I established years ago that, as I writer, I am an inveterate liar. Even when I'm telling stories about my own life, I can be given to embellishment and stretching the truth. You could probably chalk it up to self-bias -- everyone has their own version of a story, seen through their own eyes. Even with that in mind, I can get a little carried away, especially when prestige is on the line.
So, I may or may not have mentioned this in the past, but when I moved to my current assignment, I also joined the DuPont Toastmasters chapters. What is Toastmasters, you might ask? In a nutshell, an organization dedicated to improving professional leadership skills through public speaking and communication. Chapters give their members an opportunity to work through guide books that are focused on certain kinds of speeches meant to teach basic skills -- vocal variety, body language, etc. A coworker of mine recommended (read: insisted) that I join because I, unsurprisingly, speak too quietly in meetings.
I'm not really going to talk about Toastmasters today, because that really belongs in an entry of its own, much as I love it. The reason I bring it up, though, is because a few months ago, a friend of mine from TM introduced me to something called Story Slams.
Direct from the website, if you're too lazy to click:
"What’s a StorySlam? A StorySlam is more than a storytelling competition. It’s an invitation to share five minutes of your life in a room full of people who appreciate a well-told tale. Audience storytellers take to the stage with real life stories on the theme of the night."
That's really cool, I thought, but I am awful at telling real stories from my pretty mundane life. And, I didn't really think on it after that.
But. But. Then SJH recently told me that he competes in Slams. And wouldn't you know it, he actually won a slam, which means he gets to compete in the Grand Slam!
Well. Someone had to put that boy in his place. So, armed with all the tricks of the trade that I had learned from my few speeches delivered at TM, I quickly tried to rustle a story together and...
And balked. The category of the evening that I was prepping for was "Frenemies." Frenemies? I've never had one of those. Anyone who has met me can probably guess that I'm pretty binary - I either want to be your biffles, or I hate you with a seething rage. There is no real in-between. And, I kind of dropped the idea of competing, having psyched myself out...
But, SJH assured me that most people don't follow themes too strictly - just make it entertaining, and the rest will follow.
Well... with less than a day to spare, I thought of the closest thing possible - an ex-boyfriend story.
I... did not win. I actually averaged pretty low overall on the scoreboard. Which while disappointing, is fine. My delivery was a little off, but my cheekbones look phenomenal. But, you know, with less than 24 hours to cobble something together, I'm actually pretty proud of how I did.
Did I have a lot of fun? Yes. Did I nearly pee myself as they called my name? Absolutely. Will I do it again? Maybe. I'm still very nervous in front of crowds, as is evidenced by my constant flailing.
Do I feel badly that I put an ex on blast for, effectively, a stand-up routine? Kind of. At this point in our lives, it's a very distant thing, and I hope that no one really associates him with it anymore.
Dear readers, I'll remind you once more that... I have a propensity to bend truths for my own purpose. For the most part, this story is accurate, some details either embellished or omitted for time limits and for the sake of the art.
Is that fair? No, not really. The things I say about this boy are actually a little hurtful in some ways, which is why I opted not to give his real name.
But. Regardless. [Mike], if you're watching, sorry.
And will I ever be a reliable narrator? Well. That remains to be seen.
Until the next.
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