I will always tell you the truth, even when the truth is that I dropped my cards and forgot my third point. That's three. That's the whole platform.
Harper Wallace. Vote for me. Probably.
197 words, about 1 min 24 sec spoken (estimate)
- ComedicFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes
The Backup Toast
Nicole, late 20s, a bridesmaid at a wedding reception, has been handed the microphone after the maid of honor fainted. She wants to get through a toast she never wrote.
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Hi. Hello. I'm Nicole. I'm not the maid of honor. The maid of honor is fine, she's lying down in the coat room with a cold spoon on her neck, and she wanted me to tell you she's very sorry and also that the shrimp is not to blame. It was the heels.
So. Toast. I was told about this toast ninety seconds ago, so please lower your expectations to the floor and then dig a little.
I met Lauren in a college dorm laundry room. She was crying because she had turned all of her socks pink. I said, "Pink socks are fun." She said, "They were for a funeral." We have been best friends ever since.
And Tom. Tom, I liked you immediately, which I hate, because I had a whole speech planned about not liking you.
The thing about Lauren is that she has never once done the easy thing. She moved across the country for a job with no furniture. She learned to drive at twenty six. And she waited for a guy who would sit through a three hour documentary about bees with her and ask questions after.
Tom, you asked questions. That's how we knew.
To Lauren and Tom. And to the maid of honor. Drink some water, Jess.
215 words, about 1 min 32 sec spoken (estimate)
- ComedicFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes
References Available
Gwen, 30s, at an apartment viewing, to a strict landlord who has a firm no pets policy. Gwen has a cat hidden in her tote bag and wants the lease.
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I just think it's a beautiful unit. The light. The crown molding. That's original? Wow. They don't make molding like that anymore, they just make, you know, regular molding.
Pets? Oh, no. No, no. Not me. I'm not really an animal person. I'm more of a plant person. Plants don't need anything. You can leave them for a weekend and they just sort of sit there and forgive you.
That? That was not a meow. That was my stomach. I skipped lunch. My stomach does a lot of sounds. It's a medical thing. It's actually kind of rare, there's a whole forum about it.
I'm going to set this bag down over here. Away from us. It's a heavy bag. Lot of documents. References. Pay stubs.
Okay. Okay, he's out. That's Pickles. He's very clean. He's very quiet when he's not in a bag. He has never scratched a single thing, except one couch, and that couch had it coming.
Look, I lied. I know. But I'm a great tenant, and he's a great tenant, and together we are honestly the best tenants you will ever meet.
He likes your molding. He's looking right at it.
196 words, about 1 min 24 sec spoken (estimate)
- ComedicFemale40s plusAbout 1 minute
Gerald the Fern
Marjorie, 60s, at the returns counter of a garden center, to a young employee. She wants a refund on a fern she is convinced disapproves of her.
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I'd like to return this fern. His name is Gerald. Don't write that down, that's not important. That's just what I've been calling him.
No, he's not dead. That's the problem. He's thriving. Look at him. He's never looked better.
He just doesn't like me.
You think I'm joking. Every morning I come into the kitchen, and he's leaning away. Toward the window. Away from me. I turned him around. Next day, leaning away again. I turned him around again. He leaned harder. That is not botany, young man. That is a statement.
My husband says it's the light. My husband talks to the lawnmower. I don't take his opinions on the natural world.
I've had plants my whole life. My mother grew orchids in a bathroom with no window. I am not a beginner. And I will not live in my own house with a fern that judges what I eat for breakfast.
I'd like store credit. I'd like something friendlier. A cactus, maybe. Something that knows it isn't perfect either.
172 words, about 1 min 14 sec spoken (estimate)
- ComedicFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes
One Song
Tasha, 30, at a karaoke bar, to her friends, who are trying to stop her from singing the one song she always cries at. She wants to sing it anyway.
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No. Give me the microphone. Give it. I'm doing it.
I know what song it is. I picked it. I typed it in myself, with my own fingers, on the little screen, which, by the way, is sticky, and I don't want to know why.
I know what happened last time. I know I made it to the second verse and then stood there holding the microphone and making a noise like a kettle. I know the bartender brought me napkins. I know a stranger hugged me.
But that was last year. Last year I had just been dumped by a man who owned four identical hoodies. This year I have a promotion, a dog and a ficus I've kept alive for seven months. I'm a different woman.
This year I'm going to sing it all the way through. Both verses. The key change. The key change is what gets me. Something about the key change.
If I cry, I cry. People cry at karaoke. It's practically what it's for.
Hold my drink. Somebody hold the napkins. Just in case.
180 words, about 1 min 17 sec spoken (estimate)
- ComedicFemale40s plus1 to 2 minutes
Section Four, Paragraph Two
Linda, 50s, president of the neighborhood homeowners association, at her neighbor's front door. She wants a pink plastic flamingo removed from his lawn.
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Good morning, Dale. I won't keep you. I'm just here, as a neighbor, and also as the elected president of the Willow Creek Homeowners Association, to discuss the flamingo.
That one. The pink one. Next to your mailbox.
Section four, paragraph two, of our community guidelines clearly states that lawn ornaments shall be "tasteful and in keeping with the character of the neighborhood." I printed it out. I highlighted it. I used a yellow highlighter, Dale, because I want you to know this isn't personal.
I'm not saying the flamingo is ugly. I'm saying it's loud. It's very pink. It's looking at my kitchen window. Every morning, I'm having my coffee, and there it is. One leg up. Like it knows something.
Now. There was a second flamingo last week. That one's gone. I appreciate that. I'm choosing to believe you took it down and not that someone stole it, because I was told that someone was seen at night carrying a flamingo across the street, and I'd like to put that rumor to rest.
Was that you, Dale? Did you take my flamingo? Because I want it back.
189 words, about 1 min 21 sec spoken (estimate)
- DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes
Last Booth
Carmen, 30s, in a diner booth, to her younger sister Ana, who has not spoken to their mother in four years. Carmen wants Ana to visit their mother in the hospital before Friday.
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You ordered the pancakes. You always order the pancakes and then you eat half and push the plate at me. You did it when you were nine. You're still doing it.
I didn't ask you here to fight. I know that's what you think. I know you sat in the car for ten minutes before you came in. I watched you. You fixed your hair twice.
Mom's at St. Vincent's. Fourth floor. They're moving her on Friday to a place with a garden and nurses who talk very softly, and you know what that means. I don't have to say it.
I'm not asking you to forgive her. I'm not asking you to forget what she said at Dad's funeral. I was there. I heard it. I've been mad at her for four years too, I just did it from closer up.
But she asks for you. Every day. Not by name anymore. She says "the little one." She says, "Is the little one coming?" And I have run out of ways to say no.
You don't have to talk. You can sit in the chair by the window and eat pudding from the cart. You can just be there for ten minutes.
Then you can go back to being angry. I'll even drive you.
215 words, about 1 min 32 sec spoken (estimate)
- DramaticFemale40s plus1 to 2 minutes
The Recipe
Rosa, 60s, in her kitchen, to her adult daughter, who has come to help her move into a smaller apartment. Rosa has started to forget things and wants her daughter to learn the family recipe today.
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Put the boxes down. The boxes can wait. Come here. Wash your hands.
You're going to learn the tamales today. Don't make that face. You always say next Christmas. Next Christmas. Every year, next Christmas.
Look at me. I put the salt in the sugar jar yesterday. Last week I called your brother by your father's name. I know what's happening. The doctor talks to me like I don't know, but I know.
So we do it now. While it's still in here.
My mother didn't write anything down. She said if you need paper, you weren't paying attention. So you watch my hands. Not my face. My hands.
The masa has to feel like this. Touch it. Like your ear lobe. Not like your cheek. Too soft and they fall apart. Too hard and your uncle complains for an hour.
And you fold it like this. Away from you. Always away. My mother said you fold toward the door so the good luck goes out to the neighbors. I don't know if that's true. I never wanted to find out.
Now you do one. No, I won't help. Do it.
There. You see? Your hands knew.
197 words, about 1 min 24 sec spoken (estimate)
- DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes
Night Shift
Kim, 30s, a hospice nurse, in a hallway at three in the morning, to the son of a dying patient, who has been yelling at the staff. She wants him to go back into the room.
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Mr. Halvorsen. I need you to stop. Just for a second. You've been shouting at the vending machine, and the vending machine didn't do anything.
I know. I know you're not actually angry at the machine.
Here's what I see, and you can tell me I'm wrong. You've been in that chair by her bed for two days. You haven't eaten anything that didn't come out of a crinkly bag. And every time she wakes up, you leave the room. You say you need coffee. You've had nine coffees.
I've done this job for eleven years. I've sat with a lot of families. And the thing nobody tells you is that there isn't a right thing to say. People wait for the perfect sentence. They practice it in the hallway. And then the time passes, and they never say it.
She doesn't need a perfect sentence. She needs you in the chair when she opens her eyes.
You can tell her about the weather. You can read her the box scores. You can tell her the coffee here is terrible. It is. That's true.
Go back in. I'll bring you some toast. Real toast.
194 words, about 1 min 23 sec spoken (estimate)
- DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes
Second Position
Elise, 20s, a ballet dancer recovering from a knee injury, in a rehearsal studio, to her mother, who has driven her to every class since she was five. Elise wants permission to stop dancing.
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Mom. Turn off the music. Please. I'm not going to warm up today.
I need to tell you something, and I need you to not do your face. The face where you're already planning the next audition.
The doctor says the knee will heal. It'll be strong enough. I could go back in the spring. You heard him. You wrote it down in your notebook. You underlined spring.
I don't want to go back.
I've been lying on the couch for six weeks with ice on my leg, and for the first time since I was five years old, I didn't have to be anywhere. And I wasn't sad, Mom. That's what scared me. I thought I'd be sad.
I read books. I made bread. I went to a coffee shop at ten in the morning on a Tuesday and just sat there, like a normal person.
You gave me everything. I know that. The car rides. The shoes. The second job. I know what it cost you. And I'm so scared that if I stop, all of that turns into nothing.
Tell me it doesn't. Please. Tell me you'd still drive me somewhere. Even if it isn't here.
199 words, about 1 min 25 sec spoken (estimate)
- DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes
The Envelope
Nora, 30, in a coffee shop, to the birth mother she is meeting for the first time. Nora wants an answer to one question before she will say anything else.
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No. Please don't. Don't hug me yet. I'm sorry. I just need to sit down first.
I brought this envelope. It's everything I have from the agency. Two pages. Your first name. Your age, nineteen. And one line in the notes field that says "mother expressed wish for child to have a musical home."
That's it. That's the whole file. For thirty years I've been reading that one line.
My parents didn't know what it meant. They aren't musical. My dad can't clap on the beat. But they bought me a piano because of that line. A used one, with a broken F key. I learned on that piano. I teach piano now. I have forty students.
So I have one question. Just one. Then we can do the rest. The coffee and the photos and whatever comes next.
Why music? Out of everything you could have asked for me. Not money. Not a good school. Not a big house. You asked for music.
I need to know if you meant it. Or if it was just something you said to the woman with the clipboard because she was waiting for you to say something.
Because my whole life is built on it.
203 words, about 1 min 27 sec spoken (estimate)
- SeriocomicFemale40s plusAbout 1 minute
Eleven Casseroles
Joan, 70s, a recent widow, at her front door, to a neighbor holding yet another casserole. Joan wants the neighbor to stop bringing food and come inside to sit with her.
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Oh, Barbara. Another one. That's lovely. What is it? Tuna. Of course it's tuna.
Barbara, I want you to come see my refrigerator. No, come in. Look. That's eleven casseroles. Eleven. I've labeled them. That one's from the Pattersons. That one's from church. That one I think is from a stranger. I don't know who that is. It has olives.
I'm one woman. I eat like a bird. Frank was the eater. Frank would have had all of these gone by Wednesday and then asked what was for dessert.
Here's what I don't have. Anyone to sit at the table. Everyone drops off a dish at the door and runs, like I'm contagious. Like grief is catching.
So I'm going to heat this up. Your tuna. And you're going to sit in Frank's chair and tell me something boring about your gutters.
That's all I want. Somebody boring at the table.
151 words, about 1 min 5 sec spoken (estimate)
- SeriocomicFemale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute
The Bangs
Leah, 20s, in a salon chair, to her hairdresser, who is holding the scissors. She has asked for bangs the day before a big job interview and now wants to explain why.
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Wait. Before you cut. I need to tell you why I want the bangs.
No, it's not a breakup. Everyone thinks it's a breakup. It's not a breakup. Well, it's a breakup with my old job, technically, but I'm the one who left, so it's a good breakup.
I have an interview tomorrow. At ten. For a job I really, really want. Art director. My own team. My own office with a door.
And I have looked exactly the same since high school. Same ponytail. Same face. Like I'm waiting for someone to tell me I'm allowed to grow up.
So I want the bangs. I want to walk in there looking like someone who makes bold choices.
Is this a terrible idea? You can tell me. Your face is telling me. You're making the face my mother makes.
Okay. Small bangs. Brave, but small. Like me.
Go. Cut before I change my mind.
154 words, about 1 min 6 sec spoken (estimate)
- SeriocomicFemale40s plusAbout 1 minute
Thirty One Years
Doris, 60s, at her retirement party in an office break room, to her coworkers. She wants to say something true instead of the speech she was given.
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Thank you. Thank you. Please put the cake down, Steven, there'll be time for cake.
Human resources gave me a speech to read. It's very nice. It says I was a "valued team member" and that I "brought energy to every quarterly cycle." I did not write that. I don't know what a quarterly cycle is, and I've been here thirty one years.
Here's what I actually want to say.
I started here when the computers were the size of refrigerators. I've had nine bosses. Four were good. I won't say which four. They know.
I'm not going to miss the work. I'm going to miss the people. I'm going to miss Raymond's terrible jokes at the copier and the way Linda hums when she's angry.
And I'll miss walking in here at eight every morning and knowing exactly who I was.
Now I have to figure that out at home. Wish me luck.
Steven, now you can have the cake.
161 words, about 1 min 9 sec spoken (estimate)
- SeriocomicFemale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute
The Thirty Ninth Application
Ivy, 30s, on the phone with a hiring manager at a small observatory, who has called to say the position has been filled. Ivy wants a chance anyway.
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No, I understand. Filled. That makes sense. Somebody wonderful got it, I'm sure. I'm sure they're very tall and very qualified and have their own telescope.
Can I just say one thing before you hang up? I'll be fast.
This is my thirty ninth application. I keep a spreadsheet. It's color coded. Red is no. It's a very red spreadsheet. From far away it looks like a sunset.
But you're the first one who called. Everyone else sends an email that says "we've decided to move forward with other candidates," like I'm a car they drove past.
You called. You said my cover letter made you laugh. The part about naming my houseplants after moons.
So I'm not asking for the job. I'm asking you to keep my name. On a sticky note. If the tall person doesn't work out. If someone needs to answer phones. Anything.
I'll bring my own snacks. I'm very low maintenance.
156 words, about 1 min 7 sec spoken (estimate)
- ComedicFemaleTeenAbout 1 minuteGood for teens
The Locker Combination
Maya, 14, on the first day of high school, to an older student at the next locker. Maya cannot open her locker and wants help without looking like she needs help.
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Hi. No, I'm fine. I'm totally fine. I'm just, you know, taking a moment with my locker. Getting to know it. We're still in the early stages.
The combination is 32, 14, 7. I know that. I've known that since August. My mom wrote it on my hand. You can still see it. Look. It's faded, but it's there.
The problem is the spinning. You go right, then left past it once, or twice? Then right? Who designed this? Was it a spy? It feels like a spy designed it.
I've been here eleven minutes. The bell rings in four. I have biology, which I'm told has a teacher who locks the door at the bell, like it's a vault.
So, hypothetically, if a person were very cool and did not need help, but needed the locker open, what would you do?
Just show me once. I'll pretend I knew. You can pretend too.
154 words, about 1 min 6 sec spoken (estimate)
- DramaticFemaleTeenAbout 1 minuteGood for teens
Understudy
Ava, 15, in an empty school auditorium, to her drama teacher, after the cast list went up and she was named understudy for the lead. She wants to know what she did wrong.
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Can I ask you something? You don't have to look at the list. I've read it. I've read it enough for both of us.
Understudy. I know what it means. It means I learn every line and every song and every step, and then I stand in the wings and watch someone else do it, and hope she gets a cold. Which I would never actually hope for. Mostly.
I'm not here to complain. I'm here because I want to get better, and I don't know what better means.
Was it the song? I went flat on the high part. I heard it. I wanted to stop and start again but you're not supposed to stop.
Or was it something else? Because if it's something I can fix, I'll fix it. If it's something about me, I need to know that too.
Just tell me the truth. Please. I can take it. I think I can take it.
158 words, about 1 min 8 sec spoken (estimate)
How to use it
- 1
Filter by age range first, so the character is close to the age you can play.
- 2
Pick a tone: comedic for a light project or open call, dramatic for a serious play, seriocomic to show range.
- 3
Read your shortlist out loud, keep the one with a want you understand, and time it.
What makes a strong female monologue?
A woman who wants something and goes after it. Too many audition pieces for women are about reacting to a man or describing a feeling. The pieces here are about action: a bridesmaid saving a wedding toast, a tenant bluffing a landlord, a sister bargaining for a hospital visit, a job seeker refusing to accept no.
Where can I find comedic female monologues?
Set the tone filter to comedic. There are pieces for teens, women in their 20s and 30s, and women over 40, from a science fair speech defending a volcano that never erupted to a garden center return of a fern that seems to judge its owner.
How do I pick a monologue that fits my casting type?
Think about the roles you are most likely to be cast in now, not the ones you dream of. If you play the friend, the boss or the mother, choose a piece where that character drives the scene. The best audition piece makes a casting director picture you in their project.
Are there female teenage monologues here?
Yes. Set the age filter to teen for pieces written for girls, or see the teen monologues page for every piece that suits teen actors, including ones for any gender.
Questions writers ask
Are these monologues for women free?
Yes. They are original pieces, free to perform in auditions, classes and showcases.
Can a woman perform a monologue marked any gender?
Yes. Pieces marked any gender work for anyone. Change a name or a pronoun if you need to.
How long are these female monologues?
Roughly one to one and a half minutes spoken, estimated at 140 words a minute. Each card shows its own estimate.
What if the audition asks for a classical monologue?
These are contemporary pieces. For a classical request, use a speech from a published classical play.