The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at The Bell House in Brooklyn in December of last year. The theme of the night was Courage.
I told a story about being unexpectedly trapped in a shower in a woman’s dorm.
I finished in third place that evening, defeated by my storytelling hero, Steve Zimmer.
The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at The Bell House in Brooklyn in March of this year. The theme of the night was Money.
I told a story about my stepfather’s attempt to get me to call him “Dad.”
It was the first time in my storytelling career that I was forced to go first. Going first at a StorySLAM is the kiss of death. As good as your story and performance may be, it’s nearly impossible to go first and win. In fact, I’ve been told it’s never been done.
I know storytellers who come to StorySLAMs with two stories:
One that they believe is a winning story and a lesser story in the event their name is drawn from the hat first.
I have a hard enough time preparing one story. Two would be too much.
I did well despite my first place position. I finished in third place for the evening with scores of 9.2, 9.2 and 9.3.
The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at The New School in New York City in March of this year. The theme of the night was G0ing Sane.
I told a story about my attempts to win the approval of my father and then my stepfather.
I finished in third place.
The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at The Bitter End in New York City in December of 2012. The theme of the night was Aftermath.
I told a story about how my view of my parents has changed since having children of my own.
I was fortunate enough to finish in first place that night.
In an effort to hold myself accountable, I post the progress of my yearly goals at the end of each month on this blog. The following are the results through May. 1. Don’t die.
I remain perfect on my most important goal.
2. Lose ten pounds.
I gained a pound. Three pounds down. Seven pounds to go. This is a clear refection of my lack of focus on this goal. Seriously. Ten pounds should be simple.
3. Do at least 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups five days a day. Also complete at least two two-minute planks five days per week.
Done.
4. Launch at least one podcast.
The hardware is ready. We designated a location in the house and set up the mixer and the microphones. I am working on understanding the software now. Basically, I understand how to record a podcast and can use the recording software fairly well. I am unsure what to do after I have the recording. How do I get my podcast onto the Internet? Into iTunes? Anywhere else it needs to go? Also, I may need a website to host and promote the podcasts, though this blog may serve this function. Still, a page will need to be created. A logo created. Other details I’m not even aware of yet, I’m sure.
5. Practice the flute for at least an hour a week.
The broken flute remains in the back of my car.
6. Complete my fifth novel before the Ides of March.
Done!
7. Complete my sixth novel.
Work had begun on the sixth novel.
8. Sell one children’s book to a publisher.
Work has begun on all three manuscripts. I’ve decided to revise them all and then choose the one that I think is best to send to my agent.
9. Complete a book proposal for my memoir.
Work on the memoir proposal has begun.
10. Complete at least twelve blog posts on my brother and sister blog.
Seven blog posts published during the month of May. More than halfway to the goal. Two more written by my sister awaiting publication. Kelli finds herself in a position to write consistently for the first time in her life. I’m trying to convince her to write a memoir. The last twenty years of her life have been extraordinarily difficult and would make a great story.
11. Become certified to teach high school English by completing two required classes.
I am now just one class and an inexplicable $50 away from achieving certification. That class will be taken in the summer.
12. Publish at least one Op-Ed in a newspaper.
I’ve have now published three pieces in the Huffington Post and one in Beyond the Margins. I am waiting response on an Op-Ed proposal from a major newspaper as well.
13. Attend at least eight Moth events with the intention of telling a story.
I attended one Moth event in May, bringing my total to seven. For the first time ever, I attended a StorySLAM in Boston at the Oberon Theater. I told a story about the day I lost a bike race to my friend and his new 10-speed bike. I finished in first place. It was my fourth StorySLAM victory.
14. Locate a playhouse to serve as the next venue for The Clowns.
The script, the score and the soundtrack remain in the hands of the necessary people. Talks continue on a new musical as well.
15. Give yoga an honest try.
Though I’m ready to try this whenever possible, the summer might be the most feasible time to attempt this goal.
My daughter, by the day, is taking yoga at her school. She demonstrated several poses to me the other day. This yoga stuff seems strange.
16. Meditate for at least five minutes every day.
I missed three days in May because my son is a pain-in-the-ass and wakes up before 7:00 AM.
17. De-clutter the garage.
Work continues. Nearing completion.
18. De-clutter the basement.
Work has begun. I installed the air conditioners this week, which eliminated three large objects from the basement. I also installed a rolling coat rack for the winter coats and have begun throwing away and donating baby paraphernalia that we will no longer need.
19. De-clutter the shed
Work has begun thanks to the work of a student. I will explain in a subsequent blog post.
20. Reduce the amount of soda I am drinking by 50%.
I failed to record my soda intake in April. I will begin tomorrow.
21. Try at least one new dish per month, even if it contains ingredients that I wouldn’t normally consider palatable.
I tried a new food in May but honestly can’t remember what it was. Also, I liked it.
22. Conduct the ninth No-Longer-Annual A-Mattzing Race in 2013.
No progress.
23. Post my progress in terms of these resolutions on this blog on the first day of every month.
Done.
Elysha and I attended the Moth StorySLAM in Boston last night, and I was fortunate enough to squeeze out a victory by a tenth of a point over two worthy competitors for my fourth StorySLAM victory. It was my first time telling a story in the state where I grew up, and it was a lot of fun.
I told a story about my realization as a child that hard work, effort and creativity cannot always overcome the material shortfalls and economic disadvantages associated with of poverty.
At its heart, the story was about the time when my childhood friend received a new ten-speed bike for his birthday and my subsequent realization that I would never defeat him in a bike race again, no matter how hard I tried, as long as I continued to ride my ancient, knobby-wheeled Huffy hand-me-down.
I managed to defeat two outstanding storytellers who both told hilarious and compelling tales from their youth as well. One told a story about how be became a vegetarian for five years just to win a bet against his older brother. The other told a story about the way in which Quentin Tarentino helped her try to win the heart of her high school English teacher.
Both stories were equally deserving of the win.
Thoughts from an evening:
1. This was my third attempt to attend a Boston StorySLAM. My first two trips were canceled due to a blizzard and the marathon bombing, so when hail the size of acorns began pelting our car on the Mass Pike, I began to wonder the universe was urging me to stay away from Bean Town.
Thankfully, we make it to Boston safely, though I thought Elysha was going to kill me when I refused to pull off the highway in the midst of the storm.
2. Attending The Moth in Boston was a lot like attending my first StorySLAM in New York back in July of 2011. I stepped into The Oberon not knowing a soul, much the same way I entered the Nuyorican Poet’s Café on my first night of storytelling almost two years ago. When I attend a StorySLAM in New York today, I always have friends in the audience. Many are fellow storytellers, Moth staff and producers, but there are also audience members who recognize me as a storyteller and make me feel at home. As loud and crowded and seemingly intimidating as a New York Moth event may be, it’s also a warm and inviting place for me to tell a story.
I was a complete stranger to the Boston audience. In truth, it was the first StorySLAM for most of the people in the audience last night. The Moth opened its doors just six month ago in Boston, and though their shows are consistently selling out, the audiences are still new to the format, and they are just beginning to build a base of regular attendees.
3. As the show began, there were only seven names in the hat. Unlike a New York StorySLAM, where there are always at least ten names in the hat and almost always many more, producers encouraged audience members to put their names in the hat at intermission to fill the ten storytelling slots for the evening, and they did. The number of names in the hat eventually swelled to 13, and in many ways, the second half of the show was much stronger than the first.
4. Even though it was my first time in Boston, I already started making friends with my fellow storytellers. It’s quite remarkable. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done in my life in which I want to absolutely destroy my competition while at the same time hope they do exceptionally well.
Winning a StorySLAM is an amazing feeling, but losing to great stories doesn’t hurt so much.
At the end of the show, I found myself chatting with storytellers onstage, sharing insight and advice when asked. Storytelling is new for many of them, and upon learning that I tell stories in New York, many were eager to pick my brain for tips. Unlike any other competitive situation, I gave willingly.
5. My name was the fifth drawn from the hat, which is much better than first or second but still a tough spot to be with such strong storytellers in the second half of the show. Of the four times that I have won a StorySLAM, my name has been drawn tenth, second, ninth and fifth.
6. During intermission, a guy sitting next to me asked if I was feeling more relaxed now that I had told my story. I said no. I explained that I truly love telling stories onstage, so when I tell my story during the first half of the show, my favorite part of the evening has come to an end.
While I am always grateful to have my name chosen at all, I often find myself sitting through the second half of the show thinking about what my next story will be for my next StorySLAM.
In short, when I’m finished telling my story, I already can’t wait to get back onstage again.
On August 23, 2012, I took the stage at The Moth StorySLAM at Housing Works in Manhattan to tell a story. The theme of the night was Yin/Yang.
I told a story about cheating in my high school science fair and unintentionally doing well.
I placed second on the evening, losing by a tenth of a point to Moth legend Steve Zimmer. It was the second StorySLAM in a row that I had lost by a tenth of a point to Zimmer.
Here a recording of the story I told that night:
On August 14, 2012, I took the stage at The Moth StorySLAM at Housing Works in Manhattan to tell a story. The theme of the night was About Time.
I placed second on the evening, losing by a tenth of a point (again) to Moth legend and my personal storytelling hero Steve Zimmer.
Here a recording of the story I told that night:
On Thursday night I was fortunate enough to win my third Moth StorySLAM of my storytelling career at The Bitter End in New York City. The theme of the night was AFTERMATH. I told a story the decisions that my parents made when I was a child and how the birth of my own children has cast those decisions in a new and unfortunate light for me. Following every StorySLAM, and especially every victory, I like to try to analyze my performance in order to glean any lessons or insight that might help me in future competitions.
It was an unusual StorySLAM in a couple ways. First, though The Bitter End was jammed with people, it wasn’t the usual raucous Moth crowd that I have come to expect at these events, perhaps because it was the week following Christmas and the audience was made up of many non-New Yorkers who were in town for the holidays. I suspect that there were a lot of people taking in The Moth for the first time and were not accustomed to the level of enthusiasm exhibited by typical Moth audiences.
It wasn’t a bad crowd. Just a quieter crowd. A little harder to make laugh.
Whatever the reason, the story I had prepared for the evening was not supposed to be funny, so it was probably the perfect kind of story for this particular audience.
It was also the first (and hopefully the last) time that I have heard storytellers call out other storytellers while onstage. It made for a couple of odd and slightly uncomfortable moments, to say the least. The first storyteller attempted to be funny by opening his story with a jab at previous storyteller’s story. The subsequent storyteller then attacked the first storyteller, calling him a douchebag for his criticism. Both remarks quieted the crowd and elicited groans from the people around me.
Another storyteller took the stage and opened by thanking us for braving the cold and the long line, attempting a Kumbaya-like moment with the audience.
I don’t think any of these things helped the storytellers in terms of their scores, nor did they serve to endear them to their audience.
I have always been a fan of getting on the stage, telling the story and getting off. Save the commentary for the host of the evening. That’s their job. Not ours.
That’s exactly what I did when I took the stage, but in truth, luck played a large role in my victory on Thursday night.
First, I was the final person to be called to the stage, which is an enormous benefit to any storyteller. The first storyteller of the night was someone I know well, and her story was outstanding. Humorous and revealing and full of suspense. It should have at least been contending with mine for the win, but because she went first, her chances for victory were exceptionally small.
I’m not sure if anyone has ever won a StorySLAM going first.
I also changed my story dramatically while onstage. On the drive to the city, I practiced my story in the car for my friend, but the story that I had prepared at home and told in the car was vastly different from the one told two hours later in front of the audience. I was fortunate. In the midst of telling the story, I found a couple of surprise transitions that helped propel it forward at a more rapid clip, and I stumbled upon two funny lines that worked very well.
Like I said, I got lucky.
As a storyteller, I feel that there is a delicate balance between being prepared and being over prepared. I’ve taken the stage at The Moth with a story that I have memorized almost word for word and done well, but more often, it seems as if I perform better if I have a general idea of my story, a few moments of planned transition and an opening line ready. By not memorizing the story entirely or even planning every moment of the story, I have more flexibility onstage and a greater opportunity to gauge the audience’s reaction, adjust if necessary and find those surprise moments that often work so well.
Of course, this can be dangerous, too. If I have not prepared enough, I might find myself lost in the story at moments, unable to finish it succinctly.
Like I said, it’s a delicate balance.
Also, for the first time ever, I took note of the location of the judges in the room. The three teams of judges happened to be located in the same general area, in front and to the left of the stage. Knowing that there were no judges to my right, I didn’t turn in that direction and establish eye contact with those audience members as often as I normally would have. Instead, I focused most of my attention straight ahead and to the left, where I knew that judges were seated. I’m not sure if this made a difference, but I can’t imagine that it hurt.
I’m still walking on air following my Moth victory on Thursday night. It broke a frustrating string of four second place finishes and will give me another chance at winning a GrandSLAM.
I love taking the stage and telling stories at The Moth. I feel exceptionally fortunate when my name emerges from that tote bag, allowing me the opportunity to tell my story to a willing audience. If it was not a competition but simply an evening of storytelling, I would still be dropping my name in that bag, hoping for it to be drawn.
But I won’t lie. The competitive aspect of The Moth adds an additional layer that I like very much. Win or lose, I love knowing exactly how I did on any given night. Having spent much of my childhood playing video games, I like to know my score. I like to know where I placed. I like to know if and how I should improve.
The Moth offers that as well.
And when you actually manage to win, you get to walk on air for a few days. Not a bad reward.
As a second grader, comedian and actor Jamie Foxx was so talented at telling jokes that his teacher used him as a reward.
If the class behaved, he would entertain them.
I don’t know who Jaime Foxx’s teacher was, but I suspect that I would have liked him a lot.
One of the rewards I give students throughout the school year is stories from my life. Most often these stories are about my childhood, but not always. There are also occasional stories about my children, my wife and events from my adult life as well. I will be reading a book aloud to the class or listening to a student tell me a story when I am reminded of a moment from my past, and I’ll say something like, “Oh, that reminds me of the strangest pet that I ever owned.”
“What was it?” a student will ask.
“Oh, you won’t believe the pet I had as a kid. It was amazing. But I don’t have time to tell that story now. But maybe later. When you’re especially productive.”
My personal secretary (a student) will then add the story to the growing list of topics lest I forget, and when my students have been especially productive and achieved their goals ahead of of schedule, I will offer to tell them a story from this list. The personal secretary will review the list and choose one for me to tell.
It’s a five minute reward that my students adore, and it also serves to reinforce the elements of effective storytelling with my kids. Oftentimes I’m also able to embed some meaningful life lessons into these stories, and best of all, I am able to make my kids laugh.
Kids who laugh at school like school, and kids who like school learn more.
It’s that simple.
The strangest pet ever, by the way, was a raccoon. His name was Racket. Perhaps I’ll tell you that story someday.
Of course, you must be a good storyteller in order to make this reward work.
Earlier this year I was telling a story that included one of my fellow teachers, and halfway through the story, he happened to enter the classroom. He heard the story being told, realized that he was an integral part of it and sat down to listen. A minute later he jumped in to clarify a point and then proceeded to tell his part of the story for himself.
“Stop!” one of the kids said after few moments. “You’re not telling it right. Let Mr. Dicks tell the story. He knows what he’s doing. Just listen.”
Several others nodded their heads in agreement.
And they were right. He wasn’t telling the story right. He was butchering it.
Winning two Moth StorySLAMs and placing second in four others over the past year has been a dream come true for me (actually, the second place finishes have been damn frustrating), but that moment of affirmation from a bunch of ten-year-olds meant just as much to me.
Last year the New England Patriots played the Kansas City Chiefs on a Monday night in Foxboro. My fellow season ticket holder could not attend the game for less than acceptable reasons, and I could not find a soul who was willing to attend the game with me.
The freezing temperatures and the probability of arriving back home in Connecticut well after 2:00 in the morning (if we were lucky) deterred anyone from wanting to take the extra ticket and join me.
I hemmed and hawed all day about going to the game alone, knowing that if I went, I would be driving home from the game in the dead of night by myself. I’d also be watching the game from the icy confines of Gillette Stadium without the benefit of a friend’s companionship or a pre-game tailgate party.
In the end, I chose to remain home.
Last week I planned on attending a Moth StorySLAM in Manhattan. I had a story prepared and was ready to make the trip on my own (again, no one was willing to join me), but at the last minute, I chose to stay home. I had spent 5 of the last 6 days on the road, camping with my fifth graders, attending the Patriots home opener and traveling to Troy, NY for a book signing. With so much time spent on the road, I decided that I would be better off staying at home rather than enduring another long, late night drive on my own.
In the past two years, these two decisions represent two of my greatest regrets. I’m completely annoyed with myself for each decision, and I cannot foresee a time when I will not feel this way.
When it comes to making decisions like these, I use a “three day, three month, three year” test.
As difficult as it might be to travel to and from Gillette Stadium or New York City on my own, late at night, will I regret my decision three days later? Though I may be tired or even exhausted the next day, how will I feel about my decision three days from now, when I am well rested? Will I regret not having chosen the more difficult road?
What about three months later? When I look back on the missed opportunity, will that restful evening at home come close to matching what could have been? Will I even remember what I did on the night that I could have spent watching Monday Night Football or telling a story on a Moth stage?
What about three years later? What will mean more to me?
A forgotten evening at home amidst a thousand other evenings at home or the memories from a rare Monday Night football game?
Or the missed opportunity of taking the stage at a Moth StorySLAM and entertaining an audience of strangers with a story from my life? Perhaps even winning the StorySLAM and earning the right to perform in another GrandSLAM?
I am not implying that an evening spent at home with my wife and children is a forgettable, wasteful experience. Those evenings are some of the most cherished moments of my life. But I also believe that we must take advantage of the considerably less frequent opportunities like a Monday Night Football game or a Moth StorySLAM when they present themselves. The time we spend with our families and friends creates the fabric of our lives, but those moments we spend doing things that so many do not punctuate our lives and create the bright, specific memories that last a lifetime. We cannot allow a few hours of lost sleep or chilly temperatures or the promise of a bleary-eyed day at work prevent us from doing those things that so many people skip in favor of an evening in front of the television or surfing the Internet.
When making a decision about whether or not to do something that is hard, we cannot allow the subsequent 24 hours to dictate our decision. We must look ahead, three days, three months and three years, to see how we might then feel about our decision.
Perspective is a powerful tool in decision-making. While we can never know for certain how we will feel, we can predict how hindsight might make us feel. This is what I do when deciding between something that is easy and something that is difficult.
Tomorrow doesn’t matter. I can always survive tomorrow.
Will I regret this decision in three days, three months or three years time?
In terms of last years Monday Night Football game and last week’s StorySLAM, the answer is decidedly affirmative.
For someone who loves golf and entrepreneurism as much as me, I thought this was impressive:
While waiting in line for a Moth StorySLAM last week in SoHo, I watched a man set up a driving range in an alley between two building. Using real golf clubs and crushed milk cartons, he charged people for the opportunity to hit the milk cartons down the alley and into a green, plastic bin.
I was standing there for more than 30 minutes and he was never without a customer.
I don’t think the man is getting rich off his idea, nor do I think it’s scalable to a larger market, but anyone that can bring golf to the city and make a buck at the same time is alright in my book.
I competed in The Moth’s StorySLAM last night and came in second place, losing to my storytelling hero, Steve Zimmer, by a tenth of a point.
It was actually an honor to compete against to Zimmer, who was exceptionally gracious in his victory, and I should be feeling good about a second place finish after competing against some of the best storytellers I have ever seen last night.
But last night also marks the third StorySLAM in a row that I have placed second, and in each of those second place finishes, I have lost by a tenth of a point.
In addition, I came in second at the most recent GrandSLAM Championship, losing by two-tenths of a point.
It’s starting to annoy me.
That’s not true. It’s starting to enrage me.
I know that I should be pleased with my consistently strong performance and grateful for my good fortune. I have been telling stories at The Moth for just over a year. I have told stories in six StorySLAMs and have placed first or second in five of the six.
I have also told stories in two GrandSLAM Championships and placed second and third.
I should be ecstatic over my early success, especially considering the number of skilled, talented, and experienced storytellers who I compete against on a nightly basis, but instead, I am just angry that I continue to lose by a smidgen, even when I am losing to my hero.
My only solace:
In the video below, which features Zimmer, he describes himself as being at least as competitive as me and at least as disappointed as me when he loses. Other storytellers have expressed similar sentiments to me in the past. I may be a petulant, bitter loser, but apparently it is par for the course.
Also, at the time of filming, Zimmer had also placed second in three consecutive StorySLAMs, so perhaps there’s hope.
Maybe I’m simply walking a path similar to that of my storytelling hero, finding my way to storytelling glory. It’s a lousy, good-for-nothing path, but perhaps there is a light somewhere at the end.
If so, I can’t see it yet.
But it’s been less than 24 hours since I lost to Zimmer. Maybe I’ll be less annoyed and more appreciative with time.
Last Tuesday night I performed at The Moth GrandSLAM, and while I did well, finishing in second place, I also failed to tell my story in the way that I had planned for the first time in my brief Moth career. It was also the first time I had ever taken the stage for any occasion (and there have been many) and not felt entirely in control. My almost six-minute story ended in less than five minutes, and it was only through luck and a bit of verbal jujitsu that I was able to string together enough facts to keep some semblance of the actual story.
I assumed that it was because I had become emotional onstage, but there have been other times when emotions have gotten the best of me before. This time was different. I had also lost all focus onstage. I had begun to tremble. To be completely honest, I couldn’t keep track or entirely remember what I was saying. The words were coming from my mouth, but it was as if I was only half aware of what they were. Rather than telling the story, I had somehow drifted into the story and was listening to it as it was being told.
That’s not quite right, but it’s as close as I can get to describing the feeling.
It was all very strange, and ever since that night, I have been concerned that I had somehow lost my onstage mojo. I wondered if my inability to remain calm and focused in front of a large group of people was a sign of things to come. I worried that this may happen every time I took the stage to tell a story, and if that were the case, my brief storytelling career would be over.
Regardless of the scores that I received for Tuesday’s performance, I never wanted to feel that way again, and I was afraid that I might.
I wrote about my Moth experience a couple days after the performance, and a friend and psychologist who knows the story that I told onstage well weighed in on my experience. Her words brought immediate understanding and comfort to me.
She wrote:
With all you've been through, those events were among the most traumatic, if not the most. And the body remembers trauma, even when the mind has figured it out. For whatever reason, the Moth triggered some PTS.
What (Tuesday night and the actual experience) had in common were you as the focus/center of attention in both cases. While that's usually fine, in fact you’re very comfortable in that place, you haven't talked about that subject in front of a lot of people. I think the crowd plus the topic triggered your PTS. And it wasn't simple PTS, it was prolonged, intense, potentially destructive, scary, icky, despicable, so-called "complex PTS " in my business. It's as if you had a body flashback.
I have suffered with post traumatic stress disorder since surviving an armed robbery in 1993. For years I would wake up every night screaming, and my nerves have always been on a hair trigger as a result. For more than a decade, my life was governed by a complex set of rules and precautions designed to keep me safe and in charge of my environment. I was an over-planner and hyper-vigilante to a level that is difficult to imagine.
When I met my wife, she finally convinced me to receive treatment for the condition, and after two years of incredibly hard work, I managed to recover. The nightmares, for the most part, have stopped. While I am still easily startled and remain more alert than most people, the rituals that I once undertook upon entering a new environment in order to feel safe have fallen by the wayside. Most important, the deafening click of an empty gun being fired, which used to fire off in my head at several times throughout the day, is thankfully no more.
But when my reputation and career came under attack in 2007, many of my PTS symptoms returned, and I went back to my therapist for a while in order to deal with the issue. It was a brief and surprisingly manageable flare-up, but my friend is right. The anonymous, public attack on me and my wife during the summer of 2007 was one of the most traumatic events in my life, and when I took the stage last Tuesday night to describe them, it was almost as if I were experiencing it all over again.
I find great comfort in this newfound awareness. While experiencing a post traumatic stress attack on stage is not something that I would ever want to happen again, it is unlikely that it ever would, since there are only a small handful of stories that I could tell that might trigger my PTSD. The story of the robbery, perhaps, which I have yet to tell, and possibly the car accident that nearly took my life in 1988. These two events have been identified by my therapist as instances that triggered my first bouts with PTSD, and so they are likely the only stories that might cause a similar reaction onstage. Even so, now that I am aware of this potential, I think I can be better prepared for it and manage it more effectively than I did on Tuesday night.
My hope is to tell the story of the summer of 2007 onstage again someday, and hopefully in a longer format. Ideally, I would need 10-12 minutes to tell the story in its entirety, and though I initially thought that I might never want to speak of it again in any context, the understanding of what happened on Tuesday night has already ended my concerns about taking the stage again and has me convinced that next time, I will likely become emotional again, but those emotions will not be accompanied by the lost, unfocused, detached, harrowing sensation of Tuesday night.
My hope is to be able to tell that story again someday, with all the emotion of Tuesday night, but to also tell the story in its grim but ultimately triumphant entirety.
Thanks to the understanding that my friend has provided, I think I can do that now.
Thanks so much for all of the interest in my performance at The Moth’s GrandSLAM on Tuesday night. Sorry it’s taken all day to sit down and write about it, but we arrived home late after the show and have been running around ever since.
Suffice it to say that it was an odd evening for me. I finished second in terms of the competition, which is thrilling considering the caliber of competition on the stage that night but also frustrating after coming so close and losing by a few tenths of a point.
But I also felt quite fortunate considering I did not come close to executing the story as I had planned.
As I took the stage to tell the story about an anonymous person’s attempt to destroy my teaching career, I became unexpectedly emotional, almost to the point of being unable to tell my story at all. I had to stop and start at least twice during the story, and at one point I thought I might not be able to continue. What was supposed to be an almost six minute story ended up coming in at less than five minutes as I found myself dropping entire paragraphs as a result of my inability to focus and concentrate.
I never expected to become so emotional about this story. I have told it many times before, and though it is still something I live with on a daily basis, I haven’t been emotional about it in a long, long time.
For the first time in my life, I felt like a mess onstage. This is not a feeling I wish to repeat ever again. While I work hard to bring an emotional component to my storytelling, I never want my emotions to get the best of me. It was a miracle I even made it through to the end with some semblance of the narrative intact.
Thankfully, it was the emotion that I managed to convey while butchering the actual story that appealed to both the judges and the audience in general. Several people told me that they had been moved to tears while listening to me, and the overall theme of my story seemed to connect with a great many people.
While winning would have been great, I was fortunate to have done as well as I did. I will hopefully have an opportunity to tell that story again someday, perhaps in all its agonizing detail, and while I would like to convey the same emotion as I did last night, I would also like a chance to tell the story as I had originally planned.
This was my second GrandSLAM appearance, and my sixth Moth appearance overall in my short career of storytelling. In fact, I didn’t realize it at the time, but Tuesday night’s performance came within a couple days of marking my one year anniversary with The Moth. On July 12 of last year, I told my first Moth story at the Nuyorican Poets' Café in Manhattan and was fortunate enough to win.
I competed in the GrandSLAM in October of that year and finished third and went on to win another StorySLAM at the Bell House in Brooklyn this past April and finish in second place in two other StorySLAM competitions.
The most amazing part of The Moth, and the one I least expected when I began this journey, is the number of remarkable people who I have met while participating in these events. Many of the Moth producers, hosts and storytellers are people who I now call my friends, and the relationships I have built with them have opened doors into new and amazing opportunities for me.
Fellow storyteller Erin Barker, for example, offered me advice while preparing for last night’s competition, and her words proved to be more prescient than I could have ever imagined. She knew exactly which details to include in the story and which to remove. She predicted when the audience would laugh when a one second pause would be worth more than one hundred words in terms of dramatic effect, and in each and every case, she was right. She is a master storyteller, and I have learned so much from her in such a short time.
If you’d like to hear Erin (and Josh Blau) tell a story, you can listen here.
My next two attempts at a StorySLAM will take place on August 14 and 23, both at Housing Works Bookstore Café in SoHo. The themes of the shows are “About Time” and “Yin/Yang.” If you’d like to join me for the event or have a suggestion for a story that might fit the theme (it must be a true story from my own life, but oddly enough, my friends are better at suggesting stories than I am at choosing one on my own), please let me know.
On April 19 of this year, I took the stage at The Moth StorySLAM at Housing Works in Manhattan to tell a story. The theme of the night was Armor.
I placed second on the evening, scoring exceptionally well but losing to former StorySLAM winner Diana Spechler, whose story about losing her virginity (which included the difficulties in dealing with her fibrous hymen) was quite deserving of the win.
Diana and I will be competing against each other in July at the GrandSLAM Championship.
Here a recording of the story I told that night:
Storyteller Steve Zimmer is a hero of mine. I’ve listened to him several times on The Moth’s weekly podcast and have heard him tell stories live at Moth events around the city. I adore this style of storytelling and am always impressed with his performance.
But Steve is also my competitor at the upcoming Moth GrandSLAM Championship in July, which I find both exciting and daunting.
Steve has told stories at more than 75 StorySLAMs and has been to 10 GrandSLAM championships.
By contrast, I have told stories at four StorySLAMs, and this will be my second GrandSLAM championship.
In the experience department, Steve has quite a leg up on me.
I’ve always wondered how veteran storytellers prepare for competition, and in this short video, Steve discusses several of his techniques, as well as admitting to the level of nervousness and competitiveness that he experiences when he takes the stage.
Overall, I suspect that I am slightly less nervous than Steve when I take the stage but at least as competitive, if not more. As much as I enjoy taking the stage and telling a story, the competitive side of The Moth has always appealed to me as well.
But competing against one of my storytelling heroes next month will probably increase my level of nervousness considerably.
On July 17 I will be competing in The Moth’s GrandSLAM championship at the Highline Ballroom in Manhattan. I gained access to this championship event by winning the Moth’s StorySLAM at the Bell House in Brooklyn back in March.
The theme of the night was Theft.
Thanks to my wife, I told a story about a time when I was nineteen and I stole some shoes from a shoe store. I had many other stories that fit this theme well (which doesn’t say much about me) and had chosen one that I liked a lot, but at the last minute, I switched stories, trusting in my wife’s instincts over my own.
I should do this more often.
The theme of the upcoming GrandSLAM championship is “Fall from Grace” and once again, I regrettably have quite a few stories from which to choose.
The following is a recording of my StorySLAM winning story from The Bell House entitled Shoe Thief:
I spent last Thursday in New York City. Oftentimes a single day in the city feels like three by the time I leave, and Thursday was no exception.
When I am in the city, I like to get a lot done.
A few notes from that day:
1. My first stop was MacMillan Audio, where I teamed up with my friend and colleague, Donna Gosk, who also happens to be a character in my next book. While attempting to create a fictional teacher who my protagonist would love and respect, I decided that I would simply use Donna, who is one of the finest teachers I have ever known. As a result, I have transformed Donna into a nonfictional-fictional character, at least for the purposes of the book (though many who know Donna might say that she is a bit of a fictional character in real life as well).
After learning that Donna is a real person, the good people at MacMillan decided to interview the two of us for a segment that will be placed at the end of the audiobook. It was a brilliant idea on their part, and I think listeners will find it very interesting.
How often does a reader get to hear a fictional character speak in real life?
2. Donna and I joined my editor, my editor’s assistant, and author Ann Leary for lunch following our interview. I eat lunch everyday at work with a large group of women, and this lunch turned out to be no different.
Having spent the last thirteen years teaching elementary school, I can’t remember the last time I had a weekday lunch with a man.
There was much talk around the table about 50 SHADES OF GRAY, the recent bestselling book of erotic fiction, which naturally led to even more talk about sex. When this happens at school (which it does quite frequently), I am able to step away, claiming to have papers to correct or a lesson to plan. On Thursday, however, I was stuck with nowhere to hide. I remained quiet for much of the conversation, eating my cheeseburger and learning that, among other things, there is an exceptionally steamy sex scene in the second book of the CLAN OF THE CAVE BEAR series that every woman should read.
3. Donna and I also visited the offices of The Daily Beast, where her daughter works on the social media side of the business.. I receive most of my news via The Daily Beast, so it was exciting to see the organization, which is larger than I would have ever imagined, in action.
4. I was joined by friends for a Moth StorySlam performance later that evening at Housing Works in the East Village. This is the couple who we have chosen as godparents of our next child, yet I learned over dinner that the husband, a man who I consider a close friend and is a member of our book club (so we at least occasionally reads), has never read either of my books. Needless to say, I was stunned and look forward to the moment when my wife unleashes her wrath upon him.
5. I was lucky enough to have my name drawn from the proverbial Moth hat (it’s actually a tote bag), so I was able to take the stage on Thursday night and tell my story on the topic of Armor. My story centered on the time I rode my bike off our barn roof in a feeble attempt to garner some much-desired attention of my neglectful parents.
It’s ironic that I took the stage and told a story about my inability to get the attention I needed as a child to an audience that included a friend who has failed to read either of my books.
I should have worked that into my story.
Nevertheless I did well, finishing second in a field of ten storytellers. I was beaten by author and former StorySlam winner Diana Spechler, whose story about losing her virginity (which included the difficulties in dealing with her fibrous hymen) was quite deserving of the win. When Diana finished telling her story, I think there was little doubt in the room that she was going to be the winner that evening.
Though I always want to win, the fact that I had already secured a spot in the GrandSlam championship with my StorySlam victory last month made second place slightly less frustrating.
But only slightly less.
This Moth StorySlam performance took place on November 28, 2011 at The Bitter End. The topic of the evening was Freaks. I wasn’t entirely pleased with this performance. A GPS failure had sent us to Queens instead of the East Village, so we arrived at The Bitter End about 30 seconds before the show was to begin and were forced to stand in a crowd of people for the entire show. As a result, I had no time to review my story beforehand, and it is evident in the way I am forced to circle around the ending of the story a bit before eventually finding it.
Most notable about this performance, however, was my failure to hear any of the warning bells that evening. When I stepped off the stage, my friend said, “You went long, dude.”
“Yeah, but just a smidgen,” I said.
“You went way past the second warning,” he said.
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even get the second warning.”
Apparently, I did. What should have been a five minute story went more than seven minutes, and this most assuredly impacted my scores. I finished in fifth place, and while I shouldn’t have won the competition, (there were at least three other storytellers far better than me that night), I expected much better scores.
But nobody likes a long-winded storyteller, myself included.