Why I'm Up There...
Last October the national entity that is The Moth began having monthly "Story Slams" in Portland. It is basically a storytelling open mic on a monthly theme and the names drawn get 5 to 6 minutes to tell a true story with no script and no notes. The Moth does this in several cities as part of a process that ultimately leads to even winners performing at "Grand Slam" events that could wind up on radio or web or both. In Portland this has become a monthly sell out event with tickets going in an hour or less.
My employer/company is one of the local co-sponsors for these events and late last year at that first event I was in attendance, as was my boss/supervisor or 15 years. The crowd was full, energy was high, and everything screamed "Success!"... except for one problem. There were 10 slots for storytellers and with 20 minutes to showtime there were not even close to 10 people signed up. My boss -- who knows me very well professionally and personally -- approached me and said, "You're a born storyteller. Do you think you could sign up?" The truth is that ever since I first heard The Moth and other programs like it on the very radio station I work for I'd thought, "I could do that." But that particular night I was there on a first date! But my date encouraged me, saying "Go for it." So I signed up and later in the night my name was called. I strode up on stage and told a bittersweet, funny story involving the demise of my marriage and how I spent my first post-separation Thanksgiving at a Hometown Buffet. It got a great response from the crowd, the story judges (yes, there are judges) gave me positive marks, and while I didn't win the night I was among the higher scores. My date was impressed, my boss was thrilled, and I felt like I checked something off my bucket list.
It wasn't until the next monthly event that I realized it wasn't just a check mark. It was an awakening. I wanted to do it again. So I signed up again and I told a story about my odd history with weight loss, power ballads, and how I've spent a lot of my life metaphorically "waiting for a slow song". It was pretty damn personal and, again, I got high marks, got excellent feedback, and it was the first night where one of the show's local producers talked to me about my "voice" or "style", what I'm doing that other storytellers, particularly male ones, aren't doing. It was enough to inspire me to tell another story a few months later about my sister and my own brief history with theft.
In June I did my first performance with Back Fence PDX and it was the first time I wasn't just throwing my name in a hat. I was invited to be a storyteller and that felt pretty awesome. The format that night was different, with a 'Russian Roulette' spin of the wheel for your theme or prompt and just a few minutes to come up with something, plus a full audience vote on the winner rather than The Moth's panels of audience judges. Democracy!! My expectation for the night was pretty much not to suck but I'll be honest: I wanted to win. There is a competitive nature to this just as there is to comedy or music. Comics want to be the best and musicians may write songs because they have to or just need that creative release but I am of the belief that anyone who goes to an open mic, puts out an album or song or whatever wants their art to be well-received. I never bought, for example, that Kurt Cobain didn't want people to love his music. When the night was over at Back Fence PDX I did win and it was one of these moments one will never forget. It was, within less than a year after my first attempt at live storytelling, that I began to think, "This is it. You're meant to do this."
I say that last part because it feels true. It doesn't mean it's supposed to make me famous or rich or anything like that. It means I feel meant to do it because I really feel like I have something to say and I feel like there is a reason these types of performances and programs are so popular is because they appeal to people on so many levels. As a storyteller there is the obvious cathartic/exhibitionist nature of sharing a true story that can be funny, tragic, sad, poignant, or any of a number of adjectives. But when I listen to the stories of others I am reminded that we funny little humans crave human connection and identifying with others. We like knowing that we're not the only ones who have felt utter joy... or complete oblivion...youthful mistakes...grown ass adult mistakes!...loss, triumph, beauty, ugliness, humiliation, struggle, or reflection. It's the "true story" part that drives the engine. The people who go to these shows and will never tell a story are going for their own reasons. Those of us who want to share a story have our reasons but I dare say there are common denominators between the exhibitionists and shows offs and the listener and voyeurs.
My forays into this so far have leaned more to the haha, funny side or the sweet and sentimental. Those are parts of me I can't escape and have no desire to escape. But as my journey into this has continued I find myself less and less guarded. Interestingly enough I have not told a story as personal as the first one I told since the day I told it and I've done a half dozen or so since. In future opportunities I have found myself wanting to go 'darker' or 'deeper' or let the bitter be as strong a flavor as the sweet. I've realized through positive feedback and experience that I have a lot of trust in strangers, as if I can get up on that stage in front of a 100 or so people and say "This is me. Utterly me. This is what happened. This is why it was funny or why it hurt and still hurts" and that the experience of telling it will not hurt me. I am not looking for it to heal me but I really do believe in the power or resonance; that something I say will nod a head or generate a laugh or even just a "Hmmm" moment. It's a small thing that can be powerful. Or it can just be small. But it's something and there are things about that I'm still figuring out and I kinda love that.
After my most recent story this past weekend a dear friend of mine told me, "I could never do what you do! I could never do that!" I am of the belief that all of us have a story -- probably multiple stories -- but I get what she meant. Not all of us can get up on a stage and tell it in that kind of forum. So I thanked her and reminded her she can do things I never could and that is the beauty of all of us. But her words did make me realize that, yes, maybe one more reason to tell stories is because others believe they can't or they won't or whatever. And yet we all have more in common with each other than we think so, for example, if I tell a dozen stories odds are someone out there that may never agree with me on politics or religion or sex or whatever will still find something from inside me that parallels something inside them.
The best part of doing anything new, so I am discovering, is finding more and more reasons to do it.
J
My employer/company is one of the local co-sponsors for these events and late last year at that first event I was in attendance, as was my boss/supervisor or 15 years. The crowd was full, energy was high, and everything screamed "Success!"... except for one problem. There were 10 slots for storytellers and with 20 minutes to showtime there were not even close to 10 people signed up. My boss -- who knows me very well professionally and personally -- approached me and said, "You're a born storyteller. Do you think you could sign up?" The truth is that ever since I first heard The Moth and other programs like it on the very radio station I work for I'd thought, "I could do that." But that particular night I was there on a first date! But my date encouraged me, saying "Go for it." So I signed up and later in the night my name was called. I strode up on stage and told a bittersweet, funny story involving the demise of my marriage and how I spent my first post-separation Thanksgiving at a Hometown Buffet. It got a great response from the crowd, the story judges (yes, there are judges) gave me positive marks, and while I didn't win the night I was among the higher scores. My date was impressed, my boss was thrilled, and I felt like I checked something off my bucket list.
It wasn't until the next monthly event that I realized it wasn't just a check mark. It was an awakening. I wanted to do it again. So I signed up again and I told a story about my odd history with weight loss, power ballads, and how I've spent a lot of my life metaphorically "waiting for a slow song". It was pretty damn personal and, again, I got high marks, got excellent feedback, and it was the first night where one of the show's local producers talked to me about my "voice" or "style", what I'm doing that other storytellers, particularly male ones, aren't doing. It was enough to inspire me to tell another story a few months later about my sister and my own brief history with theft.
In June I did my first performance with Back Fence PDX and it was the first time I wasn't just throwing my name in a hat. I was invited to be a storyteller and that felt pretty awesome. The format that night was different, with a 'Russian Roulette' spin of the wheel for your theme or prompt and just a few minutes to come up with something, plus a full audience vote on the winner rather than The Moth's panels of audience judges. Democracy!! My expectation for the night was pretty much not to suck but I'll be honest: I wanted to win. There is a competitive nature to this just as there is to comedy or music. Comics want to be the best and musicians may write songs because they have to or just need that creative release but I am of the belief that anyone who goes to an open mic, puts out an album or song or whatever wants their art to be well-received. I never bought, for example, that Kurt Cobain didn't want people to love his music. When the night was over at Back Fence PDX I did win and it was one of these moments one will never forget. It was, within less than a year after my first attempt at live storytelling, that I began to think, "This is it. You're meant to do this."
I say that last part because it feels true. It doesn't mean it's supposed to make me famous or rich or anything like that. It means I feel meant to do it because I really feel like I have something to say and I feel like there is a reason these types of performances and programs are so popular is because they appeal to people on so many levels. As a storyteller there is the obvious cathartic/exhibitionist nature of sharing a true story that can be funny, tragic, sad, poignant, or any of a number of adjectives. But when I listen to the stories of others I am reminded that we funny little humans crave human connection and identifying with others. We like knowing that we're not the only ones who have felt utter joy... or complete oblivion...youthful mistakes...grown ass adult mistakes!...loss, triumph, beauty, ugliness, humiliation, struggle, or reflection. It's the "true story" part that drives the engine. The people who go to these shows and will never tell a story are going for their own reasons. Those of us who want to share a story have our reasons but I dare say there are common denominators between the exhibitionists and shows offs and the listener and voyeurs.
My forays into this so far have leaned more to the haha, funny side or the sweet and sentimental. Those are parts of me I can't escape and have no desire to escape. But as my journey into this has continued I find myself less and less guarded. Interestingly enough I have not told a story as personal as the first one I told since the day I told it and I've done a half dozen or so since. In future opportunities I have found myself wanting to go 'darker' or 'deeper' or let the bitter be as strong a flavor as the sweet. I've realized through positive feedback and experience that I have a lot of trust in strangers, as if I can get up on that stage in front of a 100 or so people and say "This is me. Utterly me. This is what happened. This is why it was funny or why it hurt and still hurts" and that the experience of telling it will not hurt me. I am not looking for it to heal me but I really do believe in the power or resonance; that something I say will nod a head or generate a laugh or even just a "Hmmm" moment. It's a small thing that can be powerful. Or it can just be small. But it's something and there are things about that I'm still figuring out and I kinda love that.
After my most recent story this past weekend a dear friend of mine told me, "I could never do what you do! I could never do that!" I am of the belief that all of us have a story -- probably multiple stories -- but I get what she meant. Not all of us can get up on a stage and tell it in that kind of forum. So I thanked her and reminded her she can do things I never could and that is the beauty of all of us. But her words did make me realize that, yes, maybe one more reason to tell stories is because others believe they can't or they won't or whatever. And yet we all have more in common with each other than we think so, for example, if I tell a dozen stories odds are someone out there that may never agree with me on politics or religion or sex or whatever will still find something from inside me that parallels something inside them.
The best part of doing anything new, so I am discovering, is finding more and more reasons to do it.
J