Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 203

Speak Up Storytelling: Matthew Dicks

On episode #43 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Matthew and Elysha Dicks talk storytelling!

In our followup segment, we talk about a moment on a Moth GrandSLAM stage and a moment in a classroom that unearth two potential stories.

Then Elysha departs, and we listen to Matthew Dicks's story about an unusual late night walk with a friend. 

After listening, we discuss:

The best place and most effective way of beginning a story

The importance of beginning and ending a story well

Choosing appropriate backstory and the most effective way of presenting it in a story

Strategies for preserving surprise in a story

Volume and pacing during a performance

LINKS

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

This is underwear

Elysha sent me this photo yesterday with a message that read:

“Taking the liberty of throwing these away, honey.”

I want to go on the record as saying that:

It took me a moment to identify this photo as underwear.

I swear that my underwear did not look like that when it entered the washing machine. My underwear as clearly engaged in a washing machine rumble of sorts.

Even if Elysha’s underwear looks as damaged as mine, I would not have thrown them away without her permission because I’ve ruined too much of her clothing already to take any chances.

I was pleased to see that Elysha was folding my laundry, though I also know that so did so only to clear a path for her own laundry.

Underwear is a weird word. Elysha can rightly say that she’s throwing away “these” even though she’s only throwing away a single item, or she could’ve said that she was throwing away “a pair of underwear” even though there’s nothing about underwear that would cause you to see them as two of anything.

Storytelling in the Classroom

This week I was featured in Thom Gibson’s podcast “Storytelling in the Classroom” along with friend and storyteller Jeni Bonaldo. I discuss the ways I integrate storytelling into my school day, and both Jeni and podcast host Thom Gibson tell stories to their students, and I offer a critique of both.

You can listen to the podcast wherever you get your podcasts or here on YouTube:

Life!

Hope springs eternal!

After the tragic death of our crocuses last week at the hands of the little girl next door, Charlie discovered a single crocus emerging from the earth yesterday afternoon in the same spot as last week’s floral massacre.

It appears that she didn’t kill them all.

At least one more was waiting to emerge from the frozen ground.

It made us both so incredibly happy.

I lost The Moth GrandSLAM on Tuesday night. This is how I feel about losing.

On Tuesday night, I competed in a Moth GrandSLAM at the Cutler Majestic in Boston.

It was my 25th GrandSLAM championship since 2011, but no matter how many of these championships I compete in, the GrandSLAM never gets old for me.

It’s my favorite storytelling show by far.

I told what I thought might be the best story I’ve ever told at a Moth GrandSLAM or any story slam, but when the scores were tallied at the end of the show, I had finished in fourth place.

For a person who is exceedingly competitive and possibly obsessed with winning, I was surprisingly fine with my fourth place finish, for two reasons.

Two years ago, at a GrandSLAM championship in New York City, I drew the first spot in the show, which makes it almost impossible to win. As great a story as you may tell, recency bias will doom your chances every time. I’ve won from first position at two Moth StorySLAMs in my life, but the quality of stories in a Moth GrandSLAM make this highly unlikely if not impossible.

In fact, telling a story in the first half of a show makes it hard to win at a Moth GrandSLAM.

After drawing the #1 from the hat, I started pacing around the stage, angry and annoyed. Muttering under my breath. Snarling.

In short, I was acting like a jerk.

Thankfully, Elysha was with me that night in New York. She pulled me aside and said, “This is your 20th GrandSLAM. You’ve won six of them. For most of these people, it’s their first GrandSLAM ever. Probably the biggest stage they’ve ever performed on. Maybe their only GrandSLAM ever. So how about you stop acting like a jerk and just be grateful to be here.”

She was right. It was exactly what I needed to hear.

Ever since that night, I’ve approach every one of these championship competitions with an open heart. Remarkably, I’ve stopped obsessing over winning.

I wish I could say the same for The Moth’s open-mic StorySLAMs. I’ve won 39 of them, so I shouldn’t obsess so much over winning them either, but winning a StorySLAM gains me entry into the GrandSLAM, which I love so much. So winning the StorySLAM remains important to me.

It gets me something I want.

But not the GrandSLAM. Instead of focusing on winning, I focus on having fun, telling a great story, and assisting my competitors whenever possible. If it’s their first or second time on a GrandSLAM stage, I always take a few minutes to advise them on the tricks and techniques that I’ve developed over the years to tell a story to a theater of 1,000 people. I try to ease their nerves, make them laugh, and allow them to relax enough to do their best.

Elysha was right. I should be grateful to be able to stand on that stage and tell a story, and I am.

Even better, the winner of Tuesday night’s Moth GrandSLAM was one of my storytelling students. She had spent a weekend with me at Kripalu in 2018, and the story she told on Tuesday night to beat me was a story that I had workshopped with her months ago.

In fact, I had three former storytelling students in the cast with me on Tuesday night. All three had gotten their start in storytelling in one of my workshops, and one them, Tom Ouimet, a brilliant storyteller has graced the Speak Up stage many, many times.

This also wasn’t the first time that a former student has beaten me in a StorySLAM and GrandSLAM. It’s happened several times, and I’m sure it’ll happen again. It’s also not the first time that I helped to craft and revise a story that was later used to defeat me.

As a teacher, this makes me very happy.

So I finished fourth on Tuesday night. I told a story about my lifetime struggle for faith and a moment of transcendence in a hot dog line at a minor league baseball stadium. I told the story from fourth position - not a great spot in the lineup - but I’ve won Moth GrandSLAMs from the second and fourth position in the past, so it’s certainly possible.

It really might be the best story I’ve ever told in a GrandSLAM.

But I didn’t win. That’s okay.

I saw some old friends. Made some new ones. Spoke to audience members who loved my story. I even signed six copies of my book Storyworthy during intermission, brought to the show by audience members who knew I was performing.

It was a great night. I was grateful to take the stage. I was thrilled to watch my students perform. I was honored to hear all of the amazing stories told that night.

Winning would’ve been nice, but it’s not the most important thing anymore. Not by a long shot.

My students are ruining my chances at greatness

A 2017 study found that working near people who are good at their job makes you more effective at yours.

Sitting within 25 feet of a high performer at work improved a given worker’s performance by 15 percent, while sitting within 25 feet of a low performer hurt their performance by 30 percent. 

Role models, it would appear, are very important.

But what does this mean for me?

I’m a man who spends his workday within 25 feet of two dozen fifth graders at almost all times.

Two dozen 10 year-old children who can sometimes perform at a high level but can also spend enormous amounts of time staring out windows, watching pencils roll down their desks, and doodling the image of a pig’s head hundreds of times on dozens of post-it notes.

These are kids who jam important papers into the far reaches of their desk never to be seen again, somehow lose library books on the 50 foot walk from library to classroom, and can struggle getting water from the drinking fountain to their mouth without somehow making a puddle on the floor.

Even when they’re performing at their highest level, it’s not like our optimal levels are commensurate in any way.

I’m worried. I think my students are bringing me down. Hurting my chances at future success. Decreasing my productivity.

And this has been going on for two decades…

I deserve hazard pay.

Just imagine what I could’ve been if not burdened by hundreds of inefficient, disorganized, distraction monsters over the years.

Spring! Then murder.

Spring has sprung!

Every March this tiny patch of crocuses bloom in our front yard. It's the first sign that winter is finally in the rearview mirror and warm and sunny days are ahead. 

On Sunday the crocuses finally appeared. Tiny, purple and orange bursts of life from an otherwise cold, lifeless ground. We were thrilled. We treasure these little flowers so much. 

Ten minutes later, while our backs were turned, the little girl next door ripped them the flowers from the ground and left them lying in a pile on the dead grass like trash.

She didn't know how much these little flowers mean to us. It’s not her fault.

Still, my children and I were upset. We really love this patch of purple and orange gold.

But I often while teaching storytelling that what’s bad for you in real life is often good for the story. Or as I’ve heard my friend, Catherine Burns of The Moth often say:

“You either have a good time or you have a good story.”

You can bet this moment made it onto my Homework for Life, and it's probably storyworthy as well. 

Amusing. Surprising. Joyous. Plus a little anger and some sadness and grief. 

Good material to start a story. Maybe not a story worthy of the stage (though you never know), but entertaining nonetheless.

Speak Up Storytelling: Ted Zablotsky

On episode #42 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Elysha Dicks and I talk storytelling!

In our followup segment, we read a heartwarming email from a listener about Homework for Life and our new favorite review from a listener.

In our Homework for Life segment, we talk about how storyworthy moments can often be identified by finding moments in our lives that cause us to ask big questions and express controversial ideas. 

Next we listen to Ted Zablotsky's Voices of Hope story about returning to his father's hometown decades after the Holocaust.  

Voices of Hope is an organization dedicated to preserving the stories of the Holocaust, and we partner with this organization to help the children and grandchildren of Holocaust survivors tell their stories. 

After listening, we discuss:

Telling stories about other people through the lens of your own story

The effectiveness of telling your story in scenes

The power of a subtle ending

Remaining within the moment of a story at all times and not projecting forward

Finally, we each offer a recommendation.  

LINKS

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

RECOMMEDATIONS

Elysha:

Spotify's "Bluegrass Covers" playlist

Matt:

Aaron Sorkin's Masterclass

Why you should not complain about the common core

Occasionally I will meet an adult who has somehow been convinced that America’s “common core” curriculum is rubbish. They look at the way that their child is solving a math problem, fail to comprehend the method or rationale that their child is using, and therefore assume it’s stupid.

It’s more than likely that the adult in question is stupid. At least in that particular moment.

In defense of the common core, I always say the following:

First, the curriculum that you were taught was different than your parents’ curriculum, too. And your parent’s curriculum was different than their parents’ curriculum. Curriculum is constantly evolving. Always changing. The previous generations of Americans were simply smart enough to avoid politicizing something that is better left to the experts.

They didn’t allow idiot pundits to change their mind about something they know almost nothing about.

So shut up about the way you were taught to do things. Your parents probably thought the same thing about the work you were doing in school. It didn’t make sense to them, either. They simply weren’t arrogant jackasses about it.

Then I write a problem like this down and ask the person to solve it.

562
- 387

I have yet to meet a person who does not regroup (or borrow) in order to solve this problem.

Teachers don’t like to use the word “borrow” in math these days because borrowing implies an eventual return of the borrowed item, which never happens in problems like these. When you “borrow” a number to subtract, it never goes back to its original place. It can therefore be confusing to some kids given the definition of “borrow,” but I have met adults who are angry over this simple, logical shift in terminology.

I just assume that these folks have far deeper issues related to self-worth.

Once the person is done solving the problem, I ask why they regrouped.

Answers vary, but it essentially comes down to one of two things:

I was taught that way, or you have to regroup (or borrow) to solve the problem.

Then I show them how to solve without regrouping. I explain that if you understand negative numbers, this problem becomes rather simple. No pencil and paper required. Instead of regrouping (or borrowing), simply think of the problem as

500-300
60-80
2-7

Or 200 - 20 - 5 = 175

I might have also solved the problem using rounding to change the problem to 562 - 400 + 13.

Also simple.

Thanks to my understanding of what lies behind the simple algorithms, I can solve problems like these almost instantly in my head. So can many of my students.

But when these same students go home and try to explain these concepts to close-minded parents who are either upset that they don’t understand the math or have been convinced by a politician that this new common core is bad, things don’t go well.

They become angry.

They can’t understand why their child isn’t just borrowing from the hundreds and the tens. They blame the curriculum when the real problem is that they can accurately solve a math problem but don’t understand why their solution works.

It’s understanding the why that leads to a career in the STEM fields.

It’s the why that turns children into future scientists, engineers, astronauts, programmers, biotech researchers, financial analysts, actuaries, and more.

Before you become upset that your child’s curriculum makes no sense to you, try to remember that this is nothing new. You’re not special. Curriculum has been evolving for as long as education was formalized in a school setting, and it will continue to evolve.

Americans of the past simply trusted the experts, avoided leaping to conclusions, asked good questions, and didn’t allow politicians and pundits to dictate their opinions.

Physics and philosophy at bedtime

Before bed last night , Charlie, age 6 asks:

“When the Big Bang reverses and the universe compresses into a tiny dot again and then we have another Big Bang, will we all eventually get born again like this time, or will it be different?”

“That’s a big question,” Elysha said.

I wanted to say, “Who the hell has been teaching you physics and philosophy? Where in the hell did you learn enough to ask a question like that?”

Before I could say anything, Charlie answered his own question. “Probably not,” he said. "Probably not."

Charlie eventually told us that he was reading about the Big Bang in a book. Clara then reminded us that I had explained the Big Bang to both of them a few months ago. Charlie added that his babysitter, Kaia, had answered some questions about it, too.Before going to bed, I explained the possibility of entropy (let him go blow someone else’s mind) and touched on the theory of the multiverse.

But he’s only six years-old, so he might need a second lesson.