Hello/Goodbye. But Hello Again!

Hello! Yes, it's been ages since I've posted anything. But don't worry, that's about to change!

But it's not going to change here. We're moving to WordPress, which means nothing much to you, but for us it means we can publish directly through our website. Which is as exciting as magical unicorns and rainbows. Or, you know, so I'm told.

Please come visit! Our new address is held2gether.com/blog, which is pretty easy to remember. Oh, and we don't need a housewarming gift. So no excuses.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Great Improvisors Are Taught

Usually when people find out that I teach improv, they are intrigued. I mean, sure, I get the occasional confused soul who thinks improv is standup and demands a joke, but usually people are interested in how a person learns improv. There is a broad misconception in the world that good improvisors are born, not taught. It's the same with art of any kind, really; for some reason, people understand that you have to learn to read, learn to do math, learn to do baseball - but they think that you are either born with the ability to draw, paint, act, sing, dance, improvise, whatever, or you're forever doomed to a life without that skill.

I'm not disputing that some people seem to be born with natural talent in any given area, whether it's sports or acting or being a physicist. But people can and do learn to do things they don't necessarily feel "born" to do. And even if you are born with a gift for drawing or dancing or improvisation, there are still aspects that you need to learn - either in a class, or on your own through trial and error.

Besides overcoming the mindset of "I'm not good at art," it's also difficult for many people to expose themselves to others in the way that learning any art requires. Whenever you create anything, it's coming from you and therefore, it can be very intimidating and scary to put your creation out for the world to see... because if people don't like what you've created, there's a tendency to think that means they don't like you. So it takes a lot of courage for people to come to their first improv class, not knowing if people won't laugh at what they say, or if they'll laugh at them instead of with them or just what exactly.

The awesome thing about Held2gether (well, one of many awesome things, but my favorite) is that our "improv for life" philosophy means we believe everyone can benefit from the skills that improv instills - we don't focus exclusively on performers, we don't require theatrical experience and we don't even have beginning students do shows. We want people to have fun, get out of their shells, overcome personal obstacles, become more confident and/or less shy, think faster on their feet... and learn some improv while they're at it.

We create an environment that is safe, encouraging and super fun - while at the same time providing the structure and feedback needed to teach students how to do great improv. So if you think you can't do improv, I would politely disagree. After all, I learned it...

(BTW, we even offer half-day workshops so you can see if this improv stuff is right for you.)

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Rules Are Your Friends. No, Really.

I talk about the rules of improv all the time. Agreement, adding information, commitment, not asking questions, not being sarcastic, not bailing, you name it. Some of you know my improv-y pet peeves by now. And most of you know that I am BIG on playing by the rules... but you might not know why.

I'ma tell you. Cause, you know - that's how I do.

It's not because I'm so enamored of rules in general. I don't like being constrained by rules and regulations any more than the next person. But there is a time and a place to rebel, and smack dab in the middle of your improv scene is neither.

Unlike not swimming for 30 minutes after you eat, the rules of improv are not designed to keep you from having fun. To the contrary, they are designed to help you have MORE fun. That's because the rules (if we must call them that) define the structure of the game of improv, within which funny stuff is simply more likely to happen. To me, doing good improv is the goal and that's what I want to have happen - and the rules are there to assist in that endeavor. I can be a rebel and deny my scene partner, or choose not to add information, opt not to commit, ask questions, be sarcastic, bail when I don't like something... and what have I accomplished? I have created bad improv, which (unless you are doing bad improv on purpose at a party at my house) is not nearly as much fun as doing good improv.

When you roll your windows down and drive along PCH at 95 mph on a sunny day singing Life is a Highway at the top of your lungs, you get the rush of speed and the feeling of freedom - and breaking the rules makes sense. Or so I'm told. Not that I would ever break the law. Ahem.

But when you break the rules in improv, there's no rush. There's no feeling of freedom. There's just the blech feeling in the pit of your stomach when your scene tanks and there's no way to save it.

So try not to think of the rules as rules. Think of them as your friends. Your friends who really, really want you to succeed at this improv thing.

They're nice friends.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

You Touch the Thermostat, You Die

In improv class, we frequently urge students to have a big ol' emotional reaction to something - anything - in order to keep the scene moving. In fact, we often tell students they can have the reaction first and then worry about the justification. In other words, freak out, laugh uproariously or sob uncontrollably at ANYTHING your scene partner says, even if it's just, "I'm going to turn on the air conditioner now." Having the emotion will almost always lead to a justification for the emotion.

Occasionally students will argue that this feels forced or unnatural, and that there's no reason for them to freak out about somebody turning on the A/C and, therefore, no reasonable justification could ensue.

Here's something to ponder... You know how sometimes you can be sitting around, say with your mom or your neighbor or your cellmate, and you can be having a perfectly awesome afternoon with them, playing Yahtzee and drinking white wine spritzers or whatever? And then the other person says, "I'm going to turn on the air conditioner now," and you're like, "OH FUCK NO, YOU ARE TOUCHING THAT THERMOSTAT OVER MY DEAD BODY!!!!" And then your afternoon is ruined because, for the past 22+ years this person has always kept the house/trailer/cell as cold as a friggin' meat locker and today is the day that you are just not going to freeze your ass off in order to keep the peace anymore, and you lose it.

That is honest. That's what happens sometimes in real life because of the history you share with others. If your scene is not about relationship, you may have trouble justifying and making sense of a seemingly out of the blue emotional change. But if it's about relationship, any outburst of emotion can be justified through your characters' shared history. That history may not have come out yet, but once you have your emotional outburst, it's an opportunity to get to that history, explain the "why" behind your outburst... and all of a sudden, you have a big what: Today is the day that I have had it up to HERE with your hotflashes and your selfishness when it comes to climate control.

Think about the ridiculously small things in real life that cause out-of-proportion reactions - it happens all the time (to other people, of course). Let those little things affect you in the same big, out-of-proportion way in improv!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Barry the Guard

Good gravy, I've been bad about posting! It's not that I don't have anything to write about improv, it's just that I don't always know what it is you'd like to read about improv. Well, technically, I don't ever know what you'd like to read, but sometimes I don't let that stop me. And other times I let that get in my head, and then - as it is wont to do when there's a lot of stuff in there - my brain won't spit anything out.

But I digress.

My troupey Kendra and I saw an improv show recently, and we were both struck by how simple the players kept everything. One person threw out a short line of dialogue. Another person yes,anded that by adding another short line of dialogue. Nothing about aliens or weird second-cousin-twice removed relationships or outlandish scenarios. It was somebody's 40th birthday. The married couple had met in college. A kid down the street had a horrible mother. A lady whose husband was in prison was kinda slutty. Simple, relatable concepts, characters and relationships.

There's nothing wrong with more complex concepts. My point is simply that "funny" is not directly proportional to "complexity." And sometimes improv students think they have to over-complicate things in order to create something unique. Whatever YOU do is going to be unique because it's coming from your point of view, and nobody else has your unique way of looking at things.

The players in the show we saw didn't over think things when it came to justifications either. An unlikely event occurred in prison, and they justified it calmly and simply by saying that the guard was absent that day. That's actually hilarious because of absurd simplicity... as if a guard at a prison wouldn't have a backup or whatever. But they didn't get bogged down in the logic or convoluted explanations of the guard taking a break and the other one being distracted by something he saw on a security monitor or whatever. Just one line, "Well, Barry the guard wasn't there that day." Period.

Because I was a writer first and an improvisor second, I can get VERY wordy and descriptive sometimes... the way I would in a novel, for example. But this simplicity thing is really appealing to me and I'm going to work on simplifying my improv and trusting the audience to find the humor in situations they don't need me to explain for 10 minutes.

You can try it if you wanna.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

You're Such a ____________________!

It's super important to label everything in improv. That's because all the audience sees is a couple of ordinary folks on stage - there are no sets, no props, no costumes, no voice-over narrations... there's nothing to tell them who you are, what you're doing, where you're doing it or why they should even give a crap about this scene. That's your job.

It's a big job, I know. And sometimes you can get in a rut and not be able to think of interesting ways of labeling yourself or your scene partner. That's why I'm sharing this handy drawing that's been making the rounds on FB this week.



Except for "the one with bad memory," these are all labels that could totally work in an improv scene. If you label someone as "always getting hurt" or "swearing all the time" or "goodie two-shoes," those are really awesome gifts that help them know what kind of character they are. And you can label yourself, too, don't forget.

You're welcome.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

What Are These Troupe Thingies, Anyway?

I've gotten some questions lately about how exactly the Held2gether performing troupes are structured and how they "work," as well as at what point students get to perform. So, since I have to write something, I'll answer those questions here in case other people have been wondering as well.

Different improv schools handle performances differently; some have student showcases at the end of every session, some have no performances until you've reached a certain level, some have none at all. There are pros and cons to each, and reasons why schools would opt for one route over another.

At Held2gether, we don't do student showcases. We do, however, offer certain classes (referred to as "performance classes" on the website) that culminate with a performance for the public - all of these are intermediate to advanced level classes that require students to have completed some combination of H2G's Level 1, Level 2, Level 3, sketch writing, long form and/or sketch performing classes. All of the specific pre-requisites and performance opportunities for each class are listed on the website. We had the Short Form Performance Class graduation shows this past weekend, and they were super fun.

As far as the Held2gether troupes, here's the deal: We have two troupes called the Held2gether Main Company and the Held2gether Friday Company. The Main Company performs the 4th Saturday of (almost) every month, and whenever we perform we have a member of the Friday Company as our "special guest." The Friday Company performs the 1st Friday of (almost) every month, and whenever they perform, they have a special guest that Darren invites - usually somebody from one of the advanced/specialty classes.

We don't have open auditions for the troupes - they are set until somebody leaves, and then Darren makes a decision as to how to fill their spot based on the overall needs of the troupe at that point in time. It's not a matter of somebody having been in classes "long enough" to join the Friday Company or people in the Friday Company moving up to the Main Company based on seniority.

All that being said, those of us who have the honor of performing in either of the H2G troupes know what a special privilege that is, and we definitely don't take it for granted. We take classes continually to hone our skills and keep improving because we are determined to represent H2G to the best of our abilities and to be good role models for the concept of "improv for life."

Hope that answers your questions, peeps.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Entering the Danger Zone

I'm plumb tuckered out! It's not from the quantity of work I've done the past week or so; it's actually from the level of comfort I had with the work I did.

I decided a while back that I wasn't really putting 100% effort into things (which is a lifelong habit I'm working on breaking). While I agree that in certain situations "good enough" is good enough, in certain other situations there is absolutely no such thing as "good enough."

In terms of my own growth and development as an artist and a human being, I needed to push myself further out of my comfort zone. I needed to realize that there is no good enough. Because the thing is, whenever you become adept at a new skill, your comfort zone grows. Things that used to terrify you no longer do. That's awesome sauce. However, once an activity, skill or emotion ceases to challenge you, doing it ceases to improve you. You have to leave the comfort zone and venture into the danger zone.

I've been giving everything more of me the past couple of months, and this last week was a week of several firsts for me: first time teaching a sketch writing class, first time teaching an intermediate improv class, first time in a new improv school, first time being interviewed on TV, first speaking role in a film. A couple of those things affected only me, so screwing up wouldn't hurt anything for anybody else. But in several instances, other people were depending on me to do my job well. Doing something for the first time is scary as hell in any event; having others relying on you to do it well ups the ante considerably. In the past, I would have simply declined offers that put that much pressure on me; I would've avoided the danger zone at all costs. Now that improv is my middle name, I feel like I owe it to myself and everyone else to accept those challenges and rise to them.

That doesn't mean I'll never fail. But like we learn in improv class, commitment will get you very, very far - and so by giving each of these endeavors 100% of my attention and ability, I at least know that if I failed, I failed honestly and not through lack of effort.

And I also feel like I earned the lazy Sunday I'm currently enjoying. Yay!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Take the Easy Way

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. That's helpful to know in geometry and figuring out how to get from your house to the nearest Cold Stone, obviously, but you might wonder what the heck I'm talking about in terms of improv.

I'd argue that the shortest distance between two points in improv (say from "action" to "laughter") is also a straight line - in other words, a simple, easy premise. Sometimes we get caught up trying to be clever or think of something interesting or entertaining, and we overlook the obvious choice. Just because something seems easy doesn't mean it can't be funny. And oftentimes the very easiest thing to do is simply to "yes, and" the first line out and make that the big deal.

A lot of times we look at those first couple lines as nothing more than getting out the foundation and setting up the scene so that THEN we can get to the big what. But if we embrace the notion that there are no throw-away lines in improv, there's no reason to wait for a big what to come along... sometime... down the line... after we've said all the stuff about who and what and where.

Of course, like everything else in a good improv scene, this relies on listening to each bit of information. And then choosing to make every bit of information important. Easier said than done, I realize, but if you challenge yourself to listen closely and make whatever the very first thing that's said THE thing, you'll get in the habit of not missing those first few foundation lines. And you'll get to your "what" - and, consequently, the laughter - that much more quickly.

Hope this was helpful. Oh, and please don't trudge through strangers' yards on your way to Cold Stone. A straight line isn't always the best way to go, even if it is the shortest.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

No Agenda = Good Improv = Laughter and Applause

I apologize for the seemingly inappropriate photo, but I actually used it on purpose to prove a point... which is that we see what we want to see (or at least what we expect to see).

Our brains are adept at translating sensory input, whether visual or auditory or whatever, into information we expect. It's some kind of efficiency thing, evidently. We see a red octagon, and our brains expect the word on it to say stop. It's why proofreading is so difficult - our brains know what the word is supposed to be, and they often don't catch the trasnposition error. See?

In improv, the effect is evident in listening. If an improvisor is truly in the moment and not holding onto any agenda, they will be able to listen to their scene partner and respond appropriately. But if he or she has an idea in their head, some agenda they are attached to in even a small way, their listening will be compromised. Their brain will hear the words they want or expect to hear; they'll hear words that justify the agenda they are determined to drive. And they won't hear the rest.

Then they'll add their information that they've been dying to add, and it won't quite jive with the rest. It won't necessarily be out of left field, but it won't really work, either.

Your brain works by matching up patterns, so the best way not to get trapped hearing incorrectly is not to have any loop running in your brain. If you have an agenda, your brain will match the information it hears to that agenda and literally discard or fail to hear anything that doesn't "fit." If you have no agenda, your brain has no pattern to match, so it takes in ALL the information.

I know it's scary to let go of your agenda and resist the urge to pre-plan, but I assure you your scenes will go better if you do. Then, as you let go of your agenda more and more and have better and better scenes, your brain will start to recognize the "pattern" of no agenda = good improv = laughter and applause and it will gradually stop trying to force its ideas on you and everybody else.

I hope you that read right.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Not That Shallow

Somebody said to me after last week's show, "Great show! You must get tired of hearing that."

Um, what? No. No, people. Those of us who have the incredible privilege of performing improv showsin front of real, live human beings never get tired of hearing "great show!" For most of us, there is nothing we can do (in public) that even comes close to the thrill we get from doing a great improv show. The fact that you think it's great is what makes it great for us. We can guess from the applause and laughter that you liked it; you taking the time to tell us you liked it confirms the fact.

This is not to say we expect you to validate us or feed our egos. We're really not that shallow... not even me. No one should feel obligated to tell performers... anything, actually. I'm just sayin' that if you feel like it, it doesn't come across as weird to us.

It's late on Friday, and I don't have any deep thoughts to back this up. So just have a nice weekend and stuff.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

You Can't See Me...

Part of commitment in improv is being fully in your scene from the minute it starts until blackout, not judging, not seeking approval, not glancing at the audience to see if they "get" it, not looking at the instructor.

This is often a hard thing for brand new students. I understand. We all want approval, to some extent. We've all seen (and been) that kid doing something goofy at the park and yelling, "Mom! Hey, mom! Watch this!" The flip side of the showing off is the fear of falling... We want to learn to ride a bike, but we don't want dad to let go of the seat too soon.

I see it in improv classes when students are doing an exercise that is a little (or maybe a lot) outside their comfort zone. A student will say their line of dialogue, then look at me. Or they'll do a tiny bit of spacework, then look at me. Or they'll have a glimmer of an emotion, then look at me. The problem is, I'm not in the scene with them. The person they SHOULD be looking at is their scene partner. By looking at me, they are pulling themselves out of the made-up reality of the scene and making it difficult or impossible for their scene partner to connect with them. When people are brand new, I avoid referring to this as "bailing on your scene partner" because that's a harsh definition and I don't want people to feel stressed out on top of their inability to commit. But it's an accurate definition, and since bailing on your scene partner is one of the worst things you can do in improv, I can't just let it go, either.

The best thing to do in class is to pretend the instructor isn't there. It's not appropriate to be showing off like in the "hey, mom, look at me!" scenario, and there's no need to be afraid since it's all about the learning anyway. And it's not like you're gonna crash your bike if you say something "wrong." The instructor will guide you through the exercise if you're really floundering, but ultimately you will learn SO MUCH more if you just commit and struggle through the scene with your partner. The critique at the end will help you discover why certain things worked or didn't, and it'll help you understand what you might do differently next time.

Since improv is all about being in the moment and learning to trust your instincts, I'm not helping you if I let you lean on me through your entire scene. And you don't need to look at me for approval constantly, either - you have my approval just for showing up and going for it! I'm totally on your side and I want the exercise or scene to work every bit as much as you do. So just focus on your partner, let go of any judgement whatsoever and go for it!

Trust me. I learned to do it, which means you can too.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Competitive Improv

Somebody asked me recently if Held2gether would ever do those improv competition-type shows that you see at certain places in Hollywood and the O.C. They also asked if I was going to finish my drink.

Uh, boundaries, people.

We'll start with the question that's actually appropriate. While I can't say for certain that we'll never do a competition show, the likelihood is extremely small. Teeny, even. We've been invited to do competition shows with other troupes over the years, and we've always politely declined. Not because we don't play well with others, but because when your whole business model revolves around the concept of "improv for life," it's antithetical to have losers.

Our premise is that anyone can do improv and benefit from the skills it teaches. Our goal is to help each student become the best they can be by fostering an environment of support and encouragement in our classes. We don't want to then do shows where one team has to "win" and another team has to "lose" because the point is that, when you do improv, you automatically win. Our shows consist of everybody on the same team, working together to make everybody look as amazing as possible. That's what makes us happy.

There's nothing wrong with competitive improv. It's just not how we roll at H2G.

Oh, and it's safe to assume that if I have an alcoholic beverage in my hand, I fully intend to finish it. That's what makes me happy.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Thank You! No, Thank You!

I wasn't planning to write anything today, for a couple reasons. First of all, I'm behind because of the GoDaddy issues I had over the weekend. Second, I'm suffering from Post-Show Letdown Disorder (PSLD). And third, I'm trying to get through about 77 loads of laundry. But something happened that made me change my mind about writing a blog post, and since the one thing I'm good at in life is improvising, here we are.

I've talked about PSLD before; it's basically the sadness that hits when all the work that goes into a big show is done and there's a huge gaping hole where all the fun and camaraderie and inappropriateness used to be. It hit me today, after yesterday's big long form show, even though I will see everyone who I did that show with sometime in the next few days. Sheesh. It's not like they moved to the moon or have suddenly become appropriate. (As an aside, I just cracked myself up with the thought of Richard B attempting to be appropriate.)

So I was mopey this morning while I did my work and 77 loads of laundry. And then I got an email that changed everything. It literally turned my frown upside down. Yeah. Now I'm that girl. A student who has become a friend took the time to thank me for introducing him to improv and to tell me, completely unsolicitedly, that by teaching improv the way I do, I have a "huge impact on so many other people's lives."

I'm not gonna lie; that made my friggin' day. Sometimes it's easy to get into the mindset that improv is a luxury. Maybe nice to have, but completely unnecessary. But when I remember (or when somebody kindly reminds me) that improv - especially the "improv for life" way we do it at Held2gether - makes life better, then I realize that what I do has value and actually makes the world a better place. I'm not a rocket scientist, I'm not curing cancer... but I'm helping people discover the magic of improv and, through it, the magic that they've locked up inside themselves for a very long time (or forever). It may not be the most important job on the planet, but I'm damn proud of it and so so SOOOO happy when I hear from people that improv for life has changed their lives in the same profound ways it changed mine.

So since it appears to be a thank you kind of day, I want to pay it forward by thanking Darren Held for introducing me to improv and for believing in me and for giving me the opportunity to teach and help others discover their own love of improv. And I want to thank each and every student I've ever had for trusting me (even if it was just a little tiny bit at first) and for being willing to go for it and let improv work its magic on your lives.

I'll be back tomorrow with a less mushy post. In the meantime, yaaaaaaayyyyy!!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Mirror, Mirror

When you do improv for any length of time, you can't help becoming aware of how other people see you. Sometimes we do "against type" exercises, where the instructor asks the class what they'd like to see from from you that's unlike what you normally do. Sometimes, especially with people you haven't really worked with much, you'll get a string of labels that are similar. Sometimes people send you this picture:


Yeah. That's subtle.

The thing is, there is nothing wrong with how people see you. Maybe it's the same as what you see in the mirror, maybe not. But for whatever reason - accurate or not - people have an impression of you. What that means in terms of your improv is entirely up to you. You can play to that image, and it will likely work pretty well because the audience is apt to see you the same way and it will be easy for them to accept you as a character close to the one they already think you are. You can also play against it, and that can work just as well because there's something funny about seeing a big, macho guy play an insecure dweeb or a librarian-looking girl play a raunchy barmaid. The strongest approach is to mix it up - play to your type sometimes and against it sometimes. Be well-rounded.

People see me as a soccer mom, everybody's big sister or the ever popular Den Mother. There's value in real life in knowing how others see you, because we get so used to thinking we're a certain way that we assume everyone sees us that way. If people aren't seeing us the way we want to be seen, we can change our appearance or behavior to more accurately reflect who we feel like inside - but we only know to do that when we learn that others aren't seeing us the way we see ourselves.

I'm not saying you should change yourself to match the world's perceptions; I'm just saying it's interesting to understand how those perceptions differ from your own. I have railed against the Den Mother label, but when all is said and done, I'm a pretty helpful person who knows how to figure shit out and get stuff done and encourage others along the way... kinda like a Den Mother. It's not really so terrible.

Still, I wouldn't mind being everybody's younger sister sometimes...

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Definitions of Improv

A beginning improv student asked me last night what the definition of improv is. She said a friend asked her, and she couldn't really explain it. So I said, "Improv is 2 or more people spontaneously creating a scene right in the moment, based entirely on the audience's suggestion." I'm pretty proud of that definition, as I came up with it myself and I thought it explained improv in a completely unambiguous way. Evidently I was wrong because the student then asked, "So is it like standup?"

No. No, people, improv is not like standup. Not even a little bit. I've talked about the differences before, so I won't belabor them here. But I do have another definition I invented, so I'ma share that one.

Improv isn't about forcing funny to happen; it's about playing by the rules and structure of improv and thereby allowing funny to happen. In improv, the more you chase the holy grail of laughter, the more you're working against the grain and the less likely you are to find what you're looking for. Instead of worrying about being funny, it's a stronger choice to look your scene partner in the eye and really listen to what they're saying. And then respond. You know, like when you have a normal conversation with an actual person.

Maybe that sounds dull. I know many of my normal conversations with actual humans are not all that interesting. But when you do that and combine it with the rules of improv, funny stuff happens. Just like in life, in improv most of the time we're our own worst enemies. If you can just get out of your own way and stop trying to MAKE something happen, I can pretty much guarantee something WILL happen. It'll be something you never even conceived of and you'll be like, "I have no idea where that even came from!"

They (whoever the hell "they" are) say we only utilize 10% of our brain power. I think the other 90% is where great improv comes from. You have great improv in you, but it doesn't come out when you demand it. It comes out when you stop staring at and calling it and bossing it around.

So just chill and forget about trying to be funny. Get out of your head and out of your own way. Do your best to play by the rules and sit back and enjoy the ride. Because the bottom line is, improv is fun.

That's another definition I invented. I'm on a roll.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Let Go or Be Dragged

There is a natural tendency in improv, especially at the beginning of ones improv education, to try to pre-plan things. To a very limited extent, that's fine. For example, if you think to yourself, Ya know what? I'ma do a spinster-y character in class tonight! or I WILL have a huge emotional reaction tonight, no matter what information I'm given, that's fantastic and you should stick to your determination. With practice, you'll learn how to make those choices instantly in the moment, but it's fine to pick a skill to focus on in any given class and, uh, focus on it.

But any kind of pre-planning beyond that is bad. According to the interwebs, which are never wrong,

improvise [ˈɪmprəˌvaɪz]
vb
1. to perform or make quickly from materials and sources available, without previous planning
2. to perform (a poem, play, piece of music, etc.), composing as one goes along

The heart of improvisation is that it happens without previous planning. Which means you cannot have an agenda. You can have an idea... but you can't be committed to your idea (it's the one thing in improv you don't want to commit to). You still have to listen to your scene partner(s) and let the group idea emerge. You can't insist, "I'm going to be his wife, and I'm going to be making stew for dinner." You can't insist, "I'm an astronaut and she's an alien and I'm going to kidnap her." You can't insist anything if you want your scene to work.

Agendas are hard to let go of sometimes. Of course, we like our ideas. And why not? We have awesome ideas! But when you are married to your idea, you choke out the literally infinite number of other possibilities that could emerge over the course of your scene. When you force that agenda, your scene will strangle and drag you (and everyone else) down with it. If you don't want to get dragged, LET GO. You don't know everything; I don't know everything. But consider the possibility that when we come together and let go of our pre-conceived notions, what results is greater than the sum of its parts.

It's easier said than done, I know. But to be perfectly honest, if you are driving any kind of agenda, you aren't really doing improv. You're acting in a play in which only you have the script. That's not just a bad play, it's downright unsportsmanlike.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv in the Privacy of Your Own Life

Improv students frequently ask what they can do at home to "practice" improv between classes. I love that question! Honestly, two hours a week of improv isn't really enough to build any momentum, and if there was a way to practice in between, that would be awesome. Unfortunately, most students don't have my life... meaning that it's unlikely that 100% of their friends are other improvisors who are always ready to play with them.

Fortunately, there are things you can do between classes to hone your improv skills. And the really fortunate thing is, by practicing your improv skills in real life, you're getting better at regular stuff you do in real life. It's win-win.

So what are the things you can do to practice improv when you're not in an improv class? I'ma tell you right now. Sheesh. Patience, peeps.

• Make eye contact - Really. Practice looking people in the eye, both when they are speaking and when you are. Notice what makes you flinch or look away and practice keeping your gaze steady even in those more difficult situations.
• Listen - Actively pay attention when people are speaking to you. Don't think about your response or your grocery list or anything. If it helps, switch from eye contact to watching their lips move. Sometimes watching the words helps you hear them, at least at first.
• Accept others' ideas - Our initial instinct is frequently to say, "No." We can't, the budget won't allow, that's ridiculous... there are a million ways to shoot down an idea, and we're all super good at that. Try saying "yes" instead. Even if you can't do whatever it is the other person is suggesting, accept their right to have the idea and acknowledge them for having it: "Yes, I totally see why you'd want to come to the office in your pajamas and it might increase productivity, as you suggest. We need to maintain a professional dress code on regular days, so I will see about instituting a 'wear-what-you-want-day' as a bonus or reward." Unless you're a stock broker or a fireman, it probably wouldn't do much damage to work in pajamas once in a while.
• Let go of your agenda - It's tough, because we get used to thinking our way is the best way. In improv, you can't force an agenda or you'll tank your scene. Practice going with the flow in life. That doesn't mean be a doormat; it simply means, maybe you don't have to insist on Chipotle for lunch.
• Don't judge yourself (or others) - Don't apologize for your opinions. Don't apologize for the fact that you have opinions. Don't second guess yourself. Don't criticize everybody else, either.
• Go big or go home - Don't make half-assed attempts. Life's short, and there is enough mediocrity in the world. If you want to do something, just fucking do it!

It's difficult, I know. Improv will help with all of these skills... and practicing them outside, in the real world, will help with improv. There really is no difference between improv and real life, you know.

Except that in improv, everybody is always on your side. There's that.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Trust Me

Last night was the first night of the Level 1 improv class, and I briefly mentioned the three main rules of improv: agreement, adding information and commitment. A little while later, a new student asked me if he could ask a quick question. I said sure. That's how I roll.

He repeated the 3 rules and then said, "But wouldn't trust be one of the rules of improv?"

Smart cookie! Of course there are more than just three rules of improv - there are also rules like don't be sarcastic and don't go for the joke and don't ask questions and always have an emotion, yada yada yada. But is trust a rule of improv?

The thing is, I think the more you trust yourself and your scene partners, the better your improv will be. But unlike agreeing and adding information and committing, I cannot teach people to trust. I can make the environment as supportive and encouraging as possible; I can help people make friends quickly with their classmates; I can be super kind while at the same time giving honest feedback in critiques... and none of those things will make anybody trust anybody else if they're not ready to.

I can tell when students have difficulty trusting, believe it or not. They're the ones who won't let go of their agenda. They're defensive in critiques, no matter how positively I couch my feedback. They talk too much in their scenes, not letting their scene partners get a word in. I don't know for sure if they don't trust themselves or if they don't trust their partners or if they had a bad childhood. I do know that they don't trust in the moment.

The more you do improv, the more open you will become to being in the moment. I think that in itself is a kind of trust. If you're not dwelling on the past or worried about the future, it implies a sense of trust that in this moment, you have everything you need. When you trust the moment, it will become easier to trust yourself and others. The more you trust yourself and others, the easier it is to be in the moment. Trust is a skill, for lack of a better word, that feeds on itself.

So to answer Arnold's question: in improv, as in life, trust is invaluable. Can you get by without it? Yes. But why would you want to?

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv Onions

I tend to have my favorite topics and if you've read this blog more than a handful of times, you probably realize eye contact is one of them. And while I hate to beat a dead horse, I've had a new epiphany about eye contact in improv, and you know how I feel about my epiphanies...

Well, some of them are pretty decent.

I've mentioned before that eye contact didn't come naturally to me, and I worked very hard to learn to make eye contact in scenes (and subsequently, in life). Once I experienced the benefits of making consistent eye contact (namely, getting you out of your head and onto the same page as your partner/s), I was eager to master that skill. And I did.

Or so I thought.

Recently, in classes where I'm a student, I notice I've been looking down a lot. I start with eye contact, but I'm not sticking with it consistently. I'm also very aware of when I make eye contact while I'm teaching and when I don't. And the reason for NOT making eye contact is essentially the same in both situations: I am afraid to be wrong.

I've come a long way in the arena of confidence since I started taking improv classes; that's one of the absolute best things about improv - its ability to help folks develop confidence in themselves and what they have to offer. And when I'm feeling confident, I have no trouble with eye contact, whether I'm performing or teaching or just having a conversation.

But the thing about getting better at stuff is that most things are like onions: there are layers.

Now that I'm a so-called "expert" on improv, I feel more pressure to be right about stuff. I don't want to make a weak choice in a scene. I don't want to explain something wrong in a class. Of course, I know the very fact that I'm worried about being "wrong" means I'm not totally in the moment and therefore I'm definitely not making the BEST choice possible.

Anyway, my epiphany was that when my confidence is shaky, I can't maintain eye contact. But... (and here's where the magic of improv comes into play) when I force myself to make eye contact and not look down or away, the fear of being wrong goes away and the power of being on the same page - whether it's with a scene partner or a student - returns. It takes a conscious effort, but it works every time.

It makes sense, right? I mean, in real life people who can't make or maintain eye contact are seen as shy at best and shifty no-goodnicks at worst. People are attracted to folks who are confident and self-assured, and eye contact is one of the best ways of conveying that. So why not give it a shot - even if you're not feeling confident, you can look as if you are. And pretty soon the eye contact thing will work its magic and you'll realize you're not forcing it anymore... and you do feel confident.

Until the next layer. What? There's always another layer...

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv vs. April Fool's Day

I hate April Fool's Day. Yes, I'ma tell you why.

It's stupid. People go around all day making up elaborate lies to fool their friends and family, and to what end? To make their friends and family feel stupid. I don't want to feel stupid. And I don't want to make you feel stupid, either.

Improv is the opposite of April Fool's Day. Whatever you say in your scene MUST be true; there is no lying or subterfuge or sarcasm in improv. You say exactly what you mean. I like that. Everybody's on the same page, and nobody feels stupid.

Not only that, but improv is all about building trust. Sure it's hard the first day of a new class, when nobody knows anybody else, and you're suddenly thrust onstage with strangers and asked to do exercises that put you on the spot and make you uncomfortable. The only way people can do that is to trust each other, to whatever extent possible. We make the environment as encouraging and supportive as humanly possibly, but no matter how warm and fuzzy we make the class, we can't force people to trust each other. You know how people learn to trust each other? By not making each other feel stupid, that's how.

Of course, we do silly, ridiculous things in improv; that's a large part of the fun. And yes, sometimes in the course of pushing yourself out of your comfort zone, you end up doing something that you think must make you look stupid. Yay you! When you can start to feel comfortable feeling stupid, you are on the way to doing amazing improv... because that means you aren't judging yourself and you're ready to fully commit. It's incredibly empowering to push yourself and allow yourself to feel stupid; the key is that you are making that choice and nobody else is forcing it on you.

So please don't foist your April Fool's Day pranks on me; if your goal is to see me look stupid, no worries - I can pretty much promise to do that all on my own, without any outside interference. Thanks.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Get Out!

I'm just sayin'.

Need a ticket out of your comfort zone? Sign up for an improv class today!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Zombies Need Not Apply

I'm sorry for the sporadic posting lately. I have a few other jobs, which occasionally makes time for blogging scarce. And the truth is, I sometimes feel like I'm just rehashing the same ol' themes over and over, and I'm afraid I'm boring you and you might need a break from me.

But now we have a new round of Level 1 improv classes set to start in the next week or so, and I feel like talking about who should take improv and why, and maybe a bit about my favorite kind of student.

If you are a living, breathing human being, you should take improv. So that pretty much only leaves out zombies. If you think you have to have performing skills or a drama background, let that go - we approach improv from a different perspective at Held2gether, and that is that everyone can do improv, not just performers (although actors are as welcome as everyone else). I am the poster child for "improv for life." I took my first improv class from Darren Held just about exactly 4 years ago; I had never been on stage before and my goals were to get out of my shell, overcome shyness and deal with some serious writer's block. I didn't know exactly what improv was when I signed up for that first parks and rec class, but at the end of that 4-week class, I was completely hooked. I've never NOT been in an improv class since. It did help with shyness and writer's block, for sure.

Oh, and it completely changed my life. There's that.

The thing about improv is that the skills needed to build a successful improv scene are the same as the skills needed to live a successful life: listening, being in the moment, working well with others, not judging yourself, giving your all, accepting people and their ideas, and did I mention listening? So if you want to get better at playing baseball, improv can help. If you want to get better at being a banker, improv can help. If you want to get better at being a firefighter, improv can help. If you want to be a better dictator, improv will probably be counter-productive. But other than that, whatever you want to improve at, improv really can help. In fact, most of the word "improve" is made up of the word "improv." Coincidence? Pshaw.

Oh, and my favorite students? Those are the folks who see the magic of improv and how it brings out the magic in themselves. They accept the struggly times as part of the process, but continue to strive to overcome those struggles. They appreciate their classmates and do their best to make everyone look good. They love that improv is fun, but understand that it's more than just playtime. In short, they respect the game.

If you've been waiting to try improv, now is your chance, peeps! Beginning improv classes start the first part of April. Hope to see you there.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

To Be or To Be for a Little While

My friend Lorna is taking a Spanish language improv class, which is apropos of nothing, except it made me think of some Spanish words. In Spanish, there are two different verbs for "to be" - ser and estar - and they are used in different situations. When you are describing the essential character of a person or thing (in other words, its permanent state), you use ser. When you are describing the current state of being or condition of a person or thing, you use estar.

No, this isn't a Spanish lesson, and yes, it's about improv. I swear.

My point is that I sometimes hear people (okay, sometimes "people" includes "me") describe themselves thusly: "Man, I am terrible at improv," or "I am bad at [insert improv weakness here]" or something along those lines. In English, unfortunately, there is only one verb for "to be" and it sort of implies a permanent state (or the essential character) of the person.

When it comes to being bad at improv, the verb estar would be a much better choice. Maybe you're not that good at improv YET. Maybe you had a terrible class last night and you are bad at creating a pattern RIGHT NOW. It's not your permanent state of being, people.

Look, everybody has an off night or a stumbling block or a hurdle on the learning curve to contend with. Barry Bonds struck out a lot. Abraham Lincoln got fired a lot. Liam Neeson... well, bad example. Liam's essential state is awesome sauce. But you see my point, I think - pick any hero in any field, and you'll see times when they were bad at what they do best. But they didn't STAY bad forever. It seems to be human nature to identify and then HOLD ON TO our weaknesses, while brushing aside our strengths and successes as flukes or temporary states.

From now on, when you're describing what you're good at in improv, think of those things as your permanent state and essential character. Ser. And when you're describing what you're bad at, think of those things as simply your current condition, subject to change at any moment. Estar.

Because really, ALL of us have the essential state of awesome sauce. We just have temporary setbacks of suckiness now and then. No big.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

If You Want Something Done Right...

Some people (who shall remain nameless) who knew me back in the day have trouble believing I can do improv. It's true. You know who you are.

It's not so much about the humor thing, because I've been a smartass my entire life. It has to do with the teamwork aspect of improv, which has actually turned out to be the thing I love most about improv.

To say I wasn't a team player would be a ginormous understatement. Let's review, shall we?

1. The only sport I did in high school was swimming - which is technically a "team," but it's really made up of individuals doing their own events. Needless to say, I didn't do relays.
2. My friends did drama and/or debate... but I didn't want my "success" to depend on other people doing their job. So I didn't do drama. Or debate.
3. I abhorred any type of "group project" assignments in high school and college. The ONE time I trusted everyone on the team to do their job, somebody didn't. It was a mock election, and my team would've won by a LANDSLIDE, except one lame mofo didn't do his part. So we lost. From then on, I did all the work in any group projects myself, guaranteeing all the people on my team an A... and guaranteeing that everyone knew what a major control freak, pain in the ass bitch I was.

So I get why people might have trouble believing I can be a team player. To be honest, if I'd known that improv was a total team sport, I might not have taken my first class. No, seriously. I really, really didn't trust people to carry their own weight, and I wouldn't have wanted to show new people my control freak, pain in the ass bitch self too soon.

But as I've said countless times, improv is magical. The brilliant thing is that it's FUN, so you want to do it well. And the only way to do it well is just to friggin' trust people. No, people aren't perfect and yes, sometimes your teammates aren't successful. But except in very rare instances, everyone is on the same page and trying their best to make the scene work, and that's what teammates do. Not only that, but a control freak, pain in the ass bitch is NOT someone anybody would want on a team. Who wants to play/work/whatever with someone so in love with their own agenda that they force it on everyone else? Um, not me.

When you grasp how amazing working together as part of a team can be, you realize that it's very lonely doing everything yourself. When you let go of your notion that everything has to be "perfect" (which is impossible anyway), you discover how fun it is to figure out how to make a "mistake" work. When an audience tells you you guys are all amazing!, you discover that your biggest win comes not from YOU looking good, but from you contributing to the TEAM looking good.

You probably won't believe me, but when you start to love the teamwork in improv, it will carry over into real life. Seriously, most people I've met since I started improv don't think of me as a control freak, pain in the ass bitch. Well, not all the time, anyway.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv: Say Anything

A student asked me a question before the Level 1 improv class started the other day. He wanted to know about boundaries, and whether or not he should censor himself. He said he was trying to push himself out of his comfort zone so he didn't want to censor, but on the other hand, he didn't want to say or do anything "offensive."

That's a good question, and one that I've gotten many times in beginning improv classes. Unfortunately, there's not really a good answer. Luckily, the relative "goodness" of an answer has never been a sticking point for me, so I'ma just plow ahead.

I have a degree in art, and I tend to err on the side of no censorship. Oftentimes the very point of art is to make folks uncomfortable and force them to think and examine their beliefs and whatnot. Without getting into an entire First Amendment diatribe, I think really good art doesn't just reflect back to society what people are; it should show society where we're lacking and what needs to change.

That being said, I'm not a dumbass. If I'm doing an improv show, I will definitely consider my audience. When we've done First Fridays shows at the tea room with children present, we absolutely censor ourselves and don't drop F-bombs or get raunchy like we might at our grown-up show. I think it's perfectly reasonable to put on family-friendly shows and R-rated shows and challenge ourselves as improvisors to play within those limits. After all, there are plenty of rules in improv already; this is just adding a little more structure to the games. Also, if we are invited to perform somewhere particular, we're certainly not going to do humor that offends our hosts. If we can't give them the type of show they want, it's our job to turn down the gig rather than force our agenda on them. However, when we have our own space, I think we will feel comfortable doing our own brand of humor and trusting audiences to "get it."

So yeah. In a performance, there has to be a certain amount of consciousness regarding the topics and words we choose. But in class... I think there has to be carte blanche to say anything.


Especially in the beginning, when so many people are terrified anyway and working so hard just to push themselves out of their comfort zone. I don't want that extra voice in their heads going, "Is this appropriate? I might offend so-and-so." I would rather have the students turn off the self-censor completely and just go for it. And then, if/when something truly offensive comes out, we can discuss it after the exercise or scene and figure out as a class why it was offensive and what could've been done or said differently to make it work.

It's a tricky thing. I won't tolerate any kind of unsupportive behavior in class - meanness, snarkiness, racism, agism, sexism or any other kind of -ism directed from one student to another. (Not that that's ever been an issue - improv students are awesome). But as characters - there's definitely something funny about seeing really "offensive" types of characters get their comeuppance. And I wouldn't want students to shy away from trying those characters, just because it might not work.

So that's my answer on self-censoring.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Intro to Improv Workshop This Sunday!!

We're offering an Intro to Improv Half-Day Workshop this coming Sunday, March 24. This isn't exactly noteworthy; I mean, we offer these things several times a year and they're always a hoot.

But I did feel it was worth mentioning because somebody on Saturday was concerned about "who exactly the class is tailored to." Which is a legit concern. Except in this case, the class is tailored to anyone and everyone who has heard of improv, so there's really no need for concern.

I suppose technically, it's wide open for those who haven't heard of improv as well, but I'm not sure how they'd go about signing up for a class they have never heard of.

Anyhoo... While this class is designed to be welcoming to people who have never done one second of improv before in their lives, and we focus on the basics, that doesn't mean old pros can't get anything out of it. In fact, much like improv in general, you will get out of the class what you put into it - if you look at it as being beneath you and having nothing to offer, well then that's prolly what you'll get. But if you look at it as a chance to hone your skills, brush up on the fundamentals and help new people by demonstrating how to be a strong, generous scene partner, you'll definitely see some personal growth.

The thing I love about the half-day workshops is that the new people are excited about the chance to learn not just from me, but also from the more experienced students in the class... AND that the experienced people are inspired by the fearless, all-out, go-for-it-ness that beginners bring.

Plus, you know I'll say something to embarrass myself, and that in itself is worth the price of admission. Hurry, there aren't many spots left!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

"Tacos Originated in a Small Village in Baja California Called Taquello..."

I was interviewed for an hour-long radio show this morning about, what else, improv. It was funny because beforehand, I was a little worried that I wouldn't be able to talk for an entire hour (well, 48 minutes, if you factor in the commercials). If you've met me, you know how laughable that is. I mean, I can talk for an hour about chalk. And this was improv. All I do in life is talk about improv. Most people pray for me NOT to talk about improv for an entire hour.

Anyway, I have a point. Shut up, I do. Before improv, I still had a tendency amongst my family and coworkers to be a bit of a Chatty Cathy... But although I never really had stage fright or worried if I had to give a speech or something, being interviewed and talking off the cuff for any length of time would have been WAY far out of my comfort zone.

But improv teaches, above all, the importance of being in the moment. It's hard to be panicked if you really ARE in the moment, because panic is about something that might happen in the future... All I can do in THIS moment is listen to the interviewer and respond to his questions to the best of my ability.

And what about that, the answering the questions part? Before improv, I would've had no confidence whatsoever in my ability to talk intelligently on any subject - especially not for a whole hour! But when you take an improv class, you get used to going on stage and having NO clue what's going to happen. You get a suggestion like "maple syrup" or something, and boom! You create a 3-minute scene from it. Sure, 3 minutes is far from an hour, but when you can learn to be comfortable in the gray area - that area where nothing is for sure and anything can happen and you have no control over any of it - that applies throughout all the areas of your life.

In this case, the interview was also about improv, which is something I'm a certain amount of an expert in, so it was not too difficult to talk about the why's and wherefore's of it. But if the interview had been about tacos or tablecloths or the Swedish design aesthetic of the 1970s, I could have still talked about it for an hour. Adding information is one of the first things we learn in improv, and being specific and having "expert" knowledge about stuff is just part of the game. My information about tablecloths and Swedish design would've been all BS, but it would've sounded good. Tacos... come on! It's meat in a fried container - how could I NOT be an actual expert on that?

Anyway, I just wanted to say that whatever your Comfort Zone Limit (CZL) is, improv can expand it. I never knew I'd need to be interviewed for anything, so it wasn't a goal of mine to acquire that skill. But the skills of improv apply in literally every area of life, and when you expand your CZL, you expand ALL of your abilities, without even really being consciously aware of it. Until one day, somebody asks if they can interview you on their show about sloths. And then you calmly say, "Sure. Two-toed sloths, or three?"

By Sonnjea Blackwell

I Love the Smell of Roses... MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Oh. My. God. We laughed so hard in the Level 1 improv class last night that our sides ached, our cheeks ached and one lady said her eyes even hurt.

Last night was emotion/commitment night, which means it's the first time we delve into the notion of having a HUGE, heightened emotion as well as total commitment to a character or emotion or whatever kind of label. And my peeps friggin' brought it last night, which was super fun... AND a really important lesson for them.

We did an ordinary ol' 3-person transaction scene in a store, then replayed the same scene with an emotion or a movie/TV genre suggested by the audience. The hilarity that ensued was caused ENTIRELY be the students committing to that emotion or style. There's nothing inherently funny about the statement, "Boy, there sure are a lot of erotic novels in this bookstore" or "Do you take VISA?" or "We're looking for Beatles albums" or "I love the smell of roses." But when you say those lines and you're SUPER sad or evil, or you're in a murder-mystery or a western, those same lines become HILARIOUS. The spacework and stage picture change, but the lines stay the same and it's proof that, if you are committed - really, really committed - the audience is completely on your side and they will reward you with eye-pain-inducing laughter.

And isn't that what we all want?

By Sonnjea Blackwell

How Much Effort Is 100%, Anyway?

I can hardly walk today. Oh, stop it. Get your minds out of the gutter, people.

I realized over the weekend that I don't really put 100% effort into... well, much of anything, really. I know how hard I have to work to accomplish certain standards that matter to me, and that's how hard I work. I'm guessing I average around 70% effort, if effort can be quantified in that way. It's not exactly that I'm lazy, although I'm sure there's an element of that involved. But it has more to do with fear than anything else.

Doesn't everything?

I don't know about you guys, but I'm a perfectionist. And a pleaser. Not being a complete idiot, I understand that "perfect" is unattainable... and yet, since I have the drive to achieve perfection anyway, sometimes the only way to not make myself crazy is to just do stuff half-assed. Because when I CHOOSE to do a less than perfect job, I haven't failed in my attempt.

The pleaser thing compounds the mediocrity that perfectionism gives rise to. Giving people what they want is half of being a pleaser; the other half is becoming adept at figuring out what they want, so you can give it to them. Most people have absurd but specific expectations - parents, teachers, bosses, the mailman - and so I can skate by doing a mediocre job and still managing to satisfy most of the people most of the time... and those I can't please, I eventually "choose" not to try (see the procrastination thing, above).

Yes, I have a point, and yes, it has to do with improv. I've been reading all these books lately that have to do with fear and how insidious it is. I'm starting to think that every negative attribute a person can have boils down to fear, in one way or another. Perfectionism = fear of failing. Pleaser = fear of not being loved. And in coming to these conclusions, I realize that, as hard as I work at improv, I still don't give it EVERYTHING, because part of me still wants to be perfect at it, and part of me still wants to please people (teachers, the audience, my classmates) with it. As long as fear is part of the equation, I will always be acting to avoid it. I won't try things that I know I can't succeed at (the first time around), because I don't want to fail. I won't try weird things because I don't want to displease people.

Part of giving 100%, in my estimation, is pushing until failure no longer applies. Because you DID fail, and you didn't give up. Or because you pushed and pushed and you DIDN'T fail. Or because you learned something about yourself in the process that made the eventual outcome irrelevant. Or because, in pushing that hard, you learned to say "Fuck you, fear. I'm magic."

So I can't walk very well today because I actually pushed myself 100% at the gym yesterday. Not that I have anything to prove there; Nate has already seen me at my most spastic anyway. But I want to get in the habit of seeing what I really CAN do, after so many years of just doing what I HAVE to do to get by, so I'm practicing this 100% effort thing in as many areas of my life as I can - improv being at the top of the list, naturally.

Care to join me?

By Sonnjea Blackwell

I'm Good At Snowboarding! Can I Work at this Funeral Parlor?

Certain people at H2G HQ have the kind of jobs where they go to offices and have bosses and underlings and actual responsibilities. I personally do not approve of such scenarios, but it seems as if they're here to stay, so I accept them and try not to judge.

In any event, in the course of doing his job, one such individual is often in the position of interviewing hiring candidates. He asked me to write a blog about how improv classes can help these people with their interviewing skills. I'm happy to oblige.

It seems that, when asked about their strengths, candidates frequently list any number of things they're good at (or at least things they think they're good at) THAT HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE JOB THEY ARE APPLYING FOR... from snowboarding to karaoke to speed-reading to cooking to sex. Well, I made that last one up - if you're going to mention sex at an interview that is not actually for a job in the porn industry, I think improv is probably not going to solve all of your problems.

Conversely, when asked about their weaknesses, these same people list any number of things they suck at THAT ARE DIRECTLY RELATED TO THE JOB THEY ARE APPLYING FOR.

Now, I know that my readers - employed or otherwise - would not do such a thing. But in case you are reading this to an illiterate friend or relative, I will explain how improv classes would help in these instances.

In improv, we always want to make connections and unearth what something means. If I tell my scene partner, "I resent your condescending attitude," we need to figure out why. Perhaps it's because it makes my character feel insecure, or because his character is actually completely incompetent and yet thinks he's all that, or whatever. We want to connect our next bit of information onto the last, so we can build a relationship and, therefore, a scene. If I say, "I resent your condescending attitude," and he replies with, "You love ice cream!" that's not connected and not helpful.

When you learn that skill, you can apply it in an interview situation. If the HR person asks what your strengths are, and you have none that directly apply to the job at hand, but you are good at snowboarding, don't say you're good at snowboarding. Instead, think about the skills needed for successful snowboarding, think about how those skills connect to the job at hand, and list those... Say you have the ability to assess new situations and adapt accordingly, or that you're always one to take initiative, or that you're a risk-taker who nevertheless weighs the needs of the team before making a decision. Think about the question, understand what they are really asking, and make those connections in your brain before you answer. All in a couple seconds. That's what improv teaches you.

Oh yeah. If you're asked about your weaknesses, don't hand them a laundry list of reasons not to hire you. Think of something you're not good at, and explain how the skills you lack in that situation are something you're not great at. Maybe you're not good at karaoke... you can say, "I am uncomfortable being singled out or being the center of attention. I'm much better in a collaborative situation." That takes a weakness and turns it into a strength; essentially, I'm a team player.

I am NOT suggesting you lie in your interviews. Far from it. I am suggesting that improv will help you understand questions and how to logically reply to them in a connected manner that will allow you to tell the best possible truth, instead of the truth that gets you sent home without the job.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Doing Good Improv = Not Giving a F*ck

You'll have to excuse my language today, but there's an article that I refer back to periodically called The Complete Guide to Not Giving a Fuck, and it's kinda the point of my blog today.

Improv, as I may have mentioned, can be scary. I mean, it's scary in a good way, not in an oh-my-god-there's-a-scorpion-on-my-nose way. But it's scary nonetheless. And in a really weird way, it can actually become scarier as time goes along. Yes, I'ma tell you why. How's that for awesome sauce?

Assuming you start taking improv classes on your own and you don't know a single person in class - that in itself can be scary. However, you don't know these people, so there's an excellent chance you don't give the tiniest fuck what they think. Even the teacher, probably. You push yourself to whatever degree you're capable of, and you go for it, and the opinion of the others in class probably factors very little into your mindset.

Only then you keep taking the class, and you get to know your classmates and pretty soon you're friends with them and singing at karaoke bars with them after class or attending tea parties with them on the weekends or being decorated with Batgirl figurines by them when you fall asleep on your couch during your own party. Or, you know, so I'm told. And pretty soon, these are among the very most important people in your life.

And you realize you give very much of a fuck what they think.

And that, my friends, is no good in terms of improv.

As #3 of the aforementioned article states, "It's Your People That Matter," and they matter a lot. Their opinions matter, their friendships matter, they matter. And I don't know about you, but I want the people I care about to like me. (Sometimes, as Lisa has kindly pointed out when I needed to be called on my bullshit, I want them to like me best. It's true. I can be that shallow.)

When your people matter, and it causes you to rise up and be the best version of yourself, that's awesome. But when you're afraid of losing their good opinion, you can start to self-censor and judge yourself in an effort to avoid incurring their judgment. You might not want to look stupid or silly or ugly or gross or creepy or whatever on stage, for fear that they will not approve and no longer like you.

I'm not going to lie; it could happen. People have walked out of my life for less valid reasons than those, so I know it's a possibility. But just think about how colossally stupid that even sounds: I'm afraid that if I do a creepy/sexy/stupid/gross/whatever character that you won't like the character and, consequently, you will no longer like me.

If your friends are that lame, they don't really qualify as "Your People That Matter." No. They don't. Anybody who would stop being your friend because you put it all out there in an improv scene with a character or emotion or information WAS NOT YOUR FRIEND IN THE FIRST PLACE.

You can't be afraid AND do good improv at the same time, because you will always be holding something back. Naturally, that doesn't mean you just flop around onstage and say whatever you want; there are still rules and structure to keep in mind if you want to do good improv and be a good scene partner. Feedback on your technique is still valid and appropriate, especially in a class setting - you can't learn or improve without it. So it's okay to care what people think of how the character/emotion/information WORKED in the scene, but it's not okay to care what they think of you for attempting it. Your People That Matter will applaud you for pushing out of your comfort zone. And the others...

Well, who gives a fuck about the others, anyway.

By Sonnjea Blackwell