So the Christian thing wasn't a joke?

A few years ago, as I prepared to graduate from college into a recession, I poured all my energy into job applications. I applied for so. many. jobs. I sent my resume everywhere from the American Girl Place to the American Nuclear Society -- anywhere I thought might take an English/theater major.

One day, I got an email asking for a phone interview about a comedy writing position I'd applied to on a whim. I'll call the interviewer "Gary." I was slightly suspicious to begin with, since Googling the nonsense words in Gary's email signature pulled up an inordinate number of furry event calendars. I  spent most of the following conversation hoping that was a coincidence and trying to avoid imagining Gary in a fox costume.


Me: What kind of comedy writers are you looking for?

Gary: Funny ones.

Me: Right. What kind, though? Stage? Screen? Sketch?

Gary: Screen. We're working on a sitcom.

Me: What's the premise?

Gary: I can't tell you a lot, since it hasn't come out yet, and there are intellectual property laws. I can tell you it's about an oddly matched set of roommates.

My head: Like Friends or Gilligan's Island or Laverne and Shirley or the Odd Couple or Three's Company or Will and Grace or ... or ... or ...

Me: What level of content are you looking for?

Gary: Dense. Juicy. More Simpsons than Family Guy.

Me: How will it be rated?

Gary: Highly, I hope. We're shooting for a big audience.

Me: I guess I'm trying to find out what your target audience is. What kind of comedy is this?

My head: Please let this not be furry porn. Or porn of any kind. Please.

Gary: Why do you care? Is there any kind of comedy you won't write?

Me: Well, I'm a Christian, so there are a few boundaries* I'll want to respect.

Gary: Ha! We are into pushing boundaries here. Why don't you come by the office, and we'll see if you're a good match for our team. Is this weekend good?

Me: Would next week work? I'm graduating from college this weekend.

Gary: Congratulations! What college?

Me: Wheaton College.

Gary: Oh. So the Christian thing ... that wasn't a joke?

Me: No.

Gary: You're serious?

Me: Yes.

Gary: Christians make me want to gouge out my own eyes.

Me: Ok.

Gary: Also, you might as well know, this sitcom is going to be mostly NC17/X. A Wheaton graduate wouldn't be a good fit for us.

Me: Probably not. Thanks for your time.





*This is one of several reasons why I've not been that motivated to get more deeply involved in the Chicago improv scene. There is amazing work going on there, but I'm not at a point where I'm comfortable being totally steeped in that culture. For example, I have a low threshold for rape jokes and for team bonding via collective substance abuse. I know not all teams are like that, but I've run into it enough to know it's not something I can handle right now.

Give it all, give it now.

“Spend it all. Shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place…give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things will fill from behind, from beneath, like water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.”
 —Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

I was reminded of this Annie Dillard quote by Laura Turner's guest post at Rachel Held Evans' blog this week. Turner writes, "Where am I giving from, and what am I holding back? Am I giving from abundance? And if so, why I am I holding on to so much when I know that everything I hold back from God is exactly what separates me from him?"



I would add that everything I hold back separates me from other people, too. And this is a problem if I want to do improv.*

If I find myself holding back my ideas and my impulses -- which are all I have to offer on stage -- I won't connect well with my scene partner, and then the audience won't connect with our scene. We won't stumble into truth or comedy if we can't connect, and we can't connect if we're not willing to give generously of ourselves.

I go through phases of having trouble giving of my ideas. "My ideas aren't good enough" is one reason; "My ideas are AWESOME and I'm saving them for myself" is another. Both of these attitudes are selfish. The first masquerades as humility, but it's actually selfishness and fear.

When I first started learning improv, I would try and come up with good ideas to use at my next practice. And sometimes, during practice, I'd come up with a Really Good Idea. A Hilarious Idea. An Artful Idea. But I wouldn't play it right away. I'd want to save it for a show. No sense wasting it in practice, right?

Ironically, when I did use these good ideas in practice, the scenes turned out to be flat and uninteresting. And those good ideas I had on the sidelines to save up for a show? I don't remember actually using any of them. They were ideas that made sense in the moment, but not outside of it. They absolutely turned to ash.

Preparing characters and situations before practice is not actually improvisation; it's writing. Writing is wonderful and valuable, but it's a different pursuit altogether. Improv really is best when it's improvised.**

Those impulses you have on the sidelines? The ones in your gut? Go with them. Right now. Don't judge them. Don't save them for later. Don't hold them back out of politeness. Don't be polite at all; be generous. The most generous thing you can possibly do is throw your idea out there for the group to play with.

Maybe the idea won't play the way you thought it would when it occurred to you. Maybe it morphs into something else. That's ok. If you're on stage, the idea has already served its purpose. The only time an idea has any value is if you let it move you from the sidelines to the stage. 

Once you're on stage, it's not your idea anymore, anyway. It belongs to the group. That means it's not up to you to make it come out ok. You can relax.

Remember that attitude of thankfulness exemplified in Red Ball? Generosity is born out of that. If you feel like you can't afford to give your ideas and go with your impulses, ask yourself if you're thankful. Everything is a gift you can be specifically thankful for.

thankfulness --> generosity --> connection --> truth/comedy



*It's also a problem if I want to live life in the Church. Or even if I just want to be, you know, a human being who has friends.
**Duh.

It's not called stealing.

When I get home from taking an improv class, coaching a troupe, teaching a workshop, or playing in a practice, my first impulse is to write. I don't know really know what I think about anything until I've written it out and looked at it.

(When I finish performing a show, however, my impulse is to stay out too late eating junk food with my friends, then come home and crash. I don't know why this is, but I think it's a good thing not to over-analyze your own shows. Let someone else do that.)


When I've taught and coached, some of the more proactive students/players have emailed me to ask me for more personal feedback than I could give in front of the group. If you're one of those wonderful people, I hope you don't mind that I'll be borrowing from some of my responses to you.


If you've ever been one of my teachers or coaches, I've probably written down things you've said. I hope you don't mind if I share them with other people. I'll do my best to remember who said what.

But my favorite teachers have gotten so deeply into my head that I may steal from them without realizing it. I think I'm ok with that. If you're one of those teachers, I imagine that you're ok with it, too, because you know that this art form will wither and die if we don't let other people take our ideas and run with them. That's how we're trained to act toward each other on stage, anyway.
 

"In the arts, it's not called stealing. It's called being part of a movement." -- Noah Gregoropoulos