All About Me: How do you collaborate with yourself?

I’m not the perfect parent. I once dropped my son off at school in his Mario costume on Halloween parade day.  He was so excited; he loved Mario.  Except, it was a week early for the parade and because I was late for work he was the lone cartoon character at school that day. Mistakes were made while I hyperventilated my way through working and raising kids; late arrivals, scheduling snafus, half-assed work and home tasks, and confusion hijacking my otherwise order-seeking personality.  Wonderland Playhouse is the only job I’ve had that ignited my passion.  Mostly, I have worked as an assistant to men of varying degrees of power. I wrote and spoke with their voice. I even gave up pursuing my passion after work as it left little time for family.

Blog5.Graduate

I dreamed about college since I can remember, but attempts made fell short and circumstances got in the way.  I graduated early from high school the year my parents divorced and neither could help me apply.  Accepted to UCLA when my daughter was four, I couldn’t agree to the sacrifices moving to Westwood would mean for her.  Twelve years later I was delighted to attend Long Beach State where I kicked ass in its demanding theater program that kept me on campus from nine o’clock in the morning until after the final curtain fell on most nights.  At the end of the semester and with a need to care for my kids I reluctantly returned to work.

Improv:  How do you get out of a rut?

In a dialogic response to the statement that one’s heart is filled with pain and suffering, the poet Rumi writes, Stay with it.  The wound is where the Light enters you.  My wound was this deep, unfulfilled desire that no amount of busyness, meditation, or yoga could heal.  It stayed with me, scrambling up with my unworthiness and insufficiency, ensuring I would work a series of good jobs I am grateful for that brought no professional satisfaction, surfacing from time to time to remind me I didn’t know why I felt bad about it, and guaranteeing my inability to heal it would be a personal failure.

imageEarlier this year my daughter graduated with a master’s degree and my wound split wide open. I found it hard to breathe. Friends didn’t understand my suffering and I couldn’t explain it. The list of reasons to let it go was long, but that didn’t change how I felt. Tortured and exhausted, asking for help and willing to do anything, I was guided to apply to a small liberal arts college near my home.  At once terrified I would certainly endure another failure, and unable to remain wounded any longer, I hoped my action would end this one way or another.

On an early June evening, surrounded by cakes at a dessert auction I coordinated, drunk on the smell of sugar, I received the email. The college’s letter said they were impressed by my commitment to my family and my community, stated I was precisely the person they were looking for, and offered me a near-full ride scholarship to complete my degree.  I came full stop.

Some wounds are a paradox. They don’t go away because they’re not supposed to.  Light illuminates one’s suffering while simultaneously spotlighting the path to healing.  Improv can help.  Stay with it– collaborate with it.  Say, Yes! And . . .. Don’t ever give up.

Children Writing Story: Once there was a . . .

thumb_20160918_112328_1024In my quest for creativity I studied story structure from a broad base of teachers: Aristotle, Homer, Lajos Egri, Lew Hunter, L. Frank Baum, C.S. Lewis, Steven Spielberg, Hayao Miyazaki, Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Ira Glass, and the Three Stooges. My favorite storyteller was the whimsical bard Joseph Campbell who used the entire mythological library to weave webs in my mind that spanned time and culture.

In developing children’s programs for Wonderland Playhouse I began with structure. My three-act structure map was adapted from Campbell’s The Hero With A Thousand Faces. The map outlined plot elements along the timeline of a hero’s journey and we used it to analyze stories like Finding Nemo and The Wizard of Oz. Once players understood it, they collaborated to write their own improv stories. I prompted for the elements: Who is our hero. What’s his problem? Where is he going? That’s when things got exciting. Have you ever seen a kid shoot his hand up to answer a question and fly off his seat? Enthusiastic players exploded, their raised hands blasting them off the floor, ideas blurting out of them like exhaust from spinning rockets.

Story Structure:  What are the rules?

From Beowulf to Hollywood, we find villains and violence in adventure stories. A villain drives the hero forward while violence excites. I knew this because I learned it, but the truth is I have never been fond of violence. Two things that make me feel bad when I want to feel good: war and menace. The list of award-winning movies I have walked out of is memorable: The Omen, Apocalypse Now, The Silence of the Lambs, and Lord of the Rings. Now I choose movies wisely and I sometimes wait in the lobby of the theater during trailers because they are often bathed in blood. Yuck! I’m just not wired for it. Still, I included the villain in the structure map because of my training.

With one exception (that I’m saving for the next blog post), when I prompted for a villain, eager players lost altitude and regarded me as though I spoke Arcturian with a lisp. In the rare case they offered a villain it was really a friend in disguise, a challenging friend perhaps, but not a true villain. I was uncertain what to do: ask again? coach the elements more? Their stories worked; I was the one stuck behind the rules. Ultimately improv settled it. Yes! And. . .. No villain? Okay. Moving on.

Wonderland Playhouse stories revealed no war, no villains, and no violence. The players were a lot like me. I once showed them Brad Bird’s animated film The Iron Giant. When several of them walked out during scenes of military domination and violence we all ended up in the kitchen snacking. They weren’t wired for it either and they didn’t come to the Playhouse to feel bad. We may have been the only folks in the world who felt that way, but we had found each other.

thumb_file5491278465708_1024Violence is Irrelevant

Once familiar with the map I stopped coaching altogether and would simply prompt – Once there was a . . ..

Then, I stood back and watched as players fired and blasted all over the room. My job was keeping up with them. Brilliant young storytellers created lovably flawed heroes with uniquely goofy sidekicks on countless magical adventures.

Over and over they told me:

Violence is irrelevant;

Adventure is good for adventure’s sake; and

A villain does not drive a hero to heroic acts, love does.

Yes! And, . . . How Improv Woke Me Up

The one thing I feel most deeply about is creative freedom – for everyone. All my passions align with that: health, children, nature, education, dreaming. Because I am a creative I cannot say I am this or that, because it sounds ridiculous. I am complicated and my identities seem endless and forever shifting. Today’s list: daughter, wife, mother, ex-paralegal, Pacific Northwest resident, grade school office manager, writer, storyteller, dancer, actor, yoga teacher, improviser, gardener, empath, psychic, bicycle-riding small town dweller, lover of animals and growing my own food, and devotee of following my own path. My past is littered with lifetimelines filled with identities that are now mere chapters in my herstory. Today is destined to be a chapter one day. I have friends who say they don’t like change. I can’t relate. I thrive on it. Boredom is my Kryptonite.

file000746328414Now you can see why the final five years of my 30-year paralegal career put me to sleep. Earn and spend, earn and spend – the cycle bored me while my creative self starved and I obsessed over my hunger.  I searched for creativity when not working, raising kids, and remodeling my house. I binged on acting, ballet, and writing classes. The most delicious treat I found was improvisation and like potato chips, one bite derailed me. I did something crazy. In 2006, I retired and started a children’s theater. Wonderland Playhouse Improvisation and Storytelling Project evoked kid-told stories and mounted them into full-scale theater productions.

The Project was embraced by the local art center, several after-school programs and the Department of Education. We played in galleries, community centers, parks, and multi-purpose rooms. Wonderland players were a diverse group: kids whose parents searched for options, kids who believed in fairies, kids who didn’t like sports, science fair winners, kids with special needs, gentle kids, shy kids, funny kids, kids who didn’t talk – all of them brilliant and exceptional.

Wonderland Playhouse Improvisation & Storytelling Project

Kids are Natural Improvisers

There are few rules and no wrong answers in improv. Every impulse offered is valid. The only answer to every question is, Yes! And, . . .. Improv done well leads to trust, intimacy, and a lot of fun. Players contribute in any way they imagine. For the most part, kids are natural improvisers. Have you ever seen a kid create a whole world while no one is watching? I was driven by a deep knowing that kids’ voices matter and I wanted to hear their stories. Once the kids knew they could not fail, they flew. Their stories were wild and we laughed a lot. Sometimes adults didn’t understand what we did, but that didn’t stop us. The players thrived and so did I. Storytelling together broke us all free.

We mounted story after story until the ’08 market downturn caused evaporation of the Playhouse contracts.  Then, I took the theater home to my backyard and we continued for another year.  Leading the players was entertaining, exhilarating, challenging, and humbling. They surprised and delighted me everyday. I look forward to exploring all the ways creative freedom shows up in this blog. I will write more about Wonderland and how its players inspired me to write courageously. StarWalker and the Fairy Queen is my first book. There’s a preview on my website.