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