The worst thing you can say to a storyteller (you passive-aggressive douchebag)

While in Brazil, I spoke to audiences as small as 50 and as large as 500. Part of every talk was one more stories from my life, similar to the stories that I tell onstage for The Moth, Speak Up, and similar organizations.

I made it clear to every audience that the stories I tell are true. I explained that although there are storytellers who specialize in folk tales, fables, and other types of fiction, my brand of storytelling is personal and real.  

While eating lunch with a group of adults following one of these talks, a person at the table told me that he liked my story a lot.

"I don't know how true the story was, but it was a good one either way."

This is a passive-aggressive means of calling a storyteller a liar, and these kinds of statements never sit well with me. There have been times when I have questioned the veracity of a storyteller, and while I might express my doubts privately to my wife or a close friend, I would never question the storyteller, especially in mixed company.

Even if I saw a reason to question the truthfulness of a storyteller (and I can't think of one), I would do so both privately and directly. Maybe if I was casting a show and unsure about the truthfulness of a story, I might probe a bit. See if there was a hint of falsehood in the storyteller's answers. But again, I would be discreet and direct.  

Passive-aggressiveness is for cowards. It's not as vile or gutless as an anonymous criticism, but it's close. 

My honesty as a storyteller was questioned once before. After telling a story in New York about cheating on a science fair project in high school, I went to the bar to get a drink. A man standing beside me in line complimented my story and then said, "I'm not sure if it really happened, but the way you told it was great."

I assured the passive-aggressive weasel that my story was true and returned to my seat. I was tempted to mention that I have a newspaper clipping that details my unexpected science fair success, and I have friends from high school who could attest to the veracity of the story, but I thought that doing so would be a waste of time.

But three years later, that stranger's comment still bothers me, as I expect the comment from the man in Brazil will, too.

Why?

I suspect that it has something to do with the seriousness that I apply myself to this art form. Storytelling is important to me. I work exceptionally hard to craft and tell a great story. While I've been known to take the stage on occasion after only a modicum of preparation, most stories take weeks or even months to prepare. Some stories can only be told after decades of reflection. The last thing I want is for someone to belittle my craft and my hard work by implying that I'm a cheat or a liar.  

For me, storytelling is an opportunity to share a part of my life with an audience that is ready and willing to listen. It's a chance to speak a truth about my life that I might not normally share. Taking the stage means taking a risk. It's a moment in which I am most vulnerable and exposed. 

Accusing me of lying in a moment like that sucks.

It would be easy for me to invent stories about my past in order to win over the crowd and the judges, but oddly enough, I think it would be difficult as well. 

Easy because as a fiction writer, I'm sure that I would construct some fantastic bits of fiction for the stage if I really wanted to. I write whole novels based entirely in fiction. A five minute story would probably be a piece of cake. 

But where's the fun in that?

But it would also be difficult because I can't imagine connecting emotionally to a fictional story onstage, which in my mind is one of the most critical elements to great storytelling. I would end up as a storyteller who says the words but doesn't feel or experience them as he or she speaks. 

That's no way to tell a story.

Either way, I can't stand passive-aggressive douche bags of any kind, and both of these guys fit the bill perfectly.

If you doubt the veracity of a storyteller, keep it to yourself. 

Or share your doubts with a friend or loved one privately. 

Or question the storyteller privately and directly.

Anything else and you're comparable to the pestilential crud that sticks to the soles of your shoes after stumbling through the men's room at halftime of a Patriots-Ravens football game.

The Moth makes it into the pages of Newsweek, and I play a teeny tiny role.

I began telling stories for The Moth back in 2011.

It's no exaggeration that my life changed on that July night when I took the stage at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe and told my first story.

The Moth recently aired that first story on the Moth Radio Hour.  It's a good story, but four years later, I hear the imperfections when I listen to it. I may have won the StorySLAM that night, but I still had a lot to learn.

I still have a lot to learn.

I recently revised and retold the story for a special Moth event at the Soho Synagogue.  was much happier with that performance, though based upon the post I wrote after winning that first slam, I was damn happy that night, too. 

This week I was mentioned in a Newsweek feature on The Moth. It's a thrill to be mentioned and quoted in Newsweek, and it's even more thrilling to see Speak Up, our storytelling organization, mentioned as well.

You can find my mention and quote about two-thirds of the way down the piece.

But most thrilling is simply seeing my name so closely attached to The Moth. 

Four years ago, I was still dreaming of taking the stage and telling a story for The Moth. I was a guy with a goal who was still too frightened to take that first step.

34 StorySLAMs, 13 GrandSLAMs, and a handful of Mainstage shows later, I am now a Moth storyteller. 

It's no exaggeration that my life changed on that July night when I took the stage at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe and told my first story.

My daughter wished me luck before my most recent Moth GrandSLAM performance then promptly retracted it.

I received this incredibly sweet but slightly parroted message from my kids just before I took the stage in Brooklyn to compete in my tenth Moth GrandSLAM last week.

When I saw my daughter the next day, she asked how I did.

“Second place.”

“Again?” she asked. In ten GrandSLAMs, I’ve only won once and finished in second place seven times. Apparently my six year-old daughter is aware of this. She shook her head in disgust.

“I don’t know why I wish you good luck.”

I have 15 jobs. So you probably require my services in one way or another.

As the New Year approaches and the endless possibilities of the coming year loom on the horizon, I always like to take a moment and reset my current occupational status, in the event that you or someone you know will require my services in 2015.

While occupations like teacher and writer seem like fairly obvious inclusions on the list, there are also several less obvious jobs on the list that may seem a little silly at first, but let me assure you that they are not.

Many people thought it was silly back in 1997 when my friend and I decided to become wedding DJs, even though we had no experience, equipment, or knowledge of the wedding industry whatsoever. We simply declared ourselves wedding DJs, bought a pile of equipment that we didn’t know how to use, and began the search for clients.

Nineteen years and more than 400 weddings later, we’re still in business.

The same could be said about my decision to become a minister in 2002. Or a life coach back in 2010. Or a professional best man in 2011. Or last year’s declaration that I was a public speaking coach. Or last week’s announcement that I am now a presentation consultant.

All of these positions have either become profitable ventures or at least received interest from potential clients.

The lesson: If you want to do something, just start doing it.  

So here is a list of my 14 current occupations and an explanation of my services. I hope I can be of service to you in 2015. 
______________________

Teacher. Sorry. I’ve got a job teaching already, and I love it.

But in about four years, a partner and I plan on opening a one-room schoolhouse for students grades K-5, so if you’re looking for a school for your child at that time (or looking to donate money to build the school), contact me.

Writer: In addition to writing novels, I’ve also written a memoir, a book of essays, a rock opera, a tween musical, and a screenplay. I’m also the humor columnist for Seasons magazine.

     

I’m always looking for additional writing gigs, in particular a regular opinion column and/or advice column, so if you have a writing job in need of a good writer, contact me.

Wedding DJ: My partner and I are entering our 19th year in the business. We’ve have entertained at more than 400 weddings in that time. We’ve cut back on our business in recent years, ceasing to advertise or even maintain a respectable website. Almost all of our business these days comes through client or venue referrals, as we prefer.

If you’re getting married and need a DJ, contact me. 

Storyteller and public speaker: I deliver keynote addresses, inspirational speeches, and talks on a variety of subjects including education, writing, storytelling, productivity, and more. I’m represented by Macmillan Speakers Bureau.

I’m also a professional storyteller who has performed at more than 60 storytelling events in the last three years and has hosted story slams for literary festivals, colleges, and more. I’m a 15-time Moth StorySLAM champion and GrandSLAM champions whose stories have appeared on The Moth Radio Hour and This American Life.

If you need someone to entertain, inspire, inform, or emcee, contact me.  

Founder and producer of Speak Up: My wife and I produce a storytelling show called Speak Up. We are based in Hartford at Real Art Ways with additional shows at venues throughout the region, including local schools and The Mount in Lenox, MA.

If you have an audience that would be interested in storytelling, or you’re a storyteller looking to pitch a story for one of our shows, send an email to speakupstorytelling@gmail.com.

Minister: In the past ten years, I’ve married 13 couples and conducted baby naming ceremonies and baptisms. I’ll be marrying two more couples in 2015.

If you’re getting married and are in need of a minister, contact me. 

Life coach: In the past four years, I’ve worked with four different clients, assisting them in everything from goal setting to productivity to personal relationships to career development.

If you’re looking to make changes in your life and become a happier and more successful person, contact me.  

Tutor: I tutor students in grade K-12 on everything from general academics to college essay writing.

If you’re the parent of a student in need of academic support, either regularly or occasionally, contact me.

Storytelling and public speaking coach: For the past two years, I’ve been teaching storytelling workshops and coaching storytellers on an individual basis. People often take my workshops in hopes of performing in storytelling shows and competing in story slams, but they also take these workshops to improve job performance, enhance communication skills, and get their friends and family to finally listen to them.

My real mission is to eliminate the scourge of PowerPoint from this planet, one story at a time.

If you’d like to improve your storytelling, public speaking, and/or communication skills, send an email to speakupstorytelling@gmail.com and get on our mailing list. 

Writing camp coordinator and instructor: Last year my wife and I launched Writer’s Abroad, a four week long summer writing camp for students ages 11-16. We had an outstanding inaugural season and plan on an even better second year in 2015.

If you are the parent of a child ages 11-16 who loves to write and/or could benefit from four weeks of intensive writing instruction designed to improve skills and inspire writers, this camp may be for you. Contact me.

Presentation consultant: Since posting about this position a week ago, I have heard from two people who have expressed interest in hiring me for their fairly new companies at some point in the future. I may also have the opportunity to take on a partner in this business.

If you are a person who delivers content via meetings, presentations, workshops, etc. and would like to improve your communication skills, contact me.

Professional Best Man: Since posting about this position on this blog in 2011, four grooms and two reality television producers have inquired about hiring me for their weddings and television shows that are wedding related. Geographical constraints forced me to reject all their offers thus far. I am still awaiting my first gig.

Productivity consultant: Since posting about this position on this blog in 2013, I’ve had one inquiry about my services.

If you would like to become a more productive person in your personal or professional life and are willing to make changes in order to achieve this goal, contact me.

Professional double date companion: Since posting about this position on this blog in 2011, I have had no inquiries. That does not mean the job is a failure. Just that it has yet to succeed.

If you’re dating someone for the first time or have been on several dates and need that important second or third opinion on the person in question, contact me.

Professional gravesite visitor: Since posting about this position on this blog in 2011, I have had no inquiries. That does not mean the job is a failure. Just that it has yet to succeed.

If you have a gravesite in Connecticut in need of visiting, contact me.

My story was featured on The Moth’s podcast this week. I still get goose bumps.

I was thrilled to learn that one of the stories that I told at a Moth StorySLAM in Boston last year was featured on their podcast this week. I’ve seen a much younger version of myself on The Moth’s homepage once before, but it’s very much like seeing one of my novels on a bookstore shelf.

I still can’t believe it.

Five years ago, I started listening to The Moth’s podcast after a friend recommended it to me. She thought that I might have stories to tell someday. I spent two years listening to the podcast, reveling in the stories told by people who I thought were gods.

I still do.

Three years ago, I went to New York and told my first story. I thought it would be my last story. I thought I was simply checking an item off my lifelong list of things to do.

Tell a story at The Moth. Move on.

Twenty-five StorySLAMs and 13 victories later, The Moth and storytelling have become as important to me as any of my creative endeavors. I’ve told stories in eight GrandSLAMs, two Main Stage shows, and my stories have been featured on the Moth Radio Hour twice. I’ve told stories for many other organizations since then, including This American Life, and my wife and I have launched our own storytelling organization in Connecticut.

Yet I still can’t believe that my story is on The Moth’s podcast again this week, alongside storytellers who I still think of as gods.

You don’t get to rub elbows with the gods very often. The Moth has given me the chance to do so routinely. I am fortunate enough to know some of the finest storytellers in the world through my work at The Moth. Truly some of the finest people who I have ever met. I have the opportunity to stand on the stage alongside giants and tell stories to the best audiences that a performer will ever know.

I still get goose bumps every time I do.

I got those same goose bumps upon seeing my face on The Moth’s homepage this week. It all started five years ago by listening to amazing stories piped into my ears.

This week my own story will be piped into people’s ears.

If it happened a thousand times, I still wouldn’t quite believe it.

The Moth: Secret Bedroom Move

The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at The Bitter End in New York City in 2013. 

The theme of the night was Space. I told a story about secretly moving my bedroom to the basement when I was a child.

I finished in second place.

The Moth: The Cardboard Knight

The following is a story that I told at a Moth GrandSLAM at The Music Hall at Williamsburg in 2014. 

The theme of the night was In Your Face. I told a story about a childhood battle with a not-so-nice cat.

I finished in second place.

The Moth: No Santa

The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at Housing Works in New York City in 2014. 

The theme of the night was Secrets. I told a story about my discovery that Santa wasn’t real and more.

I finished in first place.

I won a Moth StorySLAM, and that wasn’t the best part of the night. Seriously.

I won a Moth StorySLAM at The Oberon Theater in Cambridge on Tuesday night. I managed to win from first position, which isn’t easy.

I’ve won 13 Moth StorySLAMs in the last three years, but I’ve never won after having to go first. Few storytellers do. I was excited. Thrilled, even, But winning was not the best part of the night for me.

Given my extreme competitive nature, this is really saying something. 

Three of my friends joined me at The Oberon on Tuesday night, and two of them, Plato and Tom, put their names in the hat and were fortunate enough to take the stage and tell a story.

They performed brilliantly. They told great stories. Their stories were so good, in fact, that Plato finished in second place, just a few tenths of a point behind me, and Tom finished in third, a few tenths of a point behind Plato.

I was impressed with their performances. A little proud, even.

Both Plato and Tom began their storytelling careers at Speak Up after Elysha and I asked them to tell a story. Tom told a hilarious story about meeting his wife for the first time, and Plato has told a number of stories for us, including one at our very first show.

Last night was the first time they took the stage for The Moth. I suspect that it won’t be the last.

Plato and Tom are not my only friends who have taken the stage to tell a story. Since I began introducing my friends to storytelling (shortly after I began doing it myself), many of them have performed at Speak Up, and a handful have told stories at a Moth event.

I’ve also watched people who complete my storytelling workshop go on to tell stories at Speak Up and even compete in Moth StorySLAMs. Many of them assured me that they were taking my workshop for reasons other than performing and swore that they would never take the stage. Despite their initial protestations, a large number of them have gone on to tell stories for Speak Up, and a few have even ventured into New York and Boston and competed in Moth events as well.

People who never dreamed of standing on a stage and performing have become seasoned storytellers who can’t wait to tell their next story.

Introducing friends to something new, assisting them in honing their skills, and then watching them perform and compete is more rewarding than I would have ever expected. That’s how I felt on Tuesday night, watching Plato and Tom perform on stage.

In many ways, I was also returning favors.

Eight years ago, Tom bought a set of golf clubs for $10 at a garage sale, dropped them into my car on a snowy, December afternoon, and thereby launched my golfing career. Golf has become one of the greatest loves of my life. I’m still a terrible player, but I would play every day if I could. I’ve even written a memoir about the game. It’s not an exaggeration to say that Tom changed my life when he dropped those golf clubs into my car that day.

Back in 1999, Plato decided to take a chance on an inexperienced teacher, fresh out of college and rough around the edges, who many administrators viewed as a wild card. He hired me when others would not and thereby launched my teaching career. I have been teaching in that school ever since.

Our school was the place where my occasionally unorthodox teaching methods were embraced and my creativity was rewarded. I was permitted to become the teacher I am today thanks in large part to Plato’s leadership and guidance. It was also the place where I met my wife, Tom, and many of the closest friends.

My life would be very different had Plato not taken a chance on me that day.

Introducing them to storytelling and watching them compete for the first time was a small way of repaying them for all that they have done. It was a joy. It’s well documented that after the first person in a family graduated from college, others in the family, who never dreamed of attending college, will follow. Once the ice is broken and the impossible is made possible, people are willing to give it a try.

My success with storytelling has served a similar role for many of my friends. Once I started taking the stage, others have followed. It has been so much fun to watch.

Watching Tom and Plato perform so well on Tuesday night was truly reward enough. The fact that I won the slam was great, but honestly, it was icing on the cake.

Delicious icing. Satisfying icing. Well deserved icing. But still, not nearly as rewarding as watching Tom and Plato standing behind that microphone, under those bright lights, telling their story.

Moth victories are so much better with my septuagenarian hipster in-laws in attendance

On Monday night, I competed in a Moth StorySLAM at the Bitter End in New York City.

Joining me was my wife, a friend, and my in-laws, Barbara and Gerry.

I can’t tell you how happy I am that Barbara and Gerry were in attendance.

Barbara is in her late sixties. Gerry is in his early seventies. As I note their ages, I am astounded, as I always am when I reflect on how old they are.

Barbara and Gerry run an eBay business. They are both as proficient with computers and technology as anyone I know. Barbara is a savvy marketer, salesperson, and social media guru. Gerry’s photographs of their merchandise (shot in the studio that he built in their basement) are so good that clients have accused him of using stock photos of their merchandise rather than actual photos of the items they are selling.

These are two people in their seventh decade of life, running an online business that continues to support them and serves customers around the world.

But it shouldn’t be surprising, because despite their age, Barbara and Gerry live their lives like people half their age. When I started telling stories for The Moth three years ago, they were quick to make the trek to one of the Moth’s many venues to see me perform. They have attended many Moth events since then and have become enormous supporters, promoters, and fans  of The Moth, Speak Up and live storytelling in general.

Attending a StorySLAM means driving into the New York or Boston. Fighting traffic. Standing in a line for nearly an hour. Squeezing into a bar or bookstore amongst a standing-room-only crowd. Staying out late. Trying something new.

I have so many friends who think of these factors as barriers to attending a Moth event. Or anything new, different, challenging, or logistically complex.

In many ways, Barbara and Gerry live their lives like people 40 or 50 years their junior, while some of my friends in their thirties and forties are already living life like sedentary septuagenarians. 

Barbara and Gerry are the models of the kind of person I want to be at their age.

It’s also great to have them watch me tell a story and compete in a slam because it’s not something that my parents have or will ever see.

My mother passed away before I ever published a book or told a story onstage. And to be honest, even when I was growing up, my parents never attended any of my baseball games, basketball games, marching band competitions, track meets, Boy Scout camping trips, or anything else.

I was a district pole vaulting champion, and my mother never even knew that I was a pole vaulter. She thought that I was a long distance runner.

Since moving out of my home at 18, I have lived in more than 1o different homes and apartments. Nether my mother (when she was alive) nor my father have ever visited me once.

I’ll never understand why.

Having Barbara and Gerry watch me perform and compete doesn’t make up for the absence of my parents in my life, but it’s a taste of what could have been.

What should have been.

It’s a hint of what it’s like to have parents supporting my efforts and taking great pride in your accomplishments. Before I had my own children, it was easier to dismiss my parents absence from my own life. Rationalize it. Minimize it. Now that I have kids, that has become impossible. I can’t imagine what my parents were thinking. I can no longer fool myself into believing that it wasn’t a big deal.

It was a big deal. It’s still a big deal. Barbara and Gerry can’t replace my parents, but they offer me some of the things that I have missed over the years.

Their interest and investment in my life and what I do means so much.

I won Monday night’s StorySLAM, earning my first perfect 10 from one of the teams of judges. When I took the stage as the winner at the end of the night, my very first thought was of my wife and her parents, and how happy I was that they were there to see me perform and compete.

I’ve won 12 Moth StorySLAMs over the past three years, and while every victory is thrilling beyond belief, it’s always so much better when my wife and her parents are in attendance.

A therapist once told me that one of the reasons that I am so driven is to earn the attention of my parents, even though my mother is gone and my father will never offer the support that I may seek.

This may be true, but I hope not. I’d hate to think that I am driven by something I can never achieve. But there is probably a small part of me yearning for my parents to witness my success and celebrate my achievements, as impossible as that may be now.

Barbara and Gerry are not my parents, but they are a close second, and I felt incredibly blessed to see them wedged into that corner seat in The Bitter End on Monday night, watching me perform.

The Moth: Battle at Big Sky

The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at Housing Works in New York City in 2013. A previous version of this story did not upload properly to YouTube and was only about three minutes long. 

No wonder no one watched it.  

The theme of the night was Interference. I told a story about my attempt to break up a fight outside my gym.

I finished in first place.

Three years ago, I dreamed of telling a story on a Moth stage. Today I am a storyteller. Life can change quickly if you give it a chance.

Three years ago today, I wrote a post asking for readers to vote on a story pitch that I had submitted to The Moth via their website.

I wrote:

The opportunity to tell a story for The Moth is a big deal to me. So if you have a moment, please click over to The Moth’s website and vote for my story (if you think it worthy) by clicking on the stars beside the story itself.  Rating my story pitch will also register one vote for me.

This represented my cowardly attempt to tell a story for The Moth. Even though I lived close enough to New York City to compete in a StorySLAM by simply dropping my name into a hat, I was desperately attempting to avoid taking the stage and being assigned a numerical score for my performance.

It’s amazing to see how quickly your life can change when you decide to face your fear. Less than a month after pitching that story on The Moth’s website, I decided to stop acting like a coward and went to New York City with my wife to tell a story.

When we arrived at the Nuyorican’s Poets Café, I placed my name in the hat and immediately prayed that it wouldn’t be drawn. When it was, I stayed in my seat for a moment, hoping that the host, Dan Kennedy, might become impatient and choose another name instead. Then Elysha told me to get out of my seat and on the stage.

I did. This is what I saw. 

I told a story about pole vaulting in high school. When the scores were tallied, I was astounded to discover that I had won.

I had become a storyteller.

This victory led me to my first GrandSLAM, where I competed against nine other StorySLAM winners. I placed third that night. I met two storytellers on that stage who I am proud to call my friends today.

My life has changed profoundly since the night I took that stage less than three years ago.

I have gone on to tell stories at 22 Moth StorySLAMs in New York and Boston. I have won 11 of them.

I’ve told stories at six Moth GrandSLAMs and placed a frustrating second in four of them.

I’ve told stories at two Moth Main Stage shows.

I’ve gone on to tell stories for other storytelling organizations like The Mouth, The Story Collider, Literary Death Match, and more. I’ve delivered talks at three TED conferences throughout New England. I’ve been hired to deliver speeches for a variety of reasons. 

Last year my wife and I founded Speak Up, a Hartford-based storytelling organization. Since then, we have produced six shows at Real Art Ways in Hartford. All have been sell outs.

We now teach storytelling workshops to people who want to become storytellers for a variety of reasons. Other venues throughout New England have reached out to us, asking us to consider bringing our show to them.

When someone asks me where I see myself in five years, I laugh. If you’re wiling to say yes to opportunities, as frightening or silly or impossible as they may seem, your life will change constantly.

The future will be impossible to predict. 

Three years ago, I was a guy who wanted to tell one story on one Moth stage. Someday. 

Today, storytelling has become an enormous part of my life.

It’s incredible to think that just three years ago, I was staring a website, asking friends and family to vote for my story, hoping that someone at The Moth would like my pitch enough to choose me.

Life can change fast if you give it a chance.

Upcoming appearances

On Saturday, May 31, I’ll be speaking at the Barnes & Noble at the Buckland Hills Mall in Manchester, CT at 2:00 PM. My agent will be with me, so if you have any questions for her, I’m sure that we could pester her with a few.

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That same evening, Speak Up will be at Sedgwick Middle School in West Hartford, CT for a charity storytelling show. I’ll be telling a story about my high school days along with seven other brilliant storytellers.

Proceeds from the event help to send four middle school students to London this summer to compete in an international literature competition. Three are my former students, so I am thrilled to be able to help them

Tickers can be purchased here.

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On Saturday, June 7, I’ll be teaching a workshop on publishing at the Mark Twain House. I’ll be discussing the path that a book travels from the first words written on the page to its first appearance in a bookshop. Including in the workshop will be the sale of the book, the author-editor relationship, the complexities of publicity and marketing, the finances of publishing and much more. Perfect for the curious reader or the fledgling writer.

Call: (860) 280-3130 for more information & ticketing or click here for tickets.

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On Monday, June 30, I’ll be attending a Moth StorySLAM at The Bitter End in New York hoping to tell a story if the tote bag is kind. The theme of the night is Money.
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On Saturday, July 5, I’ll be performing in The Liar Show at the Cornelia Street Café in New York.

At each show, four performers tell short personal stories, but  one of the storytellers is making it all up. The audience then interrogates the cast and exposes the liar to win a fabulous prize.

Information on the show and ticketing can be found here.

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On Saturday, July 19, Speak Up returns to Real Art Ways. The theme of the show is Who’s the Boss? Tickets are not yet available, but mark your calendars. It is sure to be an excellent show!________________________________

On Monday, July 21, I’ll be competing in a Moth GrandSLAM at The Music Hall of Williamsburg in Brooklyn.

Tickets not yet available.

Storytellers are important, but it’s within the audience that you find the true beauty of storytelling.

As Elysha and I celebrate our first anniversary of Speak Up, our Hartford based storytelling organization, we have many reasons to be thankful.

Since May of last year, we have produced seven storytelling shows. We had about 150 people at our first show (about 100 more than we expected), and since we moved into a bigger space and began ticketing, all of of our shows have been sell outs. with most selling out a week before the door even open.

We’ve recently been contacted by outside venues who would like us to bring Speak Up to their audiences, which has been both surprising and thrilling.

We have made many new friends over the past year thanks to storytelling. Fans of our show who fill the seats, participants in our workshops, and the storytellers themselves, some experienced and most brand new, who have all come together to build this thriving community.

This has been the most surprising part of storytelling for me. When I took the stage for the first time at a Moth StorySLAM in July of 2011, I had no idea about the people who I would meet and the friends that I would make as a result of becoming a storyteller. In the past three years, I have gotten to know some amazing and accomplished people, and I am proud to call many of them my friends.

But it’s the people who unexpectedly reach out to me who often surprise me the most.

Last week, I told a story at a Moth StorySLAM at Housing Works in New York City.

Since then, almost a dozen people who were present in the audience that night have reached out to me via social media or email.

About half contacted me simply to compliment me on my story or tell me how much it meant to them. It was the story of my first kiss, but embedded within that story was also a story about bullying, which seemed to resonate with a lot of people.

Two others have seen me tell stories many times before and reached out to compliment this most recent performance but also discuss my overall success as a storyteller. One commented on how much she has gotten to know me just through the stories that she has heard onstage and on the radio and my YouTube channel.

Here was the most interesting part:

Two people who I don’t know reached out to criticize the story. Both were fairly gentle in their criticism but still offered pointed critiques.

One person who is “very familiar” with my work felt that last week’s story did not compare to others that he has heard in the past from me. He said that he’s always excited when my name is called at a StorySLAM but felt a little let down on Tuesday night by my story.

The other felt that my story was flawed in that I attempted to wedge the story of my first kiss and the story of bullying “into one space” and that it took away from both stories. “It should’ve been two separate stories,” he said. “Fix it.”

As bold as it may have been to offer such unsolicited critique, I think that both of these critics are right. My wife, who didn't hear the story before I left for New York (which almost never happens) agreed. After hearing the story in preparation for Speak Up, where I told it again, she commented that it wasn’t as tight as my typical story, and that it tried to do too much.

A friend who attended the slam with me told me that my story was slightly  amorphous. “An off night for you.”

Upon reflection, I think they all hit the nail on the head. In attempting to tell the story of my first kiss, which took place on stage during an elementary musical and was orchestrated by our vocal music teacher, I took my audience off that stage and down a dark path for a good portion of the story instead of keeping them in the moment that mattered most.

I felt it, too. As I build my story, I anticipate moments of audience reaction, and I’m usually correct in most of my predictions. But when I was onstage that night, the audience reacted in ways I did not expect. As I made my way back to my seat, I knew that something wasn’t quite right. Though my scores put me in a tie for first place after seven storytellers, the eighth storyteller edged me out and the tenth storyteller crushed us both.

In truth, the tenth storyteller would’ve beaten anyone that night. She was masterful. One of the best stories I’ve ever heard.

But my friend was right. It was an off night for me. Flawed construction doomed my story.

But here’s the beauty of storytelling:

Even with its flawed construction, more than half a dozen people reached out to me because my story meant something to them. Warts and all.

A couple more liked it enough to comment on my storytelling career.

And two people apparently take storytelling seriously enough to offer salient criticism of my story.

In a world where time is precious and no one seems to have enough of it, these people took the time to email and Tweet their opinions to me, and in the end, no one was mean-spirited, hurtful or cruel.

How often can you say that about the Internet?

So I will take my critics advice and “fix” my story. Break it into two parts and retell each part someday at a future slam. I’m grateful to these critics for their sage wisdom, but I’m especially grateful to storytelling audiences, at The Moth, Speak Up and all the other places where I tell stories, for being present, willing, attentive, and sometimes, incredibly generous with their words and their time.

Three years of storytelling with The Moth

This weekend one of my stories was featured on The Moth Radio Hour. This show is broadcast nationwide on more than 280 radio stations. As a result, I’ve been hearing from many generous listeners over the past few days.

Quite a number of them have asked if this was the first story that I had told for The Moth. It was not. Over the past three years, I’ve told stories in 23 Moth StorySLAM competitions and six GrandSLAM championships in New York City and Boston. I’ve also told stories at two of the Moth’s Main Stage shows (including the one where this week’s Moth Radio Hour story was recorded) and other Moth events, including an publicity event for their recent book tour.

I also had another story on The Moth’s Radio Hour in September of last year. You can hear that story on The Moth’s website here. 

The Moth has become an enormous part of my life over the past three years. The organization and the people involved have come to mean a great deal to me. From The Moth’s founder, George Dawes Green, to their talented producers, directors and hosts, to some of their most popular storytellers, it’s an organization filled with talented,committed and kind people. It’s been an honor to work with them and to call many of them my friends. 

Little did I know that less than three years ago, I would throw my name into the hat at a Moth StorySLAM at the Nuyorican Poets Café  and begin a journey journey into something that has become an enormous part of my life. 

Since that night, I’ve won 11 StorySLAMs.

I’ve been recruited to tell stories for other storytelling shows in New York, Boston and Hartford.

My wife and I have launched Speak Up, our own storytelling organization in Connecticut. We host sold-out shows every other month and teach workshops to fledgling storytellers.

I recently finished writing a book based upon the stories that I have told for The Moth (on the recommendation of a Moth director) and hope to publish it in the near future.

The Moth has changed my life. My only frustration is that it took so long for me to take the stage for the first time. 

Listeners of this week’s Moth Radio Hour have asked if I have any other stories online. Thankfully, The Moth records every story told onstage and makes those recordings available to storytellers for a small fee. So yes, I have a YouTube channel with many of my stories, and I’ve posted a few below in case you’re interested.

Regular readers of this blog have probably seen these stories posted before. 

If you’re one of the Moth Radio Hour listeners who arrived at this blog after listening to my story on the radio or in podcast form, thank you for your kindness and generosity.

I hope you will continue to listen to The Moth. Amazing stories await.

I hope that one day, you might take the stage at a StorySLAM and tell your own story.      

My appearance on The Moth Radio Hour

I’m thrilled to announce that I will have a story on this week’s Moth Radio Hour. Back in August, I performed at a Main Stage show at the Wilbur Theater, and this week’s Radio Hour features that show, nearly in its entirety.

I can’t tell you how surreal it was to click on The Moth’s website today to find a story to use in my storytelling class and see myself, as a little boy, sitting atop a horse, on the homepage.

Strange indeed.

The show airs on more than 280 stations nationwide, so there is a good chance that you will be able to hear the show where you live.

You can find the listings of stations and times here.

For my Connecticut friends, it will be airing on Sunday at 9:00 PM on the following stations:

Hartford: WNPR-FM
Bridgeport: WPKN-FM
Stamford: WEDW-FM
Norwich: WPKT-FM

For my New York City friends it will be airing on Saturday on the following stations and times:

WNYC-AM: 2:00-3:00 PM
WNYC-FM: 7:00 PM-8:00 PM

The last time I was on the Radio Hour, I couldn’t bear to listen. The story had been difficult to tell, and though I was proud of it, I didn’t want to hear and re-live the experience again, even from my own mouth.

This time I’ll be listening. I can’t wait.

Based upon his 8 tips for writing short stories, I think Vonnegut would’ve made a great storyteller.

If asked to choose a favorite author (which is a ridiculous exercise), I always say Kurt Vonnegut. He was a genius. A rule breaker. A curmudgeon of the highest order.

I cried on the day he died.

I recently stumbled upon a list of Vonnegut’s eight tips for writing short stories, and after reading them, I suspect that he would’ve liked storytelling very much. I think he might’ve found himself right at home at a Moth StorySLAM or even one of our Speak Up storytelling shows. I’m not sure if he would’ve taken the stage, but based upon his eight tips, he would’ve loved to listen to the stories as a member of the audience.

At least a few of the items on his list are not only applicable to storytellers but are highly recommended.

Kurt Vonnegut’s 8 Tips for Writing Short Stories

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

Part of the reason for time limits in storytelling is to assure that no audience member will feel like their time is being wasted. Even if the storyteller is ineffective or a particular story doesn’t resonate with you, fear not. It will be over in less than 10 minutes. 

But it’s also true that there’s nothing more annoying than listening to a storyteller spend five or ten minutes onstage explaining why he is an amazing person who has done amazing things.

Don’t waste our time. Be honest and audacious.  

2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

Stakes are important in a story. When choosing a story to tell, I try to find a moment in my life when the stakes were high. Even if I was ultimately defeated or failed miserable or even ended up as the bad guy, I know that my audience wants to be rooting for someone. Audiences want to be on the edge of their seat, trapped in a blend of worry and hope, even if the story doesn’t end happily.    

3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

Given time constraints and the personal nature of this kind of storytelling, it’s difficult for every character to want something in your story. Oftentimes it’s impossible to know what someone wanted.

But you should want something, and the audience should know what is is. Listen to a great story and what the storytellers wants will be clear. Sometimes it’s as simple as a glass of water, but more often, it will be something larger and more important, like respect, love, friendship or salvation.

4. Every sentence must do one of two things – reveal character or advance the action.

This rule, more than any other on Vonnegut’s list (and perhaps on any list of storytelling tips), is critical to storytelling. If ever sentence in your story does one of these two things, your chances of telling a great story are high. 

My wife is a fierce advocate of this belief. When working with me or one of our Speak Up storytellers, this is something that she is often focused upon. She cuts into my stories with surgical precision, discarding my amusing asides and quippy one-liners, leaving only the most important parts behind. The parts that reveal character and advance action.    

Cutting out moments in a story is hard, particularly when you are telling true stories from your own life, because these moments really happened to you. They must be said, damn it! Cutting out sections of our stories feels like discounting parts of our lives. But if you’re not revealing character or advancing action, you’re probably doing a disservice to your story. 

5. Start as close to the end as possible.

This may be Vonnegut’s second most valuable rule to storytellers. Time limits alone should underscore the importance of this rule, but starting as close to the end as possible will almost always result in a better story.

When I am deciding upon a story to tell, I am often choosing a singular moment from my life. These moments frequently last just a few seconds. A moment of  confrontation. A discovery. A few words spoken at a critical moment. A realization. A life changing experience. 

I start with that singular moment and work from there, moving both forward and back, searching for just enough story to bring that singular moment into the sharpest focus possible. I try to stay as close to the moment as possible. Everything in my story must serve that original moment.   

6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them – in order that the reader may see what they are made of.

I tell true stories (I save my fiction for my novels), so making awful things happen to my leading character is not possible. I’m stuck with the truth. Thankfully, I’ve led a life full of awful moments, so I am rarely at a loss in this regard.

But storytellers should never shy away from the awful things that have happened to them and (even better) the awful things that they have done. These oftentimes make the best stories.

7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

I don’t know if this is true, but I tell my stories for my wife first. It’s the same reason I write my novels. If she doesn’t like my story, it doesn’t get told until she does.  

8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

While I don’t fully embrace this idea, I like the sentiment behind this rule a lot. I think suspense is critical for the success of many stories, but I also believe in frontloading as much information into a story as possible. Almost all my stories begin with the time and place, because doing so allows my audience to instantly begin building a visual tapestry in which my story will unfold.

For example, if I say that my story takes place in December of 1984 in a small town in New Hampshire, my audience can instantly picture the landscape without me saying a word about it. They have a good idea of the weather. They can probably see the clothing that people around me are wearing and the cars that they are driving. They know what kind of music is playing from the radios and which President is on the evening news.

Time and place can do so much work for the storyteller. While I often search for a brilliant first line to my stories, I often return to time and place because I rarely find an opening line that packs as much punch.

15 thoughts from a Moth StorySLAM

I told a story on Wednesday night at The Moth’s StorySLAM at Housing Works in New York City. The theme of the night was Secrets. I was lucky enough to win with a childhood story about discovering that Santa Claus wasn’t real (and uncovering an even worse secret as a result).

Here are some thoughts from the night:

1. I have been fortunate enough to win 11 Moth StorySLAMs since 2012. It never gets any less exciting to win, even knowing that so many factors (in addition to your actual performance) play a role in determining who finishes first.

Winning requires a great deal of luck.

Even so, it’s always a thrill.

That said, it’s also a little bit disappointing when my wife is not in the audience when I win, as was the case on Wednesday night. I went to the slam alone, and though I have many Moth friends to keep me company, it’s never the same when she’s not by my side.

2. Two storytellers approached me after the show to comment on the double arc in my story. I was aware of the double arc (and was worried that it might confuse the audience) but had no idea that anyone else would notice. It’s incredible to be around people who understand your craft at least as well as you do and probably better.

3. At the end of a StorySLAM, before the final scores are announced, the storytellers whose names weren’t drawn from the hat take the stage and tell the first line of their story. I hate this part because I always hear amazing opening lines that make me want to hear the rest of their stories, as was the case on Wednesday night. I’m still thinking of Nathaniel Bates’ opening line and wishing that I had heard his story (and relieved that I didn’t have to compete against it).

4. I almost never have a great first line to a story. I usually open my story with my age at the time of the story and my location. I think it’s important to ground the audience in your experience as quickly as possible. Let them begin to formulate images in their mind immediately. That said, I love a great opening line and wish I had them more often.

5. Moth audiences are the best. One storyteller lost her place in the middle of her story and suffered through a painfully prolonged pause, longer than any I’ve heard or seen before. I thought she might just step off the stage and abandon the story at one point, but the audience rallied her spirits and kept her going to the finish. It was a beautiful thing.

6. A distinct advantage to not memorizing your story is that you will never find yourself struggling for the next sentence and will probably never suffer from the pregnant pause. You lived the moment, so it’s not as if you’re going to forget what happened, but it’s easy to forget a memorized line.

Not memorizing allows you to edit your story while onstage, which I did a lot on Wednesday night. I was forced to drop two entire sections of the story for the sake of time and found a much better ending sentence than the one I had originally planned. None of these “in the moment” revisions would be possible had I memorized my story.

7. That said, if you actually memorize your story, or come close to memorizing it, you’ll always know how long it is. I never know. “It feels like five minutes,” is as close as I often get to knowing before I take the stage. Thankfully, my estimate is usually close, and my wife will time me for GrandSLAMs and other, more important shows when people are depending on me to be as close to perfect as possible. On Wednesday night, my estimate was not close. I probably had an 8 or 9 minute story when I took the stage. It required a lot of quick thinking. Not fun. Not memorizing your story is a bit like walking a high wire at times.

8. I don’t write my stories down, either. When I write a story down, it doesn’t sound like me anymore. I lose my speaking voice and end up sounding formal and academic. But writing my stories down would probably help with timing, too, and most of my favorite storytellers (people far better than me) always write their stories.

9. The woman sitting in front of me who shushed the two idiot women sitting to our left at least three times throughout the night was the true hero of the slam. I’ve never seen audience members engaged in full blown conversations in the middle of a storyteller’s performance before.

10.. It’s become impossible to leave your backpack unattended in a public space anymore without looking like a terrorist. I nearly went onstage last night with the damn thing.

11. Parking in SoHo is amazing. Where else in New York can I always find a parking spot in front of my destination?

12. Two strangers hugged me after the show. Didn’t say a word. Just hugged me and walked away. Independently of each other. It was a little strange but beautiful, too. Storytelling is amazing.

13. A female storyteller told a hilarious story about her propensity for flatulence that I will never forget. I have not laughed so hard in a long time. Though I know that certain people may have been turned off by this kind of story (including the two idiot women to my left who said as much), those people suck and wouldn’t know the first thing about audacity, honesty and courage.

14. The importance of a great host cannot be overstated. It makes the storyteller’s job so much easier. Dan Kennedy manages to keep the audience laughing and engaged throughout the night through the use of tiny slips of nearly indiscernible scribbling that he somehow transforms into stories themselves. He’s a master in the art of hosting.

15. Storyteller and Moth host David Crabb taught me that whenever I am faced with danger or fear, I should tell people not to worry by letting them know that “I’m a storyteller.”

I don’t know if this will work, but it will make me feel good. And stupid.

Don’t even try to invade North Hampton

If you plan on invading a small, New England town anytime soon (and who isn’t?), I suggest that you avoid targeting North Hampton, Massachusetts.

I was in North Hampton recently for a performance with The Moth. In the center of town, at the top of a hill, is City Hall, complete with crenelated towers and arrow slits.

Lest you think this was originally a fort of some kind, think again.

From North Hampton’s historical society:

Northampton's City Hall, built in 1850, has survived despite numerous assaults on its very existence. William Fenno Pratt, who designed many buildings on Main Street, conceived of it as a novelty. It combines elements of the then new revival styles of Gothic, Tudor and the trademark Norman towers replete with arrow slits. Being a novelty it was bound to attract both ardent admirers as well as detractors. One of the most powerful detractors was Mayor Harry E. Bicknell, who dubbed it a building with "flip-flops and flop-doodles." He, along with many others in 1923, wanted it torn down and replaced. Although aesthetic debate raged it was the fiscally conservative voters of Northampton who saved the building, opting to remodel it in order to save money.

“Flip-flops and flop-doodles."

Old Mayor Bicknell certainly had a way with words.

The Moth: Sit ups

The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at Housing Works in New York City last summer. 

The theme of the night was Sweat. I told a story about a cruel physical education teacher and my shameful response to him.

I finished in first place.