A Change Would Do You Good

Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative. ~ Oscar Wilde

Change is hard for most of us, to varying degrees. Naturally, improv helps that, because it teaches you all about being in the moment. And when you are in the moment, change can't bother you. It can't because there is no worry about what might happen in the future, or about what you might want to cling to from the past. There's only what you are doing right this very second. And that is effing awesome.

Recently, Held2gether created and performed a fantastic sketch comedy show. The people in it worked their asses off for six weeks and, in the process, became very close. Sometimes physically close, as we were cooped up in a tiny room for a long time with nothing but each other, warm PBR and candy. But mainly close as in "super good friends who would do anything for each other."

Afterwards, one of the people said to me that she hopes the next sketch performance class contains the exact same people only, because it was such an incredible experience and she wanted to repeat it.

I love that sentiment - that we created something so magical that she wanted to repeat it with the same group. But I've learned from experience that you can't force magic to happen. If for some reason, the next class DID turn out to be the same people, it still wouldn't be the same experience. And as much as I love everyone from that class and show, to insist that no other future incarnation of the class could be as special is silly. There was a time I swore I never wanted the H2G troupe to change, because we were family and I couldn't imagine having to part with anyone or being able to accept anyone new. But if it hadn't changed, we wouldn't have the Friday Company - which means I wouldn't have some of my best friends.

I told my classmate not to cling too tightly to that sketch experience. Not only is change inevitable, but by holding on to the past, you automatically prevent yourself from being fully in the present. Not only that, but having a new class with different people doesn't negate the friendships you built in the previous class. You're not exchanging one set of people or experiences for another. You're simply adding another group to your collection.

Besides, like Oscar said, holding onto sameness is for people who lack imagination. Which is obviously not people who do improv. Um, duh.

I'd like to celebrate change by welcoming Sean Fannon to the H2G Main Company and Kendra Nicholson to the H2G Friday Company. Make a New Year's Resolution to come see 'em perform!!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

New Year's Improv Resolutions

I dunno about you, but I've been a little freaked out about the new year. It seems like, more than in previous years, everybody has big resolutions and stuff and I am feeling left out. I think I was counting on the Mayan apocalypse to make resolutions sort of a moot point this year.

It's not that I don't have things to change or improve upon. Um, have you met me? Duh. But I'm not usually a well-it's-January-first-so-I-guess-I-better-make-some-changes kind of girl. If I'ma do something like use an arbitrary date to signal the start of a New Me, I usually use my birthday. Or, you know, the third Sunday after the first full moon in the last month of the year that starts with a letter of the alphabet. In other words, a date that has meaning.

But I've been thinking about this New Year's Resolution thing, and I feel like I'm copping out if I don't make some. The thing is, I don't know what I want to commit to.

And there it is, the magic word and the bane of my existence, improv and otherwise: commit. You'd think after all this time studying and teaching improv, I would be able to commit. But no. As soon as I think of a resolution, let's just say "stop eating sugar," 800 bazillion objections to that resolution pop up in my head. Like, what if there's a zombie apocalypse (what? You can't count on the friggin' Mayans), and all there is left in the world to eat is cookies? And I've committed to not eating sugar. Well, then, I'm screwed.

You see my problem?

I am good at committing in improv (although it took years off of both Darren's and my life to get me there), so I guess it's time to bite the bullet and take that skill into the real world. So here's my New Year's Resolution: I resolve to commit to stuff*.

*"stuff" to be determined later.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv: Fabulous to the Nth Degree

I met some new people at a shindig the other night and, as often happens with new people, the conversation eventually turned towards improv. And by "eventually" I mean something like this:

"Hi, my name is Frank."
"Nice to meet you, Frank. I'm Sonnjea. Let's talk about improv, shall we?"

What? There's no subtlety in improv, peeps.

Anyway, these new people were very nice and quite interested in the concept of improv as a confidence-boosting, self-esteem-building activity for at-risk youth. They got so excited and started telling me how building trust and overcoming fears and learning to be in the moment and respond would help people feel more confident in relying on themselves and be more willing to put themselves out there for others.

I guess I don't really have a point to this post, except to say that I love it when people get that improv is so much more than just entertainment. If it was just entertainment, it would still be fabulous - never underestimate the power of the arts. But in improv's case, it's fabulous to the nth degree.

Just sayin'.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Pet Peeves

My homegirl Kendra and I were talking about improv pet peeves the other day, and it occurred to me to share that information with you concerned readers out there. So, in no particular order, and with no particular explanation, here are 10 things that may bug hypothetical scene partners (yours or someone else's.) [Note: I am sick, so if this is dumb and/or pointless, please just give me credit for trying. Thank you in advance.]

1. Forcing an agenda
2. Going for the joke
3. Not listening
4. Puppets
5. Denial
6. Stage whoriness in long form
7. Asking questions
8. Assuming your partner knows what is in your head
9. Bailing
10. Throwing your scene partner under the bus in any way in order to get yourself a laugh

Right, let's not dredge that whole puppet thing up again, mmmmkay? I think the rest are self-explanatory. If not, ask me to clarify and as soon as my head clears up I'll elaborate.

In the meantime, the H2G Friday Company is performing this Friday night for the very last time in 2012. Check 'em out at The Wine Down Lounge, 210 E. Ocean in the LBC at 8 p.m.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Shut Up and Kiss Me. Or, You Know - Grunt.

Today I'm cleaning up my office. I know you're probably thinking, "Well, gosh, Sonnjea, there's a fascinating topic that's clearly all about improv. Please. Tell us more."

To which I reply, "Sarcasm doesn't work in improv, peeps. Don't make me tell you again."

Here's the thing. When I was busy with writing and rehearsals for Sketchy People, I started using my office as a dumping ground. Since I work at home, it's easy for that to happen anyway - clothes I don't feel like folding get tossed on the sofa, paper work piles up on the coffee table and work I am busily not doing accumulates on my desk. Add to that all the props and clothes and just general junk that seemed to multiply for the show and that I needed to find a home for, and you have the makings of an episode of Hoarders.

The worse it gets, the less able I am to work in there (I'm currently working on a laptop in my dining room, snarfing up a box of Cheez-It's, if you must know). The clutter just gets to me.

And it occurred to me that improv scenes are kind of the same way. Wait, hold on - you know I can justify this. Pffft. This one's not even a stretch for me, kids.

When there is too much going on in a scene, it makes it harder and harder for the players to get the scene going. That's because if there's just a shitload of random information, it's too hard to filter through it and know what to react to and what should matter. It's a much better situation to gradually layer information so that each person in the scene has a chance to truly listen to it, and then react logically and appropriately. Then everybody's information comes out in manageable doses, like brick after brick in the building of a scene. Instead of, you know, a big dumptruck of building materials hurled in the general direction of a building site.

It's also important to give information in small soundbite-sized morsels to help you avoid driving an agenda. Yes, you must label each other and add information. But you don't need to do it in a War and Peace way. Think in terms of Tweets, maybe Facebook posts (in terms of length, I mean; not in terms of sarcasm or vagueness). Your partner can't possibly remember everything you say and all the information you add if you ramble on and on and on and... Give them one or two small bits of information and then SHUT UP. Give 'em a chance to listen and respond with their own one or two bits of information. Then it'll be your turn again.

If your strength happens to be adding information (guilty as charged), you may be laboring under the delusion that somehow that means your information is all that and a bag o' chips. Whatever. Get over it. Your information, no matter how brilliant, is useless if it's heaped up in a pile of other brilliant information that nobody can sort through in a single lifetime. Remember, dialog is only ONE way of adding information (and it's the most overused way, fyi). You can add information by having a huge emotional reaction, discovering something onstage, changing the stage picture, doing some new spacework, kissing and/or slapping your partner, grunting, etc.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go clean my office. If you hear grunting, you'll know why.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv and Mom's Pie

I try to explain why sarcasm and/or going for the joke don't work in improv, but there are a couple problems with my explanation:

1. By the time we get to that part of class, everyone knows how sarcastic I can be in real life, and they're not sure I'm serious, and
2. People tend not to believe how badly sarcasm/jokiness can derail a scene until they see it happen.

The other night, however, students got a brilliant example of that very thing. In a plain ol' 2-person location scene at a bowling alley, the characters were each dissing the other one's mom's cooking when one of them said something about pie. He turned it into a jokey comment about his friend's mom's "hairy pie" and from that moment on, he was doing a scene about his friend's mom's, uh, let's say private parts, shall we? The other person kept doing the original scene about cooking. There were literally two different scenes happening.

The rest of the class thought the jokey part was funny at first, but quickly became totally confused when they realized the players weren't on the same page. Soon it became awkward, as one player played it real and the other continued to add one mom's private parts joke or sarcastic comment after another.

The player who went for the joke explained afterwards that, once he went there, he didn't know how to get out of it and so he decided to commit to the choice. Argh - that's a tough moment as a teacher, because I so want people to commit. But I want them to commit to character and emotion, not to a bad joke gone awry.

There are ways to fix anything, of course: The player playing it real could have had a huge emotional reaction at the very first mention of his mom's privates, making the scene about him finding out his best friend was having sex with his mom. Or the jokey player could have called himself out with something like, "Look, I know I shouldn't talk about your mom that way, but the truth is she's hot and I'm in love with her!" Or something. Then both players know what scene they're doing, and they can make it about their relationship and it's all good.

But it's a stronger choice, naturally, not to get into that situation in the first place and just avoid the jokes and sarcasm. Of course, I never make that mistake because improv is totally easy and effortless for me.

Oh. Wait.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv and Pizza: What's Not to Love?

Okay, I'm on a sappy roll. Yesterday I was all sentimental about Sketchy People. Today, I'm mushy about my students. Might as well get it all out of my system now so I can go back to being the sarcastic, um, person you all expect.

Look! I didn't swear. Woo hoo, Darren will be so proud.

Anyhoo, someone was asking me the other day what I like most about teaching beginning improv classes. That's kinda like asking what I like most about pizza: only everything!

I'm not saying that because a lot of students read this, either. I really, truly love everything about teaching beginning improv classes. Sometimes my favorite thing is seeing a bunch of people leave class 10x happier than when they arrived. Sometimes my favorite thing is watching people fall in love with improv. Sometimes my favorite thing is when people tell me how improv applies and helps them in their real life. Sometimes my favorite thing is seeing the huge strides people make, both in their improv skills and with personal struggles like shyness. Sometimes my favorite thing is when a student struggles and struggles and struggles with a skill or concept - and keeps working on it without giving up. Sometimes my favorite thing is when that student finally overcomes that obstacle and takes their game to a whole new level. Sometimes my favorite thing is when a class bonds and the students become new best friends. Clearly, I can go on and on.

Another nice thing about teaching improv, as opposed to teaching, say, math is that even when it's struggly, it's fun. And funny. The fact that there's laughter happening most of the time makes the learning (and teaching) process more enjoyable, if not any easier.

But the thing I didn't expect about teaching improv was how much I would learn from my students. Teaching is maybe the most humbling activity I've ever experienced. I mean, I know about improv - the rules, how to do it, how to teach it. But what makes my jaw drop in every single class is when students push themselves way, WAY past the boundaries of where they're comfortable. When you can just see the "You know what? Fuck it, I'm going for it!" expression on their face as they take the stage. That kind of commitment inspires me to push harder in my own life - in improv, and in everything else.

So thank you to everyone who has taken a Level 1 class from me! For all the reasons I listed above, I honestly believe I have the best job in the world. Thanks for playing with me!

(And yes, I got around to swearing. I mean c'mon, peeps - it's me after all. Darren's used to it.)

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Post-Show Letdown Disorder Sucks

We had an awesome sketch comedy show over the weekend and I for one could not be sadder.

The first time I experienced "post-show letdown disorder" (PSLD) (what? it's a real thing) was after our 2010 show Overexposed. That show was a killer in terms of pushing everyone (even Darren) WAY far out of their comfort zone with character monologues in costume and improv scenes. The next day, I couldn't drag my ass out of bed. I kept crying for no reason. I called one of the girls who'd been in the show with me and she felt the same way, so I deduced that it was a sort of post-partum thing.

I've had PSLD to some extent after every big show since. Regular shows are fine, because there's no real build-up before hand. But all the long form shows and now this sketch show have spawned an attack of PSLD.

It makes sense. Not to piss off the "I'm a mom and it's the only job that matters" crowd, but whether your creation comes from your loins or your heart or your head, letting go of it hurts. For Sketchy People we had 6 weeks of writing, rehearsing and performing. Classes were running from 5:30 or 6 until 10:30 or so. Rehearsals went till midnight. People got together outside of class to rehearse. Darren worked with groups for hours. Basically, our lives revolved, if not entirely, then at least largely around preparing for the show.

Working that hard with folks is a bonding experience. It's not like being at war with someone, but you do have to trust your partners. Everyone knows that for any scene (and the show as a whole) to work, each person has to do their job. So everyone pushes themselves to be the best they can be, and everyone learns to trust everyone else and step up and help each other out. You learn to rely on each other.

During the show, the 10 of us were crammed into a 6 foot by 8 foot space with no a/c. We ate pounds of Sweet Tarts and Bottle Caps and Cheez-its and drank a 12 pack of PBR from tiny, shot-glass-sized dixie cups. We were hot and exhausted and completely inappropriate, and it was maybe the most fun EVER.

And then, it's just over. Done. The shows were huge hits, and it was great fun making people laugh with what we created, but it was somewhat anticlimactic after all that went into it. And now these people who have been your constant companions for the past few weeks go back to their regular lives and there's just a big hole where they and your joint creation used to be.

But we have our inside jokes, and our new and/or improved friendships, and the great memories of starting with not even ONE WORD of dialogue and creating 11 friggin' awesome sketches that entertained the hell out of folks. And we know that there'll always be another show.

As much as we might want it to be just like this one, it won't. But that's okay, because it will generate its own inside jokes, friendships and memories... and its own bout of PSLD.

To Aimee, Beth, Bob, Darren, Kendra, Lisa, Richard B, Richard M, Viet and Walt: Thank you for being funny, inappropriate and amazing. I love you all. Now if you'll excuse me, I'ma listen to the show soundtrack and weep.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Thankful for Things to be Thankful for

If you spend more than 30 seconds a week on Facebook, you've probably seen the November thankfulness posts people have been writing. You know, "12: today I'm thankful for soft ear fur on doggies" or the ones from your deeper FB friends that go more like, "12: today I'm thankful for the ability to be thankful for things that seem horrible but somehow make me a better person, capable of feeling thankfulness for unthankful things." Or something.

Anyway, I'm not doing that. Not because I'm not thankful for stuff, but because nobody gives a crap about what I'm thankful for and I don't want to burden folks with excessive posts they don't give a crap about. Hey! Maybe that's what you can be thankful for today. "12: I'm thankful Sonnjea didn't post what she's thankful for."

Holy shit, she's lost it. Don't even try to pretend that's not what you're thinking. It's just that, I don't want to seem unthankful by not jumping on the FB thankfulness bandwagon, so I'ma tell you ONE thing I'm thankful for, rather than torturing you with 30 things.

In case you couldn't guess, I'm thankful for improv. I didn't start taking improv classes to improve my acting ability (I have none), or to begin a new career (careers are overrated) or anything, really. I just wanted to do something that would push me out of my comfort zone and challenge my complacence. It did, and then some.

My life is completely different as a result of improv, and the changes are 100% positive. I'm less shy, I have more (and better) friends, I'm more confident, my writing is better. Oh, and I have a whole new career. Whatever, you gotta make a living, right?

So if you're low on things for your November thankful posts, I suggest signing up for a Held2gether improv class. We're booked up through the end of the year, but new classes start the first week of January. You know, just in time for those New Year's resolutions you're going to make in order to give yourself something to be thankful for next November.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

The C-Word

I've given it some thought, and I've decided it's time to talk about the C-word.

Uh, commitment, people. It's one of the 3 main rules of improv and, arguably, the most important. Today for sure it's the most important, because it's what I'm writing about. And I'm totally committed to it.

If you do improv long enough (and by long enough, I mean about 13 minutes), you will encounter a suggestion, label or situation that you know jack about. Or, for those of you who hate ending sentences with prepositions, "about which you know jack." See, I'm like a real writer and stuff.

Anyway. Commitment. Let's say you get a label you know nothing about. The best way to make the scene tank is to let on to the audience, or your scene partners, that you know nothing. The best way to make the scene work is to make an instant decision, and totally commit to it, 100%. Even if you just pick one little aspect of that label (whatever that label means to YOU) and run with it.

For example, last night a student was labeled a softball player. That's not such an out-of-the-ordinary suggestion, and clearly she knew stuff about softball. She played the scene kinda butch, but rather than just being a softball cliche, she found something to commit to - this character's love of sandwiches. She was totally on her own side, defending the brilliance of sandwiches because they contain all 4 food groups and whatever. It was hilarious.

Another group did a scene in the genre of a vampire movie. There were constraints on what they could say, but they totally changed their physicality and voices and there was no doubt in anybody's mind that they were vampires. And it was hilarious too.

I think the message here is clear: commitment = hilarity.

Oh, and before I go, I just want to give you some ideas of what commitment is NOT.

1. Commitment doesn't necessarily mean loud. It might, it might not. Being totally committed to a scene, completely engaged, enthusiastic and energetic does not have to mean LOUD. Loud is fine; however, it's not a substitute for commitment. I can have big, huge energy and be loud and shit, and still bail or make it clear that I am judging myself, the scene or my partners.
2. Commitment also doesn't mean forcing an agenda. In that sense, you should let go of your commitment to your agenda and instead commit to the bigger picture.
3. Commitment also doesn't mean going for a laugh at any cost. Improv is about playing it real, layering information and allowing the humor to come through; it is NOT about going for the joke. If your idea of commitment is to get the audience to laugh every time you open your mouth, you should do standup.

Just sayin'.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Sketch vs. Improv

Among the many reasons I've been unable to write brilliant improv blogs lately is the fact that I'm busy memorizing lines.

Turns out, sketch is very different from improv. There are scripts and lines and props and costumes and sound effects and the whole friggin' nine yards. Which, in my book, adds up to acting. So far in my illustrious improv career, I've managed to avoid the "A" word pretty successfully. Of course, there are characters and emotions and an element of acting in improv. But as my friend Paul says, it's really playing pretend.

By the time you've got lines to learn and props to purchase and white-trash-girl costumes to, uh, get from your own closet because those aren't really "costumes" so much as "regular clothes," you have left the arena of playing make-believe and are well into the realm of acting.

It's not so bad. I actually have a great memory and can memorize pretty quickly, so that part isn't too struggly. The sketches we've written are pretty funny, though, so I have to really work on not laughing in the middle of my own scenes. And the whole concept of blocking and moving around deliberately in conjunction with words coming out of my mouth is a bit daunting. In improv, of course you want to move with purpose - but since the words aren't preplanned, neither is the movement. I'm coordination-challenged, so orchestrating movement to coincide with dialog is like walking and chewing gum for me: difficult at best, borderline dangerous at worst.

Anyway, that's my take on sketch vs. improv, and white trash clothes vs. costumes. Your mileage may vary.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Do Improv, Eat Bread

I know it comes as no surprise that I think improv is the best thing since sliced bread. And that's saying something, given my penchant for bread.

I also know I throw around the improv for life phrase pretty freely. But it's our slogan for a reason, peeps.

See, one of the reasons I think improv is so friggin' amazing is that every time you go on stage, you get to start over. It's a fresh start, because it's a whole new scenario and you get a whole new opportunity to be brilliant. Maybe you forgot to label your scene partner, or have an emotional reaction or be a character the last time you were on stage... so what? Since improv is all about being in the moment, nobody is holding you to what you did the last time around - ALL there is, is what you do right now.

And guess what? It works the other way, too. Maybe you did the best scene ever last week (or even 5 minutes ago)... yay you! But it means nothing now, in this scene.

If your goal is to do the best improv you can, you can neither beat yourself up over past mistakes nor rest on your laurels. Look at those failures and successes and learn from them, by all means. But then move on. Wallowing or gloating or whatever puts you in the past, and that is by definition, uh, not the present.

And as for the improv for life part: why not look at every day as a fresh start? Yesterday's gone, and with it the day's successes and failures. Today's a whole new opportunity to be brilliant. I dunno about you, but I think I'ma take that opportunity. Right after I eat this bread.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv: Do It With a Stranger

I don't know about you, but I enjoy hanging out with my friends. It's easier and more comfortable than spending time with strangers, who have weird quirks and strange mannerisms and don't automatically laugh at all your jokes or find it amusing when you fall asleep half way through a party. Oh. Perhaps that's just me.

Anyhoo. That same comfort is present when you do improv with your friends. Not that all scenes you do with your friends will work, of course - that's wishful thinking. But there is definitely a greater level of comfort working with someone you already know and trust. It's easier to connect, because you do already trust them. Eye contact is easier. You can get on the same page quicker because you each know how the other thinks. You can consciously play to each other's strengths.

And that's all well and good if you're just playing around, or doing drunk improv, or performing in a show. But if you're in an improv class, playing with your pals all the time will stunt your growth. My grandmother was into ballroom dancing and once, when I was anxious before a 7th grade dance, she told me the best thing to do was to "dance with anybody who asks." She clearly hadn't seen some of the 7th grade boys, but still, it's a valid point.

The best way to improve at improv is to do exercises and scenes with as many different people as possible. When I do a scene with Viet, I can tend to get lazy and do the scene on autopilot because we know each other so well. FYI, autopilot in improv is the best way to crash into the mountains in a giant fireball of unfunny destruction. But if I do a scene with a stranger (or relative stranger), I have to be totally present and in the moment - which is, after all, the point of improv. And that's the only way to be able to listen and react and do good improv.

So if you're in a class with some pals, challenge yourself to do your scenes with anyone OTHER than them. You'll learn a lot more in a shorter amount of time, and in the process you'll make new pals to add to your collection.

And new pals means more people who find you amusing, which comes in handy for that falling asleep thing.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv and Motorcycles

I've been watching Sons of Anarchy lately, and this is what I have learned:

1. Where I grew up (maybe 30 miles from where SOA is set) is even more redneck than I previously thought; and
2. these guys know how to commit.

Not to women, of course. That would be silly. But the members' commitment to their motorcycle club really is "till death do us part." It's a white trash, redneck version of the mafia, basically. If the club needs you to do something, you do it, and the penalties for failing to commit range from creatively disgusting to lethal.

Oh, right. Improv.

I've mentioned commitment once or three hundred times before, but it's so important it bears repeating: commitment is everything in improv. You can overcome a denial; you can justify bizarro information; you can correct an attack of sarcasm. But if one person doesn't commit, you're done. You can't do improv alone, so everybody in the scene has to be IN THE SCENE.

There are different aspects of commitment... There is commitment to the character, the voice, the emotion, the genre, the suggestion, the moment. But you can simplify by just thinking about being 100% committed to the scene - then everything it entails will be included. That means you keep going until blackout or until the instructor ends the scene - without glancing over and asking, "Keep going?" It means you give your all to the character, the voice, the emotion, the genre and the suggestion - whatever each of those things means to you - without worrying if you're going to look silly. It means not judging the scene as it unfolds, but truly being in the moment - listening to your scene partner and having big emotional reactions to their information.

It's hard at the beginning because nobody wants to look silly, and pushing yourself out of your comfort zone means there's a good chance you're not going to succeed 100% of the time. And there's something comforting about stepping out of the scene, perhaps to comment on the suggestion or apologize for an accent or seek approval from the instructor; it's a way of letting everyone know that you think the scene's a little wonky and, since you're aware of that fact, you shouldn't be judged for it.

I get it. Really. But there is absolutely nothing wrong with a wonky scene. Especially in class - I mean, the whole point of class is to learn stuff. If you already knew everything there is to know about improv and never had a bad scene, why would you take a class? What there IS something wrong with is bailing. You don't learn what you need to learn if you bail on a difficult scene. Darren and I can watch and critique wonky scenes all day long... because if the players have committed, and the scene goes weird, we can help them understand what to do differently. But if somebody bails, the scene doesn't really happen, which means we can't help. We have no idea what MIGHT have happened if they hadn't bailed, so we can't see where their strengths and weaknesses lie.

Look, I'm not that creative, so nothing disgusting or lethal will happen to you if you don't commit in improv class. But you won't learn what you set out to learn, and that's a bummer.

By the way, how do you think I'd look on a motorcycle?

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Listening vs. Garden Gnomes

Listening comes in handy, people. I'm just sayin'. If you listen to people, they feel like you're respecting them and what they have to say. If you don't, they feel like you're dissing them or, quite possibly, that you're a moron.

Yeah, yeah, this has to do with improv. Improv is all about listening. Before you can agree, add information or commit, you have to listen. I've seen plenty of scenes that didn't work because one or more of the players didn't listen to the others. Like this:

"I'm filing for divorce, Minnie. I can't take another night of your snoring!"
"Look, Mickey, garden gnomes! Let's get some for our garden!"

It's bad enough not to have a sufficiently big reaction to something because you're too casual in your scene; it's even worse to have NO reaction because you didn't bother to listen. And while I think garden gnomes are quite funny in and of themselves, they are not the logical response to the "you-snore-I-want-a-divorce" situation at hand.

In real life, listening is a skill that many people could improve upon. I had an encounter at a caffeine establishment this morning that left me convinced the order-taking-woman had an IQ of 8. In reality, she's probably sporting average intelligence, but it's masked by her nearly prodigious inability to process any information given her.

Listening is one of those skills that can improve your performance in virtually any job, even those not directly involved with customer service. Honestly, just feeling heard makes most people so happy, they're instantly inclined to like the person who bothered to really hear them. It's the easiest way to win friends and influence people... and the bonus is, when you listen to people, they start to listen to you.

Even if you already listen pretty well, improv class can still help you listen better. Plus, it's totally fun! And I'm told many people enjoy "fun" so you might wanna check it out!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Hedge Your Bets

The rules of engagement exist for your safety and that of your team. They are not flexible, nor am I. ~ Viper

Okay, okay. The rules of improv are not quite so inflexible as the rules of engagement at Top Gun. But they DO exist for a reason, and I'ma tell you why. Guess that's just how I roll.

It's really all about percentages. Plunking two or more people on a stage, giving them a random suggestion like "artichokes" and expecting hilarity is akin to going to a party at a trailer park and expecting Dom Perignon. I mean, it could happen, but it ain't likely.

So the rules are there to help you hedge your bets. When you agree instead of denying, you improve your odds. When you add information, you improve your odds. When you commit, you improve your odds. Every time you play by the rules, the game gets stacked a little more in your favor.

But don't get cocky - it doesn't work like a savings account. You can play by the rules for 2/3 of the scene, then go for a joke or get sarcastic or ask a lame question or deny something, and now your odds of having a successful scene are right back in the "astronomical" range.

Not all rules carry equal weight in terms of improving your odds, of course. And sometimes the importance of the rules is mitigated by the experience of the players, their on-stage chemistry and how well they know each others' strengths and weaknesses. Andy and I quite enjoy setting each other up in certain games and scenes, by either asking a question or being sarcastic - but we have the longest history together of anyone in our troupe and I know he'll get what I'm going for and vice versa. Still, it's not the strongest choice.

And don't forget, when you ignore the rules, you're risking the game for all your scene partners as well as yourself. That's a big gamble, if you ask me.

Which, I realize, you didn't. But it's my blog.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv: Can I Say Penis?

A student asked an interesting question in the last session of the Level 1 improv class on Saturday. It had to do with saying words like "penis" and "vagina" in scenes, and the general improv attitude towards vulgarity.

I thought Viet was going to burst out laughing - not at the question, which was totally valid, but at ME attempting to answer it... because I'm not exactly the Queen of Propriety in improv or life, especially when it comes to language. Besides the usual 4-letter words I throw around with reckless abandon, I wrote an entire novel in which the protagonist's unpleasant estranged husband is referred to exclusively as "Dickhead." So I may not be the best judge of what's "vulgar." That being said, we got into an interesting discussion about self-censoring in improv.

My general belief is, if you're in class, try it. Not the self-censoring, duh. I mean, if you wanna say something, just say it. I would insist on students respecting each others' personal space and sense of decorum in terms of touchy-feely-ness (ie, don't kiss your scene partner until you've gotten drunk with them, perhaps) but I don't really worry about students saying inappropriate things. After all, you're in class to push yourself out of your comfort zone and try things - not everything is gonna work, and that's part of the learning process. But worrying in advance about what words you should/should not say is just one more way to lock you in your head. And nothing good comes from that.

If you're performing, it's a slightly different story.

1. For one thing, I do believe in respecting your host. So if you're invited to perform at a church, or a business event, or a family-friendly tea house, you should give them the clean show they want - both in terms of language AND content. If you can't keep it clean, you shouldn't take those gigs.
2. Second, vulgarity isn't funny if it doesn't end. Raunchy is funny up to a point - but it quickly becomes too easy. I mean, if your humor primarily appeals to 7th grade boys, you're not really pushing yourself OR engaging the majority of your audience.
3. And third, as with moving around the stage, swearing and vulgarity should have some purpose: to heighten the emotion, perhaps, or because the straight-laced-librarian-looking-woman bursts out of her shell or the character you're playing needs to speak this way. I actually swear a lot LESS in shows than I do in real life, because not all the characters I play would swear like a sailor the way real life Sonnjea does.

On a completely unrelated note, "penis" is a funny word.

There are still a couple spots left in the next Level 1 improv class, so sign up soon, gosh darnit.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Sketchy People

The H2G sketch class started last night - this is the performance class which means it ends with a, um, performance.

Class was awesome, and it was really fun to see how well improv complements sketch. We'd get a basic skeleton of an idea for a sketch, and then play around with improv to find the beats and really figure out where the funny was coming from, then get input from Darren and the rest of the class. Now we have a week to fine-tune a few of those that had a lot of potential, and we'll see next week how they're fleshing out.

There are plenty of scenes I could tell you about, but I won't because I don't know yet which ones are going to end up in the show and I don't want to ruin the surprise for you. But the good news is, we could've just kept the scenes we created last night and made an awesome show from them - and yet, we still have 3 more writing sessions to come up with even more, better, funnier material. So be sure and get your tickets (they go on sale at the website on Sunday, October 14) or you will be sad. The show runs for 2 nights, and seating is limited.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Well, It Made Sense to Me

I don't usually remember my dreams. I don't know if that makes me a psychopath or what, but it is what it is. However, the dreams I do remember are the unpleasant ones. Not always nightmares; just not unicorns-and-sparkles happy.

What the heck does this have to do with improv? is the question I think you're mouthing at this moment.

Okay, I'ma tell you. See, sometimes I have dreams involving my real friends, only in my dreams they are real jerks. Then I wake up in the morning and I'm real mad at my real friends... except they didn't technically do anything wrong. So now I'm stuck being mad at people for reasons known only to me, which makes it hard for them to understand why I'm not acting like my usual cheery self. What? I'm cheery, dammit.

This happens all the time in improv. Not the sleeping and having bad dreams part, but the part where one person is happy/sad/angry/paranoid/admiring/flirtatious/whatever for reasons known only to them. We're so used to cutting to the chase, that we often neglect to tell every step in the story. But in improv, you have to spell it all out.

I used the socks on the line story once before, but it's a good example and it doesn't make anybody look bad except me, so I'll use it again. The scene was nursing home residents watching a woman hanging out laundry. Andy noted the lady was hanging up a single sock. Viet mentioned that I was mean and yet clung desperately to anyone I could find.

In my head, the lone sock was a perfect analogy for this bitter old woman who didn't have a mate but who clung to people like socks without fabric softener. And I thought the bitter old woman would wonder why the sock had to be lonely, so I said, "What's the deal with the one sock?" or something along those lines. The whole analogy about my life = a solitary sock with static cling got trapped in my head, so it looked like I wasn't interested in those awesome labels of loneliness and bitterness and clingyness, and just wanted to talk about socks.

Much like Vegas, what happens in your head stays there. People you've dreamed about don't know they left you at the restaurant and stuck you with the bill. People in improv scenes don't know you've made eleven leaps of logic and are now stabbing them even though what they said was, "You're always trying to make friends with people through food."

That line or two it takes to justify the emotional change or the information you're giving makes all the difference in terms of the scene making sense and your partner knowing what's going on inside your noggin. So just spell it out.

As for Nate and Darren, you owe me lunch.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

No Robot Improv

I am so glad you are reading this blog, at your computers here in your living rooms on earth because you enjoy improv, my friends who are not strangers to me.

If you've done improv more than once, you know what I'm talking about. If not, I assure you I haven't lost my marbles.

There's something that happens to people when they do improv scenes (or exercises like add info lineup) that causes their brains to forget how actual humans converse. In an effort to get out the who/what/where/relationship information at the beginning of a scene - which I applaud and encourage wholeheartedly - the words sometimes become stilted, inorganic and downright robotic.

We did exercises in last week's Level 3 classes that focused on getting out all that info in just two lines... while talking like fully functioning adult human beings. I noticed two interesting things while watching 25 or so attempts at this in add info lineup.

1. First, the person who had the first line automatically took their time doing some spacework, getting into an emotional state and connecting with their scene partner while trying to figure out how to talk like a normal person. In that time, they were able to connect with their partners, and the audience got a chance to see something building (often something hilarious, just based on the physicality) before the dialogue started.
2. And second, by getting out that information in an organic way, practically every pairing got to a "big what" by the end of the second line. I've watched and played in tons of scenes that NEVER got to a big what. So for the vast majority to get to the reason "today is the big day" in only two lines is amazing.

You know how I roll, so you have probably guessed that I have an opinion as to why this is so. And yes, I'ma share it with you now.

I think it's because, instead of just blurting out facts in a robotic fashion, speaking organically by its very nature includes our feelings about things. Feelings about things = labels. Labels = stepping stones to the big what. So saying, "I appreciate you letting me move back home after I lost my job, mom. But it's Friday night, and I'd really rather be out with my friends instead of washing dishes with you," is chock full of both facts and feelings. And when the other person says, "Gosh, Donna, I thought this would be a good time for us to reconnect and relive all the great times we've had together in this kitchen," we know that these two are NOT on the same page and this is the big day it's all going down. Yay! Two lines, a big what, and all because they spoke like regular people.

The good news is, we can all do that because we're all regular people and, uh, being regular people by definition requires no special skills.

You're welcome.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Eye Contact: Good. Sonnjea's Brain: Bad.

Eye contact is a tricky thing. Not enough, and people will think you're a shifty-eyed-lying-used-car-salesman type. Too much, and people will get a restraining order. It's even trickier in improv, where it's the main mechanism for getting two or more people out of their own heads and onto the same page.

Researchers have done studies on the involuntary eye movements people make when they are thinking. Looking up or down, left or right, all serve a purpose in terms of accessing information stored in our brains. For example, I was just stuck for a word, and I looked up and to the left. Which is, you know, the spot on my wall where I keep lists of words. But that's a whole other thing.

The problem, as it applies to improv, is that when I look anywhere in an attempt to access information in my brain, I am only looking IN MY BRAIN. Those of you who know me realize what a small place that is to look. But even if my brain held as much information as Albert Einstein, it's a crappy place to look for improv-y information.

Looking in your own brain is a recipe for sticking to an agenda. Sorry, you can argue with me till the cows come home and couch it in whatever terms you like, but you won't convince me otherwise. If you think the information in your head (your agenda) is what you need, you're not trusting the process to provide the information that the scene needs.

The only way to connect with your scene partner(s) and let go of your agenda is to look them square in the eyes and take time to let that connection form. Then you aren't looking in YOUR brain and they aren't looking in THEIR brain, but you are both looking in the UNIFIED brain you've magically created.

I honestly don't know if there have been studies on this type of magical eye contact or not. Speaking as a person who had to work very hard to learn to make eye contact, I can attest to the almost indescribable difference it makes in improv. Honestly, just in the comfort level alone, it's worth it - if you're ever feeling alone and exposed onstage, make eye contact with your partner. Bam! Now you're not one of X number of people on stage, you are part of a larger collective with the same goals and objectives.

Well, now it just sounds creepy and Borg-y. But I think you get my point. Eye contact: good.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Which Came First: the Chicken or the Self-Esteem?

I have reasonably high self-esteem, in case you were wondering. Whatever. Self-esteem, like confidence, is more of an inner state of being than a reflection of actual, tangible achievements.

Yes, yes. This is going to be about improv, I swear.

First, and most obvious, is that improv can help improve self-esteem. When you discover you aren't constrained by made-up limits or afraid of being in the gray area of not knowing, it builds your self-esteem and confidence.

Second, and something I just learned, is that improv can help you identify those areas where your self-esteem is lacking. Friggin' yay.

The against type exercise on Friday got me to do some deep thinking about why "sexy" is so frequently against type for me (although this time they went with the more generic "girly girl"). The truth is, I don't do sexy characters because I just don't see myself that way. And yes, I get that it's a character. And no, I don't see myself as a swamp-dwelling redneck, or a cavewoman or most of the other characters I've played in improv. So what's the deal with the sexy thing?

Then I remembered what Eddie Cardoza said to me in 7th grade. I've received worse insults since then, but I've never forgotten his. He said, "You look like you traded legs with a chicken and lost your ass in the deal." In his defense, that was a fairly accurate description. But when you are a weirdly skinny, gangly adolescent with too-long limbs and no boobs, the no-ass/chicken leg assessment hits a little too close to home to laugh off.

And I realized that some part of my self-perception hasn't progressed since that time, and the idea of the no-ass/chicken leg chick trying to pull off sexy would just be so far-fetched that a) there's no point in making the audience work that hard, and b) if they did laugh, it would be because they were laughing AT me (and not in the good way.)

ARGHHHH. When it just seemed like I preferred other types of characters and was content to leave sexy to those more qualified to play it, I was okay with the choice. Now that I see it's a subconscious limit I've placed on myself and that I don't do it because I don't have any particular self-esteem in that area, I have no choice but to bust through it. So, great... one more thing to add to my to-do list. That's how it is with improv, you know. You learn that you don't have to live with limitations, which means if you are living with limitations it's because you've chosen to. I don't choose to.

Ready to bust through YOUR limitations? H2g improv classes are starting at the end of October - sign up soon, cuz they always fill up!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Yep, You Had to Be There

My brain is toast. It's been a long week of thinking and working hard, and I'm all epiphanied out. So instead of nuggets of improv-y wisdom, today I'll just leave you with some highlights of stuff that happened in various classes this week:

Tracy: I can't eat pork, it's Yom Kippur!
Leon: So? We've been out of Jewish for 10 years.

Antonio: It's against regulations to share personal information. Zodiac stuff is ok.

Kevin: This ain't for sale.

Emily: I showed my friends. They said it's just a rash.

Michelle: Call 1-800-555-Eat-Poison.

Richard: Do it!!

Aimee: I don't have fancy cocktails glasses.
Barbi: Well, what kind do you have?
Aimee: I have sippy cups.

Suzanne: I'm Detroit. I will fuck you up.

I know. You had to be there. But thinking about the scenes those lines came from still makes me giggle. I guess you'll have to take my word for it. Or you could sign up for an improv class of your own and see what all the giggling is about. New classes start in October!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Mix Up Your Improv Muscles

I had an epiphany literally 13.5 seconds ago, and now I am all aflutter to share that epiphany with you. You're welcome.

Lately, everyone in the brand-new Held2gether Level 3 improv class seems to have really broken through some obstacles and taken their improv to a whole new level. Most of us have been in classes together on and off for anywhere from 6 months to 3.5 years, and certainly I have seen tremendous progress over that time period, in myself and in my classmates. So this current leap isn't entirely a new concept; however, it's unique in that it seems to be applicable across the board. So it's not like I'm having a breakthrough while somebody else is struggly. It's like we're ALL on the upswing.

And I have figured out why. No, really.

It's because Darren has started giving us a bunch of new exercises. They're not really any harder than what we've been doing throughout our time in Level 2, and they don't actually introduce new skills or concepts. They're just different. And that's all it took.

You know how when you exercise, you're supposed to mix up your workouts to keep your muscles from getting used to a set routine and to help get better overall results? It's like that. We were starting to know what exercises to expect in each week of class. So even if it wasn't a conscious decision, there was an element of "oh, I gotta remember to have big emotion tonight" or "yep, gonna be justifying stuff today, better be ready to think." Without noticing it, our improv muscles were getting lazy and complacent. Now, we have no idea what's coming next. Our improv muscles are confused and can't predict what they're going to have to do in any given class. So we're ready to bring everything, rather than just trot out a particular skill.

I suppose I could explain how the same is true in real life - how you can have a better overall experience by not doing the same ol' thing, day in and day out, and how you can get more out of everything by pushing yourself in new and different ways. Oh. Looks like I just did. Guess that's just how I roll.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Let's Get Physical

It occurred to me that one thing I've never really written about here is physicality in improv. My bad. It's definitely time to get physical.

Whether it's changing your physical appearance and posture, moving around the stage, or literally getting physical with your scene partners, physicality is an important component of improv that gets overlooked sometimes. But in terms of committing fully to a character and an emotion, physicality can often be the part that makes it all believable.

If your character is angry, we want to see that anger throughout your body - not just in your face or your words. We want the clenched fists, the aggressive stance, we want it all. If you're in a war, we want to see you lugging a rifle or creeping across the stage on your belly. If you're having an intense exchange with your partner, we want you to touch each other the way people do in whatever that situation is: have a shoving match, stroke their hair, grab their arm.

It makes sense to most people that in order to be a different character, they would stand differently. But that also means they will walk (or shuffle, or crawl, or dance or whatever) differently. They'll talk differently. This week, I saw amazing commitment in both Level 1 improv classes, and part of what elevated the commitment to the realm of "amazing" was the bold physicality people embraced.

And yes, I realize you have to have a lot of trust in order to hang all over your scene partner or fling your entire body at them in a Dirty Dancing attempt at a lift. At Held2gether, we do our best to create an encouraging, safe, supportive environment that helps build trust between students and allows them to push themselves out of the comfort zone of "normal" physicality.

Because you know what? Normal is totally overrated. Just sayin'.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Let's Talk About Shutting Up

My friend and troupemate Richard Bojorquez asked me to write about the art of shutting up, and I think shutting up is really something that can't be talked about too much. So I'm happy to oblige.

In improv, there is a tendency to rush to fill every gap in dialogue with more dialogue. It's natural; there is something inherently scary about dead air, and improvisers are often fearful of boring their audience with "nothingness." But their mistake is in thinking that silence is "nothingness."

Think of all the powerful things that can be conveyed in silence. Your expression, your body language, your anger/joy/despair/whatever all have a chance to emerge and percolate and grow if you aren't rushing to speak. Stare down your opponent. Gaze at your partner with awe. Let your face crumple with grief. There is so much power in NOT speaking, and it gives the audience a chance to catch up with you and be with you in that moment of transition. It also gives YOU a chance to let something matter and to decide what to say and do next.

In real life, we don't rush to fill those gaps. If we need to take a moment to formulate our thoughts, we do so without freaking out. Of course, in improv you need trust in order to be comfortable with silence: you have to trust that you will know what to say when it's time to say it, you have to trust your scene partner to also be comfortable with the silence and not talk over it, and you have to trust the intelligence of the audience to be willing to let you play the scene for real.

Aimee and I did a scene in a show where I labeled her character as having trouble spitting out a sentence. She could've argued the point, and I could've belabored it. But instead, I said it and she listened and we waited - and that extra silence was hilarious AND proved my character's point about her character's inability to speak well.

By taking that time, you build the excitement and suspense, and the audience loves that intensity. Just blabbing constantly takes away the mystery and speeds everything up too much - so even when the scene is hilarious, it's not as satisfying as it could have been (for the players OR for the audience.)

Like everything else in improv (and life), being comfortable with silence takes practice. But when you get the hang of it, you'll see how cool it is and how much it adds to your scenes. Less really is more sometimes.

Except when it comes to food. Then less is just less, and I do not approve.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Performance Anxiety

All right. If the handcuffs thing is any indication, I tell you all everything anyway, so I might as well share my latest reason for being all angsty: It's performing in improv shows where the majority of the audience is students. You know. Improv students. Whom I teach.

That's a lot of pressure. I mean, there's pressure whenever I perform anyway because I always want to do the best improv I can and give the audience a great show. But when the audience is made up of students, there are different levels of pressure. Sure, I'll enumerate them for you. Duh. That's how I roll, people.

1. Students who have been taking classes for awhile know the rules of improv by now. I don't want to be one of those "do as I say, not as I do" people, so I'm extra conscious of the rules when I perform. That's silly and puts undue pressure on myself because I'm not much of an improv rule breaker in the first place: I don't ask questions or go for the joke, I'm not sarcastic (no, really), and I never deny. I'd be better off not worrying about the rules and just focusing on being in the moment and making everything matter. Duh.
2. Students who are pretty new and don't know the rules yet still have the notion that whoever gets the biggest laughs must have done the best improv. Not true, and yet when new students are present I feel pressure to "be funny." That's like, I dunno, death in an improv scene. My job as an improviser is to give my partner the best information and emotional reactions I can to build a scene. Someone has to be the straight person in a scene, and I happen to be a really good straight person. That means the other person often gets the bigger laughs. So what? Did the scene work? Then I did my job.
3. Students who have signed up and haven't had any classes yet sometimes watch the performers and assume whoever had the best show must be the best teacher. This is wrong on a couple fronts. First, any given night any of my troupemates may have the "best" show, because we're all good improvisers (although when the show really works is when the audience can't pinpoint who was the best because we all worked together seamlessly as a cohesive unit.) Second, teaching a skill is not the same as doing it. Whether or not I have an awesome show doesn't alter the fact that I understand improv and how to teach it to others and help them get better at it. Third, none of my troupemates currently teaches improv classes, so that automatically gives me a leg up. LOL.

Don't get me wrong: I love to perform, and I love that our students come out to see our shows. I just have a little performance anxiety at the moment is all. So, uh, thanks for letting me give myself a public pep talk here. Anyway, if I can remember what I tell my students (namely to be in the moment, let go of trying to be funny and just commit), then I will do awesome improv and have nothing to feel anxious about.

I hate it when I have to take my own advice.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

I Don't Mind Handcuffs

This was labeling week in the Held2gether Level 1 improv classes, and we spent some time talking about the awesomeness of loser labels. Naturally, I explained that you want to embrace those labels rather than defend yourself against them, as you might in real life. In fact, any label that gives you specific character traits that you can run with is a HUGE gift and should be relished!

Later on, I was critiquing an exercise in which someone had labeled someone else as carrying handcuffs. The label didn't quite work with what had preceded it, and I wanted to explain why. So I started my sentence with, "I don't mind handcuffs..." then I trailed off a bit to formulate the rest of my thought.

The class didn't wait to find out what the rest of the thought was. They got a huge kick out of my half-sentence and joked about me labeling myself and how popular I must be and whatever. I was embarrassed (complete with blushing), but I took my own improv advice and didn't argue against the handcuffs label.

Obviously, in class I need to explain improv concepts intelligently and demonstrate skills clearly. But improv class is about doing stuff that pushes you out of your comfort zone and often that means students feel embarrassed when they try things - so why shouldn't they get to see me be embarrassed once in awhile too?

There's no real point to this post, except to say that embarrassing yourself with a bunch of awesome people in an H2G improv class is about the most fun you can have. You know, without handcuffs.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

It's All Fun and Games till Someone Doesn't Pick Up on the Sarcasm

Sometimes I have been known to be a wee bit sarcastic. No, really. I know that probably comes as a shock to three of you, but it's true. It's not a particularly great trait in real life, and it's a downright bad trait in improv. Here's why:

And there's always a 99% chance that someone won't pick up on the sarcasm. It's not because they're dumb, either. It's because when you're sarcastic, you are a) saying the opposite of what you mean, b) being subtle and/or c) being snarky to the person you're talking to (or about).

In real life, it can be difficult to figure out if someone is being sarcastic or not when they say the opposite of what they mean. Add to that inherent difficulty the stress of trying to create a scene out of thin air with another person (or people) who have their own ideas, and there's an excellent chance somebody will not pick up on the sarcasm. Then you have at least one person doing the scene based on what you literally said, and at least one person doing the scene based on the opposite of that. Ugh. Even if all the players "get it," there's still an excellent chance many people in the audience will have missed the sarcasm. So in improv, we don't say the opposite of what we mean. We just say what we mean and call everything out in no uncertain terms.

In improv, we also don't do subtle; there just isn't time. You have a few short minutes to complete an entire scene, so you have to put everything right out there for the audience and your scene partner to see. Being coy or subtle often requires your scene partner to guess at what you mean and usually takes 3 or 4 lines to get out what could have been said in 1. Just get there! The other problem with subtle is it can frequently lead to casual, and casual is another thing that doesn't work in improv. Everything has to matter. A LOT!! Big and bold is a much better choice than subtle and casual.

Finally, don't waste effort being snarky. Be enraged, furious, devastated, homicidal, disgusted or downright hateful. Snarky is a "kinda" emotion (ie, kinda bitchy, kinda mad, kinda irritated) and there's no kinda in improv.

If you're always thinking in terms of making choices that GIVE your partner something solid to work with, you'll see right away that sarcasm isn't gonna be the optimal choice. In improv, I mean.

Oh, all right. In life, too.

By Sonnjea Blackwell