I recently returned from performing at Exchange Place at the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, TN. I want to share every intimate detail of how amazing my weekend there was, but there’s just no way. Find me at a show and ask me about it and I promise to talk your head off. But, for now, I will do my best to hone in on my experience performing, for the first time, in front of over 1000 people.

I’ve been performing stories since 2007. I have performed in front of audiences of 500 people and audiences of 5 people (that was a sad day in DC). In my opinion, smaller audiences – particularly smaller than 20 – are a lot harder to perform for. Imagine watching a comedy for the first time at home, alone. Then imagine watching that same comedy in a packed theater. If the jokes are even a little successful, people laugh, and laughter is contagious. If it’s just you, alone, the experience isn’t the same for you. And if that movie was instead a live performer, the experience certainly isn’t the same for her! All that is by way of saying, the numbers – the fact that my “theater” held 1500 people – didn’t make me nervous… until I arrived at the tent for rehearsal.

Geraldine Buckley – a good friend who I was excited to find out was our emcee for Exchange Place – led us to College Tent Thursday night for a mic check. Seeing what 1500 seats looked like filled my belly with a giant ball of angry butterflies.

After our mic check – oh what a beautiful sound system they have there, and beautiful sound engineers too – Geraldine explained to me and the other Exchange Place storytellers what was going to happen the next night. And then she said – “any other questions?”

I had heard that the train that runs through town literally stopped stories in their track so I asked, “what happens if the train comes? Do we wait for it to pass or talk louder?” She said, “Oh, you don’t have to worry about it in this tent. We’re far enough away here it won’t be a problem.” {Psst. This is called foreshadowing.}

I found out I was up after Nestor Gomez, the only storyteller who hadn’t yet arrived. I asked if anyone knew what his story was like because I didn’t want to have to follow anyone who was going to make me cry. Everyone said they thought Nestor was telling a funny story.  {Yeah, this too.}

Friday night, we corralled on the side of the stage and one by one the storytellers of Exchange Place told their tales. I was 4th. Everyone was killing it. Willa Brigham told a story about a very important purchase. Rachel Ann Harding shared the story of a bride returned from the grave. I was enjoying listening to these wonderful storytellers’ stories.

When Nestor Gomez went on stage, I sat in the “on deck” stool to listen. He told a powerful story about his own experiences with immigration and sure enough I found myself choking up and then tearing up and then he was walking off stage and I was thinking WHAT?!!! I have to follow that?!

Everyone told me later it was nice to have a funny story follow a heavier story, but, at the time, I felt like the pressure was on. I got on stage and started talking.

I wasn’t nervous once on stage. This is a weird thing about performing. Or maybe it’s just me. I’m very nervous before, but once I’m up there, I feel at ease. The storytelling got off to a good start. The audience laughed where I had expected them to – always a good thing. And then, it happened. The train whistle blew, long and loud.

Fortunately for me, the train had good timing. I was just saying, “when I jumped in the ocean I noticed a few things.” The whistle blew and I added, “like the fact that there was a train in the water.” I got a laugh from the audience that carried us through the worst of the noise and I was able to resume the rest of my story.

When I finished and stepped off stage, I felt elated. I hadn’t messed up and it seemed like the audience had really enjoyed it. Sometimes you don’t know. But this performance felt good. (Video was prohibited but here’s an earlier – much less prepared – version of the story I told that night)

Simon Brooks had to follow me – poor man. But he, of course, was amazing – telling a story about the importance of telling a story. And then Mr. Paul Strickland wrapped up Exchange Place with a story about punching peas, you know, to make black-eyed peas. I have to assume every Exchange Place storyteller that night left feeling good – because everyone was fantastic.

(Thanks to Mrs. Simon Brooks for this photo of all the storytellers!)

The rest of the weekend was a bit strange for me. I perform a lot. Occasionally, I’ll be at the grocery store or hardware story and someone will point at me and say “You’re that storyteller.” But it doesn’t happen often and it’s usually just one person at a time saying something nice.

In Jonesborough, I got stopped probably 50 times and told how much the person loved or appreciated my story. I’ve never been very good at taking a compliment, and responding to a compliment on a story about something that really happened in your life is especially confusing. The story I told was about my first love. Though it was funny, there were undertones of him being unkind. It amazed me how many women and men came up to me and said, “We need this story right now.” (Or something like that.) I had not considered this rather amusing story a #metoo story. But many people heard the deeper lesson, despite the laughter – and that meant a great deal to me. I love it when I can sneak a lesson in between belly laughs.

One of the best experiences was getting to know the other storytellers – through meeting them and through getting to see them perform! They were all amazing. Not only wonderful people, but fantastic storytellers with a wide range of stories and styles. In the DMV, we mostly see the type of storytelling Better Said Than Done produces – true, personal storytelling. I was, frankly, a little worried I wouldn’t enjoy the diverse styles of storytelling. But I was absolutely blown away. It turns out, I love cowboy poetry, and folk tales and stories from history and just everything – when it’s done to the caliber of performance they had packed into the International Storytelling Festival. I guess there’s a good reason they get about 11,000 attendees and are in their 46th year.
(I posted photos throughout the weekend on Instagram and Twitter, and have collected them on our Facebook page!)

On a final note, I can’t possibly thank everyone who helped me get to, and survive, Exchange Place. When you’ve been performing for 11 years there are a lot of people who lift you up. Here are just a few I need to thank.

Everyone who came to see me perform – from NJ, and Nashville, DC, MD, VA and Knoxville! I have amazing friends and family. And especially to my husband Bart Robinson who not only came with me and snapped great photos of me on stage, but also took care of our two little rugrats the whole weekend.

Thank you to the storytellers who supported my journey: Sheila Arnold, Susan Gordon, Geraldine Buckley, Ellouise Schoettler, Fanny Crawford, Noa Baum, Stas Ziolkowski, Diane Macklin and Solveig Eggerz. Your support and advice and friendship are a blessing I am grateful for.

I can’t thank everyone who was kind to me (and my rugrats) at the Festival because there were too many, but I do have to thank Susan O’Connor, Kiran Flip Singh Sirah and, of course, Krystal Hawkins. As a show producer I know how hard it is to wrangle 8 creative people every month. I cannot – and do not want to – imagine how difficult it is to coordinate the number of storytellers, and performances, and accommodations, and everything that the ISC juggles every year. They were amazing and I felt just a little bit like a rock star.

If you have not been to the International Storytelling Festival, you still have a little bit of time to plan for October 2019! I’d highly recommend you mark your calendar now.

I am next appearing Saturday, October 20th, 2018 at Better Said Than Done’s 5th Annual Night at the Improv – true, personal storytelling improvised on the spot. Or who knows, maybe I won’t tell a story. We’ll see what happens! Tickets and details here.