Eight Ways To Be Good With The Improv

I had to share this one – I absolutely love the advice. I’ve done improv before , and it was one of the best experiences of my life. I love how this advice can apply to forming a writing group and talking about your fiction – writers also have to be supportive of each other, take notes, and not take criticism harshly. Share your work, whatever form it takes, get that feedback, and get good at giving feedback – that’s the life of any good artist.

People and Chairs

Wherever you are on your improv journey, these tips can help you get more joy.

1. Support the shit out of each other.

When someone makes a move, be the first to support it. Don’t wait to figure out what they’re doing, just respond.

Match their energy, heighten the move, scene paint, narrate…anything to add to it. It should look like you knew the move was coming, and love the idea. Move as a team.

Sometimes support means knowing when to edit. Your gut always knows when it’s time, so don’t hesitate if it’s telling you to sweep.

And support doesn’t stop with your team.

Attending other people’s shows adds your energy to the room, not to mention the show. Even better, bring friends and family from outside the community to share the experience.

And why not buy your favourite improviser a beer after the show? You can’t afford it?…

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Fear averted – My boy’s going to be alright

My wife and I are especially happy tonight – after a long day of fretting and fear, our little boy has left the hospital with only a few stitches in his nose.

During those hours when we didn’t know, when we were waiting for the CT results, my thoughts came out as the following piece. I always say that I don’t write poetry, and yet, sometimes my writing looks just a bit like it.

Fear averted

My boy is in their care
Men wearing masks study
Seek inside, analyze, diagnose
Fate in their hands, fear in my head

Pacing linoleum halls,
Blind to all but my own

The fall repeats in fevered memory
That damned second my hands weren’t there

A messenger at last. My heart misses a beat.


Fates have been kind to mete out this goodness
Despite hours lost, anticipation spent,
Relief is all I need to feel.

We leave the sterility
Our blessings plain,
Our joy immeasurable.


Recovery Through Words

Under needful eyes, I tend to those I love.
There is happiness, laughter at times. Moments of mirth.

One second, all is at peace. Then, I slip.
I missed something. I forgot. I reacted improperly.

Scorn. Disappointment.
Another failure, a scrap torn from the tattered tapestry of my soul.

Forgiveness comes, more laboured with each little wrong.
Determined, I pull on, speaking through keys rapidly tapped in the dark of night.

Expression is my saviour, sharing is my deliverance.
For only paper or screen serves as canvas for my inner self.
Only with a palette of 26 colours can I paint its beauty.

One-Minute Writer – Ancient Life

This prompt over at One-Minute Writer asks about the job you see yourself having if you had lived hundreds of years ago.

My answer:

I could see myself as a travelling merchant. Wandering into shoddy inns and taverns, seeking the local gossip and learning which wares are most needed or popular.

At the same time, I’d take in so much of common folks’ lives. I’d have tales to share, which might even get me in good with the managers of the taverns I patronize. If I could read and write, I’d be writing up my tales on the side of all my work. If I couldn’t, I’d seek out the scribes of all the cities I visit – perhaps they’d find some interested eyes for my tales.