A Little Merry Improv

Random joy.



Thanks to Camille Powell for the link.  You can see "behind the scenes" here.

"Never Use a Paperclip . . ."

Hey, there. I'm deep in revisions, so if you think I'm ignoring this blog, you're right. I get to a certain point in the heavy lifting where I become completely obsessed, and do nothing but write and eat soup (or cereal.)

Meanwhile, if you'd like something more interesting to read, check out my new teacher's guide for Operation Yes, written by talented teacher and former military kid, Natalie Lorenzi. You can can download it here or use the link in this blog's side bar or try viewing it at my new teachers page at the Operation Yes site. (If you have any ideas for items to add to that teachers page, please let me know.)

Here's a sneak preview of two of the fun imrov activities that Natalie created for the guide:

FLYING FARMER:  

In the spirit of the Flying Farmer, set up an obstacle course with students, chairs, tables, and low objects (such as blocks) on the floor.

One student is the Flying Farmer and must make it from one side of the stage to another while blindfolded. (You may use two X’s formed with tape on the floor for starting and ending points.)

An “air traffic controller” gives directions. If the pilot brushes or touches an object more than twice, the airplane goes down and the game starts over. You can set a time limit when the airplane will “run out of fuel.”

GOOD ADVICE:

Miss Loupe’s new 6th grade students could use some advice from Bo, Gari, and the rest of the Ugly Couch Players.

Brainstorm a list of “school” words—school supplies, teachers, objects found in school etc. Write the names of each object on an index card, and put the cards in a bag. Students go to the front of the class in pairs and draw one card each from the bag. Each pair must offer a one-line pearl of wisdom for next year’s students.

Rules:
1. One student begins the sentence, using the word on the card he or she drew from the bag.

2. The second student must complete the sentence using the other word drawn from the bag. The advice may be wacky, but it must make grammatical sense.

Example: If the following words are drawn from the bag: paper clip, water fountain... Student 1 might begin with: “Never use a paper clip...”

and Student 2 might finish: “...to fish your gum out of the drain in the water fountain.”

Hey! I thought of a good one: Never use a paperclip. . . . to eat soup.

See you guys on Poetry Friday!

Poetry Friday: Poetry Meets Improv

I'd like to find a copy of this book so I can see if that punchy cover matches what's inside. Poets.org describes its beginnings this way:

"Lauded poet Christopher Merrill hatched a brilliant plan: invite six other poets to join him in four days of writing in Iowa City. The poets would write for 30 minutes, creating a poem of 15 lines, and then read it aloud to the group. As poets heard the poems, they noted memorable words, images, and lines, which they would borrow to insert in subsequent poems of their own. These rounds continued, until, in a process of call and response and unprecedented collaboration, 80 poems had been composed."

Okay, that sounds either fabulous or terrible. Poetry meets improv and becomes book. I suspect it's fabulous, but even if it isn't, I'm picturing the glee of the poets in that room. Imagine, poetry built on call and response, playfulness, and letting go of your own self-importance. I could dive into that.

Poetry Friday---another ongoing event of "unprecedented collaboration"---is rounded up today by Kelly Herold at Crossover.

Story Robot

For my revisions, I'm doing some research into improvisational theater. I found the best blog! It's called Story Robot. (Sorry, Laini. I know you are Not a Robot.)

Anyhow, these posts made me laugh. And think about story. They may be about theater, but I think they apply to writing, too.

Head in the deep fryer moment.

The commitment meter.

Why connections make you laugh. (Link to "eight minutes of lyrical origami, folding history into a series of coincidences surrounding that most surreal of hours: 4 o'clock in the morning.")

Just what I needed.

He does comics, too.

Observation and Imagination

James Gurney is asking "What about a book?" over at Gurney Journey. As in: should he write a book based on his blog posts?

I've linked to his posts several times, because there are some fascinating tidbits (painting with vodka, anyone? need to find a rhinoceros chameleon skull?) but also because he knows how to clearly explain what he's doing when he creates art. This lets me fulfill my fantasy of living inside a visual artist's brain. I've always known that artists think differently; Gurney tells me how. (Read this post about when shadows aren't blue.) In today's post, while thinking about whether he should compile his knowledge into a book, he says this:

"There are lots of books now about plein-air painting, and there are books on how to draw dragons or dinosaurs, but there isn’t much that connects observation with imagination..."

That's it! That's why I like reading his blog. How observation connects with imagination. Because that's what a writer needs, too.

What I observe: an F-15C dropping into its approach pattern, circling, then landing on a runway.

What I imagine: a sixth-grade boy trying to hold his breath until the moment the plane's wheels touch the ground.

What I observe: I have on two different shoes, one black and one brown, and I've worn them to church

What I imagine: why a kid would be backstage before a performance, with two mismatched shoes.

What I observe: a school bathroom that is so putrid that no one will go in

What I imagine: why a girl would hide there, with a backpack filled with art supplies

I could go on, but you see it, don't you?

Observe = listen = wait = withhold judgment = absorb

Imagine = create = combine = synthesize = build = choose

The words used to describe the process are different, but the results are the same.

Also on the art front, Julia Denos has updated her portfolio over at Shannon Associates. Her work is so appealing. Observant and imaginative. Go look.

Now Playing

I'm so proud of all of you. Not a single person said "fried mermaid" yesterday.

As author Patricia Madson tells it, audiences at improv performances often shout out strange words in the belief that it's creative and helpful. But really, as she points out, once you've said, "fried mermaid," how much more creativity can you stomach? (Sorry, that's my bad pun, not hers.)

Instead, generous audience that you are, you gave me:

Poison ivy, treehouse
uncle, duck, chew
plow, stream, nut
gratitude, window, play
theater, aspiring, light

Each of them lovely words, each worthy of an entire post. My instinct is to use ALL the words, and to dazzle you with my depth and agility in linking them together. But as sure as I do that, someone will add more words, and I'll be back at square one. Which, I suppose, isn't a bad place to be. It could even be the name of an improv troupe: "Square One...because we're always beginning."

I remember doing improv in Theater class in high school. The words my group received were: cactus, diamond and cowboy. (I think. It's been awhile.) We created a mini-Western, in which I, Polly Pricklebutt, the cactus heroine in distress, was rescued by cowboys who rode bucking black diamonds. There was a logic to it all, and snappy dialogue, and we got great laughs.

What I remember most, though, was the astounding fun of making something out of nothing. To say to the audience: I'm a cactus named Polly...and have everyone believe me! No one batted an eye at cowboys lassoing diamonds and then mounting and riding them. I wanted to live in that world forever.

But I don't. I live in a world where trees that cradle the most intriguing treehouses sometimes have poison ivy curled around their trunks. How to get up there?

Should I cry "uncle" and duck quickly out the back, so no one notices that I tried and failed? Or should I chew up the scenery, crying and wailing, and acting my little heart out, oh, woe! oh, woe is me! until someone comes to help?

I could plow up the neighbor's yard, plant a magic nut, divert a stream to water it, and watch over it day and night, waiting for a different tree, a less difficult tree, to grow. Then I could climb it and lightly step over into that treehouse, as cleverly as Jack in the old tales. I would wave out the window to those below, waiting for their applause.

But who would be there, watching still, after all those careful years? Theater happens in real time. This blog happens in nearly real time. If I post about improv or library cats or gratitude, Google sweeps it up, and carries my words out, where other readers find them, before I have time to even catch my breath. Those readers arrive, bearing gifts, more words. Sometimes, the author of the book you're reading even shows up. (Thanks for coming by, Patricia!)

I don't think there is such a thing as an aspiring writer on the Internet. We all just write and what we write becomes part of the day. What we write becomes part of each other. I honestly had no idea what I would make of your words when I began to write this post. Now I see where I was going:

I do live in a world of cacti, diamonds and cowboys. I also live in a world where there is poison ivy. And now, I'm going to speak up for that ivy, because I had it all wrong. The ivy wasn't a symbol of an impenetrable barrier; it was a metaphor for what spreads. Because I forgot that just because "poison" and "ivy" arrived together, they don't have to stay together. They can get up and find new seats. Poison, you go over there and be helpful, answering the phone at the Poison Control Hotline. Ivy, honey, I've got a job for you: think you can lift me up---up there?

Oh! look! I did use all the words---showy, showy me---and I'm right where I want to be, in the ivy-covered treehouse, with all my friends. Let's put up a sign and spread the word:

Come and play.

Improv

Give me three words. I'll blog about them tomorrow. I promise.

What's going on? I'm reading Improv Wisdom: Don't Prepare. Just Show Up by Patricia Ryan Madson. And I need you to help me. So toss some words into the comments section. That'll be what I blog about. Eeeeeek!

Here are some ideas from the book:

"When speaking in public, don't use a script. Write down questions and answer them."

"Change the location of a familiar activity." She (Madson) tells her students to: "Find a new place or different vantage point in the circle."

From the chapter called "Be Average": "What is ordinary to you is often a revelation to others."

"Life is all about balancing, not being balanced."

Oh, and if you want to get in on the improvisation of a group poem, go join the renga fun at The Miss Rumphius Effect.