Preface
Working in improvisation was not part of the plan. The plan was to be a horror novelist living in a cabin in the woods, channeling Stephen King. But early in high school I discovered theater, and, still in my formative years in NYC, I fell into script writing because of the 24 Hour Plays, wherein a complete production was written, cast, directed/rehearsed, and performed within twenty-four hours.
Doing this, I discovered what it was like to write something on a page and then sit in the back-row darkness of a theater with hundreds of people in the audience, laughing, shifting uncomfortably, and applauding—whew! What a way to begin.
The 24 Hour Plays has really grown in recent years. Now all sorts of celebrities are involved. But it used to be a smaller operation. I was living in the East Village in New York City when I saw a sign from the street and wandered into a building. The place? PS 122. In New York, PS stands for public school, but this PS had been closed and then reopened, hijacked by creatives and wish makers. The PS was now Performance Space 122.
Eddie Izzard appeared there the same week that I first found PS 122, but I didn’t know who he was yet. (Yet.) I wandered in past the posters for his performance and found out about the 24-Hour Plays. Right away, I decided I would participate, and I volunteered to write a play. I think they may have asked me if I was a writer, and since I had been writing sneaky things in my journal long enough to know the answer, I said yes.
The experience was basically the same thing as the games in this book. I was improvising, under a time limit, sitting there in the office at the theater in the middle of the night, becoming the characters at my desk. And almost twenty-four hours later, there I sat squinched between strangers and fellow creators and saw worlds unfold. It was like nothing else. It was so simple, so possible, and—because I had been awake for over twenty-four hours—really, it was like a dream. I had committed to being a writer and letting the creativity flow through me without the critic; I allowed myself to truly have no expectations. This is something I was doing because I wandered into a building and maybe they were short a writer . . . ?
This not having expectations is what allows me to not torture myself: I try my very best to set things up so that I have no expectations. This has been the secret to my personal success. Before I learned to do that, I was frequently blindsided by criticism and redirection and surprises. The 24 Hour Plays was the beginning of me thwarting that inner critic.
It started so simply. Perhaps because I had no expectations, I didn’t know enough yet to be afraid or worried what people would think. I just did it. I . . . wait for it . . . wait . . . for it . . . I improvised! I said yes! Doing improv trains you to always say yes. I was mistaken for someone who knew how to write a play and given a chance I’ve never regretted taking or being given.
This is not just philosophy; there is a real power behind letting go of control as a creative person and trusting your imagination and ability to create. This only really works if you have made the active decision to let go of judgments and commit to the games, the exercises, the character, and to creativity itself. There is much to discover when we do this—mostly, how freeing writing and sharing can be. Just as it is onstage, we can let go on the page.
I’m asking you to trust yourself even in the use of this book. Also, in a sense, to trust me too. I do understand that you may not have ever done improv before, and I really appreciate your interest, courage, bravery, whatever it was that brought us together. I’m grateful for that.
Please know that I have taught so many young and older people improv for many years, and quite a few of them didn’t even expect to be doing improv. Some showed up to support their friends in an open class and, at the invite, jumped in. (Talk about trust!)
I’m also a writer. I began as a produced playwright and published poet (in a small kitschy mag that isn’t around anymore) in New York City and then of course, I wrote all my own comedy material, so I wrote daily. Which led to writing for animated television shows like
Mickey and the Roadster Racers, which is driven by funny and fun. Every job, every writer, every character I come across teaches me something.
And in turn, I share that in workshops at high schools, colleges, and libraries around the country and at the studios here in Hollywood. I’ve taught this very material at workshops at studios, with Scriptwriters Network and other organizations, and we all keep getting the same positive results with these exercises and games. They work.
You are in good hands.
Let’s you and I get ready to play our first game. Let’s agree that we are going to trust ourselves to create, write, and output mucho. Deal?
Deal from this side.
Pinky shake over here!
Wow! That went so well, let’s play another. Maybe a few!
#therearenocoincidences
Copyright © 2019 by Jorjeana Marie. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
