Improv and Cold Medication

I have misplaced my voice. I hate to use the word "lost" because I sincerely hope I find it again. Kinda hard to do improv if I can't say words. Naturally, this comes a couple days before a HUGE, sold-out show that requires me not only to use my vocal chords, but use them in a variety of ways as different characters.

I used to get laryngitis a lot when I was a kid. I'm sure it made my parents happy on some level, because I was quite the talker, and a bout of laryngitis for Sonnjea meant the other kids got a chance to speak. But I've never lost my voice before as an adult.

Dear god, why is she telling us this? I know; I blame the cold medication. Hell, you should see the Draw Something picture I just sent to Nate. They should put "do not operate gaming apps" warnings on cold remedies. I'm pretty sure no one with a terrible cold is eager to operate heavy machinery anyway, so that warning is pretty much pointless. But the cold remedy companies could do the whole world a big service if they would discourage cold-medication-induced ramblings and doodlings.

So. The thing is, I'm worried because I have class tomorrow that I really don't want to miss. I'm sad enough that I'm missing class tonight, but I consider a car heavy machinery. I can't strain my voice in class because I need it to be as strong as possible for the show on Sunday. At first, I thought I would sit out of exercises and learn by watching. But I think I will instead challenge myself to add as much information as I can non-verbally by doing really specific spacework, having huge emotional reactions and staying really connected with my scene partner. And, you know, grunting. So hopefully I'll get a lot of caveman suggestions. Or NASCAR.

I'll speak when I have to, but I bet I'm going to discover that dialogue is overused and I can get by pretty well on minimal talkiness. I'll let you know how it goes.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Sparkly Is an Emotion

I haven't mentioned the unicorns lately, and it occurred to me that you might be worried about them. Except that would be silly, because unicorns are immortal and they never get sick or sad.

That's why, much as I love unicorns, they could never do improv. Unicorns are always sparkly and happy, and they are incapable of meanness or sadness or any negative emotion. Duh. Please don't argue with me on this one, people.

So in an improv scene, they are never able to make an emotional change. They smile and sparkle, regardless of the information you give them. It's wonderful in real life, but it doesn't make for a great improv scene. Luckily, unicorns don't really want to do improv. They know that humans need it more, so they are happy to just watch and give awesome suggestions, like "making rainbows" for an activity.

Humans, on the other hand, are designed to experience a whole broad range of emotions. But it seems that most of us have certain emotions we're more comfortable expressing than others, at least in front of people who don't happen to be ourselves. Back in the day, when we would do against type exercises, they would have me be anything but bitchy, because that was my go-to emotion. Then I became so nice that in a subsequent class, they had me do mean because they'd never seen that bitch character. Lately they want to see me do "flirty," which doesn't technically qualify as an emotion, if you ask me.

But if you think of the whole wide spectrum of emotions, there are a lot to choose from. Angry, happy and sad are the usual suspects - and a great place to start, but there are also things like paranoid, terrified, condescending, giddy, ecstatic, distraught, grief-stricken, flirty, curmudgeonly, superior... I think you get my point.

Like anything else in improv, your emotion comes down to making a choice. Decide at the top of the scene that you are going to start in a heightened emotional state of [enter an emotion that makes you uncomfortable here], and see where that takes you. Of course, you'll have a change at some point in the scene, based on the information you and your partner come up with, and that might take you to another emotion you're unfamiliar with. Don't worry about it or judge how superior or giddy or whatever is "supposed" to look - just make a choice and commit to it, and you're more than 1/2 way there.

Now I'm off to smile and sparkle with the unicorns. What? I can totally do sparkly, peeps.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Nice and Sneaky

I have gotten some incredibly nice compliments from students recently, saying that the way I critique their scenes in the intro to improv class is "encouraging, yet instructive," "lovingly constructive" and "sneaky."

Yeah, I needed a little explanation on that last one as well. Turns out, they meant that I say something nice, then sneak in the constructive criticism, then say something else nice.

First of all, thank you for the lovely feedback. It's nice to know I'm not a total fuck up.

Secondly, I really have to pass those thanks on to Darren and my mother. I learned from being critiqued by Darren 1 million times, give or take, that you hear the bad stuff much better if you've been buttered up first. And I learned from my mom that if I don't have anything nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all. Which I always thought was just silly, because I have to talk sometimes. Sheesh.

Anyway. I've studied improv at other places, and they aren't all like Held2gether. Since our focus is the whole improv for life thing, we really aim to make improv as fun and enjoyable as it can possibly be while still keeping in mind that it is a class, and people are paying us to teach them stuff. That means we tell you what worked in every scene or exercise, as well as what didn't. And if you got up on the stage and opened your mouth, well then, that's one success right there. Yay!

Of course, learning any new skill involves some frustrations, and we're not promising otherwise. Hell, I'm frustrated in just about every class I take. I'm not a big fan of failing, FYI. I'm a HUGE fan of being willing to fail, but the actual failing kinda sucks. The fact that I'm frustrated when I fail is a good sign - it means that I'm still trying, that I still want to get better, that I will prove I can do this.

So we'll continue to be encouraging, constructive and sneaky - but I hope we're a bit frustrating from time to time as well. You're welcome.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Tip: TMI

I'm sick and tired. Not of anything. I'm just sayin', I'm sick and I'm tired. I'm using the neti pot like it's going out of style, and I had pho that was so spicy it made my eyelids sweat in an attempt to sweat out the germs.

More than you needed to know, I suppose. Which is - surprise! - the topic of my post today.

I have noticed in Add Info exercises in H2G improv classes that people sometimes overcompensate. In an effort to get out their assigned portion of the who/what/where/relationship quadrangle, they will spew everything under the sun in their opening line. Like this:

Roger, my brother, thank you so much for spending this afternoon in my living room, helping me make the decorations for Mom and Dad's 50th wedding anniversary, even though we have been estranged for 7 years and only recently reconnected through Facebook.

Wow. You have basically just had an entire scene with yourself.

Of course, adding information is important, both in an Add Info exercise and in a scene. But you also want to remember the give-and-take. And the letting go of your agenda. And, I dunno, the fact that there is another person on stage with you.

Exercises are designed to achieve certain objectives, so even if it's possible for you to add all the who/what/where/relationship information totally organically in your opening line, that's not always the goal. Sometimes the goal of the exercise is to layer info with your partner. Or really focus and be aware of everything you're saying. Or be forced to give up your agenda. Or match the other person. Or simply to follow instructions.

The good news is, there will always be another chance to do a great Add Info, because Add Info is one of the fundamental drills of improv and we do it all the time. I've heard people say they get bored doing the same exercises over and over. I say, if you're bored, you aren't doing them right... because in improv, nothing is the same over and over.

Anyway, it's time for me to take some echinacea and have a nap, and perhaps eat a little snack in a while - I'm thinking grilled cheese and tomato soup. Oh. Wait. You didn't need that information.

My bad.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Monkeys Do Not Equal Improv

I think about improv a lot. Even more than unicorns. Weird, right?

Partly it's so I understand things better for myself, and partly it's so I can explain things better to my students and random passers-by who are unfortunate enough to find themselves in my vicinity for longer than 30 seconds or so.

This time I was thinking about rules. People always want to know when they can break the rules. The simple answer is, "When you stop wanting to break the rules." But that's not overly helpful.

The more explainy answer is that when you understand the rules so well, that breaking them is a conscious choice in order to achieve a very specific goal, you can break them. Until that point, there is no good rationale for breaking the rules.

People get particularly perturbed by the following rules:

1. Don't be sarcastic
2. Don't go for the joke, and
3. Don't ask questions.

But let's think about this... why do people want to break those rules so badly? Mostly because those are things that we do frequently in real life, so they just come out. And people get frustrated since that's simply how they are and, after all, frequently those things get laughs.

But improv is a game, and games have rules. Naturally, learning to play by the rules is a challenge, but it's also part of the fun. If you don't rise to the challenge, you will only progress so far in improv. But when you challenge yourself to respond honestly instead of sarcastically, you give your partner something to build on. When you avoid the easy one-liner, you add information to the scene and impress the audience, who will love that you didn't take the easy way out with an obvious joke. When you make statements instead of asking questions, you add labels that you and your partner can work with to create a complex and hilarious scene.

Yes, you can get laughs by breaking the rules. Monkeys at the zoo frequently get laughs as well. But we don't call it improv.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv: Risky Business

I was reminded recently by someone who may have meant well, that improv is all about taking risks. And, I'll just add, so is any art form. Like writing blogs. Or you know, "real" art like painting or sculpting or miming.

Part of what makes art risky is that people all have different tastes and different values that color the way in which they view the art, making it literally impossible to please all of the people all of the time. And when people aren't pleased by your art, they don't reward you in the way you'd hoped - with applause or rave reviews or huge sums of money.

What makes improv even riskier than many other forms of artistic expression is that it is created in the moment, with no opportunity to edit clunky phrasing or paint over the ugly patches or mash up the clay and start again. You have one chance to get it "right," so to speak, and when you're done, you're done.

In class, of course, students can explain what their thought process was and the instructor can explain how things went awry. In a performance, you don't have that luxury. If the audience doesn't laugh, you don't get to stand up on the stage and explain to them why the scene was actually funny or where they missed your point.

But - and this is actually the point of my post today, in case you'd begun to wonder if I had one - who cares? I mean, really, who friggin' cares what random people you don't even know think? Sure, if nobody laughs, it probably means you have some room to improve and you can proceed accordingly. But the fact is, you pushed yourself out of your comfort zone, you created something out of nothing and you put it out there for everyone to see. YAY YOU!!

That's what I love about improv, for the record: it teaches you to be bold and brave and do things you never thought you could do. Held2gether improv classes are wonderfully encouraging, safe and supportive places to learn to just DO it. Soon you become comfortable trying stuff and taking bigger and bolder risks in the real world as well, and you learn not to freak out when people don't always love what you do.

They say if you want big rewards, you gotta take big risks. I say, being able to take big risks IS the big reward. Sure, you can quote me.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Yep, I Struggle

I was venting to Lisa about improv the other day, as I am wont to do from time to time when I'm going through an improv crisis.

The issue this time was my struggle with having a variety of different, big characters. Which is pretty much the issue every time. Only this time, I felt particularly constrained because I often work out my frustrations via Facebook and this blog, and I suddenly felt I couldn't do that anymore.

Why? you may well wonder, since I've never been one to be particularly bashful about saying whatever I want here in Blogville.

Well, I'ma tell you.

I developed this notion that, since I'm teaching improv, I had to maintain a sense of "I know what the heck I'm doing, peeps" so as not to lose credibility with students and potential students.

And you know what? I do know what I'm doing. I can break down an improv scene and tell you why rules exist and help you know when and why you should have an emotional change and on and on and on. Because all those things are the intellectual aspects of improv, and I can intellectualize improv with the best of 'em.

But doing improv is the opposite of intellectualizing. It's letting go of agendas and preconceived ideas and just everything and being totally in the moment. And sometimes, even the best improvisors struggle. Because if you never struggle, you never grow. Going with what you're good at all the time means you are never pushing yourself, never trying new things, never taking risks. And you can't get better at improv if you never do those things.

So I'm going back to not being shy about my struggles. They're nothing to be embarrassed about, for one thing. And more importantly, I want my students to push and go big and take risks - and that means they are going to struggle sometimes. I think it's important for them to realize I struggle sometimes too.

And then I get up, text Lisa, write a blog post and try again. And soon enough, the thing that was a struggle isn't so struggly anymore.

You know, it's like that in real life too. Just throwin' that out there.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Tip: We're Not Mind-Readers

I can't read your minds, people. I know sometimes it seems like my skills know no bounds, but honestly, telepathy isn't one of them. That's important to remember in real life, as well as in improv.

Sometimes a scene will go kind of wonky, and when we discuss it after the fact, it turns out that the improvisor had something very specific in mind, but somehow failed to communicate the information to their scene partner(s). Often, they are surprised that what they imagined wasn't perfectly clear to everyone else in the room.

I totally get that. For example, we did a show last night that went GREAT. No surprise there, since we are damn funny most of the time. We tried out a new game called Old Coots, that was a big hit as well - it's 3 old geezers watching something going on and commenting on it and each other. In this case, we were 3 nursing home residents watching a neighbor hang out her laundry. The scene was going well, and Andy added a bit about the woman hanging up just one sock, then commented about my bad attitude. Viet added a great line about me being crotchety and mean and lonely - and clinging on to any men I could find.

I loved those labels. And I thought it was a perfect analogy for the lone sock - this lonely old bitter woman who doesn't have a mate, but clings to people the way socks cling to other laundry when you forget to use fabric softener.

That's what was in my head. But even though I am usually the Queen of Information, all that info didn't come out. What came out was, "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 stuck in my head.

So instead of taking those awesome labels and adding information to them that tells us more about this character, it looks like I just wanted to change the subject and talk about socks. Bitter old ladies are interesting; socks are not. Just sayin'.

That's why it's really important in improv scenes to SPELL IT OUT. My scene partners didn't know what was in my head, so they couldn't really build that part of the scene. The moment had passed, so I had to let it go as well and continue on with whatever we had now.

Let's just say we're talking about real life now, instead of improv. Turns out, in real life, people can't read your mind either. So rather than getting mad at your partner, boss, kids and parents for not knowing what you meant, try just saying exactly what's inside your head.

Oh, and if you want help learning to listen and respond in the moment, saying what you mean, try taking a H2G improv class. I really mean that.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Tips: Adding Information

Turns out, there are plenty of ways of adding information to an improv scene without speaking. Anything that tells us something about you, where you are and/or what you're doing technically equals information, and that can come from spacework, emotion, using the stage, discovering things and having a character... and all of that can come before you've ever said a word.

That's a whole lotta information, when you think about it.

Let's say, for example, I have none of those things. Sadly, then I am just Sonnjea standing on a stage with another, rather unfortunate, person.

If I do spacework, though, you know what I'm doing (or at least you have an idea of what I'm doing - I'm not exactly the queen of fabulous spacework). Maybe I'm fishing because that's the spacework I learned in improv school. Swell. Now I'm Sonnjea fishing.

If I start sobbing, you start to get a sense of my frame of mind. You still don't know why I'm sad, but you know I am fishing and I am sad. Yay.

If I set down my fishing pole and walk over and start to build a fire while I'm sobbing, you can start to picture our location a little more. Fishing would imply a body of water, and with the fire, it's starting to look like maybe a campsite.

(Naturally, all of these things will be called out in no uncertain terms when the dialogue comes because "imply" is not a verb we ever want to do in improv.)

Maybe I open an ice chest to grab a ham sandwich and find a map! I can start unfolding the map, and perhaps I sob even more.

And maybe I've done all these things with a pinched-up face and a waddle. That in itself doesn't make a character, but they are character traits that will be added to this character's point of view, which will become clear through dialogue.

Of course, while I've been doing all this, my scene partner hasn't just been standing around being rather unfortunate. No! They've been doing their own spacework and having an emotion and moving with purpose and maybe discovering something and displaying some kind of physical trait.

There's a tendency in improv scenes to rush into the talking. And sure, you have to get to the talking eventually. But by building up layers of information nonverbally first, you and your scene partner have a chance to really connect and work together to create an entire world in which to set your 3-minute story. Then, when you do speak, you can get right to your relationship and the big what.

And that, I'm told, is somewhat more entertaining than watching just Sonnjea standing on a stage with another, rather unfortunate, person.

I know, weird.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Tips: The Art of Listening

Sometimes I have trouble coming up with ideas for blog topics, and today was one of those days. So I texted Lisa, and she said, "Have you written about the art of listening lately?" To which I replied, "What'd you say?"

Learning to listen in improv is difficult for many people, which should come as no surprise since the "art of listening" in the real world is rapidly becoming a lost art.

Here are some examples of what listening is not:

• Waiting semi-patiently for the other person to stop speaking so you can say what you're itching to say.
• Hearing - maybe even paying attention to - what the other person is saying, but not retaining it.
• Watching the other person's lips move while you mentally rearrange the furniture in the room, edit your grocery list or think of creative ways to maim your boss.

Most people are guilty of some of these things, in varying degrees, from time to time.

In improv, it becomes instantly clear when you haven't been listening. You don't know what to agree with if you haven't been listening. The information you add does not connect to what came previously if you haven't been listening. All the commitment in the world won't help you if your huge emotional reaction makes no sense because you haven't been listening.

So how do you get better at listening? Like this:

1. Be totally in the moment. Forget your agenda (ie, what you're dying to say) and put all of your focus on what the other person is saying.
2. Process the person's information so that you are taking it in, rather than just hearing it. Mentally translate their information into "What that means is..." statements so you understand their meaning.
3. See #1.

You can feel it when you are shoe-horning something into an improv scene to satisfy your agenda. It feels awkward and clunky, and the scene doesn't work. After a few (hundred) times, having a successful scene becomes more important to you than sticking with an agenda, and you start to really listen.

If you challenge yourself to respond to the very last thing your partner said, you will have no choice but to hang on their every word, listening for the meaning and then coming up with a response in the moment.

And, um, I'm pretty sure that applies in real world scenarios as well as improv. Just sayin'.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Tip: The Big What

Back in the 90s there was this little TV show called Seinfeld that was, ostensibly, about nothing. Of course, that's not entirely accurate because if it had actually been just 4 people sitting at a booth in a diner literally doing nothing, I think NBC might have cancelled it a bit sooner.

But though they weren't exactly nothing, the show's themes did usually deal with really mundane, boring, day-to-day things we all deal with: parking, idiots at the car rental counter, soup, muffins, shrinkage. Okay, we don't all deal with that last one.

I'm gonna tie this in to improv, I swear.

The thing is, most people found Seinfeld pretty damn funny. Which would seem to indicate that there is humor to be had in even ordinary, every day situations. You don't need zombie attacks or knifeplay in the bedroom or feline child surrogates to make a scene interesting.

What makes a scene interesting is finding out why today is the big day. What is happening between you two (or however many) right now that makes us want to watch you? In other words, what is the Big What in this scene?

• You've had it with your spouse losing the car in the parking garage, and you call her out on it.
• You've been coming to the same soup place for three years and you finally get the courage to ask the soup lady out on a date.
• You confess to your coworker at the car rental place that the reason the reservations are always effed up is because you are illiterate.

Any of those "big what"s will inevitably lead to some huge emotional reaction from your scene partner. And voîla! A scene!

And guess what? If your scene is kind of seriously about nothing and you can't figure out what the "big what" is, have an emotional reaction anyway! Just having a change of emotion will shift the gears and help you find something to make the scene about.

Why not try it? If I'm wrong, you can always become a zombie.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

To Get to the Other Side

The other day Andy, Co-Dependent asked me (rhetorically, I'm sure) why cats like to sleep in a basket of clean laundry. I replied, "To get to the other side."

What?!? I know it's lame, but it wasn't an improv scene, so I'm allowed to go for the joke if I want. Even if it's a bad one.

You'll see in a moment how my smart-assedness was repaid. Believe what they say about karma, people.

Anyway, today was the much-ballyhooed Toastmasters speech contest. I entered the Table Topics portion of the contest, which is where you get a question and talk about it for 1 minute. My friend and experienced Toastmaster Walt encouraged me by saying the goal of the first speech is "do not faint and do not die." I figured I could achieve those goals fairly easily, so I added a couple of my own: "Don't blush, don't stammer, don't get that weird quavery-voice-thing, don't freeze and, um, don't die." I figured in an emergency, I could take Lisa's "Marcia Brady" advice and picture everyone in their underwear.

So I drove over to the contest and I chatted with some of the people there and then we had our contestant briefing and drew numbers to see who would go first. I drew the first slot, and about 10 minutes later it was time for me to go do my Table Topic.

The Toastmaster introduced me, I shook his hand, people clapped and then he asked me the question. "Why did the chicken cross the road?"

I was honestly so delighted with that question, I could have gone on for an hour with the story of the chicken who saw what life had to offer but was afraid to take that leap of faith until finally, one day, he did and it was better than he'd ever imagined. But I didn't. I talked happily for about 1 1/2 minutes, without blushing, stammering, quavering, freezing, fainting or dying.

And I didn't have to picture anyone in their underwear. I mean, I did picture a couple of them that way, but that was just for fun. You know how I roll, people.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Team BS vs Solo BS

I entered a Toastmasters speech contest that's coming up tomorrow. After all, I've said my full name at three consecutive Toastmasters meetings, so that obviously qualifies me to enter a contest. I mean, duh.

I'm only entered in the Table Topics portion of the contest, which is where you get a question and talk about it, totally off-the-cuff, for 1 minute. Which is, you know, kind of what I do here in this blog every day except out loud. In front of strangers. And, um, out loud.

My more experienced Toastmasters friends have assured me that Table Topics is exactly like improv and that I'll do fine. They've followed up those kind words with helpful pointers, encouragement and reminders that I can bullshit about virtually any topic without batting an eyelash. They seem to think that last bit is a compliment.

The thing is, though, that Table Topics differs from improv in one critical way: improv is a team sport, whereas Table Topics is a solo event. Yes, I am the Queen of Information, and I love doing things like infomercial and kids show and the real truth in history, where I make up total crap on the spot. But in those, I am making up total crap on the spot WITH MY TEAMMATES.

There is strength in numbers, people, and I rely heavily on my teammates! Not just for moral support, but for the give and take, and for their contributions to the total crap we are making up, and for their energy and characters and everything. I'm all about the team - in improv, none of us is anything without the others. It's us, not any of the mes. If I were Stevie Nicks, I never would've left Fleetwood Mac. I don't have delusions of doing stand-up. When I do bizarre song-and-dance numbers for my family at the holidays, I make my sister do them with me. Personally, I even think sex is more fun with another person. That's just how I roll.

But as part of my commitment to pushing myself out of my comfort zone, I'm gonna give this solo stuff a shot. I'll let you know Friday how I did.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Tip: Do the Math!

I had dinner and drinks with Andy, Co-Dependent and Tracy, Co-Co-Dependent on Saturday, which is always about as much fun as a person can have while not technically doing improv. As will happen when you get a handful of improvisors together for more than 13 or 14 seconds, the topic of conversation veered towards improv. Then towards wine. C'mon, people, we're not totally one-note.

But back to the improv part of the convo. Tracy wondered why sometimes people can break rules and the scene still works, while other times people break rules and the scene feels as painful as Rush Limbaugh's idiotic ranting. We got into a whole discussion about trust and knowing how to break rules and with whom to break them, but when all was said and done, we agreed it boils down to percentages. Not being math people, we avoided the topic of fractions completely.

Theoretically, any rule - even the rule of agreement - can be broken without completely demolishing a scene. However, it's always (ALWAYS - not "almost always," not "usually," not "most of the time" - ALWAYS) a stronger choice to play by the rules. Every time you do a scene in improv, it is fraught with risks. Choosing to break a rule (or twenty) increases the risks. And yes, it's a choice. Nobody is forcing you to deny or ask questions or bail or go for a joke - like everything else in improv, breaking rules comes down to making choices.

You have such a short period of time to get to something important between your characters and have that develop into a hilarious scene that the audience loves - do yourself a favor and make the higher percentage choices; that is, the choices that have a better chance of paying off by adding information, building relationship and creating characters. Of course, there's always a chance it's not going to work anyway. That's part of the thrill of improv: you just don't know how it's going to turn out. But making the higher percentage choices is a way to hedge your bets.

It's also a way to give your scene partner the very best gifts possible. And remember, that's what you're supposed to be doing, after all. Your job is to give your scene partner the best labels, emotional reactions and information you can. If you are focused on doing that, you will be less tempted to make an easy, lower percentage choice. Maybe you're okay with that risk, but it's not fair to assume your scene partner is also okay with it. And yes, every once in a while breaking the rules pays off... but those aren't odds anybody would take if improv was a gambling sport.

It's a safe bet I'll be back tomorrow with a post that contains no references to math whatsoever. You're welcome.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Tip: Do It Like a Cowboy

We did an exercise called Emotional Store in the Intro to Improv class last Saturday. It's a game where you have a shopkeeper and two shoppers, and they have a short little transaction scene.

Please don't yell at me, people! It's an exercise. Of course I know transaction scenes and scenes involving strangers and scenes that include questions are not optimal improv scenes. I didn't just start doing this yesterday, you know.

The point of the exercise is to show how even a not-optimal scene, such as one with strangers asking questions and conducting a transaction, is improved by the addition of emotion. Duh.

So the players do the short scene. Then they run it again quickly, just to get their lines down. Then we get an emotion from the audience, and all 3 players adopt the same emotion and replay the exact same scene with this new HUGE emotion. The lines stay the same, but the spacework and movement can change.

It's often pretty damn funny, even though certain lines like, "I'll take the pink one cuz pink makes me giddy" don't work that well with an emotion like rage.

This week, I made sure we had time to do it once more - and this time, instead of an emotion, we got a movie or tv genre. And they redid the scene again, this time in the style of Western or spy movie or whatever.

What I like about the genre version is that, even the people who have a hard time showing emotion can usually commit to being a cowboy or a spy or a cop or a soap opera star or whatever, and those scenes are HILARIOUS.

I'm not a shrink, but having spent a little time with one (er, never mind), I think it's because some people have taught themselves to be stoic when it comes to expressing emotions. But there are no stigmas attached to being a cowboy or whatever, so people can totally commit.

Of course, the lesson here is really that if you can commit to being a cowboy, you can commit to being angry, or sad, or giddy or whatever because the commitment is the key, not the thing you are committing to. So don't overthink it when it comes to having a big emotional reaction! Just scream or laugh or cry or cower in fear or whatever - and if it helps, do it like a cowboy.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

I Have a But Problem

I have a but problem. That's with one "t," people. I mean, I suppose we could discuss the relative merits of my butt, but that would be a whole different blog.

Since this is an INNY award-nominated improv blog, we'll stick with my original idea.

Of course, everyone knows the first rule of improv is to yes, and everything. "And" adds information. It moves the scene forward. It allows for expansion, or more of something. "But," on the other hand, is a neutralizer. It qualifies what came before it, so rather than expanding on something, it narrows it. It stops or, at the very least, slows the forward momentum of a scene.

It can be a flat-out denial, or a less egregious but still agenda-driven redirection. It can also be a way to make things okay; ie, "Yes, I'm sleeping with your sister, BUT you slept with my brother first," or "Yes, I smashed your wedding cake, BUT it was an accident."

I watched the video from last Saturday's show, and while I thought the show overall was really strong, I was dismayed at the number of buts I threw out. None of them was a blatant denial, and none of them were agenda-y. I seem to be the type who uses but to make things better. It makes sense, since a big weakness of mine is being too casual, and not having high enough stakes. Probably because in real life, I do try to make things okay.

But making things okay in improv deflates the energy of the scene and makes things anything but okay. It's so hard to catch yourself saying things, but I'm going to make a concerted effort to catch my buts and turn them into, well, anything but buts.

Oy.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Writing Tip: StOp the MadNEss

Okay, we all know I'm particular about certain things, and most of those things have to do with improv. It's why Lisa commonly refers to me as an improv snob purist. But sometimes I have issues with other types of things, and even though this isn't technically a blog about those types of things, I have to vent somewhere.

You're welcome.

My issue this week? What the hell is it with people who capitalize random letters in their FB posts? LiKe thiS? Is it sOMe sEcREt CodE? Do they do that in their other writing, like love letters or office memos or suicide notes?

AttenTIOn SUrgiCAl StaFF:
THerE wiLl be a MAndATorY SCalpeL insPECtiOn at NOon TomORRow.
SmOOcheS, nURse MisSY

I'm sure nobody who reads this blog does that, because there is NO REASON FOR IT. And as improv teachers will tell you time and time again, if you can't justify something, you shouldn't do it. Period.

So please. StOp the MadNEss.

By Sonnjea Blackwell