What do you do when the story requires a skill you don’t have?

Hello all of you, from the ones who know me to the looky-loos!

I’m taking off for the Camino in about 6 weeks, and I know it’s time to write a lil’ sumthin’ sumthin’ about it, but first, I want to talk about story, because, well, I have this story I’ve been working on. It was originally published at Ozy years ago with a truly terrible headline (so bad I won’t subject you to it).

The story revolves around an interaction I had with a teenager I was living with in a group home. I was only about twelve and new to foster care. She was older and cooler and meaner, but still somehow ended up being my Mr. Rogers ‘helper’ and kinda gave me a roadmap to survive the situation I’d found myself in—whether or not she intended to be my helper is one of those questions left to the listener to decide. But I like to think, in her own crude, crass, and bullying way, yes, she took brief pity on me and my overt dorkiness and threw me the best life float she could cobble together.

I think it’ll make a neat little oddball live story, but . . . it has lyrics. And I can’t sing. I mean, I CAN’T SING! I’m not saying that in a cutesy, humble-pie way. I mean it. I’m preparing you. I’m forewarning you. This is not a Napoleon Dynamite, plain-Jane-takes-off-glasses-to-reveal-unusual-hotness, quiet-person-has-the-voice-of-[insert voice you like] type thing. This is real shit, real truth, mofos! I can’t sing, I can’t dance, and I can’t impersonate people or accents.

I’m so bad at all of that stuff, it’s almost a talent! That’s right. It’s that bad, okay? OKAY??

(And you know what I mean by can’t, you healthy, well-adjusted, rose-colored optimists out there. You know. Don’t do that to me.)

Digression: One of my favorite Chelsea Handler moments is when Christina Aguilera was on Chelsea’s Netflix show, saying she could teach anyone to sing, and Chelsea’s like, "My voice is bad," and Christina refuses to believe her . . . until she hears Chelsea singing. It’s hilarious and vindicating, like, sheesh! Just believe us when we tell you we can’t sing! This clip cuts most of the interesting stuff (like, Christina is actually, truly put off and unsure what to do; in fact, if I remember correctly, she starts frantically backtracking, reeling in her assertion like a madwoman), but you can see a quick snap of Christina’s face, realizing, nope, she cannot teach anyone to sing:

Anyway.

I can’t sing (or dance or impersonate). But my story calls for it. What do I do?

So, there are actually two parts in question here. Part one is the need to perform rap lyrics. Part two is the need to sing a melody.

For the song lyrics part, I really don’t think I can do anything about it. My inability to keep a tune is too distracting from why I’m telling the audience the song lyrics I’m telling them. So right now, I’m just saying the song lyrics. It’s still a bit distracting because even just saying the lyrics, you can hear just how much I can’t sing! My other option, it seems, is to take the song lyrics out, which is what it might come to, but I’ll probably try to keep them in and see how it goes.

Wanna know the song lyrics? Here ya go. Name this album:

So ya, thought ya, might like to go to the show.

To feel the warm thrill of confusion, that space cadet glow.

Now, for the first part, the rap lyrics part, I think what it’s going to come down to is what I’m finding more and more (through talking/watching other storytellers and trying to be a storyteller myself) to be the underappreciated, underpracticed, and yet possibly most central part of live storytelling, and that’s delivery.

There is no way I can be cool and sing those rap lyrics. If I even try to do so—you know, like how some storytellers will break into song, and we all swoon at their beautiful voices and multiple talents (see: Diane Amos, Kimberlli Joy)—I will lose the audience. So I have to lean in, be my nerdy self, but intentionally.

AKA: delivery.

So I’m focusing on delivery, but I won’t really know how it’s working until I do it in front of people, which means I’m gonna have to be okay with embarrassing myself. My particular means of delivery for this story looks like it’s going to rely on timing, which again, I can only practice so much in my shower before it needs to go in front of an audience to really know.

I’m sure I’ll have more to say to you about delivery, friends. For sure, if you’re out there right now, thinking about doing live storytelling, by all means, the content is important. But do not underestimate the value of practicing your delivery, which means getting the hell outta your head and speaking aloud and into a microphone.

This much, I can already glean:

So many of my talented storytelling friends are putting the delivery part last on their list, when it really needs to be there, hand in hand with content, from the beginning.

(What? I’m not talking about YOU. YOU’re doing everything just right! 😁)

I think I’m gonna try to tell my story at WILDCARD this March (if we find a venue!). I’ll let you know how it goes.

Either way, just don’t give me that Christina Aguilera look because YOU WERE WARNED!

Love all of ya.

xoxo, Amy

Feel free to reply and commiserate.

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