Day 248

I just started taking this class the past week. It's a comedy slash writing class. It's an eight week workshop designed to explore and create a piece of comedic work. At the end of those eight weeks there will be a public performance. One of my resolutions from Jan-Mar was to take an acting class. This isn't exactly it but it'll have to do as a substitute.

Ideally we'll be exploring comedic forms, analyzing what makes something funny, and working through some of my fears of performance. I don't know why I have this issue with being in front of people since I've done speeches, performances, talks, training, etc. But each time it's in a context where people aren't really judging you maybe. When you do something creative, people generally ask one thing afterward: "What is good?" I think I'll aim for "so-so." Actually, I'll pray for "so-so."

There's also this pressure to be funny. I mean, I think I'm funny but apparently I'm not all that funny. So I'm going to have to write or perform a story that is not only so-so good but also funny. This should be interesting.

One of the in-class exercises was to think of a painful moment or event in your life and write the external and internal memories of it. External encompassed details and setting. Internal covered feelings and emotions. I'm notoriously horrible at saying how I feel about something. I'm possibly even worse describing details and setting. It's ridiculous since writing is about communicating one or the other isn't it?

Anyway, in trying to think of something painful or traumatic (not embarrassing, but actually painful), it took me awhile. As in I just made one up. I dramatized a recent moment and blew it up to the point it was actually painful. Everyone was supposed to say "ding" when they had a painful moment in mind. I was the last one to "ding," and I just kind of did it to go with the program.

In the end, my haiku from the exercise looked like this:

The lunch crowd is gone
Secret, then counter-secret
Interrogation!

I could explain the story behind it but there's not really that much going on. What I got out of this exercise was that I'm wholly unable to parse out the stuff that people seem so ready to define as painful. My pain tends to trickle away quickly. I mean, aside from deaths or the occasional relationship pain, what else do I have to complain about?

I'm worried that a lack of real experiences (defined by highs and lows, happiness and sadness) will hamper my ability to be funny. Or a story teller. Or you know, involved.