Jimmy uses story-based improv games to help writers quiet the overthinking, follow their instincts, and find out where a story wants to go when you stop steering so hard.
Jimmy uses story-based improv games to help writers quiet the overthinking, follow their instincts, and find out where a story wants to go when you stop steering so hard.
I’ve been an Airbnb superhost for thirteen years, sharing my four-bedroom Chicago apartment with tourists, marathoners, traveling nurses, university students, and visiting professors. I’ve met Americans from coast to coast and travelers from nearly every continent. Thanks to my proximity to Northwestern and Loyola, there have been many PhD candidates: a scientist working on the …
I heard the word “springboard” the other day and it made me flashback to the summer I was nine years old and went off the high dive for the first time at the community pool.
Except that I didn’t. What really happened was pure humiliation: I climbed the long ladder for what felt like ages, shuffled to the edge of the diving board, looked down, and froze. Uh-uh. There was no way I was jumping. With shaking knees, I backed up and started down the ladder, which was a slow process because I had to wait for all the kids behind me to back up too. And then I went home.
Last week, something tragic occurred two blocks from my house: a teenager took his life by jumping in front of the morning train. I’d heard the news, but as I walked my dogs the next day, I was still startled to pass the train station and see the memorial. Flowers, notes, and candles were arranged …
A few days before the No Kings rally, my husband and I are standing in the craft aisle buying poster board. By morning, I have a small arsenal of sign ideas, each one angrier than the last. One of my favorites is: Someone please punch Stephen Miller in the face. Scott looks at my ideas, …
We’ve all heard the news: A white, young mother—an unarmed U.S. citizen—was shot and killed in Minneapolis by an ICE officer. As the details pile up, each more disturbing than the last, we’re left thinking: This can’t be real. This is like living in some dystopian novel. But reality is refusing to follow story rules. As …
A few years ago, I went to hear author and now presidential candidate Marianne Williamson speak. She was describing a conference she held on race relations in Los Angeles. She said that tension was rising in the room when a white man stood up and angrily addressed an African-American woman.
“We’ve heard about all of this injustice again and again!” he yelled. “This is not helping anything. Why can’t we move on?”
So you want to write about your life, but let’s face it—you’re afraid to share personal stories that involve people you know. Your experiences are populated with your loved ones and this is what’s stopping you. You can’t share your story without including the good, the bad, and the ugly, and those can come in the form of friends and family.
How do you write the truth without alienating your entire social network?
Bring to mind someone you know who seems to have it all. You know the kind—the Eternal Optimist, the friend with the Midas Touch, the Big Man on Campus.
Someone like Kim, who was the lead singer at the church I attended. She was talented and vivacious, with a powerhouse voice and energy that lit up the stage. Week after week she performed with a smile on her face while I slouched half-asleep in the pew wondering how she did it.
I’m from Holland, Michigan, and when I was a kid, my grandma taught me a children’s rhyme in Dutch. She didn’t speak Dutch fluently, but her parents had and this little ditty was one of the things she remembered.
She wasn’t completely sure of the meaning, just that it was something about a cart before a horse.