female hercules moth

Originally uploaded by cjkershner

Last weekend’s New York Times ran a story about The Moth, bringing apeloads of free publicity and NYC cred. The author name-checked a number of my friends from the Moth scene. I told a story on the night the writer was there, saw the same performances he did. It’s nothing but good for my friends, and the Moth staff, who I also consider a collective group of supportive friends. I’m really happy for them all.

It only took a day or two for the little voice in me to stop whimpering “but, but what about MEEEEeee?” Which, to be honest, is a lot less time than it usually takes. The Moth has helped me grow in many, many ways.

Here’s an excerpt from the story, “Going Solo Gets Crowded.“

Since they began in 1997, storytelling nights hosted by the Moth, a nonprofit, have helped aspiring writers try out new material in a nurturing environment. But lately, storytelling has exploded into a thriving genre all its own, a new avenue to prominence for writers and, increasingly, for actors and comedians. In a sense, storytelling has become the new stand-up — a way to be noticed by the literary agents, actors and directors who increasingly populate the audiences.

The Moth — the dominant name in the live storytelling scene — has expanded its number of shows to 85 this year in New York and Los Angeles, from 26 in 2006. The group now holds four open-mike slams in different New York venues each month, compared with once a month in 2006, and has expanded to Los Angeles, where it holds two slams a month. Attendance is surging, to a projected 15,000 this year from 4,000 in 2006, organizers said. Events continue to sell out, even at larger venues. In the next two years, the Moth plans to expand to at least 10 cities.

If you read the entire story, you could be forgiven for thinking that performing at The Moth is a shortcut to fame, riches, and creative fulfillment. I’m here to tell you that it ain’t exactly Lana Turner at the soda fountain, people.

It’s possible to show up at a Moth Slam, get on stage and win straight away and go home feeling like you’ve hit a home run with one hand while saving a baby from a fire with the other. However, nobody’s going to recognize you on the subway the next day.

And they shouldn’t either. Everyone’s got one good story to tell. Learning how to tell a great story over and over, week after week … that takes a lot of really, really hard work.

But more than hard work, it takes a lot of community involvement. The Moth offers a lot of people a platform to tell their stories on, sure. But even more than that — just as important, actually — it’s a community of storytellers who help each other to become the best they can be. I’ve learned more about structure, stakes, humor, emotion and pacing in the past year than I did in the ten years of writing before I moved to New York.

I learned half of it from watching people week in and week out, seeing the stinkers and the masters, the people who used to be fat and never got over it, the improv people that just don’t get it and the everyday schlubs that knock it out of the park like clockwork. And what drove those lessons home was the critique, the “Inside Baseball” that happens after the shows at the bar. Or over IM all week, on the phone or over coffee with other story nuts like me who for some reason (and believe me, that reason is NOT financial) are motivated to tell the best story that they can. That’s not something that happens at at the shows. It happens before, after, and in between.

Sure, there’s gossip and drama. But it beats the dog-shit out of the comedy world. Ever hang out with comedians? Sometimes it really, really sucks. The backstabbing, the meanness, the passive-aggressive jockeying for attention … it’s all because everyone’s going for the big payday, the sitcom or the SNL spot.

The main goal in storytelling — the one thing that brings everyone together — is to get as good as you can get and help other people do the same. We all support each other, and it’s a really, really beautiful thing. Actually telling a story onstage is critical, don’t get me wrong. But it’s more like part of a complete breakfast than it is the only thing on the plate.

Anybody that thinks they invented oral storytelling is lying to themselves and need to cut me royalty check every time they use my Dad’s greatest invention: fire. Storytelling in New York is mutating fast — and even though it’s happening outside of the Moth’s slams, it’s all happening because of the community the Moth creates and nurtures.

I was fortunate enough to make my way into a Grand Slam a few months back. I won a regular story slam (performance here) and the next day, went to work. There were no rose petals on my office chair, no contracts arrived in my inbox.

Man, was I ever nervous as the Grand Slam approached. And without the support of my friends, I’d never have made it. I wrote the story at home and pitched it past Jim and Juliet — friends I made at the Moth — over dinner. They laughed, then edited the hell out of it. They straight-up told me to my face where they got bored and where they saw unrealized potential. I revised the thing.

I performed it at Peter Aguero’s BTK Band (mentioned in the Times piece) show a few weeks later. More Moth folks were in the audience. They gave me feedback.

I was competing against Aguero at that Grand Slam and I gave him my best story before it was even ready. Cyndi Freeman (also mentioned in the Times piece) was go-go dancing on stage at that show. She was competing against me and Peter at the Grand Slam too. Other Moth folks gave me edits. I revised.

A few weeks later I performed the revised story at Stories from The Creek — Cyndi’s show. Peter sat in the audience and timed it. The thing was almost three minutes too long and I panicked a little bit. It was the night before the Grand Slam.

Both Cyndi and Peter sat right down with me at the bar that night and helped me edit the HELL out of that thing. They crossed out, rearranged, revised, tightened and made the piece leaner, meaner and funnier.

They didn’t have to. It certainly wasn’t in their best interest from a competitive standpoint. They did it because they’re good people and they care about the art form, about the community, and about me as a friend.

The story didn’t score so well at the Grand Slam. Peter won. And as frustrated I was that I didn’t score better, I didn’t think for a minute that he shouldn’t have won.

I turned around a few months later and pitched the piece to “This American Life” — the piece that Jim, Juliet, Cyndi, and Peter all helped me edit. It made it on the air, hands-down one of the best experiences I’ve had this year.

As soon as real money starts hitting the storytelling scene, all that’s going to dry right up.

I’m not going to pretend that I’m not ambitious. I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t have dreams of my own memoir, one-man show, or recurring “This American Life” appearances. I’m totally using my participation in the Moth to get there, sure.

But success at anything is just the chance to turn around and work even harder. You get out of the community what you put into it, and I happen to think that people that don’t share their success lose it quick.

I can honestly say that I don’t enjoy nights where I get picked to tell a story any more than nights that I stay on the sidelines to watch. Sometimes they’re worse. We’re all only 5 minutes away from totally bombing, every time we take the stage. But there’s something really, really exciting about watching other people, people newer to the community coming back week after week and getting better and better each time.

From the Times:

Such commercial sizzle is a far cry from the low-key, familial spirit upon which the Moth was founded.

To that, I’d say that stories about the Moth’s “commercial sizzle” totally overlook the low-key, familial spirit that makes the Moth special right now. All the people that the Times mentions worked really, really hard to earn the success they’re credited with.

None of them did it alone.