Notes from the Storytelling Coach

In 2008, I was meeting with members of the Utah storytelling guild, helping them think about what activities might best help them strengthen their community and promote storytelling in Utah.

One teller, Rachel Hedman, suggested a series of “story slams,” one-evening competitions in which anyone can offer a story on the evening’s theme. The story’s are judged and scored; the night’s winner usually receives a prize of some sort.

I have long opposed competitions in the arts. Can you score a Beethoven symphony over a Brahms symphony? Works of art are unique and complex. The idea of ranking them along a single continuum has always seemed like an invasion of our competitive culture into something inherently non-competitive. After all, if Beethoven had written a tenth symphony, it wouldn’t have taken away the value of his previous nine. Nor did Brahms’ symphonies diminish the value of Beethoven’s. Competitions are zero-sum games, whereas works of art are more like “magic pennies” – the more you send into the world, the more benefit you and others gain.

Therefore, my response to Rachel’s suggestions was this:

To bring in new and varied listeners to storytelling, we will undoubtedly need to make our existing events less comfortable for us, our existing listeners. I am uncomfortable with the idea of a story slam. Therefore, I won’t participate in organizing one.

But I support someone else doing it! Making me uncomfortable is probably necessary to expand the audience for storytelling.

A Story Slam in Boston?

Fast-forward to September, 2009. A group calling itself MassMouth asked me to attend one of their new Boston story slams as a judge. I refused until I could at least visit a slam and decide whether I wanted to support this competitive form of storytelling.

In December, I attended the third MassMouth slam, with a theme of “It’s My Job.” Jackson Gillman drove me into Boston (we both live south and east of Boston). On the way, he told me about attending the past two slams. Three things he told me piqued my interest:

• In one of the slams, several professional tellers told and told well. But a first-time teller told a story that was clearly superior to all the others – and walked off with the prize.
• The atmosphere is encouraging, not at all competitive.
• Because of the judging, Jackson found himself reluctant to tell a story that isn’t highly polished. For a story swap (non-competitive story-sharing event), he would likely tell a story-in-progress. But for this, he worked hard to perfect a story and get it down to the five-minute limit.

Once I arrived at the slam, I discovered some more interesting facts:

• The room – which can hold about 60 people at the most – was packed. There was an air of excitement.
• About one-third the attendees appeared to be below the age of 30 – a much younger crowd than attends other storytelling events.
• Many of the attendees had attended one of the first two slams, and were returning with friends
• Several non-professional tellers told, such as the former school secretary telling about one day’s dose of unruly children, worried parents, and frustrated teachers.

All this makes me think that this series is definitely a service to storytelling. It’s bringing in new audiences. It’s improving the quality of stories told by experienced tellers. For me, the element of competition is balanced by an implicit message:

Anyone can tell a story; the stories of ordinary people are worth listening to.

The top two winners are eligible to tell in the “Big Mouth-Off” in April. And the top prize there is a one-week stay at a restored town house in Tuscany, Italy!

Okay, I want that prize!

I admit it: in this tough economy, the villa in Tuscany sounds like a great way to get a vacation for Pam and me – just for the cost of some frequent flier miles (to get to Italy).

So I decided to compete, myself.

For the March slam in Boston (the last before the Big Mouth-Off), the theme was “Outrageous!”

What would I tell? I’m generally more at home with stories of personal transformation, rabbinic wisdom, or social liberation. I certainly don’t think of myself as a teller of humorous or “outrageous” stories. I spent two one-hour sessions with my story-buddies before settling on an experience I had in the 1960′s: having to sing a song at gunpoint.

I had already included this experience in a longer tale, Hopping Freights. But in that 90-minute story, I put this episode in the context of a decision about how to respond to the draft during the Vietnam War.

After several coaching sessions and a trial performance at the Story Cafe in New Bedford, MA, I had re-shaped the episode and drastically shortened to fit the 5-minute time limit.

See more videos of Slam participants on MassMouth

I’m proud (and, in light of my reservations about competition in storytelling) somewhat humbled to have won that story slam. You can see my winning performance in the video, above.

To survive, public storytelling events need to evolve. I now believe that story slams – when done with care and embraced by a supportive community – can be part of a useful evolution that brings storytelling to wider audiences.