Four pieces of perfect truth on the nature of writing and work by Dan Kennedy

Dan Kennedy is an author, storyteller, screenwriter, and host of The Moth's podcast and their live shows. I first met Dan in 2011 when I took the stage for the first time and told a story at The Moth.

He was hosting that night. I took the stage, shook his hand, and told my story. I won that slam, and after he called me back to the stage to take a bow, he took a moment to tell me how much he liked my story. He told me that is was funny and honest and a little sad. "A perfect combination."  

I still remember the moment like it was yesterday.      

Since that day, Dan and I have been in many shows together, both in New York City and elsewhere. It's always an honor to share a stage with him. Though I adore all of The Moth's hosts, I feel a special kinship to Dan. I am saddened when he is not present to hear my story. 

I tell my stories first for my wife, Elysha, but I think Dan is a close second,

Dan is also a great follow on Twitter, and yesterday he spilled some serious truth about writing and life that was worth capturing and sharing with you here. 

@DanKennedy_NYC There are people who write every now and then. And there are writers who are people every now and then.

@DanKennedy_NYC Most movies about life depend on giant change, chapters ending, chapters beginning. Real life depends on sticking with things.

@DanKennedy_NYC When it comes to work, you're gonna end up doing what you want to do. Period. Spend 10 minutes or 30 years fighting it if you insist.

@DanKennedy_NYC Buy books for yourself and for other people.

If you're worried about the guy being a little earnest or intense, fear not. Earlier that day, he tweeted about eating pie over the sink in the middle of the night. 

Funny, honest, and sometimes even a little sad.

A theory on the funniness of people who routinely interrupt others

Here's what I know:

Humor requires patience. The punch line is almost always the last thing to be said, and yet so many people want to say it first. They can't wait to get to the funny part, even though it's the waiting and the building that will make it funny. 

When I describe my living circumstances in my early twenties, I say it like this:

"I lived with a family of Jehovah's Witnesses in a converted pantry off the kitchen with a guy named Rick who spoke in tongues in his sleep and the family's indoor pet goat."

A bad storyteller - or an unfunny person - always wants to get to the goat as soon as possible (because it's the funniest part) rather than building to it. They say the funny part first and then fill in the rest of the details when they no longer serve to increase the humor.    

I hear this all the time. Both in regular conversation as well as storytelling onstage. 

Considering all this, here is what I suspect:

People who make it a habit of interrupting other people are the least funny people I know. These are people who can't wait to speak. Can't wait to insert their voice into the conversation. Can't wait even a second to interject.

These are people who can't wait on a punchline.

But I'm not sure. It's just a theory. 

Thoughts?

My "Diet Coke and aggressive attitude" didn't exactly match the yoga aesthetic, but I somehow managed to fit in anyway.

Last weekend, I performed 90 minutes of storytelling to a capacity crowd at Kripalu, a yoga and fitness center in the Berkshires. I spent the weekend at Kripalu, teaching a weekend-long storytelling workshop to about two dozen people, but the show on Saturday night was open to the general public.

The room was crowded and hot, but it went well.  

My weekend stay at Kripalu included a room, meals, and all of the amenities that the facility has to offer. I actually participated in a sunrise yoga session and spent an afternoon hiking around the lake. Despite the fact that my workshop attendees began to refer to me as a "yogi" and repeatedly assured me that my philosophies about storytelling, productivity, and mindfulness fit perfectly into the Kripalu philosophy, it didn't take me long to realize that I didn't exactly fit into the Kripalu aesthetic.

The first thing I noticed was that I walked at least three times as fast as everyone else. I was charging through the hallways like a bull on fire while everyone around me was walking slowly and contemplatively. 

When I looked at the extensive lists of breakfast options, I could not identify a single item on the menu. NOT ONE. Instead, I left the facility and enjoyed an Egg McMuffin and a Diet Coke at a nearby McDonald's.

I definitely swore more than anyone around me, and I am not a person who typically curses with any regularity. However, no one spoke a single swear word in my presence for the entire weekend, but in the course of my performance and my teaching, I swore a lot by comparison. During my performance, I fired off an expletive in the general direction of a couple people in the audience, causing Elysha to shake her head and offer me a disapproving stare.    

Silent breakfast was impossible for me. It turns out that I make noise even when I'm not speaking. I sigh loudly. Hum. Laugh to myself. Tap my feet. Pound on my keyboard. Audibly scoff. Constantly. 

Also, the concept of silent breakfast struck me as fairly insane. 

But the clincher came at the end of my performance on Saturday night. When the lights came up, a long line of people approached to chat. One woman began to ask if the stories I had told were really true but stopped short, noticing the scars on my face and quickly realizing that the story about my car accident (and therefore the rest of the stories) were true. She traced the scar on my chin with her index finger and said, "You lovely man."

This is something that could only be said about me at a place like Kripalu.

Another woman approached and said, "I wasn't sure if I wanted to come for tonight's show. but you walked into the room carrying a Diet Coke, a McDonald's bag, and an aggressive attitude. These are all things we have never seen before at Kripalu, so I knew it was going to be good."

It was odd to be in a place that seemed so right for me and so wrong for me at the same time.

It's true that the teaching I do as it relates to finding stories in our lives, exploring their meaning, and bringing that meaning to bare in a performance aligns almost perfectly with the recent mindfulness movement (though the word "mindfulness" is kind of stupid and the movement tends to lack the kind of specific, highly targeted, easy-to-follow strategies that I teach). Though I didn't initially believe it, it's true that the philosophies espoused at a place like Kripalu align quite well to my own.  

But at the same time, it's also true that I am happiest and most relaxed when I am doing something. Moving forward. Making progress. Affecting change. Eating a cheeseburger. Hitting a golf ball. Shoving an opponent under the basket. Tickling my kids. Hitting on my wife.  

The quiet, contemplative, farm-to-table, macrobiotic existence is not for me. That level of quiet and thought, absence movement and action, makes me crazy.  

At least for now.  

A lesson on the importance of stakes in storytelling - Plus the story of the day I posed as a charity worker for nefarious reasons

On my most recent appearance on Slate's The Gist, I discuss the importance of stakes in storytelling and some of the tricks that I use to build and maintain them throughout the story.

Plus I tell the story of a time when I posed as a charity worker for less-than-charitable reasons and got a lot more than I bargained for. 

The Moth: Sex and Frozen Corn

The first gift that my daughter ever received was a stuffed ear of corn from our friend, Justine. It's been sitting on the corner of her bookshelf for the last six years. 

She knows that it was the first gift she ever received - given to her before she was even born - but she's never asked why someone chose corn in lieu of a teddy bear or a baby doll.

There is a reason. A good one. It's also one that Elysha and I have never explained to her, nor do we plan on explaining it anytime soon. 

The question is when? When do we tell Clara why a stuffed ear of corn made for the perfect first gift?

Watch this video of my Moth GrandSLAM winning story from earlier this year and you will better understand our predicament. Then offer your own suggestion about when we should tell our daughter this story. 

My daughter has become a same-sex marriage activist and a storytelling promoter

As we were leaving the playground yesterday, a little boy approached my six year-old daughter and asked to be her friend.

I wasn't surprised. In the span of about an hour, Clara had organized the other four girls at the playground - all older than her - into a massive game of 'Neighbors" and had placed one of the girls in charge of her younger brother, Charlie. She was leading Charlie through the maze of tubes and holding his hand as he slid down the slide. 

The boy must've seen Clara as some kind of organizational friendship savant.  

Clara asked the boy for his name - which I can't remember - and then suggested this:

"You should ask your mommy and daddy, or your mommy and mommy, or your daddy and daddy if you can come over my house sometime."

Then she gave the boy our address, thankfully reversing the two digits of our house number. She asked the boy for his address, but he didn't seem to understand the question. 

Then she said (as I feverishly recorded her words into Evernote):

"Do your parents ever go to Speak Up? That's a show that my mommy and daddy own, and they do shows all over the place, so maybe your parents know my mommy or daddy, because they know a lot of people and a lot of people go to their shows. And if they don't go, they should. It's great. Except I've never gone. I always have a babysitter, which is fun, too. "

At this point, the boy - who was about Clara's age - looked shell shocked. Too much information for him to process at one time. 

Clara then reached out, hugged the boy, and said, "Maybe I'll see you here sometime. Go play with those girls. I taught them Neighbors."

She waved goodbye, and we walked away, leaving the boy looking a little lost.

"That was a nice boy," I said to Clara.

"Sure," Clara said. "But he didn't really talk much."

Her willingness to share our address with a stranger was mildly disconcerting, but otherwise, I couldn't have been more proud of my little girl. Her acceptance of same sex marriage always warms my heart, and her promotion of Speak Up was impressive.

But mostly, I am astounded by her ability to talk to strangers with such ease. Two nights ago, while eating dinner at a restaurant, she walked across the room to a table where a woman was eating dinner with her sister and her infant son.

From afar, I watched Clara chat with these women for at least three minutes for returning to the table to tell me that the boy's name was Nathan. He was three months old. He likes to eat. He doesn't cry much. This was his first time in a restaurant.       

As we were leaving, the mother called me over to her table and told me that talking to Clara was like talking to one of her girlfriends.

Her mother gets the credit for most of this. Whether it's genetic or a learned behavior, she is slowly becoming the spitting image of Elysha. 

Thank goodness. For a while, it was looking like she would be more like me. 

Mashable on The Moth

Last month I competed in a Moth StorySLAM at The Bell House in Brooklyn (and won!).

Mashable was there, shooting a story for their website. The result is a beautiful look at The Moth and all it does for the art of storytelling.

It was also great to see StorySLAM manager and storyteller Robin Wachsberger featured in the video. Robin is a fixture at almost every Moth StorySLAM and GrandSLAM, ensuring that things are running smoothly and the event is trouble-free. Seeing her always puts me at ease, and you couldn't ask for a more supportive person of storytellers.

Audience members may not notice all that Robin does, but storytellers do, so it was nice to see her thrust into the limelight for this video.  

I've also heard Robin tell stories on the stage, and she is an equally great storyteller.

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.

Slate's The Gist appearance: Where to Find the Best Stories

My most recent appearance on Slate's The Gist features my secret for finding great stories in your life, and even if you're not a storyteller, for changing your life for the better forever. 

When you're transmitting information to an audience, be entertaining. Even if it's simply a sign.

Filmmaker Kevin Smith argues that every time you are speaking to a group of people of any size, you have an obligation to be entertaining. 

I could not agree more. Whether it's a staff meeting or professional development or a sales conference, you have a duty to engage and amuse your audience while transmitting the necessary information.     

I think this rule can also be applied in other types of communication as well. Cleverly designed 404 pages that delight the reader and amusing road signs are two examples of opportunities to stand above the crowd and entertain your audience while also transferring the necessary information. 

Here is another example of a sign that we see all the time, except in this case, it has been brilliantly written to delight its audience:

Dentists need to tell stories, or they will end up with people like me in their chairs.

My dentist told me that I should have two of my wisdom teeth extracted. One of them has a cavity, and it's in a spot that is almost impossible to keep clean.

I asked what the extraction process entailed.

Dentist: We use some local anesthetic and some rocking back and forth, and that's it. Done in an hour.

Me: I have no idea what that means. Could you give me an actual account of the procedure? 

Dentist: What do you want to know?

Me: I don't know what I don't know, so I can't tell you what I want to know because I don't know what there is to know. But a step by step description of what will actually happen would be a great start.  

She looked a little annoyed. 

Me: Look, the entire bottom row of my teeth were knocked out in a car accident when I was 17, and then they were jammed back into place and wired down in the emergency room, which was the worst part of the car accident, and that's saying a lot since I went through the windshield and tore my leg open to the bone. And about five years before that I was stung by a bee and had to be brought back to life via CPR and about 50 shots of epinephrine over the course of a week, so now I have involuntarily associated needles with death, which I know is a little crazy but is how I feel and my therapist - who I don't see anymore - said it's completely understandable. So I'm a little squeamish about my teeth and needles. So I want some detail.

Dentist: This won't be a big deal. People have wisdom teeth extracted all the time.

Me: Yes, but for me, it will only happen once, so it will be a big deal. When someone wants to pull a part of my body out of my mouth, it's a big deal for me, even if it isn't for you

Dentist: I meant to say that we do extractions all the time.

Me: I would hope so, but that doesn't really help me understand the procedure.

Dentist: Maybe I should just refer you to our oral surgeon. 

Me. Great. Thank you.

Dentist: But don't look anything up on the Internet about the procedure until you meet him. 

Me. Why would you say that? That does not inspire confidence.

I know I can be difficult, and it may seem as if I was being a little belligerent, but in this case, I just wanted some information, which left me thinking this:

Dentists need training telling stories. Had my dentist told me a story that was reflective of what what I could expect when my wisdom teeth were extracted, complete with an arc, a splash of humor, and some clear but not graphic descriptions, I might have been fine.

But glossing over the removal of two of the largest teeth from my mouth deserves more, at least for me. And I suspect most people would appreciate a clear picture of the procedure but are unwilling to press the matter to the degree I did.

So dentists of the world:

I'm available for hire. Let me teach you some storytelling strategies that you can use to make your patients more relaxed and informed. Very few of us enjoy our dentist appointments, and while this may be inevitable, part of our dislike for our visits is the fear related to what may or may not happen while sitting in that chair. 

Alleviate some of that. Explain your procedures in engaging ways. Entertain and inform your patients. Tell stories.

Most of the time, your patients can't speak anyway. Instead of asking us how the kids are doing while we have a suction tube and an ice pick in our mouths, entertain and inform. 

We have a right to know, and wouldn't it be better if we didn't have to pry the information from you in the same way you want pry my wisdom teeth from my gum line?

Watching "Jaws" while floating in a murky pond at night helps explain why storytelling continues to gain in popularity

I'm often asked why storytelling has become so popular. Why do 500 or more people wrap around the block in hopes of getting inside a bookstore that can only hold 300 people in order to hear ten strangers tell stories. 

There are a few reasons, but this photo speaks to one of them:

Storytelling is ephemeral. You have to be there or you have missed it forever.

Storytelling is appointment-viewing in an age when entertainment is available at any time and anywhere. We record television on DVRs so we can watch the shows when we want. We stream movies on our tablets and phones with the touch of a button. We carry access to millions of songs in our pockets at all times.

Nothing is primal or precious anymore because we can see and listen to our favorite forms of media at anytime, anywhere.    

Storytelling is a singular event. Every time a storyteller takes the stage to perform, it's an important and not-to-be-missed moment because it will never happen this way again. 

Just like watching an outdoor screening of "Jaws" on a big screen while floating with hundreds of other people in inner tubes in a murky pond at night.

These things don't happen everyday.  

The Alamo Drafthouse, in honor of the film's 40th anniversary, hosted an outdoor screening of the film alongside a man-made lake at the Texas Ski Ranch, located between Austin and San Antonio.

I missed this singular moment in time. I missed my opportunity to watch this classic film in a way that it has never been watched before. 

I have missed it forever.

This is one of the reasons - and probably not even the most important reason - why storytelling continues to gain in popularity. It's a must see event that is lost to you forever if you're not willing to line up around the block an hour or two before the show in hopes of finding space against a wall or between two bookshelves in order to hear the stories told onstage.

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.”

Sleeping with goats on The Gist

I had the pleasure of appearing on The Gist this week. Host Mike Pesca interrogated me about my life story, and we talked about how you can take a life event and craft an interesting story from it. I talked about sleeping with goats, shotguns to my head, and being arrested and tried for a crime I did not commit. You can listen here or subscribe to The Gist in the iTunes music store or click on the Soundcloud link below:

This was my second appearance on The Gist. My first, in case you missed it, was a couple of weeks ago.  

The purpose of these appearances is to discuss storytelling. In addition to these discussions, we are taking story pitches from Gist listeners, and one lucky listener will have the opportunity to work with me on his or her story, with the goal of taking the stage and telling the story at a future storytelling event. 

If you would like to pitch us a story, listen to the episode for details.

Speak Up is two years old! It began with a snow day and a simple question to my wife.

Speak Up, the storytelling organization that my wife and I founded in 2013, is approaching it's two year anniversary. It was born on a snow day much like the one we experienced in the northeast earlier this week. 

My storytelling career began about five years ago with the discovery of The Moth’s podcast. A friend introduced it to me, and soon after, other friends began telling me that I should go to New York and tell a story. I’ve led a life filled with unusual moments and unfortunate disasters, so my friends thought The Moth would be perfect for me.

But taking the stage in New York and telling a story to 300 strangers was daunting to say the least. Frankly, I was afraid. So I assured my friends that I would go to a Moth StorySLAM someday but had no intention of ever doing so.

Then I had the idea of starting my own storytelling organization here in Hartford. I thought that telling stories in front of a handful of friends and family would be less intimidating than 300 hipster strangers in lower Manhattan. I was excited about this idea. I thought it could be something that Elysha and I did together. 

Then I didn’t do that, either.

Eventually, I couldn't look myself in the mirror. As daunting as it might be, I hated the idea of saying that I would do something and then not doing it. I resolved to go to New York, tell a story, and be done with it.  

On a hot July evening in 2011, Elysha and I went to New York. Packed into the Nuyorican Poets Café with 200 New Yorkers, I dropped my name in The Moth’s tote bag (always referred to as “the hat”), and began my storytelling career.

In truth, I dropped my name into the bag and immediately began praying that I wouldn’t be called. Putting my name into the hat at a Moth StorySLAM was good enough, I told myself. I tried. I could go home with my head held high.

And I thought my prayers were about to be answered. Nine storytellers had taken the stage, and my name had yet to be called. One more name would be drawn, and I would escape from New York unscathed.

Host Dan Kennedy opened the sheet of paper, stared intently at it for a moment, and then called my name. Except I didn’t write my name clearly, so he mispronounced it. I didn't move. If I sat very still, I thought, maybe they would pull another name, and I wouldn’t have to get up.

Then Elysha kicked me under the table. “That’s you,” she said. “Go!”  

I did. I took the stage and told my story. Dan Kennedy took a photo from the stage that night. This was my view as I told my story:

You can actually see me in this photograph. Left side near the wall. Black shirt. White graphic. Only guy with his hands not raised. Looking terrified.

This is the story that I told:

When the final scores were tallied, it was revealed that I had somehow won. 

Two years later, after in February 2013, I was home with Elysha. It was a snowing outside and school had been cancelled. We were sitting at the dining room table, pounding away on our laptops. Since that first night in July, I had competed in eight more StorySLAMs. I had three more wins under my belt. I was in the midst of a streak of six wins in a row and 11 our of 14. I had competed in two Moth GrandSLAMS. I had delivered two TED Talks and told stories for Literary Death Match and The Story Collider.

The Moth had changed my life. I felt like a real storyteller. A good storyteller. I was ready for a new challenge.

I looked up from my laptop. Looked across the table at Elysha and said, "You know, we should do that storytelling idea in Connecticut. Right?"

"Yeah," she said. "We should."

A friend had mentioned that Real Art Ways might be the perfect spot for a show, so on a whim, I called. I spoke to Will Wilkins, Real Art Ways’ Executive Director. "Well, it's snowing today," he said. "No one's here. Why don’t you come down now?"

I did. About an hour later, Speak Up (still without a name or any storytellers save myself) was born. Will had given us the date for our first show and suggested that we find a name for our organization as soon as possible. Good advice. That would come about a week later on a ride home from Elysha’s parents house. While brainstorming ideas, I said, “How about using an imperative. A command. Something like Speak Up?”

“That’s it,” Elysha said. “Speak Up.”

We had found our name. 

Our first show, in April of 2013, featured eight storytellers. All friends who we knew could tell a good story. We didn’t listen to their stories beforehand or work with storytellers back then (and thus had two stories about trips to Greece told back-to-back), so every story was as much of a surprise to us as the audience. That was fun. We’ve since learned that it makes for a better show when we take the time to listen to our storytellers’ stories and help them with their fine tuning. We’ve learned a lot in the three years that I have been telling stories, so we share this wisdom with our storytellers before they take the stage. 

When we arrived at Real Art Ways that night, the woman in charge asked us how many chairs to put out.

“Well, we have about eight storytellers,” Elysha said. “And they will all probably bring a guest. And we might get a few more people might come. So maybe 40?”

The woman laughed. “We’ll put out 90.”

Good thing she did. We had a standing room only crowd of about 125 people that first night, and we have been selling out shows ever since. There were about 250 people at our last show, and I didn’t know most of them. In those early days, our audiences were primarily our friends. Now some of our most devoted fans are people who I have never actually met.

We’ve produced 12 shows in the two years that we have been running Speak Up. We have established partnerships with The Mount in Lenox, Massachusetts, Kingswood Oxford School in West Hartford, and just this week, The Connecticut Historical Society. Speak Up will be featured at this year’s Connecticut Storytelling Festival. We run workshops for people who are interested in telling stories, and I have taught classes on storytelling in libraries, high schools, colleges, and universities, including most recently Perdue University and The University of Connecticut Law School.     

       

I had no idea that all of this would happen when I peeked over my laptop and said to Elysha that “we should do that storytelling thing in Connecticut.” But our lives have changed completely and forever because of it.

It's a good reminder that the best way to start something is to start something. Think less. Move fast. Figure things out along the way. And find a good partner.

I meet far too many people with big dreams and grand ambitions who spend too much time worrying about how to make them happen instead of making them happen.

Move. Create forward momentum. Take a risk.

Storytelling on The Gist

If you’re not already listening to Slate’s The Gist, the daily podcast hosted by Mike Pesca, here’s another reason to do so:

I’ll be appearing on The Gist as a part of a new project that seeks to teach the art of storytelling to listeners. Whether you are telling stories at a dinner party or the water cooler or on the stage, our goal is to explore how stories are found and crafted and perhaps help people become more engaging and interesting conversationalists.

In addition to all that, we are accepting story pitches from listeners, and one lucky person will have the opportunity to work with me to perfect their story and ultimately perform it on stage. 

You can listen to the first episode here, or by subscribing to The Gist in iTunes, or by listening through Soundcloud here.

My segment begins at the 9:40 mark.

How I teach storytelling

I did an interview with Jim Levulis of WAMC public radio on storytelling, and specifically, the teaching of storytelling.

If you’re interested, you can listen here.

My Story of the Day exercise will change your life. I promise. And you'll find a bunch of stories in the process.

Slate editor Allison Benedikt sent the following tweet around the holidays. Julia Turner, who was referenced in the tweet (Benedikt may actually be quoting her) is Slate’s editor-in-chief:

@juliaturner "You live your life. Most days are pretty much the same. You forget most things you’ve done. Then it’s over." Happy holidays!

This tweet struck a chord for me.

For more than a year, I’ve been teaching storytelling workshops as part of Speak Up, the storytelling organization that my wife and I founded in 2013. In addition to the many things that I teach to storytellers, I spend a great deal of class time sharing strategies for generating new story ideas.

There is one exercise in particular that I love. In fact, whether you are a storyteller or not, this exercise can change your life forever. No joke.

Before I go to bed each evening, I sit down in front of my computer for five minutes and ask myself this question:

“If I had to tell a five minute story onstage about something that happened to me today, what would that be?”

Then I review my day, seeking out that one defining, possibly story-worthy moment. Oftentimes the moment is unspectacular. Hardly story worthy at all. But more often than you might think, I manage to find an actual story in my day.

It’s rarely a great story. Most of the time, it’s not even a good story. But it’s a story. Something that made this day different from the rest. Something possibly worthy of telling someday.

And sometimes, I find a great story. Something that I can’t wait to tell. More often than you might expect.

Once my story of the day has been identified, I record it in an Excel database, usually with a couple sentence fragments of description. Just enough detail to remind me of the story later on.

This is different than writing in a journal or a diary every day. Journals and diaries do not demand that you find stories. A diary or a journal entry can reflect a person’s thoughts and feelings for the day, but they do not require the purposeful search for story. They do not insist that the person seek a defining moment from every day of their lives.

It’s these defining moments that make all the difference. It’s the process of recording the stories of our lives that can change your life.

It's changed my life.

Suddenly my days are no longer “pretty much the same.” No longer do I forget most of the things that I have done. Every single day of my life now contains the kernel of a story, and about once or twice a week, those stories are good enough to move over to my official database of story ideas, which currently stands at 194 items.

194 potential stories to tell. 194 stories good enough to tell.

I have no more forgotten days.

A storyteller who I adore once asked me why he never hears me repeat a story onstage. With 194 possible stories waiting to be told and a constantly growing list, why would I ever repeat a story?

At this rate, I'll never get through the list that I already have.

Since I’ve been teaching this strategy to my students, I’ve witnessed some incredible results.

About a dozen of my students continue to do this exercise everyday. Twelve is honestly a pathetic number. I’ve probably taught more than 100 students over the past year, so my percentage of students committed to the process is low. But this process requires a commitment. It’s a five minute commitment, but for some people, even that is a lot.

More importantly, it also requires a great deal of faith.

You have to believe that the process will ultimately yield results. You have to believe that the five minutes spent each day are worth it, even after days when the best you can do are story ideas like these:

I make dinner. Hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. The only dinner I can actually make.

Taught Clara about the Rolling Stones while lying in bed with her. She likes the way Jagger dances.

Walked dog at 2:00 for the second straight night. Snowing.

These entries will probably not make good stories. If Clara turns out to be a Rolling Stones fan someday and we attend a concert together, perhaps the entry about her and the  Stones will become relevant, but it’s unlikely.

But I remember each one of those moments clear as day.

I remember cooking my wife hot dogs and macaroni to surprise her after an especially hard day.

I remember lying in my five year-old daughter’s bed, listening to Satisfaction and explaining the difference between The Stones and The Beatles.

I remember the snow starting to fall as I walked around the block in my slippers, trailing my dog. It was cold and quiet, and I felt so lucky to be out there to see the first flakes, despite the hour.

Those days are not lost to me. They will never be lost to me.

The dozen or so people who continue to record their daily stories do so religiously. We have become a cult. All report that the process has changed their lives. Comments from my former students include:

“I’ve always wanted to meditate but was never able to. But this I can do. It’s like a form of focused meditation. I see so much from my day that I would’ve forgotten.”

“I’ve discovered that I have stories. I lead a more interesting life than I ever knew. I can’t believe it.”

“I feel like I’m a more important part of the world now. I feel like my story is a part of a bigger story.”

“I’ve learned so much about myself and recovered so many stories from my childhood through this process that I had forgotten.”

This is also true. By sitting down and reviewing your day, searching for a story worthy moment, the door to the past often swings open and memories long since forgotten are suddenly pour through.

Looking for stories? Follow this process every day for the rest of your life.

More importantly, do you want to change your life? Do you want your days to matter? Do you want to recall the moments of your life that mean so much in the moment but are lost so easily?

Take my advice. Commit to five minutes every day.

Alison Benedikt (or perhaps Julia Turner) was not wrong. "Most days are pretty much the same. You forget most things you’ve done. Then it’s over."

Don’t let that be you.

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.