Charlie is funny.

Charlie - age 7 - was arguing that two is a large number.

“No, it’s not,” his big sister Clara shot back.

I was going to counter with several examples. I’ve actually written a children’s picture book entitled “Two Is A Lot,” and it’s outstanding. In fact, it would be universally beloved IF I COULD FORCE A PUBLISHER OPEN ITS DAMN EYES, so I have plenty of examples at the ready, but Charlie instead countered with this:

“Yes, it is. Two is huge. Watch.”

He paused for a moment, smiled, and then started counting:

“One…. 32 years later … two…”

He smiled again. “See?”

Charlie is a legitimately funny kid and places enormous value on humor, but this might be his first legitimately hilarious, original joke.

My little sister does a very big thing

Allow me to brag a little bit about my little sister, Kelli.

For well over a decade, Kelli has been writing professionally. Like me, she has done other things while being paid to write - as do many writers - but recently, her writing career has reached a point where she can reliably make her living solely from writing.

Kind of amazing. Right?

Kelli doesn’t write books or columns like me. Instead, she writes for businesses, almost exclusively online, and her writing is designed to improve a company’s SEO.

Honestly, I don’t entirely understand how her business words, but I know that these companies are paying her significant amounts of money to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs on many, many topics.

She’s writing. Professionally. Two honest-to-goodness professional writers in the family.

Mom would be so proud.

She passed away two years before my first book was published and well before Kelli launched her own writing career, which has always made me sad.

I’ve heard people say that dying is hardest on the living. Tell that to a mother who never got to see her children make their dreams come true.

When I asked Kelli how she managed to get to the point where she can make a living with words, her answer was perfect:

“So much patience and hard work.”

I meet many fledgling writers who adore the idea of sitting in a coffee shop mid-morning, coffee at the ready, pecking away at their masterpiece, but “patience” and “hard work” are not the words that these folks use when talking about writing.

But Kelli is right. Patience and hard work are essential.

I started writing back in November of 1988, and I have -without exaggeration - written every single day of my life since then. In high school, I opened a business writing term papers for my classmates, earning enough money to purchase my first car, a 1978 Chevy Malibu.

My first paid writing gig.

In 1990, I started writing a column on a localized bulletin board system: an early precursor to the Internet. My friend and roommate Bengi and I wrote a column entitled “He Said, He Said” for an audience numbering in the dozens.

When Bengi finally quit, I took over both sides of the column.

Over the years, I wrote in journals. I wrote letters. I wrote zines that I would send to people who didn’t ask for them. I wrote for the college newspapers of three different schools, including a college that I did not attend.

I wrote on my wedding day. I wrote on every day of my honeymoon. I wrote in the delivery room during the birth of both of my children. I wrote when I was homeless. The day I was jailed.

I wrote when I had pneumonia. Multiple times.

I’ve been writing this blog since October of 2005, never missing a single day.

Patience and hard work. Qualities that often strike me as in tragically short supply in many of the people who aspire to bigger and better things.

Not my sister, though.

Kelli went onto say:

“I never thought I could make a living doing this because I was always self-conscious about my work. I think I finally made it Matt! I have high paying clients and I’m so proud of myself for the first time ever.”

Also:

“Mike (her fiancé) tells me all the time how great it is that I’ve built this up from nothing, but he doesn't understand how hard its been to finally get here. For me it’s such a huge accomplishment!”

Two things struck me from those statements:

For a long time, my sister was self-conscious about her work. It caused her to doubt herself. For a while, it may have even held her back.

Patience and hard work become even harder when you doubt your skill and talent. I had the blessing of self-confidence bordering on arrogance.

Maybe even arrogance bordering on self confidence. I wasn’t sure if anyone else would ever like my work, but I liked it and thought it was good, so if others disagreed, they were the problem.

Not me.

My sister’s journey - and the journey of many artists - was made much harder by the creeping challenge of doubt. The lack of self-confidence. The uncertainty over whether her work was good.

It’s also true that our friends and loved ones can talk about being proud or even impressed with our success - and it’s always a wondrous thing to hear - but when it comes to something as solitary as writing, it’s hard to imagine anyone understanding how hard it really was. They can’t see the thousands of hours spent writing and editing and revising. The millions of words written and many millions more deleted in the process of finding the right ones. The struggle to find meaning and humor and engagement in words.

My little sister has done a very big thing. She, too, struggled mightily at many points in her life. A teenage mother who, like me, also struggled with homelessness, poverty, and a car accident that nearly left her dead. Like me, no one even mentioned to word “college” to her growing up.

No one encouraged her to chase her dreams.

Her path was not easy. In fact, it was considerably harder than mine.

Today she is a professional writer. She has made her dream come true. For the first time in her life, she is proud of herself.

I’ve been proud of her for far longer than that.

She’s come a long, long way.

Speak Up Storytelling #87: Matthew Dicks

On episode #87 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, I analyzes his own story "Holding On By a Thread" in an episode we call Storytelling Forensics. 

This episode is dedicated to Elysha's grandmother, Nana, who passed away on Sunday. 

Rest in peace, Nana.

LINKS

Purchase Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling

Purchase Twenty-one Truths About Love 

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Matthew Dicks's blog:
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicksblog

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's blog:
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-grin-and-bare-it

No more swing sets, please. Never again.

Last weekend Elysha and I saw Jagged Little Pill on Broadway, which I liked but did not love.

A couple of terribly failed scenes, a wholly unnecessary plot line, and one big sledgehammer to the head of the audience at the end of the show spoiled it for me.

The show did, however, feature one of the most thrilling moments in all of live theater for me, so it was worth the price of admission. Plus I was sitting beside Elysha, which makes every show a little more exciting.

In addition to the serious flaws in the writing of the musical, one other thing really stood out for me:

Early in the show, when two teenagers slip away for a romantic moment alone, they find themselves in a park, sitting on a swing set.

I’d like to go on the record as saying that “teenagers staring moony-eyed at each other while sitting on swings” is officially done. It’s a trope that needs to be killed forever.

No more, please.

Never again.

It’s a moment I’ve seen a million times before - in television, film, and on the stage - and it’s something that I even did myself as a teenager.

Several times.

Of all the locations where these two characters could’ve ended up, why in the world would anyone choose a location that every audience member has seen before? It’s a tragically ordinary moment - overdone and cliché - and I can’t imagine how it was allowed to stand.

Jagged Little Pill has received mixed reviews since it opened, leaning positive but not overwhelmingly so. But with some surgical revisions and a fresh take on a few scenes, I think it could be improved considerably.

They really should give me a call.

This is massive hubris, I know. Arrogance and assumption beyond compare. I’ve written one rock opera and three tween musicals in my life.

What do I know about a Broadway production?

Maybe enough to keep a damn swing set off the stage and perhaps enough to streamline a bloated plot and freshen a few scenes and really improve the show.

But again, that’s hubris and arrogance beyond compare.

But also probably right.

Thank goodness for Mommy and Daddy

I despise legacy admission practices at colleges and universities.

Frankly, I despise any practice in which a person is gifted the privilege of education, employment, or wealth simply because of who their parents happen to be.

I’m looking at you, Donald Trump Jr.

Thankfully, legacy admission practices are on the decline as colleges and universities take a serious look at whether it’s makes sense to continue programs that benefit the children of alumni while also disproportionately advantaging the wealthy.

In 2004, 58 percent of schools engaged in legacy admission practices. In 2019, that number was down to 48 percent.

The practice is more prevalent in the top 250 schools but still in decline: 

63 percent of top schools considered legacy admissions in 2004, compared to 56 percent today. 

It’s better, but it’s still terrible. The child of a Harvard graduate, for example, has a 33.9 percent chance of being admitted to Harvard, compared to just 5.9 percent of non-legacy admission.

This, in my humble opinion, is gross.

Kids who have earned their way into Harvard are blocked by kids who won the genetic lottery.

What a goddamn joke. None of us should look at Harvard in the same way again.

It won’t solve the problem of legacy admissions, but I have a proposal to at least balance the scales a teeny tiny bit. Perhaps all legacy admissions to Harvard and any other college or university should be required to wear a tee shirt during the first month of every semester that reads:

“I’m attending this prestigious school because my mommy or daddy attended this school. Maybe even one of my grandparents, too. I wasn’t accepted based upon on my own merit but because of legacy admission. What I’m trying to say is that I kind of suck. I don’t deserve to be here. But privilege is powerful, people. Large donations help, too. Do you want to be my friend?”

It’s a lot to fit on a shirt, I know.

Maybe just:

“I didn’t work as hard, and I’m not nearly as talented as the kid who didn’t get admitted to this university. Thank goodness for legacy.”

I know. Still a little long.

Simple and annoying

I spend much of Saturday walking around without a coat,. It was sunny with temperatures in the mid 40’s and a light breeze, but I had exercised earlier and was still running warm when I left the house, so no jacket or coat.

Just a tee shirt.

In the span of less than three hours, three people asked me why I wasn’t wearing a jacket.

One stranger, one acquaintance, and one friend.

None of them asked in a way that sounded worried or concerned for my wellbeing. All three sounded annoyed. Angry, even.

Curious about this odd turn of events, I repeated the experiment on Sunday - tee shirt and jeans - on an even warmer day, and once again had two people ask me why I wasn’t wearing a jacket.

Both were people who know me fairly well. Once again both seemed slightly annoyed by my bare arms and exposed torso.

I’m not sure why people would be so concerned over my choice of outwear, but I discovered something rather interesting over the course of this weekend:

I have a new and simple way to annoy people.

Huzzah.

My father's situation was hard, too

A couple weeks ago, my wife, Elysha, asked for help from her friends on Facebook. She’s been struggling with the news coming out of Washington and beyond - specifically the racist, ignorant sex offender in the White House but other things, too - and wanted to know how her friends were coping.

I had two answers to this question.

The first, and most important, is that  I constantly remind myself that Americans have faced other impossibly hard times and survived.

My father, for example, was drafted and forced to fight in Vietnam under a corrupt commender-in-chief. He came of age during a turbulent, violent time in America when 58,000 of his fellow service men and women returned home in body bags, and those who returned alive were not greeted with handshakes and ticker tape parades. He came home to a country that did not understand post traumatic-stress disorder and was in the midst of a massive economic slow down.

Unemployment rose as high as 9% following the war. Inflation was out of control. Interest rates were as high as 20% at times.

This was a difficult time in America.

This is not said to mitigate the challenges of today. Donald Trump and the spineless, power-hungry Republicans in Congress are legitimately threatening the rule of law and creating enormous personal hardship for many people. Children are placed in cages in the border. Nazis are marching in America’s streets and referred to by Trump as “very fine people.” A massive tax cut for the wealthy has pushed corporate profits to the richest Americans while the bottom 60% of Americans have seen their wages and savings fall during the Trump Presidency. The deficit is the highest it has ever been.

That’s just a few of the problems we face.

Just remember that past Americans have also faced enormous struggles and survived.

Before my father, both of my grandfathers came of age during the Great Depression, Both fought in World War II when nearly half a million American servicemen and women were killed in combat and the very survival of our nation was at stake.

My great grandfather fought in World War I, returning home to face the Great Depression.

These times that we live in have been hard, but they have been hard before. Keeping this in mind helps to remind me that this, too, shall pass.

My second answer to Elysha’s question about coping with today’s world is to take action. For me (and Elysha), it comes in several forms:

  1. Elysha and I are members of the ACLU, supporting their actions in checking this unlawful President whenever appropriate and supporting Americans in need of legal representation.

  2. I was a member of the Knight Foundation lawsuit that forced Trump to unblock me on Twitter. Checking Trump’s power whenever possible is something we should all do. Today I get to tweet my outrage at Trump daily, which is both cathartic and amusing for me. I also feel like it’s my duty to tweet at Trump given all the money spent on my behalf in the lawsuit.

  3. Elysha and I are school teachers, helping children to become good American citizens everyday. We teach respect, tolerance, and nonviolence. We celebrate diversity. We teach children about the Constitution, the rule of law, and how important it is for all Americans to vote in all elections in this nation. Every one of these things - simple, American ideals - are in direct opposition to Donald Trump and his actions while in office. Helping children become engaged, informed, and energized citizens of this country is the best way to prevent the rise of an authoritarian ignoramus in the future,

  4. Elysha and I own and operate Speak Up, an organization that brings people together to share stories and learn about each other. Our storytellers are diverse and remarkable people who share stories that promote understanding, respect, and mutual cooperation. Our storytellers are a diverse group of people from around the world who bring new perspectives to our audience. We’ve even hosted US Senator Christopher Murphy on our stage.

  5. We attended the Women’s March at our state capital on the day after inauguration day, bringing our children along so they could see protest in action.

Doing something is important. You need not change the world. Just push on the wheel of progress with as much energy as you can muster, whether it be in the form of a political donation, a letter to a Congressperson, or a smile of support to an immigrant in your community.

Doing something, anything, will help.

I wish the news didn’t upset my wife as much as it does, but I know that she is one of many. I also know that her reaction to the news out of Washington is completely rationale given the traitorous, self-dealing racist and sex offender in the White House.

Of course she is upset. It would be crazy not to be upset.

It’s just important to remember all that has come before us and all that can do and have already done to help our country and our fellow Americans survive this challenging time in America.

Write local

An analysis of the 100 books published since 1900 that most often appeared on best-of lists found that for 61 of the 100, the book was at least partly set in a place the author lived.

Of the other 39 books, the average minimum distance between where the author once lived and where the book is set is just 73.7 miles.

This should be good news to me, even though none of my five published novels have made it on these best-of lists.

Something Missing, Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, and Twenty-one Truths About Love are all set in the area where I have been living for the past 25 years. Almost all of the locations are real, including the homes that many of my characters inhabit.

Unexpectedly, Milo is also set in the town where I live, though it also includes a long section of road trip to a town in North Carolina.

Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling is a nonfiction book, but it’s filled with stories set in many place, but most of them are towns where I once lived, including the town in which I live today.

The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs (and the upcoming The Other Mother) are both set in my hometown of Blackstone, Massachusetts, where I spent the first 18 years of my life. And that town is just 68 miles from where I’m currently living, meaning every one of my books would fit perfectly into this analysis.

All except for the best-of lists part.

In fact, the only book I ever wrote that was set in a fictional town was my only unpublished novel. It’s set in an invented town in Vermont.

Sadly, nobody wanted it.

This doesn’t mean that it wasn’t any good, of course. I think it’s a great story that deserved to be written and published, but unfortunately, no publisher seems to agree.

Yet.

But it’s interesting how it’s the only book that isn’t set in a town within the seemingly magical 73.7 mile limit is the one that I could not sell.

Maybe all I need to do is shift it south to Connecticut…

So many questions. A few answers, then more questions.

The world is a strange and wondrous place.

After more than 40 years on this planet, I can still find myself in places like this, waiting at a traffic light behind a truck like this with so many questions:

What exactly does a plating company do?

What the hell is passivate? Anodize? Chromate of aluminum?

Are plating companies so rare that one presumably based in Massachusetts (given the license plate) has reason to be in central Connecticut? On a Saturday? And if so, where is it going?

What is behind the door of this truck? Piles of passivate? A machine used to plate something with passivate? Something else entirely?

More importantly, how was this business born? I can’t imagine anyone dreaming of owning or running a plating company when they were growing up, so how does a business like this start? Did someone see a market opportunity and seize it? Did the company’s owner work in the plating industry and decide that he or she could do it better? Did someone take over the family business, and if so, what spurred their parent or grandparent to launch this company decades ago?

There are answers, of course. Some I could not find, but a few are available thanks to the internet.

I still can’t explain plating very well, nor do I entirely understand what passivate is. And I still don’t know what that truck contained.

But according to the website:

“Following 18 years of plating experience - plus electroplating schooling - John Wietecha started his company in 1978. From its first 3500' leased space, and with the help of Dennis Chaffee who joined the firm months later to soon become a principal, Valley Plating grew to become a major regional plater with over 750 customers in the Connecticut Valley.”

So I guessed right. John Wietecha worked in plating for almost two decades before deciding to launch a business with the help of Dennis Chaffee.

This, of course, lead me to a host of new questions:

Why did John Wietecha work in plating for 18 years? Did he stumble into the field after high school? Learn to plate in the military? Dream of plating as a little boy?

Does his work in the plating business make him happy? Did he forgo some other dream in favor of a career with more stability and profit?

And did Dennis Chaffee also love the plating industry? Or was he perhaps sitting on a pile of cash, looking to invest? Did he push aside some childhood dream in favor of assisting John Wietecha in building this business?

The world is a strange and wondrous place. After more than four decades on this planet, I find myself wondering about things like this constantly, often frustrated with the inability to answer every question that comes to my mind.

Speak Up #86: Talia Pollock

On episode #86 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Elysha Dicks and I talk storytelling!

In our follow up segment, we discuss listener comments and upcoming events. 

In our Homework for Life segment, I talk about how contrast can often serve as an effective engine for storytelling. 

Next we listen to a story by Talia Pollock.  

Amongst the many things we discuss include:

  1. Humor

  2. The raising of stakes throughout a story

  3. Allowing important moments to linger 

  4. Strategic characterizations of characters

  5. Bending stories to fit the needs of the speaker

Next we answer a question about the cost of living a certain kind of life.   

Lastly, we each offer a recommendation.

RECOMMEDATIONS

Elysha:

  • Cheer on Netflix

Matt:

  • Calling for help in grocery stores

LINKS

A sink?

It took me way too long to solve this crossword puzzle because of the ridiculous clue for 1-across:

“A place to put dishes”

Thie sink?

Dishes are not “put” in the sink.

Dishes can be washed in a sink. Rinsed in a sink. Even scrubbed in a sink.

But “put” in a sink? No. Only savages put dishes in sinks.

Dishes are put in dishwashers. Drying racks. Cabinets. Cupboards. If they are made of paper, dishes can even be placed in the garbage can.

But the sink?

Putting a dirty dish in a sink is an act of madness. A declaration that filth is perfectly acceptable if temporarily placed within a stainless steel or composite shell. As if the promise of future scrubbing somehow mitigates the savagery of leaving a soiled dish just sitting in the same room where you prepare food and eat.

Wash the dish, damn it. We are not living in end times.

I entered “rack” for 1-across and spent the majority of the time on this puzzle trying to imagine where else a dish might be reasonable put before finally realizing what the puzzle-maker was thinking.

The sink? A place to put your dishes?

This crossword was clearly designed by a savage.

The show was good, but the restroom was amazing.

The line for the woman’s restroom was so long that it was wrapped around itself in spirals in the lower level of the Broadhurst Theater last night.

At least 100 women waiting for a single restroom.

With ten minutes before showtime, there was no way Elysha, who was at the end of the line, was going to be seated in time for the opening number.

We briefly considered sending her into the men’s room, where one woman was already sheepishly waiting for one of the two stalls. “I might just do that,” Elysha said doubtfully. “Go to your seat. I’ll meet you.”

I headed up the stairs, frustrated. This was Elysha’s Christmas gift. Front row center on the mezzanine level for Jagged Little Pill, the acclaimed musical based upon the Alanis Morissette album of the same name. Now she would miss at least the first 10 minutes while waiting for the restroom.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I spotted an usher organizing playbills on a small table. “Excuse me,” I said. “My wife won’t be able to navigate those stairs. Is there another restroom she could use on this level?”

“Of course,” the usher said and pointed to a single-use restroom designed to accommodate people with disabilities at the top of the stairs. I had walked right by it, just like every other person.

I tested the door. Unlocked. Empty. Huzzah.

Was it specifically designated for someone with a disability?

Yes.

But was it available to anyone without a disability if no person with a disability was waiting?

I think so.

I shot back downstairs. “Elysha!” I shouted. “Come with me!”

“Does he know something?” asked the woman in line behind Elysha who she had already befriended.

“He seems to know something,” she said.

Elysha exited the line, still dozens of women away from the restroom, followed closely by her new friend. As she made it to the top of the stairs, I opened the door to the empty restroom. Her eyes widened. She smiled and entered.

Her new friend took a spot on the wall beside me and fist-bumped me.

“Best husband ever,” she whispered.

A moment later, Elysha exited the restroom. I said goodbye to her new friend as she entered the restroom, and we headed for the mezzanine.

“I’ve never loved you more than I do right now,” Elysha said, which felt amazing at the time, but as I write this now, I can’t help but think…

My surprise marriage proposal at the steps of Grand Central?

Our wedding ceremony?

The birth of our children?

Our honeymoon?

All those times I navigated complex cities in the pre-GPS era without ever getting lost?

I’m kidding. I know what she meant.

But it’s a good reminder:

Saving your spouse with a little bit of quick thinking is a simple path directly to their heart.

Happily, we were seated in plenty of time. Best seats for a Broadway show ever.

Jagged Little Pill is good. Even very good at times. Not great, though. Too many ideas jammed into one show, plus three scenes that fall dreadfully flat.

I’m available for notes if the producers would like to listen. Seriously.

But the show also has one of the most thrilling musical moments in all of Broadway history for me. Truly unforgettable.

Also, I was sitting beside beautiful Elysha for every moment of the show. Beginning to end.

That’s all that really mattered.

Happy birthday to me.

Yesterday was my birthday, and it was pretty great.

Our living room furniture finally arrived, so after more than a month of not watching a single thing on our brand new television, Elysha and I finally sat down on our brand new couch last night and watched a movie.

Deadpool 2.

It was just as brilliant as the first. My favorite superhero film of all time.

I’ve never seen a film break the third and fourth wall.

Nor did I even know that there was a fourth wall to break.

I also enjoyed dinner with the family at my favorite restaurant, The Corner Pug. I visited the gym, the grocery store, and Goodwill, all before 9:00 AM, which made me feel exceptionally productive. Our windows were measured for next month’s replacement. I wrestled with Charlie and danced with Clara. We ate ice cream cake that Kay, the Carvel employee, gave to me as a gift.

We’re very loyal customers.

And I received some spectacular cards from Elysha and the kids, a Dunder-Mifflin hat that I love more than you could know, and the gift of an overnight stay at the Mystic Aquarium next month with the family.

Perfection.

On the not-so-perfect side, I also managed to knock out the internet while moving the hardware into our new cabinet and never managed to restore it, so I’m writing this using the internet at my favorite McDonald’s restaurant. It cost me about two hours of attempted repairs before I finally threw in the towel and called it quits.

A small hiccup in my birthday perfection.

Birthdays can also be tough given that my mom passed away 13 years ago. Perhaps it’s just me, but there is a real difference between celebrating your birth while your mother is still alive and celebrating it after she has passed away.

Not having a relationship with my father probably makes this even more problematic, I suspect.

More than forty years ago, my mom and I began a journey together. Now she has stepped off the path, leaving me to finish this journey alone.

Not that I plan on finishing. I plan on living forever, of course. My recent cardiac calcium score was a zero, which is remarkable, so unless a bus clobbers me or I fall into a sudden sink hole, I’ll be here until the sun explodes, but still, you know what I mean.

There was something about having my mother here on my birthday that made it feel like a celebration of our day. The day we met for the first time. Something that only the two of us could share.

One of the most important days in both of our lives, started together and shared together.

Now it’s only my day. I can celebrate today with family ands friends, but I have no one left standing to remember and celebrate that specific day in 1971 when I was first born.

No one who remembers that moment when I first appeared in this world.

The mother who gave birth to me more forty years ago is no longer with me, making birthdays feel a little more empty and a little less worthy of celebration.

Happily, I’ve got Elysha, Clara, and Charlie to push away those dark clouds and fill the day with happiness and celebration, which they did with beautiful smiles, lots of laughter, and gobs of love.

I’m so very lucky to be me.

My favorite names (and my thoughts on name changes)

I love good names.

Perhaps this is because my last name is Dicks.

Perhaps it’s because I had an uncle and great-uncle named Harry Dicks.

Perhaps it’s because my father’s name is Leslie Jean Dicks, but he goes by the name Les Dicks.

Surrounded by a series of challenging names, I am drawn to outstanding names.

I’m also violently repelled by names that have been intentionally changed. Folks who abandon their less-than-ideal names for something much better.

Vin Diesel, for example, was once Marc Sinclair.
Whoopi Goldberg was once Karyn Johnson.
Ice Cube was once O’Shea Jackson, which I think is a legitimately great name.

I don’t like any of this. Growing up, I knew a guy who changed his last name simply because he didn’t like his original last name.

I hated that guy.

He also shoved me down a flight of stairs, separating my shoulder (and caught on tape), leading to a lifetime of shoulder issues, but honestly, I hate him more for his name change than the assault.

This hatred, however, does not apply to all names changes. It all depends on the rationale.

Michael Keaton, for example, was once Michael Douglas, but knowing that there was already a Michael Douglas in Hollywood, he changed his name to avoid confusion.

Makes sense.

Tina Fey is really Elizabeth Stamatina Fey, but she uses a shortened version of her middle name, which is close enough to her real name for my standards. Similarly, Antonio Banderas is really José Antonio Banderas, but he uses his middle name as his first name.

Fine in my book.

Natalie Portman was once Natalie Hershlag, but in order to protect her privacy as a child actor, she adopted her grandmother’s maiden name.

This seems reasonable to me.

Jaime Foxx was once Eric Marlon Bishop. Early in his stand up career, he noticed that female comics were regularly getting stage time and he was not (since there were decidedly fewer female comics), so he changed his name to something gender non-specific (and adopted Foxx in honor of Red Fox) in order to hide his gender. Suddenly clubs began booking him, thinking he was a woman. Once onstage, he proved his merit, and the rest is history.

I’m not in love with this name change, but I can live with it. Woman, of course, have been doing this for centuries. George Elliot was really Mary Ann Evans. The Brontë sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne, first published their works under the male pseudonyms of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell. Joanne Rowling used the initials JK even though she had no middle name.

The K is invented.

All of this was done because sexist readers disregard the work of female writers.

I’m fine with all of these changes.

Children’s author Avi used this pen name because his parents castigated his decision to pursue a writing career, telling him he’d never make a dime in publishing.

When his first book was published, he didn’t want his parent’s surname to appear on the book, so he changed his name to the singular Avi.

Spite. The best reason to change your name.

One of my favorite examples of a name change is the Sheen- Estevez family. Martin and Charlie Sheen changed their name to something that they assumed was more palatable, but their son and brother Emilio dd not, and Emilio’s career was not harmed by the lack of a name change.

All three have enjoyed successful acting careers.

One point for Emilio.
Negative ten thousand points for Martin and Charlie.

I realize that this rejection of name changes is terribly judgmental on my part. People should be able to do whatever they would like with their names, but by the same token, I should be able to think poorly of whoever I want, too.

So I do. It’s likely born from my lifetime struggle and subsequent embrace of my name. It wasn’t easy growing up with the last name Dicks, but it taught me to punch hard and make fun of myself before someone else could.

I’m a lot tougher today because of my struggle.

Charlie Sheen? Vin Diesel?

Probably a couple of thin-skinned wimps.

For the record, my current favorite names for a man and woman are:

Armie Hammer, an actor whose full name is Armand Hammer but has been called Armie ever since he was a little boy.

Armie Hammer is a killer name.

On the woman’s side, it’s Picabo Street, the alpine skier.

Her name has a fascinating story. Picabo was born to hippie parents who decided to allow Picabo to choose her own name when she was old enough, so she spent the first two years of her life being called “Baby Girl” But when the family decided to travel to Central America, a passport and name was required, so her parents named her Picabo, which was the Native American name for the region in which they lived and the neighboring town.

When Picabo was four years-old, she was given the option to change her name, but she declined.

Thus Picabo Street, my favorite female name, was born.

Storyteller, yes, but teacher first

Congratulations to Devan Sandiford, Speak Up storyteller who just won his first Moth StorySLAM last week. Devan is my 20th storytelling student to win a Moth StorySLAM or GrandSLAM.

As a teacher, I couldn’t be more excited for him or the 19 other students who came before him to win a slam:

Teachers, retirees, a real estate agent, a dairy farmer, two college professors, at least two attorneys, a fast food worker, a handful of college students, one high school student, and many others.

As Devan so kindly pointed out to me, this number does not include the many people who have written to me about their success on various stages around the world (including The Moth) after reading my book, Storyworthy, and listening to our podcast, Speak Up Storytelling, to help them find and craft their stories.

If I was to include all of those winners from around the country, the number would be much higher.

I’ve also helped many friends and at least of my former elementary school students find the courage to take the stage and tell stories for The Moth. They haven’t all won a slam yet, but all have found enormous satisfaction in sharing their story with a Moth audience.

The number of folks who I’ve convinced to take a Speak Up stage is even larger. Just last week, a colleague finally took the stage and told her incredible story of immigrating to the United States and becoming a school teacher.

It took me four years to convince her, but I didn’t give up. I play the long game, and eventually, I broke through.

She was magnificent.

There have also been at least five storytelling shows launched around the world as a result of Speak Up, including one in Australia. New stages for new folks to tell their stories.

I’m a writer and a storyteller and many other things, but I am first and foremost a teacher, so seeing my students succeed is one of the most gratifying things in my life.

It’s admittedly slightly less gratifying when one of my students beats me in a StorySLAM or GrandSLAM, which has now happened six times in my life.

It’s even less gratifying when one of my students beats me with a story that I have helped them to craft, which has happened twice, but even in those instances, I’m still happy for the storyteller.

Eventually.

I know full well the excitement of performing well and being acknowledged as one of the best.

The ability to tell a great story is a super power, but unlike Superman or Wonder Woman, this is a super power than can be acquired through hard work and practice. You need not be born on a distant planet or some secret island Amazonian island in order to gain your power.

But the results are the same:

You will be able to to do something that most people cannot, and it will change your life in so many ways.

The world is a better place when people are empowered to find and tell their best stories. I am honored to have played a tiny role in helping this happen.

All of this is a long-winded way of suggesting that you should tell a story, on a Moth or Speak Up stage, or maybe get your start in the lunchroom at work or at the dinner table with your spouse and children.

The location doesn’t matter all that much. Just start telling stories.

Also, since I started writing this post a few days ago, another student has won a Moth StorySLAM in Boston.

Twenty-one and counting.

You could be next.

Speak Up Storytelling: Lael Lloyd

On episode #85 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Elysha and I talk storytelling!

In our follow up segment, we discuss some Homework for Life feedback from listeners and clients, talk about our new Patreon account, and share about upcoming events in the Speak Up realm. 

In our Homework for Life segment, I talk about a moment on my spreadsheet that did not require human interaction, and then I outline the story for the audience. 

Next we listen to a story by Lael Lloyd.  

Amongst the many things we discuss include:

  1. Pacing

  2. Holding back information to propel a story forward

  3. Painting a clear picture in the audience's mind by using fewer words.

  4. Transition that cut into scenes

  5. Specificity and clarity at the end of stories

Next we answer questions about Elysha's favorite story and how to record anecdotes for future use.  

Lastly, we each offer a recommendation. 

RECOMMEDATIONS

Elysha:

Matt:

LINKS

Purchase Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytellinghttps://amzn.to/2H3YNn3

Purchase Twenty-one Truths About Lovehttps://amzn.to/35Mz1xS 

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Matthew Dicks's blog:
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicksblog

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's blog:
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-grin-and-bare-it

More sexy rumpus

The Oatmeal by Matthew Inman is one of the best online comics that you will ever read.

His comic pertaining to Valentines Day is incredibly funny. Go and read the whole thing. It will take two minutes, but it will be 120 seconds well spent.

But I found his advice regarding the a common Valentines Day refrain to be especially prescient and worth considering as the holiday approaches.

He writes:

If Valentines Day really means so little to you, then I politely ask you to shut the hell up and treat it like any other day.

Or go have a sexy adventure rumpus with someone who smells nice.

Less complaining.

More sexy rumpus.

It could not have been said any better.