Leap Here: on the power of improv for all creative professionals
by Damon Suede
This past weekend I taught a full-day
workshop for the (amazing) Long Island RWA chapter on plot and
comedy. The funny thing is that when they first asked me to come
teach, I was hesitant about the combo. For some reason, plot and
comedy seemed like two abstract, heady topics to cram into a single
day.
In the end I couldn’t have been happier
with how things turned out. In fact, the attendees reminded me of
the immortal power of “Yes, And” to kick your ass and bust through
the obstacles we give ourselves.
See…I come to fiction from theatre. In
some ways that gives me all kinds of weird baggage that’s not always
helpful, but in some instances, my time backstage and on the boards
left me with well-worn grooves that improve my writing constantly.
Now, anyone who’s spent any time around
the legendary Second City improv community may feel like this is
obvious. But for any author who’s never done long-form improv or
doesn’t know what a “Harold” this might be a useful tool for your
bag of tricks. At the risk of redundancy and stating the obvious I
want to talk about a classic from the trenches of comedic Improv:
“Yes, And…”
When improvising in a group, skilled
performers learn quickly that showboating and negativity will wreck
the whole enterprise. Audiences love a star turn, but brilliant star
turns build on savvy teamwork and collaborative ingenuity. Making up
a story on the fly requires split second timing and a willingness to
fail.
When two actors take the impro stage and
start tossing ideas around, it’s all too common to see a selfish
actor reject anyone else’s ideas so they can bogart the attention
and spotlight. It’s a rube’s move, because professionals remember
who’s a dick and audiences notice when everyone else on stage hates
your guts.
In practice, if my scene partner starts
an improv by saying, “It’s raining so hard!” then the weather has
been established. If I smother that detail by saying “No,
you might think so,
But it’s only
drizzling.” Then I’ve killed my partner’s contribution to the scene.
If, instead, I say “Yes,
it’s raining like anything
and… pretty soon we’ll need to find the boat…” then I take the
improv offer and build on it. The two of us co-create the scene by
accepting each offer and
expanding upon it.
Being a teamplayer in improv makes for a
better experience and a more dynamic result. The same is true for
any creative endeavor from designing tattoos to writing genre
fiction. Learning to see the “Yes, And…” in a rejection letter,
intense edits, or a blog tour can help you steer clear of disaster
and salvage rotten situations. It also teaches you to adapt in the
moment and cooperate with your colleagues. You also discover rapidly
exactly which of your peers has the skills, temperament, and humor
you work best with.
When presented with idea, try to accept
the offer in the spirit of “Yes, And.” The universe is giving you
something, potentially something fortuitous or inspiring. Receiving
that proposal with gratitude and sense, opens you up to
possibility. “No, but”
sends a clear signal to your Muse and your mind and the Universe
that you don’t need any damn help, thanks. You’ll just screw up on
your own. “Yes, and” allows us all to screw up
together. All art is
collaborative, which is why editors and directors, and audiences
exist. Art needs audiences who talk back, onstage and off.
If just “accepting and expanding” feels
like too much, consider taking an improv class.
Yes, really. They boost
confidence, creativity, and interpersonal skills; they can seriously
change your writing process and your professional life. That same
dynamic controls jazz performance, rap battles and poetry slams,
stand-up, and much modern dance. Easy to forget watching canned,
prerecorded entertainment, but watching the Muse scatter divine fire
in the moment is exhilarating.
No artist is an island. We communicate
with the world and vice versa. That’s part of what makes genre
fiction so astonishing as a career: the robust interplay of
creativity and precision and expectations.
In a way, romance is especially suitable
for “Yes, And” solutions because it IS about relationships both in
and out of the books. Every successful writer learns to compromise
and cooperate. We grow by studying our betters and taking on
impossible tasks that somehow become inevitable. Every step forward
I’ve taken in my career, came from a ”Yes, And” moment when I pushed
myself to accept what was offered and built on it with enthusiasm.
Make me an offer or throw out a suggestion and I’ll always try to
say (metaphorically or literally), “Yes, and..?”
As I type this, Heidi Cullinan and I have
a marketing book coming out in a couple weeks called
Your A Game focusing
on the idea that no two authors are the same and that genre fiction
promo should be fun. In
some ways the entire message of the book comes down to “Yes, And…”
learning to embrace what you’re given and work with the people who
know how to play well with others. We couldn’t find the book on
genre promo that we wanted, and then “Yes, And”-ed the project into
existence.
When Heidi and I were first talking
through the enormity of the topic we realized that there was no way
to cover brand and platform and marketing and promo and media
training and every other part of a genre career. We spent almost a
week “No, But-ting” every possible solution to the challenge until
we were tied in knots. And then one day while we attacked the
problem, a “Yes, And” slipped out unbidden… Is it impossible to
write a promo book that is all things to all authors?
YES, and that meant we
had to rethink what authors need from nonfiction handbooks. We
decided to write a promo guide as a chooseable adventure. Everyone
could get what they needed and skip the stuff they didn’t, until
they did.
The truth is, “Yes, And” sums up how I
approach the writing process, how I beat blocks and kickstart
projects, but it’s also the cornerstone of my promo and outreach
efforts because “Yes, And” encourages dynamic, authentic give and
take with everyone in all directions.
And lest you think “Yes, And” is a recipe
for credulity or blind acceptance of toxic or silly suggestions,
remember that part of “Yes and” involves looking at foul behavior
and saying, “Yes, and now I think it’s time for me to be going.”
Improv keeps you on your creative and professional toes and your
colleagues likewise.
-
Those [Insert genre] books don’t sell/suck/bore me. Yes, and that’s why I’m always trying to find ways to reinvent familiar tropes.
-
I only like your light contemporaries. Yes, and I enjoy being able to move between genres so I can connect with the whole range of my fans.
-
Your book didn’t finish the way I wanted it to. Yes, and I appreciate you reading it and letting me know what worked and what didn’t.
-
“I’m dying to tell you a story that’s a steampunk inspirational,“ says your muse. Yes, and I bet I’ll learn a lot about worldbuilding and craft once I have time in my schedule.
-
You should fly to our con in outer Oshkosh and buy everyone a pony. Yes, and as soon as we can work out a concrete plan with a clear ROI I’ll book my flight.
-
You’re not a [insert popular measure of success] yet. Yes, and I’m taking practical steps to reach a broader audience toward the career I want.
A couple weeks back I was down at Coastal
Magic, one of my favorite genre events of the year. Their annual
Flash Fiction panel is a glorious trial by fire that requires a
group of authors write a romance on-the-fly in front of a could
hundred people in using a character, trope, subgenre, setting, and
context conjured up by the audience specifically to stump them. It’s
insane.
I usually describe Flash Fiction as being
thrown out of a cargo plane with a bolt of muslin and a needle and
sewing a parachute on your way down. In front of a live audience. No
presh.
Flash Fiction packs them in every year at
Coastal Magic … and often inspires crippling despair and panic
because it strikes at the core of our creativity. It can make us
feel like frauds. Now… some of us have been doing the Flash Fiction
gig since year one, but every year a couple of brave talented noobs
decide to plunge in… and the
only advice I give the newbies is “YES, AND…” While everyone
starts to get fizzy with panic, I repeat it like a catechism. “Yes.
And…?”
This year, a groovy author named Brynn
Meyers sat down next to me, terrified and hopeful for her first time
having a whack at Flash Fiction. I just kept repeating, “Yes, And,”
until she started saying it right back to me, and then gradually
“Yes, And-ing” all of us. She aced the entire process and had a
blast besides. “Yes, And” forces folks to collaborate and take weird
risks together.
Originally published as a lecture for Romance University.
If you wish to republish this article, just drop me a line.
